Background: I began Can of Worms (1986) with this: It has been said that Sydney is the most corrupt town in the western world, except of course for Newark, New Jersey, and Brisbane, Queensland. I didn’t know the half of it. Alan Saffron, son of Abraham Saffron (1919-2006), said in 2008 that in the 60s his father paid Premier Sir Robin Askin and Police Commissioner Norm Allan $5000-$10,000 a week to protect his brothels and illegal casinos, and that he loan-sharked Kerry Packer, Sir Peter Abeles and Sir Paul Strasser, who were also corrupt, when they were short of the readies, from gambling in Packer’s case. Alan Saffron said Abe controlled prostitution in every state except Tasmania. Saffron was still untouched well into the period of Premier Neville Wran (1976-86). Finally, the chief investigator for the National Crime Authority, Carl Mengler, arrested Saffron and charged him with tax evasion. He got the maximum, three years, and served 17 months.
Technical note. In a sketch, a reporter tries to be the eyes, ears etc for readers who cannot be there. That is, to give them a sense of what was going on, and a sense of what it really meant, if anything.
AMAZING SCENES! Barely recovered from the awe-inspiring sight of E. Gough Whitlam zapping round Australia like a colossus on roller skates, we now learn that Snapper Cornwall has been lumbered in London; that Melbourne police, in a semi-dawn raid, have invaded the sanctity of Abraham Gilbert Saffron’s Vaucluse home on a tax matter; and that rumours are flying that the National Crime Authority will today put the arm on another figure known to fame …
Thursday, 14 November, 1985, is a warm (expected top: 26 degrees) summer’s day with a nice southerly blowing up Elizabeth Street. At 11.45 am, outside the St James Centre, next door to David Jones, we’re marvelling at the complexity of the organisation of the television news people.
A newspaper reporter trundles out with a notebook and a pen (or, legendarily if the worst comes to the worst, with a matchbox and burnt match); the television people come equipped with walkie-talkies, along with all their other paraphernalia.
One such is chattering now: “Just leaving Redfern; blue Falcon; Queensland plates; number …” This means that the Melbourne cops attached to the NCA have left the TNT building, where their celebrated customer was interrogated, and are taking him uptown to the St James Local Court. The paparazzi tense for the historic shot of a man who, it is stated later in court, has a criminal record consisting of no more than one £5 fine, and one £20 fine, now under appeal.
At 11.50am the blue Falcon pulls up; the television and still cameramen, as magnificently aggressive as any in the world, swoop on the vehicle; only the fact that the windows are rolled up prevents them from thrusting their machines inside.
Saffron is a surprise. He is a small man, perhaps 5 ft 6 in, slightly stooped, but with an enormous chest under the immaculately cut dark grey threads that Detective Sergeant Bernard Francis Hansell, the heavily moustached NCA cop who sprang him out in Hopetoun Avenue at 7.15 am, has permitted him to climb into before hauling him out to Redfern for interrogation.
Now 66, Saffron looks much younger. He has dark brown eyes, an olive complexion, and his face is not lined. His black, slightly wavy, hair has only a few streaks of grey. In the lift on the way up to the St James Local Court on the second floor, he studied the whole effect in the mirror, and decided to button his coat.
The Saffron proceedings were notable for a rollicking performance from his counsel, Mr Laurie Gruzman QC, who played, and won, a famous chess game against the NSW Government in the Bounty matter a few years back.
Mr Gruzman, a balding, rotund, shoulder-flicking figure in a crumpled grey suit, was at pains to decry “the so-called National Crime Authority”, which had had the gall, via Mr Reginald Marr, QC, to ask that his client be held in custody until his case came up in March next year.
Mr Marr, who appeared in a black coat and, if we’re not mistaken, a pair of spongebag trousers, i.e. black with a grey stripe, asserted that the thirteen charges involved under-declared income amounting to $5 rnillion; that the prosecution would divulge corruption of NSW police on a massive scale; that sources said the accused had the will and the capacity to intimidate witnesses; that Saffron had “white books” for declared income, and “black books” of his real income; and that he had sent large sums illegally out of Australia.
Mr Gruzman said it was all “a load of rubbish”; that the NCA’s alleged information came from a James McCartney Anderson, who had been sacked by Saffron, and had thereafter carried on a vendetta against him. He said that Saffron had lived with his wife for thirty years at the same address.
In a droll passage, Mr Gruzman said it appeared that one of the Crown’s assertions was that Saffron had “skimmed off” money to pay police. It was unclear, he said, whether or not it was suggested that “money paid to police in the ordinary course of business should be tax-deductible”.
Saffron remained mostly impassive throughout, the only sign of tension being an occasional fingering of his lip, but he leaned forward momentarily when Mr Webb came to give his decision on bail, or otherwise.
In the end, at 4 pm, Mr Webb allowed bail of half a million, on fairly stringent conditions. Saffron, still in custody, set about making the arrangements. Mr Gruzman had noted that Saffron had been under investigation for four years. Some may thus judge this, to have been one of the most remarkable days in the history of the administration of justice in this State.
Sydney Morning Herald 15 November 1985. Reprinted in Amazing Scenes: Adventures of a Reptile of the Press. (Fairfax Library 1987).
