THE HAZARDS OF LIFE

Down at the Royal Prince Alfred Hospital maintenance workshop on a bit of bludge and Bluey, a plumber and not one one to let a difference of opinion get in the way of mateship (from another story of fifteen years gone), yelled something about shit stirrers not being wanted here.  We welcomed each other like we'd been blood brothers for life and had a laugh about the seventies.  Particularly about Hazzard, our former and much loved Maintenance Manager.

We must have gone on strike a dozen times in eight years to show Ron Hazzard that he was no longer a Navy Commander (or what) and the hospital a corvette (or what) with his office the poopdeck.  Then again the number of times he shit in his own nest and we pushed him back in it, maybe the last is appropriate.

Most of the blues were about our Ron's fondness for making members of the crew walk the plank without even a court-martial.  The jobs of several of us were saved by the troops rising in mutiny.  We couldn't do a Bligh on him but we didn't get hung from the yard-arm either.  Hazzard was the first of many 'outside' appointments.  Forerunner to the present privatisation insanity that is destroying decades of gains by the Oz people.

Most actions were short and sharp. The big one when all trades staff in the State struck for a few extra dollars.  Barrie Unsworth, then Secretary of the Trades and Labour Council, led a march from Trades Hall to Parliament House.  Against Nifty Nev too.  We got about twelve bucks.  The Court cut it in half but such is life and such is the role of the the 'arbitration' system.

Back in the present Blue said that our ex-bosses son was the Brad Hazzard who was State Liberal Member for Warringah.  I remember he was Greiner's bumboy and go-between in the Metheral bribery scam.  The same turkey who as a solicitor robs little old ladies of their estates.  A right arsehole.  Then I remember something else.

One day, about twenty years ago, Hazzard senior had the union delegates in his office concerning another of his acts of bastardry.  Before the meeting he took me to one side.  You're a man of the world he said, maybe you could give me some advice.  That was queer for a start.

He went on about his son being at Uni but had left home to live somewhere in the Balmain area.  On a mattress.  In one room.  He (the father) had a lovely home but the unprodigal wouldn't return.  Then he said that I would know about such bug-houses so why would he prefer that?

Did one detect a semblence of human concern?  Surely not. 'Never let a chance go by, oh Lord, never let a chance go by'.  So I said.

"Maybe he's better with bed-bugs in Balmain than a bastard in Balgowlah'."

However, blood will out as the Commander himself might say.  Like father like son.  Junior is part of the present minority Government that's flogging the gains of decades of working class struggle.  To their wealthy mates.  The mongrels never give up.

That's why the railworkers are the present front line for all of us. Ron Hazzard was our first taste.  The fruit of his loins (imagine if you will the moment of conception) is an even bigger scoundrel.

Love to all at R.P.A.H.                                                  [the  'health worker' lives!]