From the files: Beyond Blue dates from the mid-naughts
Late morning the radio omitted the cause of the out-bound crawl, reporting it as traffic info.
Police Response van angled, lights flashing. Other vehicles were clustered round. The break-down truck had arrived first, before it was realised what was happening. In the pass the central figure was sighted last.
The other emergency vehicles had pulled up short, not encroaching. Red stanchions placed in line.
In his drab clothing the chap sat on the top-rail looking out like a fisherman awaiting his catch. Back turned on all the slowing traffic, the police & flashing lights, as if none of that had anything to do with him.
Jaw and fleshy jowls, unshaved. The man half-turned in profile.
Half an hour later surveying the wares at the Salvos in Inkerman Street two reports arrived. Through the head-phones the chaps in the Studio were keeping a sharp ear out for further bulletins. As the updates proceeded there developed a kind of tease of insider knowledge. Attentive listeners would have been alerted. No mention of smash, pile-up, tanker over-turned, nothing.
With the short banking of traffic at the time the man could not have been sitting long. One of the other cars near the police van must have been his own.
Pics from the passing motorists proved irresistible, especially good from the passenger seat. The 40km helped.
Being prior to the soc. media, despite the public interest the footage wouldn’t be used. That well-known platform on one of the major arterials in the city could not be advertised. Were the pictures marketable the price of the man, his thick thighs, looking across at the cops and out to the bay, dangling, a bidding war might have been conducted.
When the bridge collapsed in the 70s some lucky men had ridden the concrete down.
Wide sky and the bay, with the masts of the yachts in Willy. The chap would not have been looking down at the river for the half hour.
Clear bright sky and still. To date the Spring hadn’t produced many of those windless days. The wind-socks at the football grounds would have hung limp. Otherwise the man could not have sat so long.
Fishing him out of the slime was a gruesome thought.
Sittin’ on the dock o’ the bay.
Pool-side kind of aspect. Though a chap of that sort would hardly have one of those at home.
Standing on the rail the matter would have been clear in the first instant. Sitting as he did, the import had failed for a second. Such untroubled ease completely deceived.
The police on the roadway were young lads. Before the specialists arrived they needed to cope meantime.
Monday late morning. Jobless most likely. Shaggy-haired, dark tee, nondescript. The well-to-do would not choose such a place. Something more private and discrete for them.
Fine and clear. Could a man do such a thing in rain or a squall? Those days those kind of blues were not so bad, perhaps. Bright sunny days were the worst downers.
The posture suggested he might be talked round, loose-limbed like that. There might be a chance of survival too if he missed the piers. More than a few had been fished out of the river downstream. Once there was a report of a fisherman at the Power Station snagging one.
Dying of fright a lot of them before they hit the bottom, the medical people suggested. Same as in war.
Ten minutes at least it had lasted. The man would have tired. With his weight he appeared to have sagged even in the brief pass.
A good deal of talk would be needed to allow someone to get close enough. For the young lads it may have been wise to refrain from engaging unless drawn.
After half an hour’s sitting the man could not have let himself slide away. Doers don’t delay like that.
West Gate, Melbourne
NB. Beyond Blue is an Australian help service.
