In the 1950s, Jack Jenkings cut a dashing figure in his Victoria Police uniform, with a larger-than-life personality to match his strong athletic presence. ‘Clark Gable they used to call him’, smiles Sue. ‘Dad was a very handsome man: strong, healthy and a real good-looker. He was very much a ladies’ man. “Suave” was the word his police friends used.’
There was deep sporting talent alongside those good looks. Jack was a NSW swimming champion as a schoolboy and later became a swim coach. He was also a surf lifesaver and a member of the ‘Bondi Icebergers’, a nationally famous group that enjoys weekday swim sessions in the ocean year-round. Later, in Melbourne, Jack was a weekend footballer and volunteer umpire. And he was a good copper too, renowned for his kind deeds on the beat in Footscray, and the impressive bass-baritone he used so frequently while walking around that it earned him a reputation as ‘The Singing Policeman’.
Richard remembers his father as a man who was very direct but never unkind, though ‘he was also a bit of a larrikin’. Richard is deeply proud of Jack: ‘Dad had a lot of subtle influence. He was someone who knew a lot of people because of his personality and the fact he was on the beat’. But despite Jack’s connections, the family didn’t play host to major social events. ‘We simply couldn’t afford it’, Richard states. ‘Money was not particularly tight, but it was hard to find a lot to have a big party. That wasn’t unusual back then.’
A modest home in a fairly tough neighbourhood characterised Sue’s childhood. She clearly recalls finding out that her best friend in the area, Maureen, then seventeen, had been raped and murdered: ‘She was on her way home from the train and a guy waited for her. He’d been watching her. My dad taught us never to go home the same way. I still do that—I use a different route home. That same guy who murdered Maureen killed a five-year-old girl a few months later’.
Sue has a grittiness that stems from that childhood. It’s not a clenched manner but rather a dark humour, and she often comments, ‘I came from the school of hard knocks’. This past may seem incongruous with her present stylish, comfortable world, a world in which she is unfailingly charming. But her manner is resolute, even a little ‘no-nonsense’, as though she can detach herself at will from emotional influence. Her father taught her well—she learned early on that she needed to look out for herself.
Family values played a huge role in how Sue and her brother were raised. Their parents instilled in their children the importance of honesty, a strong work ethic, and community involvement. Sue’s mother Aileen, in addition to her role as homemaker, was a gifted artist and made crafts to supplement her husband’s income. ‘Mum was a very physical person’, says Sue. ‘She did a lot of work in the garden and always did all her own housework. She was incredibly gifted with handiwork—very gifted. She made so many exquisite things for Danielle as a baby and she was always knitting and doing crochet.’
Aileen had been a draftswoman with Vic Railways before she’d married Jack. Following a previous engagement, she’d wed quite late, at the age of thirty. ‘Dad was twenty-four and very good-looking’, says Sue. ‘I think he swept Mum off her feet. She was very pretty and incredibly artistic and creative, but she lacked self-confidence. Mum was quite a nervous person.’
Looking back, Sue attributes her personal style to her mother and grandmother: ‘I believe my sense of style started at a very early age. My mother and my nana were both artistic and had a big influence. They were incredibly talented at keeping their respective homes neat and tidy. They always dressed well with what they had available, which wasn’t that much. I put this down to the French influence on my grandmother’s side of the family—the Molyneux name says it all!’ As a child, Sue was told on a daily basis to have her clothes ready the night before: ‘It was my personal responsibility to be well presented at all times. As a young woman, this was reinforced at Siena College, Stotts Business College, and in my first jobs on the front desk of the real estate agent office, then in the legal office in Collins Street’.
Jack made a seamless transition from his time in the army training corps in New South Wales, and at the military camp in Bandiana in northern Victoria, to his new job with Melbourne’s metropolitan police force. The role of local cop gave Jack a platform to show what Richard describes as a natural flair for leadership: ‘He seemed to want to lead, and talking about values was an easy conversation for him. Dad was a very good trainer and an excellent communicator. He had very high emotional intelligence and was a very fair person. He had a sense of authority for the right reason. People believed him because he was consistent; he never left people guessing what he was trying to talk about. He gave certainty and always showed incredible respect for people and a true sense of humility’.
Jack was also a devout Catholic who always played Father Christmas for the local community. Sue remembers the civic duty that often took him from the family to St Vincent de Paul on a Saturday morning, while the children were at the football: ‘Dad was always helping out. It’s just what he did. He taught us about giving to other people’.
While Jack was exposed to some harrowing challenges as a policeman, he was always considerate of his wife and family. ‘Dad was careful and measured in what he brought home from work’, notes Richard. ‘He didn’t bring home the headaches, but he would share what the family could all learn from. Dad also taught us to get on with people.’ These lessons were well learned by all accounts, with both siblings going on to enjoy successful careers—Richard as a teacher—and happy family lives. In reflecting on their childhood friendships, Richard says, ‘Sue had a lot of her own friends, mostly girls, and a lot of her other friends were my mates. The friends she had were very good friends. Sue’s always been easy to work with. She’s easy to play with, easy to speak to’.
The positive influence of her father as a male role model clearly provided Sue not only with a realistic—if somewhat tough—view of life, but with the precious gift of self-worth and an understanding of the value of networks. Much of this translated into Sue’s adult success, due to connections based on her self-belief and values.
As she talks about her father, Sue’s face lights up and she giggles: ‘He was just a great guy! And it was Dad who encouraged me with sport. He was the one who got me off my bum. I played a lot of sport and honestly, if I hadn’t, I would have been the size of a house!’ Sue says Jack was also very funny: ‘I once asked him what he did when someone tried to punch him and he said, “I sit on them!” Dad was about 17 stone (108 kilograms), not fat … and very strong. But he used to say if he couldn’t get the handcuffs on, he’d sit on them until someone came to help!’
After Aileen passed away in 1995, friends and family kept their caring eyes on Jack. While Sue was off on her frequent travels in Australia and internationally, to raise awareness for diabetes research, Elda Basso and her family, who lived near Jack, would take him out. Melissa Chavulak says she would often join in with her family: ‘If we were going to the pub for dinner, Elda and Sandro would collect Jack and bring him along. He loved to come along for a drink and a sing’. Melissa was clearly fond of the beloved local character, a grandfatherly figure whom she’d known since she was a teenager.
When Jack reached an age when he needed to move into an aged-care facility, Sue took an interest in the industry. In partnership with her brother Richard and his wife Liz, along with long-time business partners the Pellicano brothers, Sue set up an aged-care business called Goldage in 2001. ‘I was in the process of winding down with Dansu … and I was looking for other opportunities’, recalls Sue. She adds that Goldage was premised on providing people with the best possible aged care, but also on delivering whatever level of care people could pay for—it was Sue’s expectation that clients would make their own decisions about what they wanted. Richard, who along with Liz now owns and runs the company, echoes Sue’s comments: ‘Care was paramount to Sue and we all wanted to do something that was working for the community. The aged-care business was a way for her to diversify and also make a difference’.
In 2004, at the age of eighty-two, Jack Jenkings stopped eating and drinking. Sue recalls visiting him and speaking to him at length: ‘I said, “Dad you’ve got to eat”. I spoon-fed him a little bit, but then he said, “Sue, I don’t want to eat anymore”’. She says a physiotherapist then came in, ‘to try and get him up to walk with his walker. Dad got up to walk, with great difficulty. Because I was there, he tried. Dad loved me, he’d do anything for me’. Sue is focused on keeping the story factual: ‘He got back into bed and after a number of hours, I tried again. I said, “Dad, you’ve got to have some nutrition”. I tried again to give him some more food. But it was like he’d given up’. At the time, Sue and Colin were still just dating, but Jack told his daughter that ‘Colin was a good man and that I should marry him’.
Sue looks away and cries quietly, before digging into a handbag for a tissue and apologising for losing her composure. ‘When I had to go, I kissed him goodbye—I was Dad’s girl’, says Sue. ‘But when I got to the door he called me back. “Come back”, he said, and he beckoned. So I went back and asked, “What’s the matter?” He said, “Susan, I love you”. I said, “Dad, I love you too”. And I walked out crying.’
Sue lets her tears spill over as she talks: ‘I walked out not realising then that he knew he was giving up. Dad was like that. He was a strong man but he’d had enough. He was in pain. His last words with me really resonated. We weren’t ones for saying “I love you” all the time, you know, the way some people do before they hang up the phone or whatever. Dad’s words were genuine. He said, “I love you”’.
Sue reiterates, ‘He called me back. I’d already kissed him goodbye’. It’s an image she keeps fresh, a memory that is clear enough in her mind’s eye to prompt tears each time she revisits it. ‘That was the last time I saw him.’ Sue’s father passed away in his sleep a few days later.
Sue composes herself again, keen to share the logistical details: ‘Colin and I were travelling from New York to Paris and we were in the Concorde lounge eating dinner … Colin took a phone call from my brother and said, “Sue, I’ve got some very sad news. I think you’d better take this call”. I was just about to eat dinner, and I spoke to Richard, then we had the boarding call and had to get on the plane. The conversation was all in a rush and it didn’t really hit me until we got to Paris’.
Sue called Richard again once the Concorde had landed in France. Her main concern was what he was doing about the funeral: ‘I said to him I couldn’t go to Dad’s funeral, I just couldn’t take another funeral. I said to Richard, “I’m not strong enough, please can you do it?” I’d done my mum, my husband, my daughter, my mother-in-law. I just couldn’t go to that cemetery again. I did all their funerals, arranged them all, and I couldn’t do another one’. Exhaustion and pain cross her face at the memory.
Sue says that while Richard took care of their father’s funeral, she slept for twenty hours straight: ‘I didn’t wake up. I’ve never done that before or since. I was so tired emotionally. I didn’t do a thing. I couldn’t believe it had happened. I did know in the back of my mind that Dad was pretty sick, but you know how you always hope they’re going to get better …’ Her eyes search for reassurance.
All of a sudden, Sue’s tears run unchecked. ‘Then I think, “Dad, you knew didn’t you! You knew you were dying! You wanted to say your farewell to me and that was the best way you could”’.