The Last Governor Diaries

The Last

Governor Diaries

John W Heffernan

The Last Governor Diaries

Copyright © 2013 John W Heffernan

Smashwords Edition

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A copy of this publication can be found in the National Library of Australia.

ISBN: 978-1-742843-91-9 (pbk.)

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THE LAST GOVERNOR DIARIES

John Heffernan served for 30 years in the New South Wales Department of Corrective Services attaining the rank of Superintendent. For the last 10 years of his service he was a prison governor and appointed to manage a number of NSW correctional centres. During his period of service he worked in all areas of the department including Prison Industries and Prison Operations. He has also served for 3 years in the New South Wales Department of Juvenile Justice as a Unit Manager. He has an Associate Diploma in Criminal Justice (Charles Sturt University) and was awarded the National Medal for Service, the 20 Year Service Medal and the 25 Year and 30 Year Service Clasps. He has previously written The Last Governor (2012) BookPal

Publishing. www.thelastgovernor.com.au

Dedicated to the nine correctional officers who have been killed on duty or died after being assaulted on duty in the New South Wales Department of Corrective Services.

Contents

Introduction

Preface

1 Simmonds And Newcombe

2 A Mug’s Game

3 A Differerent Kind Of Prisoner

4 A Question Of Ethics

5 A Career Crim

6 Tough Nuts – John ‘Chow’Hayes

7 Tough Nuts – Darcy Dugan

8 Three Separate Lives

9 Gaol Ramps

10 Hostage

11 Take Nothing For Granted

12 The Fire Unit

13 From Guard To Guarded

14 Celebrated Guests Of Her Majesty

15 Bruce

16 Early Memories Of Glen Innes

17 Banjo

18 You Don’t Have To Smell Like A Rose

19 Escapes With A Difference

20 Bizzare Events

21 Tamworth

22 Political Correctness

23 Yetta Dhinnakkal

24 Bill And Ben

25 A Career Lost

26 A Lasting Impression

Epilogue

Postscript

Endnotes

INTRODUCTION

The police officer stopped typing and gave a sigh; slowly he pushed away from the computer and turned to look directly at me. He was a mature man, large in stature with hands the size of dinner plates. Hands that I imagined would probably be far more at home slamming handcuffs around the wrists of a struggling offender than they were at present trying to navigate a computer keyboard. As much as the officer would perhaps have rather been out protecting and serving the community, be assured I was not sitting opposite him on this day by choice. Just a few hours earlier an inmate had spat in my face and I was now in the process of making a formal statement at the local police station. Until now the officer had been listening to my version of the events making little comment other than to seek an occasional clarification. As he leaned back in his chair I sensed that the virtual silence from across the desk was about to be broken. He appeared to hesitate slightly before he spoke.

‘I probably shouldn’t say this…’ he began. ‘But I really don’t know how you fellows do what you do. As police we deal with some shit but we also deal with some very nice people and that, the end of the day, makes it all worthwhile. You just constantly deal with the shit.’

There was little I could say; to some extent he was right. I had been a prison governor for many years and a correctional officer for a lot of years before that; it was not as if I hadn’t entertained the same notion myself from time to time. That aspect of the job was something though I had long ago come to accept as part and parcel of working behind the walls of the state’s gaols. This latest incident was simply another reminder of the hazards of the occupation. It was a reminder that, as a correctional officer, every day that you go to work you come face-to-face with society’s outcasts; men and women who have been banished from the community because they have demonstrated a complete unwillingness to abide by the rules. Once excommunicated, there is probably a degree of irony in the fact that society then decrees that they be placed all together in an enclosed environment where there are even more rules and regulations; it is little wonder then that a large number continue to demonstrate the very behaviour that led to their incarceration. Many will refuse to conform and actually make it their mission to be as difficult, as unco-operative as possible and show a blatant disregard for the ‘system.’ In the process they thereby make life as unpleasant as they can for you, their gaoler.

Since I first joined the NSW Department of Corrective Services in 1975 I had seen a side of people that certainly reinforced the notion that man’s inhumanity to man really knows no bounds. As a prison officer I had been privy to a procession of assaults, extreme acts of self mutilation and self harm, deaths in custody, murders etc as they unfolded before me. Such acts not only occurred within the inmate population themselves, on far too many occasions I witnessed acts of violence by inmates on officers who had done nothing other than perform their duty or simply been in the wrong place at the wrong time. During my period of service three officers had been killed on duty or died after being assaulted on duty. I could not count the number of officers injured on duty in that time. I learnt of one officer who actually made a special point of telling his wife that he loved her before he went to work each day. His explanation for doing so was because he could never be sure that he would return home at the end of his shift and he wanted his wife to remember his last words as being his expression of love.

So, if the occupation is so dangerous and the risks so great you might well ask, what would possess anyone to be a prison officer? It would be a fair question. After all, it’s not the first thing that pops into your head when, as a child, someone asks the age-old question, what do you want to be when you grow up? I know becoming a prison officer was not something that I aspired to become in my impressionable youth and, if truth be known, there was a time when I probably had more of a chance of spending time in a cell rather than guarding one.

On entering the service I would discover that individuals choose to become prison officers for a wide variety of reasons. Some genuinely seek to make a difference, some welcome the challenges associated with the occupation while others simply desire the security that accompanies government employment. That, by no means is a finite list. From a personal perspective, whilst I’m not entirely sure what prompted me at the time to swap my electrician’s overalls for a prison officer’s uniform; I do know that I had grown tired of climbing into roofs and under floors and, at the age of 29, I felt I was running out of time to explore other career opportunities.

Obviously, not all those who aspire to work as a custodial officer are entirely suited to the role. Correctional agencies around the world go to great lengths to filter out those who are unsuitable, however, despite their best efforts some, unfortunately still manage to ‘slip through the net.’ By way of example, at one end of the scale there exists a small element drawn to the job by a desire to wear a uniform in the belief that it bestows upon the wearer a degree of power. Usually seen as the bullyboys of the system, these are the ones that appear to lose sight of the fact that offenders are sent to gaol as punishment not for punishment. At the other end of the scale there are those that are so overwhelmed with compassion they believe there is good in even the worst of offenders. Completely naive, these are the officers who believe that those behind bars are merely ‘misunderstood’ and that they are essentially ‘victims of society,’ thereby completely disregarding the real victims. Easily manipulated, these officers believe that offenders just need their help. The ideal qualities required for a correctional officer, in my opinion, lay somewhere between those two extremes; assertive without being aggressive, friendly without being friends.

After 30 years service, in 2005, I retired from the New South Wales Department of Corrective Services as a prison governor. At the risk of stating the obvious, being a correctional officer is not an easy job. The Prison Officer’s Vocational Branch, the trade union responsible for the representation of correctional officers once adopted a slogan, ‘We face what you fear.’ It is appropriate. When the doors of a prison or police van swing open and an inmate steps out, as a prison officer, you have no idea what to expect. The offender may or may not be violent. Often, by the time you find out it’s too late.

For over three decades I worked alongside a countless number of exceptionally dedicated correctional officers; many of whom performed their duty in such an outstanding matter they made feel proud to be a part of an organisation whose traditions date back to the First Fleet. Sadly, at the same time I also worked with a small number of individuals who completely abused their position of trust and made me feel embarrassed on occasion to wear the same uniform.

This book contains extracts from a virtual diary of some of the events that occurred over the thirty years I spent in corrections. That period of time, in gaol parlance, is equivalent to more than two life sentences, a long time by any measure to spend in any one industry. As well you can imagine a lot of water passed under the bridge in that time, not all of it clean I have to admit. To respect of the rights of others more so than my own I have been very selective in choosing what actual incidents to share. In some of those that I do disclose I have changed the names to both protect the innocent and not embarrass the guilty. So please sit back and allow me, if I may, to take you behind the bars of the state’s correctional centres to experience some remarkable tales of some very dangerous prisoners and a few very ordinary correctional officers.

While this book is based on true events, some parts are fictionalised. Certain names have been changed and, in some instances, personal identifiers such as descriptions have also been altered, or made deliberately vague.

PREFACE

Before going into the details of my prison diary I would firstly like to flick through the virtual pages of the history of the NSW Department of Corrective Services and open it to a chapter that I truly believe is worthy of mention. Under the heading of ‘Bravery’ you should find the names of a number of prison officers who have paid the ultimate price for their dedication and commitment to duty.

In total there have been nine prison officers recorded as killed on duty in NSW. They are: George Spinks in 1869; John Sutherland Brown in 1908; Alan Cooper in 1958; Albert Hedges in 1959; Cecil Mills in 1959; Willy Carl Faber in 1974; John Colin Mewburn in 1979; Geoffrey Pearce in 1990 and Wayne Harold Smith in 2006.

Following is the story of one of those officers, Cecil Mills, who died from horrific injuries sustained during a severe bashing by prisoners. There is a twist however to this tale. Officer Mills was beaten to death by two prisoners who had already escaped from one prison and who thought it might be both ironic and amusing to break back into another. There was nothing funny about how it ended.

Whilst this incident occurred prior to my period of employment I feel it is a story that needs to be told, it stands as not only a testament to the inherent dangers of the occupation but also to the courage of those prepared to face what the community fears.

CHAPTER ONE

SIMMONDS AND NEWCOMBE

Diary Entry: Long Bay, 1959

There was very little conversation in the stolen car as the two escapees made the late night 58km journey from the city to the outer suburb of Emu Plains. 24 year old Kevin Simmonds and his 20 year old accomplice Leslie Newcombe had broken out of the maximum security section of Long Bay Gaol only the day before and the thought of what they were now about to do made them feel nervous yet also excited. With a major manhunt underway the escapees needed food and weapons and, to their way of thinking, there was a classic irony in them now planning to break back into a prison to get those supplies. They parked the car on a dirt road that ran close to the Emu Plains prison farm and then made their way quietly under the soft light of a partial moon to the stables area. Once they were sure it was safe to move in further they then hurried to a storeroom where Newcombe, from previous experience, knew the sports equipment was kept. After breaking the padlock they quickly rummaged through the boxes of gear in search of something ‘appropriate’ in order to carry out the next stage of their plan. Within minutes both men had found what they were after; as Newcombe rose to his feet, a cricket stump in his hand, he glanced across at his confederate now standing before him in complete silence, slowly and deliberately slapping a baseball bat into his open palm.

Satisfied they were ready to go, the pair then cautiously made their way to the main office where they knew the guards should have just completed their changeover. A check through the window confirmed the incoming officer was in the process of preparing for his first inspection of the centre. They then took up a position just outside the door so as to surprise him as soon as he left; the plan being, so they would later claim, for Simmonds to strike him in the stomach with the baseball bat as soon as he exited the office and knock him to the ground. Once the officer was down, they would further allege, one of them would hold him while the other tied him up. The two desperados stood there, outside the door frozen with a mixture of both fear and anticipation. The cocky, good looking Simmonds with the baseball bat raised high over his shoulder and alongside him his nervous young offsider, the cricket stump swinging slowly at his side.

The man inside, Cecil John Mills had absolutely no idea of the fate that awaited him. The 40 year old prison officer had bid farewell to his wife that night just as he had so many times in the past before leaving for work. He took his role seriously; as the only officer on duty that night he knew his responsibility was to correctly account for the 115 inmates housed within the prison and in so doing help to keep the community safe.

It was shortly after midnight when Cecil Mills walked to the doorway to commence his patrol. As the unsuspecting prison officer stepped out into the cool night air a full bodied blow from Simmonds’ baseball bat suddenly thudded into his stomach. Shocked and confused, Officer Mills staggered back, overcome with pain. Instinctively, he made an attempt to pull his revolver from its holster but, in a panic driven response, the two desperados reconcentrated their attack, raining a furious barrage of blows over the officer’s head. After several minutes of unrestrained violence the escapees were spent and, as they stood there breathing heavily over the badly beaten and now motionless, bloodied officer, the realisation of what they had just done became obvious. At their feet an innocent man lay dying in a river of blood and they were responsible. They had now added murder to their already long list of crimes.

Leslie Alan Newcombe, the first of six children, was born in Unanderra, a small town approximately 80kms south of Sydney, NSW, on 10th November, 1938. Shortly after his birth his father moved the family into the city where they stayed for several years before the then Housing Commission offered them a cottage in the outer suburb of Eastwood. It didn’t take the wild teenager long to succumb to the seedier side of the city and at 16 years of age Newcombe was placed before the Children’s Court on burglary charges.

By the age of 18 he was living the high life in King’s Cross courtesy of the proceeds of crime, mainly robberies he committed in and around the Sydney area. Eventually and inevitably, Newcombe’s luck ran out and he was arrested and sentenced to 3 years imprisonment. It was while he was on remand in Long Bay that he then met Kevin Simmonds.

Kevin John Simmonds was born on 22nd August 1935, in Sydney, NSW. Simmonds’ father, desperate for work, moved the family all around the state for the next few years until in 1941 he eventually settled in the country town of Griffiths. At the age of 14 Simmonds was sent to Boys’ Town, Engadine for stealing. Undeterred, he then graduated to breaking and entering and at 18 he was sentenced to 2 years at Mount Penang Training School, Gosford. Simmonds had an obsession for fast cars and fitness, although he didn’t much care how he obtained the cars or anything else for that matter. In 1957 he was sentenced in Sydney to 3 years imprisonment after a series of safe-crackings, robberies and car thefts.

Simmonds and Newcombe met when they were both housed in Wing 3, more commonly known as the Boys’ Wing, in the Central Industrial Prison, Long Bay. Their respective cells were close to each other and the pair discovered, in addition to their age, they had much in common. They were both carefree and believed in the principle that you took what you wanted, you didn’t ask. At the other end of the spectrum, they also enjoyed music and it would appear that Simmonds in particular had a very good singing voice. Often during the night Simmonds would sing sad, soulful songs in his cell and Newcombe would then join in to the delight of other prisoners.

A minor disturbance in the wing however brought the entertainment to an abrupt end. At this time the gaol served an evening meal nicknamed the ‘grey death.’ It wasn’t hard to work out how it got its name, the muck was dark grey in colour and had a consistency like glue. It was during Simmonds and Newcombe’s stay that the residents of 3 Wing decided they’d had enough and staged a mini riot. The end result was that the disturbance was quickly subdued and those that participated were transferred to other gaols throughout the state. Hence Newcombe eventually found himself in Emu Plains prison farm while Simmonds was sent to the higher security section of Goulburn. Newcombe certainly got the best end of the deal. While he spent the majority of his time working with horses as a stable boy, Simmonds, on the other hand, expended most days walking around concrete exercise yards counting the number of bricks in the wall.

Courtesy of an overly generous remission system Newcombe was released after serving just 2 years. On his return to the community, like a lot of other ex-crims he struggled with personal relationships and employment. That was until a chance meeting brought him back together with Kevin Simmonds. Whilst at least attempting to go straight, Newcombe discovered that Simmonds, in contrast had resumed business as usual. Simmonds was committing armed hold-ups, break and enter offences and had stolen enough cars to start his own used car sales yard. Newcombe was so impressed he immediately teamed up with his gaol buddy and together they then went on a crime spree lasting several months. Eventually, police started to close in and by mutual agreement they decided it was best they go their separate ways. It made little difference, Newcombe was the first to get caught and police arrested Simmonds a short time later. Consequently, in no time at all they found themselves once more singing harmony in the remand section of Long Bay gaol.

Again the younger Newcombe came off the better of the two. He was charged with only a couple of minor offences and received a 3½ year sentence. Simmonds however, copped 15 years along with a stern lecture from a Judge who accused him of ‘waging a war on society.’ On his return from court a very angry and resentful Simmonds vowed to Newcombe that he had no intention of doing that amount of time and swore he would escape at the first opportunity. It didn’t take long for the easily led and younger Newcombe to agree to help.

They were both waiting on the classification committee to decide their placement when opportunity knocked. To relieve some of the gaol boredom each Saturday a movie was shown in the prison chapel. It was during one of these sessions that they took particular notice of a large ventilation grill in a brick wall; it bore further investigation. After making discreet inquiries they discovered the ventilation shaft led to a large unpatrolled, enclosed storage area. They also found although the area was surrounded by four high walls, the governor’s residence, complete with a garaged vehicle, was on the other side of one of them.

Having decided it was worth a try the pair then set about gathering everything they needed to affect their escape. They arranged for another prisoner to get them an iron bar, they stole an officer’s pass book, they convinced some remand prisoner’s to give them some civilian clothing and lastly they stole a few lengths of wire and paperclips to make a jumper lead to start the governor’s vehicle.

Come the day of the escape it went surprisingly well, at least until they went to steal the governor’s car. Just before the afternoon muster the pair broke into the church and then quickly smashed the grill, climbed through a duct to the area on the other side and scaled the wall leading to the governor’s residence, all without being seen. Simmonds was having trouble starting the vehicle when a prison officer walking down the roadway caught sight of them. The officer was completely taken by surprise and hesitated for a moment before the realisation of what was happening dawned on him and he began to frantically blow his whistle. The pair of desperados decided to forget the car and just run.

Now, officially escapees, Simmonds and Newcombe sprinted across an area known as the farm to the outer perimeter wall of Long Bay. Designed to keep the public out rather than prisoners in, the wall is more decorative than practical; consequently, the pair scaled it with ease. They then ran to the nearby Prince Henry Hospital, stole a car and drove a short distance before abandoning the vehicle and hiding in an area of bushland. With a huge police search in full swing the pair waited until darkness then backtracked the way they had come in order to steal another vehicle. Using that transport they robbed a number of stores to obtain food and supplies. Satisfied that they had enough to tide them over for a few weeks they then headed to the Showground at Moore Park. After scouting the area they eventually found a pavilion used to store large bags of corn; it seemed like the perfect hideaway. Simmonds and Newcombe then spent some time rearranging a large number of bags to create a completely enclosed, virtually undetectable hideout. The plan was to remain in there for the next few weeks or at least until the massive manhunt died down. Then again, plans change…

Apparently the escapees soon realised that they did not in fact have enough supplies to last them more than a few days. Subsequently, they started to make plans to rob even more stores to obtain the necessary food and clothing. In addition, they would also need money to get out of the country. That, in their minds, translated into armed robberies. Armed robberies however require weapons.

Newcombe, it seems, then came up with an idea that would enable them to get everything that they needed all from one ‘hit.’ Recalling his days in Emu Plains Prison Farm, Newcombe claimed they could get everything they required including a gun from the gaol. He knew the routine, he knew the layout, he knew the security and, most importantly, he knew there was only one officer on duty at night. Newcombe would later allege it all started as a joke, break out of one gaol only to break back into another - a perfect opportunity to make a mockery of the law. The pair realised they would obviously have to somehow ‘disable’ the officer before they could steal supplies, but with the odds stacked in their favour they didn’t perceive that as a major challenge. Thus, Simmonds and Newcombe committed themselves to a course of action that would leave one man dying and destroy forever the lives of many others, including their own.

After the Emu Plains break in and the subsequent murder of Officer Mills