Small Bamboo (30 page)

‘What are you so happy about?’ I asked him.

‘TVo, you know, I just started laughing to myself for no reason.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘Well, I heard your laugh and I just felt like I needed to join in. I forgot what I was doing on the computer!’

Ben’s always giving me little confidence-boosters, like telling me I make people smile. Well, all I can say is that it’s a credit to my wonderful family and friends, including Ben, for making me smile first.

Leaving Canberra was very sad. I had built a strong network there. Ben surprised me on my last day and asked me to come into one of the edit suites. ‘TVo, I made a little video for you.’

The video started off with Peter Overton announcing breaking news that I was leaving Canberra. Ben managed to get journos from the other networks to do fake reports about my leaving. There were messages from Jayne, Mark, Doug and then came Laurie. I started to tear up.

‘You’ve made the sun shine in our office,’ Laurie said. ‘You’re a bloody good journalist, Trace. You’re a star and we hope to have you back whenever we can get you.’

I’m pretty sure all young journalists would understand how I felt when I got that message. I still burst with pride when I tell people I once worked with Laurie Oakes.

19
SIGNING OFF

After my stint in Canberra I returned to the Sydney newsroom in November 2010, and it really did feel like coming home. However, over the next year and a half there were plenty of ups and downs. Not long after I was back in Sydney, a rival network smashed me on a huge story. The news channels are extremely competitive. We want the exclusive story, or the exclusive interview, or the exclusive pictures. A nurse had been stabbed several times by a patient in hospital. I spent the day trying to find her, but I had no leads. I saw the journo from the rival network but I wasn’t sure what they had. Later in the day, my chief of staff found out they had interviewed the nurse, injuries and all. I felt sick in the stomach; I had failed to get the story. I finished up my live cross and drove back to the station. I could have gone straight home but I didn’t. I walked back into the newsroom and faced news director Darren Wick.

‘Trace, what happened?’ he said.

‘I don’t know. I asked so many people whether they knew her and they didn’t. I must have asked about twenty people.’

‘Well, next time ask a hundred,’ he replied matter-of-factly.

He was right, of course. I could always try harder.

So the next day I worked the phones. My mobile never left my ear. I managed to get hold of some security footage of hospital staff being attacked by patients. One staff member was brave enough to speak to me about their ordeal. They told me about all the injuries they had suffered over the years and how they were given little or no protection. Two days after the nurse was attacked, a protest was being held at the hospital; the staff were demanding better security. My exclusive story went to air that night. It felt good to come back strong only two days after being crushed. I remain grateful to that hospital staff member who entrusted me to share their story.

I remember Peter Overton patting me on the back. Mary said the words I needed to hear: ‘It really shows your character, Trace. You were beaten but you picked yourself up again with a cracking yarn!’

That experience will always be in my mind. It’s the hunger of the journo to get the story and never be beaten.

Being back in Sydney offered me a heap of amazing opportunities. I travelled all over the country and overseas. I never thought I’d get a go at international reporting as this was usually reserved for the senior journalists. But I was very fortunate. In early April, the chief of staff, Mike Dalton, came to me and said, ‘How do you feel about heading to Borneo this week?’

‘Really?’ I was shocked and excited. ‘What’s happening there?’

‘It’s an Anzac Day yarn. Following some pollies on a trek through the Borneo jungle.’ He explained that I would spend a week in Borneo following a group of young Sydneysiders and politicians Jason Clare, Scott Morrison and Rob Oakeshott through the jungle. It would be gruelling.

‘How soon do I leave?’

Dalts really did look after me. When I was starting out at Nine, he constantly badgered the producers to send me out on the road. He put my name forward for the Borneo trip. I had two cameramen with me, Mick Holman and Adam Bovino. Over the years I would share some awesome experiences on the job with ‘Bov’, who became one of my best mates.

Just a year later, another exciting trip fell my way. This time it was foreign editor David McCombe—the Mullet—who was the instigator. I was tasked with finding a young Sydney woman who was working at a lion reserve in Port Elizabeth, South Africa. She’d been dubbed ‘The Lion Tamer’. I tracked her down for Mullet.

‘I found the girl,’ I told him. ‘Can we organise a local cameraman in South Africa to film the interview?’

He slid his chair a little closer towards me.

‘Hey, Chattzee, wouldn’t it be great if you could be there with the lions and interview her yourself?’

‘Yeah, that would be amazing but it’s never going to happen.’

Mullet smiled and said, ‘Leave it with me.’

And before I knew it he’d worked his magic and managed to snag me the gig. South Africa Tourism agreed to fund the two-week trip in return for five feature stories. Bov and I arrived at a conservation park in Port Elizabeth and met the young lion tamer, Tamblyn Williams, a down-to-earth Australian woman who had moved to South Africa a couple of months before. There we walked with lions in a fenced off area while she taught me the beauty of working with these animals. The lions, so much larger than me, would brush up against me and I would almost lose my balance. It was a once in a lifetime experience. The rest of the work trip was just as fulfilling. Bov and I went on safari, met some Australian volunteers who were helping orphaned children, and filmed some young AFL players helping underprivileged kids. It was awesome.

These international jobs also gave me a passion to write longer and more in-depth pieces. I really enjoyed putting together these feature-style stories. One of my first was actually while I was in Canberra. Senior Producer Wes Hardman was fascinated by my family’s background.

‘Mate, you’ve got such a great story to tell,’ he often said. ‘We need to do something with it.’

Then just a couple of weeks before Anzac Day 2010, Wes called me and told me that he’d planned a story about my family history and the Vietnam War in the lead-up to Anzac Day. ‘Line up someone from the Vietnam Veterans Association,’ he said. ‘You need a former Aussie soldier. And organise an historian from the War Memorial to speak about the Vietnam War. I can help you weave in your family’s history.’

I was a bit reluctant, as I couldn’t see how my family’s story was newsworthy, but Wes was determined.

So I found the perfect former Aussie soldier, Dennis Mitchell, who recounted his horrific experiences during the Vietnam War. He had lost mates, and it had taken him a long time to forgive.

‘When I arrived home, I didn’t even want to go to the shop to buy bread because a lot of the bakeries were run and owned by Vietnamese people,’ Dennis said in his interview. ‘I hated them. Even the good ones. I didn’t want to speak to them.’

Then, after we finished the interview, as we were packing up the equipment, Dennis pulled me aside.

‘You know, Tracy, when you first called me, I didn’t want to have a bar of this. But then you told me your family are from Vietnam, and I just had to meet you. Thank you,’ he said and shook my hand.

It was an emotional story to put together. It was confronting for me to hear Dennis’s views, but I admired his honesty and his courage. Wes assisted me with the scripting. Watching the final cut was touching. I asked Laurie to have a look before it went to air. He turned to me and with the softest smile said, ‘That was brilliant, Trace.’

I formed friendships for life at Channel Nine.

One person I had a deeply strong connection with was the late and great Peter Harvey, who was my dear friend and mentor. Peter Harvey had been with Channel Nine since the ’70s. I met Harves in my first week at Channel Nine in 2007. It was intimidating. He was a gentle giant with that unmistakable voice and an overwhelming reputation.

‘Hello, I’m Peter Harvey.’

He shook my hand and I thought to myself, ‘Why is Peter Harvey introducing himself to me? This man needs no introduction!’

‘Where have you come from?’ he asked.

‘I was working at Sky News and luckily for me a position opened up here.’

‘Well, welcome, mate!’

Peter was an inspiring and positive influence on younger journos; he always taught us that you’re never too good for a story. I watched him over the years report on anything that was thrown at him—from medical breakthroughs and international disasters to a marijuana crop being uncovered in a suburban home, Fashion Week, the Wiggles and, one of my favourites, Lady Gaga and his piece to camera in a blue wig. From the beginning, I learned from Harves to be humble.

Among my fondest memories of Harves was his love of munchies. The man could snack. I always kept a stash of almonds or cashews in my desk drawers and he’d frequently wander past. ‘Mate, got any of those nuts?’ he’d ask with a grin. Apparently Harves also enjoyed helping himself whenever I was out of the office.

We would have long conversations about our favourite television shows, such as
Homeland
and
Breaking Bad
. I had the privilege of spending an entire week with him on our so-called bush bash through rural New South Wales. We were putting together a two-part series on drought-affected areas. We drove to Cowra, Forbes and Condobolin. It was just me and Harves in the car. Those memories are so precious now. We had the radio on and he sang along to the Red Hot Chilli Peppers. Harves was one cool cat. He always had his iPod with him and had the likes of Rihanna and the Arctic Monkeys on his playlist. When André Rieu was in Sydney, one of the producers asked him if he was going to see the classical violinist.

‘No way, mate!’ Harves scoffed in disgust. ‘Give me Coldplay over that any day.’

Oh, Harves. He was so young at heart. He enjoyed the company of young people so he could ‘fit in’ with them. I don’t think he realised that people actually wanted to ‘fit in’ with him.

Having any time with Harves was magic. He was generous with it too. He’d pull up a chair and sit next to a work-experience student, ask them where they were studying, what they had been up to during the day. He always hoped they would have an exciting day.

One of the things that stands out to me about Harves was his enthusiasm for a zoo story. He loved animals, especially the elephants at Taronga Zoo. I once filed a piece on how the elephant family at the zoo was going after the birth of a female calf. He was about to leave the newsroom but stopped.

‘Oh, TVo, I must stay and watch the elephants,’ he said as he pulled up a chair in front of one of the screens and watched the story in silence. The smile on his face was priceless, as was his comment to me afterwards: ‘That’s great stuff, TVo.’

Many of our conversations were about my family’s history and experiences during the Vietnam War. Harves was fascinated with my heritage. This book would never have happened if it wasn’t for him. He told his daughter Claire, the Deputy Editor of the
Sunday Telegraph
, that I was moving back to Perth to look after my parents. Her reaction was, ‘That’s a great story. We have to write an article about her!’ Two days after the article was printed, I got a call from a publisher.

Not long after I arrived back in Perth the devastating news came that Harves had pancreatic cancer. He was holidaying with his wife Anne in Venice when he was rushed to hospital and diagnosed. When he arrived back in Sydney, we emailed back and forth. This is the last email I received from him, less than a month before he passed away:

Hi TVo—just had pho for lunch so I must be getting better! I hope all is good with u and ur folks!!

Harves

On 2 March 2013, my former colleague and close friend Mark Tang rang me from the Sydney studios to tell me the news. Less than five months after the diagnosis, Harves had passed away. He was sixty-eight. That night my folks and I had a beer for Harves.

I’ll never meet anyone like Peter Harvey. I was privileged to have been able to work with a legend of news. To gain his respect and friendship was an honour. To have had someone like him in my life, I am very blessed. He will always be in my heart.