Page Two
It was just after this the family made a visit to Melbourne. I was doing Cash and Co., a very popular TV series at the time. They came on the set among the cameras and lights and I saw a sparkle in my children's eyes that I still think of today. Is this where a seed was sown? Is this where the showbiz bug bit?
They were all affected by it. Connie works as a film assistant, stage manager and anything in production. Paul was a Sydney Dance Company principal and one of this year's nominees for best actor (which he didn't win) for Strictly Ballroom. His brother Mike is a film assistant coming up through the ranks as a prop buyer and a location manager. And the youngest, Joe, is doing lighting for stage, television, and film, and has recently finished a stint as lighting supremo for Perth's Outrage festival.
After the visit on the set, we had lunch at the Latin on Lonsdale Street and we spoke of acting, of performing, of their activities at the John Curtin High School. They seemed to like what I was doing, and because of that they liked what they were doing at school. Maybe they were even a bit proud of what Dad did for a living.
But they had to pay a price. I know they expected more of me in Harlequin, a picture I did in Perth. This may have been a letdown for them in front of their friends. When I did the Roof Fairy TV commercial, they copped plenty. The boys were dancing, Dad was playing the part of a fairy--wearing a tutu, blond wig and the rest. I felt for them through this. But I also felt that I could communicate to them that this was the business I was in--the business of make-believe.
Now the story moves on two years to a surf beach at Cottesloe. Paul had finished his rides for the afternoon and, looking at the sea and sensing the day and the beauties of life and living, he started to dance with a joy of just being.
This is where he realized what he wanted to do, and went for it, but not before writing and asking for my thoughts on his decision. I knew his mother would make sure it was talked through and that he fully understood the consequence of any action he took.
It pleased me to know he felt my input important and understood we had tried to stay close, maintain some sort of father-son relationship by visits and by letter. Even by virtue of the fact that I was on television and was able to come into their lives every week through the box provided a closeness.
I answered his letter by telling him that getting to the top as a male dancer was tougher than becoming the heavyweight champ of the world--there would be a lot of wiseguys having a go at him. He would have to give it his all, he couldn't just shoot at an eagle, he had to shoot for the moon. And if he wanted it badly enough, he had to pull out all stops and go for it. And he did.
There followed a one year part-time and a year full-time scholarship with the WA Ballet Company, during which time his letters expressed trials, tribulations, and a growing sensitivity.
He told of the attitude of the other boys to him because of his dancing, of being called a sissy and a poofter before he knew what it meant--of approaches by males who thought being a dancer meant you were homosexual. He told me how he handled these approaches, on occasion with violence.
The most telling point came when he told his mother he was getting uptight about people calling him a poofter, and she asked, "Are you?" Paul said "No." Jean answered, "That's it, then." And that was it. He knew who he was and was confident to do what he had to do.
He sent me his poems, some somber as with many adolescent poems--others bright and positive.
He told me of his meeting with an older woman, his first experience and one which confirmed who he was.
He explained this liaison, which was about tenderness, about warmth, about giving and receiving pleasure. It was not tinged with guilt or shame as are so many first attempts at physical love. In fact this initial assignation was not about forbidden lovemaking, but more about the joy of love.
As Paul's father, I have to thank this lady for caring for him, putting physical love in its correct context, caring for another--something he is very good at.
He would also write of surfing, his interest in motorcycles and other manly pursuits. He liked caring for others.
And then, one day in 1981, I was asked to meet him at the railway station because he and another dancer had been chosen by the Australian Ballet School to study in Melbourne.
I'll never forget two unsophisticated country boys from the West coming to the big smoke to hit it big--as they got off the train wearing their snap brim white straw hats, that's what they were saying, loud and clear.
By the way, the other dancer with Paul that day was Steven Heathcote, now principal dancer with the Australian Ballet Company.
While Paul was in Melbourne I had the opportunity of being with him, having him with me, enjoying each other's company, and as a chiropractor, taking care of his injuries and those of his colleagues.
And as a father, trying to make sure he was feeding himself right by at least getting him a bottle of multi-vitamins every month and even cooking pizza for him. I remember the time I was led to believe there would only be Paul and his room-mates. It turned out to be all his mates. Talk about the loaves and fishes!
Paul always included fellow dancers. When he came out to the property where I was living in Diamond Creek, it was always a group of guys coming out to eat, have fun, and ride my trail bike--trying to get the Honda XL100 to do jumps, skids and wheelies.
This scared the the hell out of me. All I could see were bones broken, muscles torn, and careers being ruined because I let them go crazy on a trail bike.
There were injuries, not because of the trail bike, but because dance is not easy. Bone spurs, shin splints, sprains, broken feet, spinal problems, shoulders and arms put under great pressure--any of these could end a budding career.
Paul's career turned from classical to modern dance when the Sydney Dance Company held auditions and asked Paul to join them.
The Australian Ballet didn't want to see him leave, but he chose the Sydney Dance Company's innovative approach.
But not before I had a chance to see him perform in Geelong for the first time. Ballet is not my thing, so as I was driving to Geelong for his big night, I was filled with a lot of negative vibes. What could I tell him after it was over, about something of which I knew nothing?
I sat in the back and watch my son Paul perform--and perform he did! He didn't fall on his arse once. This was also the first time a member of the public said how proud I must be.
Nobody had to tell me.
Next
They were all affected by it. Connie works as a film assistant, stage manager and anything in production. Paul was a Sydney Dance Company principal and one of this year's nominees for best actor (which he didn't win) for Strictly Ballroom. His brother Mike is a film assistant coming up through the ranks as a prop buyer and a location manager. And the youngest, Joe, is doing lighting for stage, television, and film, and has recently finished a stint as lighting supremo for Perth's Outrage festival.
After the visit on the set, we had lunch at the Latin on Lonsdale Street and we spoke of acting, of performing, of their activities at the John Curtin High School. They seemed to like what I was doing, and because of that they liked what they were doing at school. Maybe they were even a bit proud of what Dad did for a living.
But they had to pay a price. I know they expected more of me in Harlequin, a picture I did in Perth. This may have been a letdown for them in front of their friends. When I did the Roof Fairy TV commercial, they copped plenty. The boys were dancing, Dad was playing the part of a fairy--wearing a tutu, blond wig and the rest. I felt for them through this. But I also felt that I could communicate to them that this was the business I was in--the business of make-believe.
Now the story moves on two years to a surf beach at Cottesloe. Paul had finished his rides for the afternoon and, looking at the sea and sensing the day and the beauties of life and living, he started to dance with a joy of just being.
This is where he realized what he wanted to do, and went for it, but not before writing and asking for my thoughts on his decision. I knew his mother would make sure it was talked through and that he fully understood the consequence of any action he took.
It pleased me to know he felt my input important and understood we had tried to stay close, maintain some sort of father-son relationship by visits and by letter. Even by virtue of the fact that I was on television and was able to come into their lives every week through the box provided a closeness.
I answered his letter by telling him that getting to the top as a male dancer was tougher than becoming the heavyweight champ of the world--there would be a lot of wiseguys having a go at him. He would have to give it his all, he couldn't just shoot at an eagle, he had to shoot for the moon. And if he wanted it badly enough, he had to pull out all stops and go for it. And he did.
There followed a one year part-time and a year full-time scholarship with the WA Ballet Company, during which time his letters expressed trials, tribulations, and a growing sensitivity.
He told of the attitude of the other boys to him because of his dancing, of being called a sissy and a poofter before he knew what it meant--of approaches by males who thought being a dancer meant you were homosexual. He told me how he handled these approaches, on occasion with violence.
The most telling point came when he told his mother he was getting uptight about people calling him a poofter, and she asked, "Are you?" Paul said "No." Jean answered, "That's it, then." And that was it. He knew who he was and was confident to do what he had to do.
He sent me his poems, some somber as with many adolescent poems--others bright and positive.
He told me of his meeting with an older woman, his first experience and one which confirmed who he was.
He explained this liaison, which was about tenderness, about warmth, about giving and receiving pleasure. It was not tinged with guilt or shame as are so many first attempts at physical love. In fact this initial assignation was not about forbidden lovemaking, but more about the joy of love.
As Paul's father, I have to thank this lady for caring for him, putting physical love in its correct context, caring for another--something he is very good at.
He would also write of surfing, his interest in motorcycles and other manly pursuits. He liked caring for others.
And then, one day in 1981, I was asked to meet him at the railway station because he and another dancer had been chosen by the Australian Ballet School to study in Melbourne.
I'll never forget two unsophisticated country boys from the West coming to the big smoke to hit it big--as they got off the train wearing their snap brim white straw hats, that's what they were saying, loud and clear.
By the way, the other dancer with Paul that day was Steven Heathcote, now principal dancer with the Australian Ballet Company.
While Paul was in Melbourne I had the opportunity of being with him, having him with me, enjoying each other's company, and as a chiropractor, taking care of his injuries and those of his colleagues.
And as a father, trying to make sure he was feeding himself right by at least getting him a bottle of multi-vitamins every month and even cooking pizza for him. I remember the time I was led to believe there would only be Paul and his room-mates. It turned out to be all his mates. Talk about the loaves and fishes!
Paul always included fellow dancers. When he came out to the property where I was living in Diamond Creek, it was always a group of guys coming out to eat, have fun, and ride my trail bike--trying to get the Honda XL100 to do jumps, skids and wheelies.
This scared the the hell out of me. All I could see were bones broken, muscles torn, and careers being ruined because I let them go crazy on a trail bike.
There were injuries, not because of the trail bike, but because dance is not easy. Bone spurs, shin splints, sprains, broken feet, spinal problems, shoulders and arms put under great pressure--any of these could end a budding career.
Paul's career turned from classical to modern dance when the Sydney Dance Company held auditions and asked Paul to join them.
The Australian Ballet didn't want to see him leave, but he chose the Sydney Dance Company's innovative approach.
But not before I had a chance to see him perform in Geelong for the first time. Ballet is not my thing, so as I was driving to Geelong for his big night, I was filled with a lot of negative vibes. What could I tell him after it was over, about something of which I knew nothing?
I sat in the back and watch my son Paul perform--and perform he did! He didn't fall on his arse once. This was also the first time a member of the public said how proud I must be.
Nobody had to tell me.
Next
by Gus Mercurio
Woman's Day
14 December 1992
Page One
Page Two
Page Three