Lumen Autumn 2024 - Flipbook - Page 17
Your stories
I co-edited On Dit with Paul Washington in 1986. We were
part of the so-called ‘dynasty’ of independent editors,
stretching from the late 70s well into the 80s (including my
brother Tim Dodd in 1982). The paper was a hothouse of
nerdy young newshounds who studied industry bibles such
as Pictures on a Page and Handling Newspaper Text. Editors
handed down skills in news writing, photography, bromiding,
and wrangling an ancient, cantankerous headlining machine.
Each weekend began with waxed typesetting, layout knives
and blank sheets, and ended with print-ready works of art.
It was a hot summer day in early 1982 when I ventured onto
campus for my first Orientation Week. Olivia Newton-John was
topping the charts with Physical, replete with lyrics considered
scandalous at the time. I was 16 years old, and headed for Law
School, On Dit and the Adelaide Uni Soccer Club.
I belonged to the jackpot generation – the lucky ones whose
tertiary education was free thanks to Gough Whitlam’s vision
of accessible education for the masses. With a brother and sister
already enrolled, our family was able to afford three university
educations on our father’s fireman’s wage.
Our ambition extended beyond campus. We ventured into
investigative territory with every intent of showing up the
staid Advertiser, then the counterpoint to Murdoch’s afternoon
tabloid The News. Our first edition led with George Duncan’s
case. Three former vice squad officers had just been charged
with manslaughter.
It was compulsory to join the union, which funded the
Student’s Association of the University of Adelaide, abbreviated
to SAUA but pronounced “sewer” (with officeholders mocked
as “sewer rats”). As it turned out, some would have plenty of
spotlight in later life. Julia Gillard was about to become president
of the Australian Union of Students. Christopher Pyne would
soon enter student politics. Nick Xenophon was a well-known
campus entrepreneur whose movie nights were legendary.
Penny Wong and Natasha Stott Despoja were on their way.
We chimed in with leaked details of a secret Scotland Yard
report that implicated the police. “The report four governments
hid”, ran the headline. The officers were acquitted, and the
Moya Dodd
We were all in the sandpit of campus public life, a training
ground for the real thing - thankfully with no social media and
limited permanent memorials to our more forgettable efforts.
Student unions were the lifeblood of campus. There was an
abundance of clubs and societies, ranging from the Chocolate
Appreciation Society to the Evangelical Union. You could marshal
a few friends, apply for a grant, and make some mischief. With no
uni fees and so much fun to be had, we were in no hurry to leave.
Why would you? Mental as Anything were playing for free on the
Barr Smith lawns. You might even catch Midnight Oil in
the UniBar.
case remains unsolved, but the killing of George Duncan was
pivotal in the de-criminalisation of homosexuality in Australia.
1986 was South Australia’s sesquicentenary year, 150 years
after colonisation. It was a Festival of Arts year, meaning
plenty of free tickets for wannabe arts reviewers. It was also
the year I was first selected for the Matildas, then a mere
minor curiosity on the sporting landscape. The Adelaide Uni
team had proven a fruitful training ground that attracted
many of the state’s best players. Jill Latimer and Tracey
Jenkins were among those who also gained national selection.
We all had to pay our own way, assisted by club-mates who
organised endless lamington drives and quiz nights. As a
university team, we at least had access to good fields with
decent lights – something still prized by teams today.
With law school, the student newspaper and the soccer fields
all within a stone’s throw of the Cloisters, I had my own personal
nirvana. Campus was an oasis of discovery. And pranks –
especially on Prosh Day. Potassium permanganate usually found
its way into John Dowie’s famous Victoria Square fountain. Some
remember a ‘for sale’ sign appearing on St Peter’s cathedral,
allegedly hung in the dead of night by some rock-climbers from
the Mountain Club. On Dit put out the ‘Prosh Rag’, lampooning
everybody including themselves. It was only after I travelled a lot
that I realised that Australia has a unique brand of larrikinism.
No-fee tertiary education, compulsory student unionism,
and access to sport are three of the most crucial ingredients
that shaped my life. I’ll always be grateful for them, and only
wish they were all still there for today’s generation.
But beneath this restless energy lay a dark undercurrent of
homophobia, emblematised through a man I never met but often
thought of as I crossed the footbridge to football training.
Dr George Duncan was a newly recruited law lecturer whose life
ended in the Torrens one night in 1972 – said to be at the hands
of the police who regularly pushed men into the water along what
was known as a gay beat. Perhaps this was why one Prosh prank
involved the reverse irony of a police car dumped into the Torrens.
Memories are unclear as to whether it was a whole police car, or
(more likely) a part-submerged piece of metal with a convincing
blue light on top.
Moya Dodd AO graduated LLB (Hons) in 1988. She became
a Doctor of the University (honoris causa) in 2021. Moya
represented the University in soccer from 1982-1988 and played
24 games for Australia, with the Matildas, from 1986-1995,
including their appearance in the first-ever FIFA world
tournament for women. She has held senior roles in national
and global football administration.
Images supplied: Moya on the gallop playing for the Uni;
campaigning to become On Dit Editor.
LUMEN
