ON AIR
‘And it’s just gone ten minutes after nine and the sun is smiling down on your city today, perhaps a little too brightly in the west where the fire danger is high again, but on the balance of things you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.’
Beam nods affirmation through the glass: The PM is on the line.
‘You certainly wouldn’t want to be in Canberra, anyway, where a bunch of thinkers and talkers—I think “movers and shakers” would be stretching it—have gathered together to discuss that most unsexy of topics: the Australian Constitution. Yes, it’s day four of the 1998 Constitutional Convention, the talkfest that should ultimately deliver you, the Australian people, well, what? That’s the real question, isn’t it? Is this exercise, this staggeringly expensive exercise, about genuinely exploring the possibility of an Australia that isn’t bound to the British monarchy—and that’s an awful lot of coins to be reminted, folks—or is it about drowning the republican debate in so much waffle that it’ll never resurface again? Mr Howard, you’d probably prefer the latter result, would that be fair to say?’
And it’s a great interview. Beam is flying and Howard comes along with him, reluctant at first but gradually brought around by Harvey at his most charming. Beam has never been one for full-frontal attack, not even now when it’s the height of broadcasting fashion. He leaves the stinging barbs and militant retorts for his callers, who seldom disappoint, and instead he wins over guests with a measured intellect that is neither dominant nor intimidating. Beam is good at what he does, is getting better period after period, and he fucking loves it.
The red light on the studio’s second phone is flashing, has been for the last twenty minutes, and he can’t understand why his producer hasn’t intercepted it. It’s time for headlines and Beam thanks the Prime Minister for his generosity, politely on air and then much more profusely off. Makes loose arrangements to have lunch when John is next in Sydney.
And that’s who Harvey Beam is now: a man who lunches with prime ministers. At the very least, makes plans to.
When finally he picks up the persistent phone, Beam learns from the station receptionist, a resolutely impassive matron he’s consistently failed to win over, that his wife has gone into labour. She’s in hospital. Now.
Shit. Suze has at least eight weeks to go.
The receptionist haughtily arranges a car for him and a fully charged Harvey, the ‘High Beam’ they now speak of in the dailies, explains the situation to his family of listeners, begs off early, asks for their prayers, makes a passing joke about hoping for a boy. It’s great radio and even in that moment he thinks it and knows it.
And when Beam arrives at North Shore Private Hospital, he finds that his second daughter, Jayne, is little, far too little, and he is late. And Suze is crying because of so many things.