This is my life – a prolonged synopsis. Perhaps it may explain the reasons I eventually dabbled in drugs and strayed on my path in life. The reasons are no excuses as there are no excuses. I am ashamed of some of the actions I have taken in my life and of the people I have hurt along the way. I cannot change what has happened. All I can do is what is in my control today. Today I am not the person I was yesterday. Each day is a gift and a new beginning, a day to grow and learn, to be positive and to be kind to people. That is who I am today. The mistakes in my past have moulded the person I am now. Humble, respectful and kind to others. I still have my bad days, but I am able to refocus quickly and stay on the right path in life. Each day is a challenge, not just for me but for all of us.
As I’ve mentioned, my parents are German. My father was born at the beginning of World War 2 and grew up in post-war Germany. He knew from a young age that he wanted and needed to get out of Germany. He left school
at fourteen and began full-time work. He paid for his own education, working during the day and attending night school each night, eventually obtaining his chemical engineering degree. He gained employment with Hoechst, and was offered a position with the company in France – he took the offer immediately and remained there for four years.
I was born in Paris on 30 November 1965, and I was two years old when we came to Australia. The only memory I have of Paris is being on the Eiffel Tower and looking down at all the cars, thinking how tiny they seemed. It is only a small flash of memory yet still vivid. I have a brief recollection of the plane flight to Australia. We first settled in Nunawading, a suburb east of Melbourne. I was unable to speak a word of English.
Later I recall going to kindergarten – just following the other kids around and mimicking them. We made friends with our neighbours who had children the same age as Tom and me. I became best friends with their daughter, Jill, and we are still friends to this very day. She is the sister I always wanted but never had. I have fond memories of Nunawading and occasionally drive past the house to reminisce.
I learned English quickly and attended Nunawading Primary School – around the corner from home. I was bullied by the older children due to my heritage and name. Each day I had to hand over my play-lunch to the older kids or suffer a beating. I was picked on because Mum would dress me in stockings for school. The kids laughed and teased me. Apparently, stockings were the norm in Germany, but not here in Australia. Poor Mum didn’t know that.
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In 1972 we moved to Briar Hill, near Greensborough, and I went to a new primary school – St Francis Xavier. The bullying continued. It was constant, relentless and I was often beaten up in the playground. There were other kids in the neighbourhood who also bullied and beat me up in the street. During my paper-round deliveries there was a group of kids who would come out and taunt me, chase me down the road and yell out ‘wog’. There were so many times that I cried and wondered why. Yet I kept it to myself. I never told Mum or Dad. I never told a soul. I was good at school – very bright – and sport. As far as Mum and Dad were concerned, I was doing alright.
Then one day in Grade 5 everything changed. We had a sports day at school and every pupil was going on a cross- country run. We were sent off in groups at different stages. I found myself in the final group. The first group had a sizable lead but I managed to chase everyone down and win the race and was awarded a gold medal – my first ever trophy. I remember being so proud and it was then that I decided I was not going to be bullied anymore. I went home and filled a hessian bag with soil from the garden and hung it from a tree in our backyard. I used it as a punching bag and practised every night. I began training and going on long jogs, doing push-ups and sit-ups. Time to stand up for myself.
I decided that the next time I was taunted by someone, then I was going to fight. It was at school and one of the Grade 6 kids challenged me. Before long I had this kid in a headlock on the ground. I remember him saying to me, ‘You’re hurting me.’
‘It’s meant to hurt,’ I replied.
I eventually let him go and everything changed from that moment on. I became one of the most popular kids at school and was never bullied again by other kids. I actually became very good friends with the boy I fought with that day – we went on to play many years of football together at the Montmorency Football Club. I was even his captain in the side.
At this time I began to test authority. My first encounter with the law came when I was in Grade 6 and eleven years old. I knew our family wasn’t rich – I didn’t have many toys or possessions and we still had an old black and white television. There was a Coca-Cola truck parked down the road from us, and it was always full of empty bottles. We used to get 5 cents refund for each bottle we returned to the milk bar. My mind began adding up the dollars I could get if I stole bottles from the truck.
I set my alarm for 3 a.m. and placed the alarm clock under my pillow so it wouldn’t wake up Mum or Dad. Once awoken, I climbed out my bedroom window and made my way down the street with an empty bag, filling it with bottles and returning home to stash them under the house, ready to cash-in. I did this several times until I was caught red- handed by the police who just happened to be driving past while I was in the middle of my heist. I was subsequently hauled home to face Mum and Dad and severely berated. I was too young to be charged with any offence and it took a long time to regain any trust from my parents. I’m not sure I ever fully did. I was made to return the bottles and apologise to the owner of the truck.
Around this time I also took up athletics, joining the local Little Athletics club. I knew I was a good runner. Over the years I would come to hold many records in the Diamond Valley League. I held the record for the high jump, the 400 metres, 800 metres and 1500 metres. I still hold the record for the 800 metres from back in 1979 and I am extremely proud of that.
The flaunting of authority continued into high school. I was in Year 8 when I took pornography magazines to school – it didn’t take long for word to spread and the establishment to find out. Our headmaster was a fearsome figure. I was waiting for my punishment when he walked into the classroom, looked me in the eye with his steely glare, told me to pack my desk and wait for him outside his office. Fuck, I’m getting expelled.
I stood outside his office the entire day. He must have walked past me a dozen times without ever saying a word or acknowledging me. At the end of the day, he finally approached me and said, ‘I haven’t had time to speak to you today. Be back here again tomorrow with your bag packed and wait for me.’
I can’t even explain the panic I felt going home that afternoon, wondering if the headmaster had spoken to my parents and what their reaction would be. When it became clear that they didn’t know, I wasn’t relieved. In fact my anxiety grew overnight until I thought I would burst with it.
The next day mirrored the first – I stood outside the headmaster’s office, bag packed, waiting all day for my ultimate fate. The agony dragged on, hour after hour. He
finally faced me at the end of the second day and he was straight to the point.
‘I think you’ve been punished enough,’ he said matter-of- factly. ‘Go home and get back to class tomorrow.’
I let out a huge sigh of relief – I wasn’t being expelled after all. I’ve been shitting myself for two days! He didn’t need to say anything else. I learned my lesson. It was the best punishment I ever received – smart and well thought out. He knew how I would be feeling, and he kept me in fear for two entire days, without having to say a single word.
Never again, Chris! I told myself.
I was good at football and this became my passion. I started going to the gym – morning and night. All I wanted to do was play for Collingwood in the Victorian Football League (now the Australian Football League). I thought I might be good enough. I had won the best and fairest for my football side each year I played, except for 1979, when I came second.
I also loved my athletics and cross-country. I started high school in 1978, and each year we had interschool championships at Olympic Park, and every year I would win the 800-metre race and the high jump. I was also the interschool cross-country champion. Then something happened that changed me.
I got along famously with one of my teachers; I thought he was great. One day after I’d been doing some training at school he came up to me and said, ‘I think you need a massage.’ I was in Year 10 at the time and fifteen years old. Still a kid. I didn’t think there was anything untoward about his comment and agreed to the massage.
He took me to the first-aid room, a small office in one of the many wide hallways in the school. It contained a massage table and the obligatory first-aid equipment. He told me to get undressed and hop on the table. I stripped to my underwear and got onto the table facedown. He began massaging me and eventually worked his way down to my legs and began rubbing and massaged high up between my legs near my crotch. That was when he told me he was going to remove my underwear. I didn’t like the idea but I didn’t say anything. I didn’t know what to say. He removed my underwear – I was now naked on the table. He told me to turn over onto my back, which I did, and he kept massaging my legs and rubbing up against my crotch.
I remember closing my eyes. Don’t get an erection, don’t get an erection. I knew I wasn’t gay because I loved girls. But I was a fifteen-year-old boy and here was this person rubbing up against my genitals. The inevitable happened. I was embarrassed and didn’t know what to do. He grabbed my penis and pushed it to one side while continuing to hold it in his hand.
‘I’ll just move that to one side,’ he said to me with a smirk on his face.
I didn’t answer. I knew what was happening was wrong but I didn’t know how to react. I just hoped it would be over soon and I could get out of the room. He stroked me while he continued his massage. I closed my eyes and tried to think of something else to take my mind off what he was doing. He must have sensed my angst because before long he stopped and told me to get dressed. I did so and left without
another word. I never told anyone about what happened.
Who would believe me anyway?
The incident caused me to suffer depression and anxiety later in life. Strangely, it only really affected me as I got older. I only ever told people of the sexual assault when I was in my forties, and even then it was only a select few. I never mentioned this man’s name.
From then on I concentrated on my football. In 1982 I was invited to train with Collingwood Under 19s. I had been the captain of the Victorian representative team and we had recently played against Queensland. The talent scouts had been watching and had also been watching me play for my school’s old boys’ team. They had seen enough to invite me to do a pre-season. I was starstruck from the moment I walked into Victoria Park. Peter Moore was the first person I saw: he was my hero. Tom Hafey was in the gym doing dips on the parallel bars. They both said hello. I just nodded and mumbled a hello in reply.
I was the fittest person there: I ran rings around the other guys, no one could keep up with me and I was flying. The only problem I had was that I didn’t get along with the coach, Keith Burns, and I’m not sure why. Maybe he saw something in me that made him treat me somewhat harsher. Maybe he was testing me. In hindsight, I just thought it was going to happen for me. I was going to play for the Collingwood Football Club. It was my destiny. Maybe that’s what he saw in me and that’s why he was harder on me.
I cracked a rib prior to the first pre-season practice matches. I told Keith of my injury and his answer was, ‘Some players can play with pain, others can’t.’ I had my
ribs strapped and played, but the pain was excruciating and I was unable to play out a match. Keith told me to go back to Montmorency and return the following year for another pre-season try-out. I knew he was right. I couldn’t prove myself with a cracked rib so I did as I was told and went back for the 1983 pre-season.
I trained day and night. I would be up at 5 a.m., jog to the gym and do a three-hour workout before heading to school. On the way home from school, I would stop at the gym again for another three-hour workout. I went on 20-kilometre runs and to the local park to do sprints and ball work. I was super fit – ready to tackle the pre-season. It was the fittest I had ever been and I thought I was doing quite well in the practice matches.
After a practice match against Footscray, Keith informed the hopefuls who had made the squad. My name was not read – I was shattered. I approached Keith and he said, ‘You don’t have a left foot. You need to prove yourself in the next match against Richmond. It’s your last chance.’
I went home and cried. I knew I was good enough but I hated Keith Burns at that moment. After several days of reflection, I lost the plot and decided that I was not going to turn up for the practice match against Richmond. Fuck you, Keith. I knew I would be closing the door on any VFL career but I was broken. I had done everything possible to prove myself and it wasn’t good enough. I didn’t show up for the Richmond game. I returned to Montmorency and had the best year of football in my life, culminating in winning the league’s best and fairest and also the club championship. In some way I felt justified. I really enjoyed that year playing
with the boys at Montmorency and am glad I went back there to play.
In 1984, when I was twenty-one, I lost my best mate, Darren Chappel, tragically killed in an accident on a fishing vessel. We were inseparable. He introduced me to the band KISS and we attended their first ever Australian concert at VFL Park in 1980. Even to this day I still attend KISS concerts in his memory. I can feel him with me each time. I remain in close contact with his family. They are my second family. I still cry from time to time and miss him terribly.
That year I joined Victoria Police and my football career was effectively over – shiftwork made it too difficult to train and commit. I broke into the senior side at Montmorency but it was difficult juggling work and football. I spent a couple of years away from the football scene, returning to Montmorency for the 1987 season, winning the club championship. But I wasn’t really enjoying my football anymore. My passion was my job and I loved Victoria Police. My problem was that I became involved with the wrong crowd.
I needed and craved attention. The reason was that my family was never really close. I have an older brother and we were, and still are, chalk and cheese. We never really got along. My father was a workaholic and I rarely saw him. He was always either at work or away at his farm on the weekends. He never once came to watch me at athletics and maybe attended two football games. He was often away on business trips. As a child I never got the attention and love I needed from him. Hence, I surrounded myself with the party animals when I joined Victoria Police.
Back then, there was a widespread drinking culture within the organisation. Often, we would go to the pub after work and drink for hours – then all drive home drunk. On nightshift we would go to ‘early openers’ at the pub at 7 a.m. and would still be drinking at 3 p.m. before driving home drunk – once again. Many police smoked dope. There were many occasions we would be on duty on nightshift and simply walk out the front of the police station to smoke a joint. On other occasions, while working the divisional van, we would park at the Canadian Bay Club to smoke a joint on the bonnet as we watched the sunrise.
In spite of all of that, I was a good cop: I did my job well and diligently, I was fair and I was not corrupt.
