May 2002 Volume 83 Number 5 "serving the protectors"
Soon only a spectator
By Brett Williams

Deputy Commissioner Neil McKenzie says his 40-plus years in the police force have brought him few disappointments. But how much of a personal toll did the job really take, and will his pending retirement come easy after so long in public life?

The memory of a young police inspector who shot himself dead 21 years ago still haunts Neil McKenzie. He thinks he was the last cop to speak to the troubled officer before he died. McKenzie relives that contact; and he remembers the gut-wrenching discovery of the inspector’s body.

In the early-morning hours of the next day, he paid a sombre visit to the dead policeman’s family. His agonizing duty, then, was to tell a wife her husband was never coming home.

McKenzie would later ask himself whether he could have recognized the signs of an imminent suicide – and acted to save the man.

Other cases, from even deeper in his past, remain just as clear in his mind today. One is the brutal murder of a baby girl in the early 1970s. McKenzie – along with then detective and now Police Association president, Peter Alexander – investigated the case.

The baby’s father had punched her abdomen as she lay crying in her cot. He struck with so much force that he ruptured her bowel and killed her. The infant’s teenage mother was not sure if her child was alive, but carried her to a local doctor in her arms.

A later autopsy showed the child had suffered several broken ribs, and fractures to both her arms. It also showed cracks in her cheekbone, and “the makings of a cauliflower ear”.

McKenzie, whose own daughter was then the same age as the murdered child, watched the post mortem. “It really hit home,” he says. “I was left wondering for a long time just how much suffering she went through, and what intervention could have saved her.”

Inwardly outraged over the father’s atrocious crime, McKenzie knew he and Alexander could not allow their feelings to surface. “You would have (had) the risk of compromising the investigation – and trial,” he says.

“So, from that point of view, the decision was fairly easy: we had a job to do and got on with it.”

Tragedy has always played a part in McKenzie’s working life. But his 43-year police career has brought him far more joy than misery. Now – poised to retire in only weeks – he says it has been “a life-long holiday” and “just one adventure after another”.

And, for McKenzie, the best of those adventures came after his appointment as a detective at the age of 22. From then – the mid-’60s – until the mid-’70s, he worked in the Dealer’s and Anti-Larrikin squads, and local CIBs.

He speaks of those times as heady days, in which he had “some of the best experiences of my life”.

Countless newspaper reports from that time depict McKenzie and Alexander as almost celebrity crime-busters. A 1971 article described the pair as “two sleuths”, and explained how an armed robber had been “run to earth by Detectives PJ Alexander and NJ McKenzie”.

In 1973, the press acclaimed them for the way they smashed a housebreaking ring, made 22 arrests and recovered $50,000 worth of goods.

Says McKenzie: “You learned fast, and cases were plentiful. It was good fun catching crooks, chasing them, recovering property, working all night and going to court to give evidence.

“At Elizabeth, we had traffic and uniform police, prosecutors and detectives… all working together. It didn’t matter much who you pinched, as long as you pinched the right people. And, it didn’t matter what you pinched them for – whether it was detectives pinching them for drink-driving, or whatever.”

But McKenzie later became frustrated with the lack of opportunity to score a sergeant position. So, the then 34-year-old decided to pursue a commission, which he won in 1976.

His first positions as a boss included those of sector inspector in the former region B (Adelaide), and officer-in-charge of the former G2 Division (Barossa Valley).

In 1979, he played a crucial role in the investigation of the Truro murders. His task was to co-ordinate a search for the girls’ bodies.

Before he started, McKenzie made some “outrageous requests” of an assistant commissioner and other chiefs. He told them he wanted 100 police, camping facilities and an array of communications equipment.

When they granted his requests, McKenzie was “flabbergasted”. “To mobilize that number of people and take them to a camp for three weeks was quite extraordinary,” he says. “But I knew that was what I wanted to do.

“We searched around 15 square kilometres. Some of it was (done) crawling in a line on our knees. Others searched on horseback, and on a broad front just walking across the fields.”

The search proved a great success: McKenzie and his team found four of the seven murdered girls.

McKenzie had come a long way from the fresh-faced 17-year-old who joined the police force in 1959. He had been employed as a sheet metal worker and seen a colleague lose most of his hand in a machine. That prompted him to think about other career options.

He had driven past Thebarton police barracks many times and thought sub-consciously about a job as a cop. As the time now seemed right to apply, he enquired at the SAPOL recruiting office, filled out forms and soon fronted for duty as a junior constable.

His first post after he graduated was the Radio Room above the King William St Magistrates Court. The only thoughts he had of his future then were about catching criminals and, one day, maybe, making sergeant. Anything beyond that, he believed, would be “a bonus”.

But, 35 years later, McKenzie would win one of the top two posts in the entire police force.

His stint in the Barossa Valley wound up in 1980. McKenzie was by then a chief inspector. Through the next few years, he rose quickly through the ranks: superintendent in 1982 and chief superintendent in early ’83. In that time, he worked chiefly in the intelligence field.

But McKenzie would have to wait 10 years before he could again enjoy a promotion. His next rise up the ladder – to commander – came in 1993. He had, through the early ’90s, worked as operations co-ordinator and acting assistant commissioner. Stints that followed his commander promotion included those of Internal Investigations Branch boss and HR chief.

By 1994, he won an assistant-commissioner position. At times, however, McKenzie felt bewildered by the speed with which his star had risen. “You tend to become involved in your own job,” he says. “You’re not really aware of how other people see you.”

But, in 1997, the SA government knew well how it saw McKenzie and appointed him deputy commissioner on a five-year contract. This post – now known to be his last – has brought McKenzie as much pleasure as he says he drew from all his others.

Many ask, however, whether he will be disappointed to retire from just one position short of the top job. “My honest, from-the-heart answer,” he says, “is that, of the two jobs, I’m doing the right one for me, because my background has been strongly operational.

“I love the operational side of policing, and it’s one I think I’ve got the most ability to manage.”

So, after a career in which he has “enjoyed every posting”, McKenzie, 60, seems primed to retire with few regrets.

But, for that deep involvement he has always had in his work, have McKenzie and his family had to pay a price? “You become very selfish in loving the job,” he concedes. “Wanting to catch criminals and pursue that side of it (police work), is often to the detriment of your family.

“You miss parts of your family life. Working afternoon shift and overtime, you never see them. You sit back and think: ‘I could have done that better; I could have shared my time better’. You wonder what you could have achieved if you’d been able to spend more time with them.”

Alexander suggests that most operational cops from his and McKenzie’s era would harbour regrets. Police fathers’ lack of time with their families was, he says, attributable to the culture of the time.

McKenzie, through his career, did consider – albeit fleetingly – other job options. Working on the Moomba to Adelaide gas pipeline construction in 1969 was one. And news of job offers from the Adelaide Casino caught his attention in the mid-’80s. Both alternatives involved “huge amounts of money”, but McKenzie felt neither could offer the enjoyment he found in police work.

So, while McKenzie concedes the job cheated him out of parts of his family life, does he admit to any other disappointments? “You always look back on trials you lose, and think: ‘I could have done that better’, but that’s all part of learning,” he says.

“I could perhaps have helped more people along the way in providing opportunities for development for them.”

McKenzie rejects claims that, through his years at the top, he ever lost touch with front-line police work. He speaks of times he moved among the rank and file at the royal tour, the Tour Downunder and major RBTs.

But, at the same time, he admits that, what he sometimes sees front-line cops endure, surprises him. He found his late-evening visit to a recent shooting incident “plugged me right in to what our young people have really got to put up with”.

As for those who manage police forces, McKenzie insists governments should hire them from the broadest pool of talent. In line with that belief, he supports the concept of imported commissioners. And, where imports have failed, he blames poor selection rather than the concept.

But on the behaviour of British import, Peter Ryan – who failed to attend a murdered NSW officer’s funeral last month – McKenzie would not comment to the Police Journal.

From his first day on the job, and all the way through his time as an executive manager, McKenzie has maintained his union membership. “I’m very proud of that,” he says. “I think the basic ideals of the Police Association are very good.

“The things it can provide for police officers in this state are things we (the employer) can’t provide.

“The way litigation is going, it’s very important for (police) to have…a body to go to – to seek advice independent of their employer.”

McKenzie and Alexander often discussed unionism in the CIB car in which they drove around the suburbs. They once debated the issue of union reps on Holden’s factory floor. Perhaps not surprisingly, the pair’s views were poles apart.

Says Alexander: “He used to think I was an extreme left-winger, and I always thought he was further right than Genghis Kahn.” With laughter, Alexander adds: “I still think he’s further right than Genghis Kahn.

“We had different views on politics and industrial relations yet, neither as police officers, nor on a personal level, did that ever become a problem. In fact, I’m sure it was quite healthy.”

Although pitted against each other as industrial adversaries in recent years, the two have managed to maintain a strong friendship. Says McKenzie: “Peter is certainly a champion of the industrial cause, and I’m at the other end of the scale in the employer category.

“We were always destined to do that (pursue opposing paths). (But) we can ring each other on any subject, any time of the day. Whether it’s personal or business, tragedy or excitement, we can discuss it.”

Alexander acknowledges the “good arguments and battles” the two have had representing their respective sides. But he adds that, many times, they have “found common ground easily – in the interests of the membership”.

Meanwhile, each has, from his shared past with the other, intensely humorous times on which to reflect. A mishap from 1972 – in a graveyard – is bound to be with them for life.

On patrol with McKenzie, and giving in to his great love of history, Alexander drove into the northern-suburbs cemetery in the early hours of the morning. Driving slowly around the grounds, he absorbed all the history the headstones had to offer, as McKenzie dozed.

But, suddenly, the CIB car came to an abrupt halt. McKenzie woke, and asked where he and his partner were. Alexander replied: “We’ve driven into a grave!”

Says McKenzie: “My first thoughts were to get out of the car, which was teetering on the edge of this crypt. We had to decide how the hell we were going to get out of there.”

Alexander summoned some colleagues who, for their uncontrollable laughter, could not help. With no other choice, he engaged a tow truck operator to pull the car out.

Also firm in Alexander’s memory is the time he, McKenzie and another detective had to move the body of a partially decomposed suicide victim from scrub. They placed the corpse into a metal coffin, which they would have to carry about one kilometre to a waiting ambulance.

“It was getting dark,” says Alexander. “The other colleague and I were carrying the coffin as Detective McKenzie, with a torch, walked in front of us – a long way in front of us. I realized then he was destined for a leadership role.”

Today, McKenzie reflects not only on the job’s fun times, but also its many changes of the last 40-odd years. He sees technology – with the computer, mobile phone and other “gadgetry” it has brought to policing – as one of the most significant.

He also remembers the 1970 introduction of penalty rates and says it was a “remarkable step”, which kept police in touch with private industry. “It gave rewards for those who were doing the hard yards,” he says, “working around the clock.”

The massive increase in police accountability in recent years is another change McKenzie highlights. But, he insists the scrutiny of the relatively young Police Complaints Authority, the Ombudsman and, indeed, the SA Parliament is not excessive.

As he looks to policing after his time, he sees fighting electronic crime as the great challenge. To win the looming battle, he says, police must further advance their knowledge and techniques.

“It’s going to be very difficult if we don’t move forward at a faster rate than that at which the criminals do,” he says. “And, in doing that, we’ve got to advise governments very clearly what changes to the law are necessary to protect the public.”

In retirement, McKenzie wants only to enjoy policing from “a spectator’s point of view”. His chief pursuits will include golf, some “meaningful wine-tasting” and overseas travel.

But, after a 43-year journey through policing, will his final day on June 30 be emotional for him? “I think it will,” he says. “I’ll regard it as one of the days I haven’t looked forward to.”

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