In the early 90s I seemed to be always travelling to America. I reckon I arrived at LA airport at least half a dozen times a year, usually for three-week stints.
Those were the good old days before we all became suspected terrorists.
The security people were relaxed and friendly and enjoyed a chat, especially with Australians.
In the wake of Paul Hogan’s spectacular success with the Crocodile Dundee movies, Australia had become the flavour of the month and all Americans wanted to engage with us.
They expected us all to be Mick Dundee and some of my colleagues, especially the legendary and loveable sound-recordist Micky Breen, fulfilled those expectations.
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| Americans were obsessed with 'Mick Dundee' played by Paul Hogan before Steve Irwin captured their hearts and imaginations. |
"Micky had enough Sydney eastern suburbs Irish-Australian in him to have the Yanks in perpetual stitches. They laughed so much they forgot to check our gear.
It wasn’t that they were "lax" at LAX but just that they understood implicitly that these funny, quick-witted, fast talking guys from Down Under were only a danger to themselves.
Did we know Paul Hogan? Of course we did. “Then welcome to America gentlemen. Have a nice day.”
Over time our friends at LAX started to ask us about another famous Aussie, a name we didn’t know and couldn’t use to bluff our way.
“Hey do you guys know Steve Irwin?”
“Who?”
“You know, The Crocodile Hunter. You must know him?”
“No we’ve never heard of him.”
“S---, you sure you guys ain’t from Austria?”
Soon we discovered that the Australian we had never heard of was a household name in America.
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| Steve Irwin, the Crocodile Hunter. |
This was before the Internet and Google so we had to learn the hard way. On cable TV and in the shops The Crocodile Hunter was everywhere.
Steve Irwin clothing, dolls and toys, books and videos were all part of an Irwin juggernaut that rolled across the USA from sea to shining sea.
Why it took years for Steve to make it big back in his homeland I don’t really know.
In the mid-80s Clive James was huge on television in Britain while completely unknown in Australia. James told me it was because “A man I’ve never met is my enemy. He purchases British programs for the ABC and he hates me.”
Perhaps some dour purchasing officer had watched an ebullient Australian wildlife enthusiast leaping on the back of crocodiles and thought that it was unseemly and dangerous and could only end badly.
In which case he was right.
It did end badly, not with a crocodile but a stingray. But thankfully the Croc Hunter eventually took his own country by storm and we did get to enjoy many wonderful years with Steve Irwin.
A day filming with Steve was like a week with anyone else.
He was effusive and positively gushed useable material.
His rapid delivery and almost garrulous enthusiasm would give you a half-hour programme from 15 minutes of filming.
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| Charles Wooley with Steve and Terri Irwin. |
Whereas an interview with the other crocodile bloke, Paul Hogan, could be like pulling teeth.
Hogan has a reticence and a self-protective distrust that you often find in professional funny men. It’s as if you’ve challenged them by daring them to be funny. “OK Mr Hogan, now make us laugh.”
Comic actors, even the best of them (and Hogan certainly is), often require a script but with Steve Irwin the whole of the natural world was an internalised script.
He had lived and breathed it as a kid on his parent’s Queensland Reptile and Fauna Park and now it just rolled off his tongue in a stream-of-consciousness unstoppable flow.
Mate, just look at this beauty. Do you want to hold him? He’s fine but just watch his fangs.”
“See the groove in that tooth, it runs down from the poison sac. Keep your hand just here because one bite and you’re dead in minutes.”
“I can’t save ya. He’s Australia’s most venomous snake but isn’t he pretty?”
“And he is a ‘he’. Do you want to go down the other end and I’ll show you how to tell?”
“You know, Charlie, I hate going to bed at night because sleeping is time I can’t be spending with all these wonderful creatures. Every day I’m so excited!”
“Fairdinkum! I’m just bursting out of my skin because the world is full of such exciting stuff and I’ve got to tell everyone about it before it’s too late.”
“If we’re going to save the planet there’s no time to waste. Crikey mate there’s so much to show you!”
“Let’s go and get up close with the biggest crocodile you’ve ever seen. You’ll be sweet. Just stay right behind me. If I jump back I promise you will too, just before you hear the snap. If you don’t hear the snap we’ll need another reporter to finish the story.”
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| Robert 'Bob' Irwin was not yet three years old when his father died. |
Steve didn’t need a reporter any more than he needed a script.
His love of the wild world was the story and he, the teller. He was a "wildlife warrior" who loved all creatures great and small with extraordinary and infectious passion.
Across 130 countries, 500,000,000 people were captivated.
In the words of the great David Attenborough, “Steve taught them how wonderful and exciting it was, he was a born communicator.”
Back in 2006, Steve Irwin had no greater fan than my youngest son James.
Jimmy, aged four, couldn’t get enough of Steve and was devastated by his death.
For days a pall of gloom hung over the house. I remember the relief I felt when he finally broke his silence.
There was an old Bob Marley song on the radio and unaccountably Jim had a great fondness for the great 70s reggae singer who had died back in 1981.
When the song finished he asked, “Dad do you think I will ever get to see Bob Marley?”
“No son, I’m afraid not. He’s dead.”
“Well what a terrible week,” Jim lamented. “First Steve Irwin and now Bob Marley.”
