I used this crowd, Five Star Washer Repairs, BN04862259, in Adelaide. The man is a thief. He gave a written warranty after purporting to repair the washing machine at a fee of $300. Nothing improved. There were numerous promises to return to repair the machine, and after I was forced to purchase another machine, in desperation, the offer to refund the $300, which, of course, didn’t happen, instead there was a threat of physical violence. This operation is a “con”, use the service and get burnt.

It’s long time ago that it happened, but it is like yesterday. It was during the days of the Vietnam conflict. I was working in the Commonwealth Employment Service, young and recently married, the product of a sheltered existence.

The CES, as well as attempting to place people in suitable permanent employment, also found temporary or casual work for those who needed it. The casual workforce generally consisted of homeless men, those who relied on charities for their accommodation, and alcoholics. The men of the casual workforce were always the first to register their presence at the reception counter when the office opened each weekday morning. They would sit in the waiting area in the hope of casual work being available, sometimes sitting there all day, sometimes sleeping, sometimes chatting amongst themselves and sometimes merely sitting there, happy to escape the heat or cold, or perhaps, even the attention of enthusiastic police officers.

One of the number of casual workers who regularly attended the office was one generally known as “Little Gerry”.

“Little Gerry” was a man of short stature, but a big personality. Gerry’s problem was that he was an alcoholic. Gerry would be waiting for the office to open every morning, when he was destitute and sober. If Gerry was sober, he was destitute. If Gerry had money we didn’t see him.

The CES staff knew little of Gerry’s history. We knew that he was originally Polish and that during the war he had been a prisoner in a concentration camp. Gerry did not want to talk about those days, and anything which brought back memories of them seemed to inspire a look of terror in his eyes. Little Gerry was an alcoholic, but he was a gentle man, intelligent, well read, and with a quick sense of humour. He had his own rule; he would not work on premises where there were any alcoholic drinks, as he was aware he could not resist the temptation. He was also aware that if he was sent to casual work he would not be paid until the job was completed, no matter how much he pleaded, as the employer was always put on notice that if Gerry were paid the employer wouldn’t see him again. That did not stop Gerry pleading for his money, but, generally, the system worked and we hoped that something good came from his wages apart from alcohol. At the end of the job, the employer was always happy to pay him and, frequently, the employers would ask for him when something else came along where assistance was required.

Liitle Gerry was a staff favourite. Consequently, Gerry was sent to a lot of casual work, always knowing that he would not be paid until the job was completed. All the reports from employers were favourable and he could have had many permanent jobs if he could have forsaken alcoholic drink. Gerry always seemed content with his lot. I suppose that, after his experiences, anything he was likely to encounter in his life seemed good. We all did what we could for Gerry, but that was what we were there for, after all. There was probably a lot more we could have done. But, Gerry just accepted his lot in life.

Gerry had a friend, Steve, whom he would engage in conversation while they waited. They had a lot in common as both were Polish and had known each other in those terrible camps. Gerry’s friend, however, did not drink alcohol.

I decided that there was nothing to stop Steve being in gainful employment and improving his lot in life, so I contacted an employer who operated a small, but prosperous engineering business, making small items of use on rural properties. The employer knew his way around such things as his family was well known as the owner of rural farming and grazing properties. He was an ex-serviceman who had fought in World War 2, and had “a good heart”. He agreed to give Steve a chance, so Steve started work the following day. He appeared happy as the employment was within walking distance of where he was getting accommodation, a room with a shared bathroom.

A couple of days later, I received a call from the employer to let me know how Steve was going. He told me that if there were any other unemployed like Steve, I could send them to him. All appeared well.

One day Steve appeared, unannounced, at my desk. He told me that he couldn’t go back to work because “They hurt me with the cattle prods all the time to make me work faster.” It was no wonder Steve was such a good worker, as, in his mind, he was back in the camp where he had been prisoner. I managed to persuade him to give the job another go and tried to convince him that his mind was playing tricks. He agreed to go back to work, but, when he left me, I could see he was not convinced. I called the employer who said that Steve was welcome back and that the employer would talk to the others in his small workforce to ensure that Steve had company and was welcomed into the circle at lunchtime and other breaks. Things went well for a few weeks.

Then I had a call from the employer. He said he was sending Steve in to see me, with a bit of extra cash in his pocket, but he couldn’t be kept on. The employer said that if Steve remained everyone else would leave, or go crazy. Steve would be working on a job, apparently quite happy, then would start screaming and run screaming through the factory, and scale the rear fence, not to be seen again that day. This was despite the fact that there were open doors and gates available. The behaviour appeared to be becoming more frequent and the other workers were on edge, waiting for Steve to be overcome by his camp experiences. The employer made the comment that “When he’s normal he’s a delightful bloke, but we never know when his erratic behaviour is going to occur. He has to go, or I’ll lose the others.” Steve came in to see me, again convinced of the cattle prods, and I arranged for him to be assessed for a disability pension, which was subsequently granted. It was not a good result, but I could see nothing else. I hope the rest of Steve’s life was a little happier. I lost track of him then.

I now understood why Gerry was an alcoholic.

Then came that Christmas. Gerry and the other homeless men were looking forward to their Christmas dinner at a local centre for the destitute. They also knew that they would have a little more money in their pockets as they would receive two benefit cheques, the second being an advance payment. Gerry was in this situation only because he couldn’t find a policeman who was prepared to arrest him. His normal technique was to find a cooperative police officer to insult and perhaps even push a little, whereupon he would be arrested and find himself in custody, on remand, until after Christmas when he would be released. He said he was always given the same little job to do, sweeping, but he did not have to worry about meals and a roof over his head. He said the gaol food on Christmas Day was something to which to look forward. But, this year, the police had simply told him to go away! They were probably trying to be kind.

It was hot! Even the office air-conditioning was having difficulty coping with the temperature in excess of 40c. It was quiet. In the few days leading up to Christmas employers were not interviewing new staff, and, for the casuals, there was no casual work. A city block away from the CES office was Hindley Street, and in Hindley Street was “The Flash Gelati Bar”. This was the gelati emporium of Adelaide, renowned, in its day, for its gelati and its coffee.

It was from “The Flash Gelati Bar” that little Gerry purchased his gelati cones and carried them back to the CES. The first I knew of this was when I looked up to see who was standing by my desk and saw little Gerry clutching handfuls of melting gelati cones. He had bypassed the reception counter and arrived unannounced. “These are for my friends in the CES”, said Gerry. He knew his “friends’ ” names and announced for whom the cones were provided. A group of us, with Gerry, then proceeded to the staff lunchroom where we sat down and enjoyed our treat with Gerry. It was during that break that I realized that, on this occasion, we were sitting around Gerry’s table. We were his guests. Suddenly Gerry did not appear so little, and I felt humbled. Gerry was sitting up straight and was happy to be with his friends.

I shall never forget that day. It seems like yesterday. A poor, lonely, homeless man, one who most people avoided, reached into his meagre funds in an attempt to say “Thanks” for what he saw as friendship. Little Gerry was a homeless, poor, hungry alcoholic, but, in my eyes, he will always be a great man. It’s a pity that all of us don’t get the opportunity to sit around Gerry’s table.

© John Murphy 2013