Living With Dying

I was sitting in Melbourne’s great Catholic Cathedral St Patricks earlier this week at the State Funeral of the wonderful co-owner of Pellegrini’s Cafe Sisto Malaspina.

St Patricks is the tallest church in Australia and with its position on Eastern Hill, the highest point of Melbourne’s CBD, it looks down on all the others, including the St. Paul’s Anglican Cathedral which was finished 6 years earlier in 1891. They used to hate each other back in those days.

“They still do”, says my research assistant Louise.

I’m not so sure about that, but the competing faiths of Marvellous Melbourne, as she was known in those heady after-the- gold-rush days, certainly clustered in and around the city’s well-planned mile square business district.

Within a cricket pitch or so of St Pats, is a Jewish synagogue, the City Temple of the Salvation Army including its printing works and a Lutheran church.

Catholics were pretty big 100 years ago. The Irish migration to the Gold Rush resulted in Catholics amounting to about 40% of Melbourne’s population.

Sitting in a grand old Cathedral at the funeral of a loved one who has died before his time, causes quite a reflection on life.

It was a beautiful service and hats off to the Archbishop who had the biggest hat of all. Our Catholic sisters and brothers sure know how to do a funeral, and everyone got something out of it including me.  As I sat there, I thought “What would you do if you knew this was the last day of your life?”

And I was reminded of the story of Kevin. I worked with Kevin more than 30 years ago before I started my own business. Kevin was an outstanding advertising executive. He was a good family man with a good income and strong list of clients. Life was perfect.

But one day, without warning, we were all saddened to hear that Kevin had been given 3 months to live.

And Kevin’s reaction was incredible. For the whole time we’d known him, Kevin had worn a really bad wig.

The day after getting the shocking news, the wig was gone, and a very handsome but balding Kevin seemed to have a new, albeit short, lease on life. He resigned forthwith, cashed up his long service leave and booked the trip to Europe he’d always longed for. Sadly, for some of us, he left his wife and took up with, what we now suspect was his long-term girlfriend.

And off he went. It was a new exhilarating Kevin setting out on the last 3 months of his life- Europe, freedom, dancing, red wine, what else would you want?

But he didn’t die!

On his return, and after much soul searching, he reconciled with his wife and lived another 20 years or so.

Charlie, my other research colleague for this blog, tells the story of an old English yachty mate of his who was also diagnosed with terminal ‘jimmy dancer’. He sent letters to his kids who all lived over seas and set sail eastwards from his yacht club. Five years later he returned from the west.

So, what does 2 hours in the cathedral mourning my old friend Sisto tell me?

Well it’s just this. Do what you really want to do and stick to the rules of life that you’d be proud for your grandkids to follow. It shouldn’t be that hard.

The uncertainly of life should be all the motivation we need to not hold back and to live life to the full.

Sisto - Bringing People Together

This is a very Melbourne story, but it applies to all of Australia.

A great tragedy occurred a week ago just around the corner from where I live. A moment of madness broke out on the streets when one crazy guy went into such a frenzy that repeated taser hits could not bring him down. Some called it a “terrorist incident”. I don’t. To me it was an act of random insanity, probably drug fuelled, that murdered Sisto – one of my dearest friends and one of the most loved people in Melbourne. I see no reason to apply a divisive label to the horrible death of a man who was so loved for bringing people together.

I’ve known Sisto and his business partner Nino since 1976. They started the famous Italian ristorante and espresso bar Pellegrini’s two years earlier and provided Melbournians in the CBD with their first cappuccinos. They still provide the best.

For more than 40 years Sisto was as Melbourne as a Bourke Street tram or a torpedo punt. And next Tuesday, his immense and humble contribution to our town will be recognised at a State Funeral in the grand St Patricks Cathedral.

What is it that brings such emotion out of all of us, me included, at the death of Sisto. Well it’s simply this.  He loved us, he loved his town and we loved him. His never-ending smile sent us on our way into the world with renewed delight. The warmth and openness of his welcome always made us smile. Some years ago, as I was calling in for my morning coffee he commented that he loved the maroon jacket he’d seen me wear on television the previous week. He was so taken with it, that I got one made for him exactly the same. He always loved it, but as you can see, added his own Italian colour and style with the cravat and the scarf.

Look at the two smiles. He had the sort of smile that always made you smile too. This Italian immigrant brought pure joy to millions.

These days many of us are far too inclined to turn on our immigration system. We are stupid to do so.

97% of us are either immigrants or the offspring of generations of immigrants. Right now, around 50% of Australians are first- or second-generation migrants. And it is wrong of our politicians to turn events such as the death of Sisto into fear and hatred of immigrants.

Our Prime Minister arrived unannounced at Sisto’s café several days ago with an entourage of photographers. He didn’t tell the family, he didn’t tell the staff.  He was there to take advantage of the situation. Wrong. Sisto had many friends and none of the them appreciated his death being used as a political moment.

The story of Sisto is the story of Australia. We embrace each other.  We are all equal. That’s the way Sisto looked at it.

Some years ago I had a late meeting with Kevin Rudd in his Foreign Minister period and he suggested that we have dinner. I’m not a big evening or dinner person but I agreed, and we went down to the classy Grossi Florentino’s.

Kevin got a bit over enthusiastic about embracing Melbourne’s Italian scene by delivering a history of Italy. I could see we were fast losing the waiter, as well as a few neighbouring diners, so as soon as we finished our mains, I suggested that we have coffee at Pellegrini’s 50 meters up the street. It's a tiny place, perhaps 4 meters wide with a long bar down one side and a kitchen out the back.

I could see that the Foreign Minister was feeling a little out of his comfort zone as we squeezed our way through the crowded bar area. This certainly wasn't a private entrance to the office of the Secretary General of the United Nations.  All the stools were full, so I walked through into the kitchen. And there was Sisto; face lit up, arms outspread.

“Hello” said the Foreign Minster “I’m Kevin”.

“And I’m Sisto. Welcome, please sit down”

You could see a sense of crisis engulfing the Foreign Minister. “err here – in the kitchen?”

“This is Melbourne Minister”, I said.

He was out of his comfort zone but to most Australians this is our comfort zone. And this is the story of everyone like Sisto who have made modern Australia. 

On another occasion I took an American mate of mine Bo Cutter to Pellegrini’s. He was the budget director in the Clinton Whitehouse. I told him I’d meet him out the front of Pellegrini’s but desperate to get there on time, I parked my car illegally right outside. I could see Sisto beaming at me and as I abandoned my car I spied Mick Gatto and a couple of his helpers having a coffee.

“Mick, I haven’t got time to park my car”.

“Don’t worry pal we’ll look after it”.

Some might have thought that might be the last time I’d see my car, but no. Five minutes later one of Mick’s boys appeared as I was sitting with Bo and explained “Mr Gatto said to let us know when you need your car and we’ll bring it back.”

And that’s Pellegrini’s, that’s Melbourne and that’s Australia. Doesn't matter who you are if you’re fair dinkum about looking after each other.

Sisto’s death is tragic and should never have happened but he lives on in the lives of the millions he touched with his smile …. and his coffee.

We are a great nation of 25 million people and our long and rich migrant histories over many generations should always be a source of pride and never division. Paul Keating once said that the job of a leader is twofold: to keep the country safe and to keep the people together.

That’s the story of Sisto. He never stopped bringing people together.

Farewell Fairfax Hello Blogosphere

Herewith my final column for the world of Fairfax and my first for this rapidly expanding media without boundaries.

I'll see you here again in about a week. Thanks for your interest and support.

HCM

I’ve been writing a weekly column for the Fairfax press since 2009 and now it is time to say goodbye. In that time, we have said good bye to 6 Prime Ministers and 8 great Fairfax editors.

“Neither job seems long term” says Louise.

It’s now around 400 columns since I started and I’m grateful to the people who stop me in the street to say that they read the columns every week. They know me through these words and it still surprises me that someone who didn’t finish high school, can engage with so many Australians in this way.

But it’s simple really. I worked out early on that most Australians are interested in stories, especially stories that are similar to their own. I’ve always been fascinated by the stories that people have to tell, and the real story of this column and its longevity is that I listened to you.

Not enough of that is happening right now. Many of our leaders in almost every sector of human endeavour seem to have just stopped listening, even when they claim to be doing just that. I doubt they’d last 400 columns.

You might remember the story of Blaga, the 91-year-old Macedonian immigrant. A brilliant woman who could speak 6 languages and still not be properly heard by the hospital system in Western Melbourne.

And the funny stories like the one about Gough Whitlam and the motorised chair we put him to tour the National Gallery of Australia in Canberra when I was its Chairman. He took off in it to look at his beloved Blue Poles but lost control as he neared the $200 million masterpiece. Only a diving Gallery guard saved us from a national catastrophe.

And there has been the ongoing stories about our new migrants, particularly the experiences of our North African kids which were told to me by the kids themselves. I’m proud to know that my columns were retransmitted to their community to give them a feeling that someone was listening.

Last week I talked about the battle we have in listening to and learning from new powers in a new world that includes China. We have to be able to get better at knowing the difference between the acceptance of a new reality and the endorsement of it.

But as they say, the more things change, the more they stay the same, and the wisdom of the older generations, like the timeless advice of my dear old Dad who featured in this column so often, remains a steadying influence if we are prepared to listen.

He, like almost everyone I know, just wanted to leave a better world for our grandkids.

And now to say thank you. Thanks to Charlie, our very clever economist, who picked many changes in the world’s economy ahead of most others. He helped me make a bob or two and pass on plenty of wisdom to you. And thanks to Louise who always puts people first. No one can fool Louise by saying “Don’t you know who I am?” If you’re not helping others she just isn’t interested.

And let’s not forget the brilliant Cathy Wilcox whose cartoons have accompanied these words every week. Cathy has an extraordinary ability to get to the heart of the matter with wit and warmth.

I am fortunate to have been born an Australian. This a great country, but we have more to do. I deplore the politics of division that is undermining imaginative leadership at the moment.

But we will emerge from this period if ordinary people like you and me speak out. I’ve been fortunate to be able to speak out for you on these pages and I’ll keep doing so into the future with a regular blog https://hmitchellac.blogspot.com/. Drop by and say hello.

Thank you for your interest and your stories over the last 9 years. I couldn't have done it without you.