It was joan bruce or Anne Haddy who informed me Harry M. Miller had advertised for a trainee, and they thought I should apply. The advertisement was specific: males under 23. There were several hundred applicants, all of whom were put through a rigorous interview process: first with Freddie Gibson, then with Harry M. By some miracle, I was successful. I was employed as a production assistant/general factotum/dog’s body. The company was at its creative zenith and Harry M. was leading the way, showing other producers how it ought to be done.
The three-years—1969, ’70, and ’71, which I passed working for Harry M. Miller Attractions, were the most pivotal in the company’s development. It was an exhilarating chapter in my life, and ground-breaking for the Australian theatre, and its practitioners.
HMM was the most charismatic of men. I recall hanging-off his every word—even when he was ranting. I was fascinated his nails were manicured and coated with clear varnish. He was, always, impeccably turned-out. His suits came from Peter Jackson in lieu of program contra; imported fashions from John Lane in Double Bay. Mr. Lane was what might be described as, ‘a terribly grand old queen’. Richard Hunt, George Street, was the gentlemen’s outfitter of distinction. His shoes were Italian slip-on. Ties were silk. Shirts with French cuffs were made to order. He was one of the first to wear a pink shirt, and always had a contrasting handkerchief in the breast pocket of his jacket, or the obligatory double-breasted, navy-blue, double-vented, brass-buttoned blazer. He wore a signet ring on his right pinkie finger. I wanted, but never dared, to tell him, traditionally, the crest should be worn faced inward to protect the design from being stolen. The ring was engraved with a phoenix rising from the ashes. The same symbol was embossed on his letterhead. The print on his cards was raised.
During the 1970s, HMM lived a social life. He was enjoying the fruits of his success. He was involved with those arts organisations which he believed brought him the kudos he craved, and relished. He was not unhappy with the shape and form of his public image. He lent his considerable talent and energy as Commercial and Promotion consultant to the Australian Opera; Member of the NSW Art Gallery Foundation Appeal Committee; member of the federal council of the Metropolitan Opera Auditions; and councillor of the Friends of the Australia Opera. His advice and approval were sought, keenly. His opinions were given and quoted with alacrity.
While he did not invest his own money in any of his shows, his hefty management fees for HAIR (it returned 275% on investment), Jesus Christ Superstar, The Secretary Bird, The Boys in the Band, and commissions from his management stable of clients, provided a more-than-steady cash flow. When asked the difference between an agent and a manager, he replied: ‘15%.’ (An agent charged 10%; HMM took 25%.) Mr. Miller acquired a taste for the finer things in life. His horses were agisted in Centennial Park, Sydney. He rode regularly, and played polo. He went through a Vespa scooter stage—whizzing around the streets of Sydney without a helmet. The garage housed a Rolls. He employed a driver/houseman, and God help you if happened to upset Kitty, his long-suffering, discreet housekeeper who managed his life in Rosemont Avenue, Woollahra! There was no shortage of affaires de coeur, and cast members were not, by definition, necessarily off-limits.
HMM
His self-edit button was not always as honed as it might have been. HMM was witty—sometimes embarrassingly gauche, and fast-talking. He laughed at his own jokes. He manipulated journalists to his advantage—effortlessly, and like no-one since. He favoured Brian Hoad from The Bulletin magazine, and Sheila Scotter, editor of Vogue. Privately, he mocked those who pursued him, wanting to write ‘the in-depth story about the real Harry M.’. They followed him around for days, only to regurgitate the same story—the one he expertly dictated. He was a past-master at guarding his image—same character, different hat! His persona was a figment of his own imagination. What they failed to realise, all of them, was he played them like a salmon. He told them what they wanted to hear, and divulged only what he wanted them to print. He had a capacity to make people feel special in his life, and he led interviewers to believe he was sharing a special confidence. Neither were true. He was a smart, opportunistic soldier-of-fortune, who was not oblivious to his personal charm; a brilliant entrepreneur who tapped the public psyche. He listened and ‘borrowed’ good ideas—never to source them.
His personal peccadilloes notwithstanding, my profound awe for him never abated. To the end-of-his-life I addressed him as Mr. Miller. He never invited me to call him Harry, which I suspect was deliberate and his form of relationship control. For six-months I worked from a desk in the corner of his office; consequently, I was privy to the detail of all his conversations—personal and private. Never once did ask me to leave the room. Still, I know things about him which have never been made public, not even by HMM in his biography. I suspect most of those who may have known are dead; the remaining few are silent. I saw every document which crossed his desk. He was exacting, and on occasions I was subjected to the sharp-edge of his tongue. Instinct tells me it had something to do with my manner-of-speech. Several times, in a fit of excessive pique, he accused me of being ‘la-de-dah’. What he construed as indifference to his tirade only served to exacerbate his anger. I was 22, and innocent; he was 35, and sophisticated. I do not believe he ever considered the power imbalance in the relationship. In truth, I was shattered to my core by his sometimes ugly, abusive behaviour.
Jennifer West
Freddie Gibson
At the end of three-years I was fired, summarily. I disobeyed his unambiguous command. I arranged for Jennifer West, a friend and colleague based in Perth, to be brought to Sydney—at the company’s expense, to audition for The Secretary Bird. Back in Perth, she did a newspaper interview and was uncomplimentary about the project. She was quoted: ‘I’m not sure it’s the sort of play I want to do.’ Unbeknownst to her, that was not a remote possibility. HMM was unimpressed: ‘She’s beautiful, but she’s a bloody amazon! She’s taller than Patrick!’ On reading the press cutting he was livid, and held me responsible. I was ordered not contact her. I did, and despite my strident, unequivocal directive to the contrary, Jennifer wrote to HMM. Caught-out, she ham-fistedly attempted to justify the foolishness. She pleaded it was another of those ‘misquotes’ for which the press is so famous! He was in a rage—with her, and me. Contemptuously, he threw her letter into his wastepaper basket. I knew from his reaction, Jennifer West had cooked my goose! It was only a matter of time.
Freddie Gibson, unmistakably inebriated, telephoned late in the evening. He delivered me the most abusive, accusatory, expletive-laden tirade which ended my tenure with HMM. I was told not to return to the office, under any circumstances. I never saw, or spoke with, Freddie Gibson again. When I learned he was dying, I telephoned his home. His wife, Jan, explained he was incapable of talking with me, but he did smile when she mentioned my name. Whenever I think of Freddie Gibson, and these days it is quite often, I remember him only as he was in the office; kind and amusing, and wearing a silk bow-tie. He was very supportive. I have forgotten about the abusive phone call. That was another life, in another land! Besides, they are all dead …
*Frederick John (Freddie) Gibson 1934–2013.
Possibly out of guilt, HMM helped orchestrate for me to join the Melbourne Theatre Company under the artistic direction of John Sumner. The whole disagreeable saga proved a blessing in disguise. HMM was never told, but Margaret Enchelmaier (his private secretary) used the company account to pay for my return airfare to Melbourne for the interview with John Sumner. She disagreed with HMM’s decision, and his treatment of me. Margaret assured me the Melbourne Theatre Company was the best thing I could do for my career: ‘It’s time for you to go but remember what he’s taught you, and use it.’ I did, and I did. It stood me in good stead. I was so well trained, when I was living in London, Margaret Sumner, the scientist wife of John, told me on one of my visits to stay with them in Stonesfield, outside of Oxford: ‘You should know, John thinks, of all his stage managers over the years, you were the best.’ I am not sure I took it seriously, but it did cause me to reflect on Mr. Miller’s utter training of me.
Ironically, our association did not end. Whenever HMM needed something done in Melbourne he telephoned. It was as if he considered me an eternal employee. My dismissal was never mentioned, ever. Curiously, his actions ran contrary to what he had espoused. He talked of me and a succession plan. I recall him telling the journalist. Brian Hoad: ‘I have found someone to take over the business, and I’m in the process of training him.’ I was the only one whom he subjected to the thorough training.
Margaret Enchelmaier & Graham Allan
Patti Mostyn
For those working with, and for, HMM, and we were a small team, he demanded perfection. While he never hesitated to express dissatisfaction, often it was couched in terms which left you with a feeling of personal failure; equally, for all his public bonhomie, he was a man of sometimes immoderate temperament. He was given to shouting; to displays of bad-temper, and ranting. Often times, Freddie Gibson or Margaret Enchelmaier had to act as a pacifier. To be emphatic, it was part of his entrepreneurial genius, but he could be as savage as he was kind and generous.
Led by HMM, the team at 647 George Street, Haymarket, Sydney, comprised Frederick (Freddie ) J. Gibson—joint Managing Director and principal executive director; Margaret Enchelmaier—HMM’s private secretary; Christine Dobinson—Freddie’s secretary: Babette Smith—production assistant; secretary Jenny Wise; Sandra Patterson—publicist, later Judith Rich, then Patti Mostyn and Jackie Drews; John Finlay—advertising manager; Neil Bartley and Simon Dickie—trainee advertising/publicity assistants; company treasurer Margaret Nestor—a most churlish, unprepossessing woman with obviously died red hair, who took an instant dislike and made my working days in the accounts department a total misery. She did, on several occasions, reduce me to tears. She was so stridently vicious, had it not been for the comforting support of party-booking organiser Mrs. Bettie Hallett I would have resigned; comptroller Richard Harper, subsequently, Edward Wagemans and assistant Lionel Leo; HAIR company manager Peter Mackennal. Mrs. Hallett and her off-sider, Marie Bartley, were crammed into a space the size of a cupboard at the back of the building! They spent their days working the telephones, contacting workplace social clubs organising group bookings. Of that Sydney pack, and excluding external creatives, I’m guessing only Jackie Drews, Jenny Wise, Simon Dickie and Patti Mostyn survive to recall the halcyon days of that first decade of the organisation, when the force and magnetism of the Harry M. Miller juggernaut single-handedly changed the face of Australian Theatre.
647 George Street, Haymarket
Camille Spector & Simon Dickie
The building and offices at 647 George Street were not grand. The 2nd floor reception and executive area were smart; however, passing through the door to the back, things were less impressive—two large offices, and a lot of second-hand desks and glass-and-timber partitions from the previous occupant. The 3rd floor accounts department was equally utilitarian. The working areas were surprisingly silent, and very industrious. There was not a lot of chatter. HMM told all his clients: ‘I won’t give you 100% of my time, but I will give you 100% of my effort.’ He expected the same of his employees. Lunch was eaten at your desk, and for the most-part, in silence. He insisted your desk must be cleared, and all phone calls returned, before you left at the end-of-the-day. It was not beyond him to check after you had left the building. Woe betide if he found one of those ubiquitous, yellow telephone message slips!
The kitchen fridge was packed with the most delicious continental goodies from the famous Haymarket delicatessen, owned and operated by an Austrian or Swiss German. The treats were for HMM, only. You touched anything on pain-of-death. Occasionally, I took the risk. Nothing was said.
Sue Becker
Metro Theatre, Sydney
HMM managed Graham Kennedy; ABC television fitness guru, Sue Becker; television director, Ron Way; actors Carmen Duncan and Stuart Wagstaff; television chef, Graeme Kerr; and for a time, television host, Tony Barber.
Curiously, the arrangement with both Kennedy and Becker ended acrimoniously, and involved money. Becker sued him, retrospectively, for a refund of commission. It ended-up in court and was settled in her favour. Sue Becker was a difficult client, and was the reason HMM handed her to me. He did not have the time to massage, endlessly, her over-inflated ego. She had an enormous fan base. Every week she made two—or three-personal appearances—intra—and interstate, for a sizeable fee. She was extremely vexing, and complained constantly about the calibre of the people and standard of the event. She attended Roedean which is widely regarded as the Eton College of all-girls boarding schools in the United Kingdom. She demanded constant attention and believed her own publicity. She argued her ten-minute ABC television show—Swing in Time with Sue Becker—should be a half-hour program. The ABC management was approached, and they rejected the idea—unambiguously. Eventually, they cancelled her show—partly as a consequence of her imperiousness. She moved to Tasmania and there was no further contact.
*Sue Becker died 2007 aged 79.
Graham Kennedy
In 1970-71, Graham Kennedy did a Bowater Scott paper towel television commercial for $100,000. His two-year fee was touted as the highest, ever, for a 30-second television spot. In 1989 Graham sacked Harry M. when it was discovered he was being paid a secret commission. HMM sued Kennedy for a 20-percent commission on earnings for the preceding year. The matter went to court. He lost and was ordered to pay Kennedy $75,699. Paradoxically, it seemed the court did not understand the role of the agent/manager. Graham Kennedy was demanding. It needed Margaret Enchelmaier, HMM, and me to keep him totally satisfied.
Graham always travelled by train between Sydney and Melbourne. Our first meeting was at Central Station. I was clutching a publicity photograph to recognise him. He stayed in HMM’s mansion flat in Woollahra. I was at his disposal for lunches at all the right restaurants, and dinners at Rosemont Avenue cooked by Kitty, the housekeeper. It was exhausting. At the famed Beppi’s, Graham encountered the actor Ronnie Frazer lunching with three other middle-aged, confirmed bachelors. I was 23. I was not introduced, and I spoke not a word to them. From the ogling and exchange of banter, it was obvious what they concluded of me and my relationship with Graham Kennedy! Paradoxically, nothing could have been more innocent.
Sadly, in the end HMM and Graham were irrevocably estranged. I would posit HMM was responsible for Graham’s national success.
*Graham Kennedy died 2005 aged 71.
Stuart Wagstaff
Tony Barber
Stuart Wagstaff was the least troublesome. He was the Benson & Hedges man for which he was extremely well paid. The television campaign was so successful, the company continued paying long after the contract had ended. Stuart appeared in 116 commercials over 20-years. They believed he was so inextricably associated with their product he deserved the financial consideration.
HMM was fond of Stuart, who conceded he was a jobbing actor who got lucky in Australia. He was grateful for what HMM created for him. It was a fulsome and satisfying career, and well deserved.
*Stuart Wagstaff died March 2015 aged 90.
Gloria Dawn photographed by Harry Jay
Joachim Tenschert
Tony Barber was a former advertising executive. He cast himself as the whistler in the Cambridge cigarette commercial. The whistling was done by the actress, Gloria Dawn, with whom I did the Berliner Ensemble production of Mother Courage for the Melbourne Theatre Company, playing at the Princess Theatre. In hindsight the production should have toured. The director, Joachim Tenschert, had worked on the original production with Bertolt Brecht and his wife, actress Helene Weigel. Gloria was dazzling in the role. According to Joachim, she was the best—ever—after Helene Weigel.
The music was composed by Paul Dessau. The MTC production was an exact replica of the 1949 production, which led to the establishment of the Berliner Ensemble Theatre Company in East Berlin. The rigidity of the production was alien. Wendy Hughes, who played the mute daughter, Kattrin, found the role difficult, and the direction exasperating. When told to take five steps, and not six, Wendy reacted. It was not her finest moment. I recall dragging her aside and engaging in a very vigorous conversation about her behaviour towards Joachim. Feisty at the best of times, and we were great friends, I silenced her into submission. She acquiesced. We never mentioned it again.
Gloria Dawn approached me in her quiet, understated way and said, pointing to the word ‘shit’ in the script: ‘I’m sorry, love, but I don’t work blue. I don’t want to be any trouble for you, I’m happy if you want to get someone else to play the part.’ I reassured her and spoke with John Sumner, who said: ‘Rock, tell her to cut-it. It doesn’t matter.’ I did, and she was happy. Every night, when Frederick Parslow, as the cook, used the word ‘fuck’, she turned upstage, with her back to the audience. Gloria was a woman of faith.
Gloria Dawn & Wendy Hughes in Mother Courage
Working with Gloria Dawn was a rare treat. One night she exited the stage into the prompt corner, having done a huge emotional scene, and said to me: ‘Could you tell Mr. Ziegfeld, I can’t keep coming here every night to do this audition. He has to make-up his mind. If he wants a brunette, I’m not his girl!’ We both laughed like drains and she went-off to her dressing room. One never would have guessed her terminal cancer was lurking. What a loss …
Long before it came into vogue, HMM was a proponent of natural, carbonated mineral water. He discovered Hepburn Springs and launched the water onto the market. Weeks were spent preparing the artwork and settling on a very stylish label and logo. The Bulletin magazine was shanghaied into supporting him, and Brian Hoad had first bite of the cherry.
I was told to set-up a photoshoot with HMM and the stall holders from the Haymarket fruit and vegetable market. (It was soon before the venue closed down and became Paddy’s market.) They were delighted to be involved, and they each went home with a box of mineral water.
The official launch was a luncheon in a seedy restaurant in Kensington, or Zetland, and was a strictly male event. A large circular Perspex pool—about 6-feet deep, and filled with mineral water, was set-up in the centre of room, surrounded by tables of leering journos. We did not mention it was not mineral water—that was impossible. It was tap-water treated with carbon dioxide (CO₂). No-one mentioned carbon dioxide bubbling through water reduces the temperature.
HMM advertising Hepburn Springs Mineral Water
Peter Mackennal
A stripper had been hired—she was paid $250, to swim naked in the pool. The water was so cold, the hapless girl was turning blue and could only swim around for a couple of minutes. She was required to repeat the routine a number of times, while the inebriated men tried desperately to catch a glimpse of you-know-what as she frog-kicked in the icy water. HMM took to the microphone and was at his most vulgar. The journalists were captivated! The whole tawdry event was deemed a roaring success, and Hepburn Springs mineral water was well-and-truly launched.
HMM was an early riser, and weekly 8 a.m. production meetings in his office were compulsory—even for the creatives working on various productions. He berated those who were late, and no excuse was acceptable. It was reckless to argue, and his anger mounted if you did not have an acceptable answer to his many questions. HAIR stage director, Sandra McKenzie, who was mostly at the Metro Theatre for eight performances a week, complained bitterly to him about meeting at such an ungodly hour. He valued her, and she was never chastised.
One end of HMM’s spacious office was a sitting area comprising four large sofas surrounding a large Perspex coffee table. For reasons unknown, HMM had a metre-long, metal ruler. On this particular morning, he and HAIR company manager, Peter Mackennal, clashed over a management protocol for the show. It was obvious neither was prepared to capitulate. Instead of agreeing and ignoring—which was what we did for the most part, Peter persisted, belligerently. The outburst happened in an instant. HMM seized the metal ruler, raised it above his head, and with his full force, smashed it into the top of the table, shouting: ‘You’re fucking-well fired.’ It was a challenging moment. Peter was reduced to tears. We were told to: ‘Get out, all of you!’ HMM did not rescind and Peter’s tenure was terminated, immediately. He was gone within the hour. He and I had been friends, and to my profound regret I never saw him again. Peter’s life was not without complication.
*Peter Mackennal died in Noosa, 2019, aged 77, having enjoyed a successful career as an artist.
To be continued
Note on images
All images courtesy of the author with the exception of the program covers which come from the THA archive.
