The Now Men

“At closing time the cops would come in and they would order a drink at the bar. A middy of beer each.

And they’d finish their beer and then they would go 'round to every person in there and ask them if they needed a lift home.

‘Do you need a lift? Do you need a lift? Do you?  How about you?’

And someone would say yes. Because they were drunk and shouldn’t be driving. So the cops would drive them home. They wouldn’t bust them! They would drive them home.

Then the cops would come back and order a drink at the bar. And after they finished their beer, they would go 'round the pub again.

‘Do you need a lift? Anyone need a lift?’

And someone would say yes. And the cops would order another beer – a middy – and after they finished their beer they would drive the person home. And they’d keep on doing that until everyone was home safely.

But now the cops just bust you if you’re drunk and trying to drive.”

“There’s nothing to do. There’s nothing to do here!

Everything shut down. On the weekend all the shops are shut.

There’s fucking nothing to do in town.

Me and my cousins we had rollerskates.  We used to put on our rollerskates. We used to rollerskate down to the arcade on Balo Street and buy ice creams. We'd skate over the bridge to Boggabilla and fish in the Mehi. When it got dark we’d pack up and we’d skate to the cinema and we’d play pinballs there.

But the cinema owner’s wife died and the owner left. The cinema closed down. Long time ago.

There’s nothing to do!”

"Of course you can have a cigarette. You know, you're a very fine pool player.

Isn't Joanne great! She loves having a good time. She's a beautiful dancer.

So, I'm gay, right? Last year. Last year? I went to the Pride parade for the first time. That's the gay Pride parade. Because I'm gay.

I had some reservations about going. As you can tell I'm a little bit older than you. Ha ha!

But everyone there was so accommodating. The parade, and the floats, and the people, we all started at the Court Hotel, the gay pub, and went down the main street, and turned down Aberdeen Street and we ended up at Connections, the gay nightclub.

Everyone was so nice. People were watching on the street and waving to us. I wore a red scarf! Some of the others were dressed way more ostentatious, though!

I had a great time. I think I'll go again.

So, I'm going this way to get home. You live that way? Well, I'm going this way. Did I mention I'm gay? I'm going now. OK, bye. Bye bye."

"On the trains we didn't have mobile phones and headphones and all that shit.

People used to talk and laugh with each other on the train. We talked about what was happening then. Young people listened to old people.

We didn't just talk. We also sang. We sang popular songs of the time.

At the front of the train carriage there was an old-time stand-up piano. Trains looked different to how they look now. There was a piano, and an old woman used to play it.

She'd play: Mr Sandman, buy me a dream.

We would sing and laugh along. Well, we didn't really sing, we would laugh mostly.

And the old bird would look over her shoulder and say, 'C'mon, children, sing!' and the old bird would bang away at the piano really slow in time to the music.

Make her the cutest thing I've ever seen!"

"Yeah, yeah. Alright, alright."

The Grandmaster

We were sitting in the lounge room of the Rosemount House on a weekend, or weekday, afternoon and quaffing either Wild Turkey or Teacher’s or, god forbid, Ballantine’s.

And during conversation a mutual friend of a friend of a friend came up: Hartley. Dean was telling us that recently he had played Scrabble in a park with Hartley for Hartley’s birthday.

“Hartley!? He’s a loser,” I declared. “Plus he’s a junkie – what teeth ain’t missing are black.”

I was shouted down by the others in the room.

“I don’t know that Hartley doing heroin matters at all,” said Dean. “He’s really good at chess.”

“Yeah, he’s a grandmaster,” confirmed Bec.

I was dubious at the claims of proficiency. They told me the story. There was this speed-chess hustler from America. Or he might have been Brazilian-American. He was collecting money for his sick father. He was playing speed-chess for five dollars a game.

I said stop. When I was in Sydney, a while back, I was out one night on a Friday night. I was out in the city, on George Street, near the Town Hall. The streets were as busy as anything I’d ever seen. And there was a speed-chess hustler. I remember ‘cause chess hustlers are rare Down Under. The hustler was American, or maybe Brazilian-American, and he had a cardboard sign explaining he would play anyone for five dollars a game and was collecting money for his sick father.

Anyway, turns out this guy was an itinerant speed-chess hustler and was now in Perth, months later, playing for a Kidney Dialysis Machine, Heart Transplant, cure for cancer.

One day Hartley was stumbling down Murray Street mall, eyes like a Great White, and came across this guy with his chess game. He said he wouldn’t play speed chess, but he’d play normal chess. A huge stake was agreed upon and placed on the board: ten bucks.

And Hartley won.

A week later, the Brazilian-American, at a party, or a bar, bumped into Hartley, and bails up Hartley in a corner. He said, “I have to play you again. I can’t stop thinking about that game. In the last six months, you are the only person who has managed to beat me in a game of chess.”

I knew the chess hustler was real and, well, Hartley must be a grandmaster.

And sitting in that lounge room, quaffing Ballintine’s, listening to that story, these times that went forever, we wondered if they would ever end and they did and now we wish they would come back.