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It’s a cliche that prisons are ruled by the laws of the jungle, but also true
Some crooks see jail as an occupational hazard and accept it as a cost of doing business. For others, it is their natural domain where they become more successful than they ever were on the outside.
A prison has its own ecosystem, with those who dominate either through money or physical power, those who survive by following the rules, and those who need protecting.
Jail authorities use predictive intelligence to anticipate conflicts and move prisoners through the system before feuds become wars. They also split allies before they become too powerful, forming gangs.
In the 1980s, standover man Mark Brandon “Chopper” Read was the head of the feared Overcoat Gang (so named because they wore overcoats no matter the weather to conceal weapons) in Pentridge’s maximum security H-Division.
The gang and a group of Painters and Dockers-backed inmates maintained a violent feud known as the Great Sausage War after Read was blamed for stealing 60 sausages meant for a pre-Christmas treat.
It lasted five years and resulted in more than 60 attacks and 11 attempted murders, and ended in 1978 when even Read’s team baulked at one of Chopper’s crazier plans. He wanted to lock up the staff of H Division, steal the keys, open the cell doors of each of his enemies and kill every one of them.
Rather than debate the strategy with Read, two of his most trusted colleagues, Jimmy Loughnan and Greg “Bluey” Brazel, set him up to be stabbed repeatedly with an ice pick to express their opposition.
Loughnan was one of five inmates who died after they started a fire in Pentridge’s maximum security Jika Jika division that was later closed after it was found to be inhumane.
The object of crime is usually to make large amounts of money. But the skill of crime is to stay out of jail to spend it.
Read, who died in 2013, would admit that as a crook he was a failure as he spent more than 23 years in prison. The success came later when he wrote about his crimes, making more money with a pen than a gun.
The prison system is supposed to punish inmates by depriving them of their liberty while educating them on the advantages of living law-abiding lives on release.
But what about those who are beyond reform, those who truly enjoy violence?
Sometimes an individual’s human rights have to be balanced with the need to protect prison staff and inmates from them.
There are a handful of prisoners in the Victorian system who fit this bill.
There can be no greater example than George Marrogi.
Despite spending only one year of his adult life on the outside, Marrogi built a powerful crime syndicate from the inside valued at around $100 million.
His sister, Meshilin, was operations manager on the outside until her death from COVID-19 in 2021.
As Marrogi’s money disappeared, so did his allies. As reported by this masthead, there is now a $2 million contract on his life.
He is kept in solitary confinement, has to wear handcuffs and ankle shackles when taken from his cell and is forced to kneel if near anyone so he can’t attack.
No one expects him to get better, they just don’t want him to get worse.
The problem for Marrogi is that having been such a ruthless and violent inmate when he ran the Notorious Crime Gang, he is a juicy target now his syndicate is falling apart.
Most crooks have no sense of history, which is why they repeat the mistakes of other generations.
Before Marrogi there was Christopher Dean “Badness” Binse. He has spent 39 of the past 43 years in prison and for much of it was held in solitary confinement – often in chains.
He was a prolific armed robber and Australia’s best escape artist, breaking out of custody six times.
At his best, Binse was dashing, funny and brave (while remaining dangerous), but was also brooding and malevolent.
Moved into mainstream prison, Binse knew he was being set up for an ambush. Inside his shirt he stuffed magazines as a homemade stab vest and when he was attacked beat his enemies senseless before returning to solitary confinement.
While sentencing him to another long term for armed robbery and offences relating to a police siege, Justice Terry Forrest suggested that if Binse was ever to see the light, it would be a flashing blue one.
Then a strange thing happened. Binse contacted Ken Ashworth, a detective he respected, and said he wanted to confess to a series of unsolved armed robberies as he wanted to clear the slate.
This time, Forrest said: “I assess your 2017 prospects for rehabilitation as reasonable. This is a substantial and surprising development since 2014.”
Now he is just a couple of years away from being able to apply for parole.
Crimes can be planned and gangs formed on the inside. Armed robber Ray “Chuck” Bennett planned the 1976 Great Bookie Robbery while in a UK prison refining methods used by the Wembley Mob to be used in Melbourne.
He was said to have flown to Melbourne to check out the Victoria Club while on prison pre-release.
And, certainly, murders on the outside have been ordered by crime bosses on the inside.
One of the few who seem to have survived unharmed from the mental anguish of solitary confinement is Mick Gatto, who, when charged with the 2004 murder of hitman Andrew Veniamin, spent 14 months in solitary confinement before his trial.
Gatto arrived at the Supreme Court 30 kilograms lighter and back to the weight he carried when he was a professional heavyweight boxer.
I asked him how he did it. He said that every day he would shadowbox for hours and read his brief of evidence. He was acquitted on the grounds of self-defence.
After he was charged, a policeman said to him that the death of Veniamin probably did the world a favour. Gatto is said to have responded, “Sometimes when you hear the music you have to get up and dance.”
There are three ways to have power as an inmate: be rich on the outside so fellow inmates will do your bidding in the hope of getting a job on release; be part of a prison gang that gives you strength in numbers; or just be so physically imposing that a sideways glance could end in intensive care.
For years, drug boss Tony Mokbel was protected by fellow inmates who saw him as a potential employer on the street.
A hitman turned informer, The Runner, told police: “Tony Mokbel came into the unit [at Port Phillip Prison] when he was on remand for drug charges.
“After a period of time Tony became part of our crew; we used to eat together and occasionally drink alcohol. I was working in the kitchen at the time and used to smuggle food out for Tony, as he loved his food.
“Over this time Tony and I became friends. I helped Tony with a dispute he had with another prisoner. I also managed to smuggle in a mobile phone for him whilst in the Penhyn Unit.”
But, like Marrogi, when the money ran out, so did Mokbel’s friends.
In 2019, he was attacked, bashed and stabbed seven times, leaving him with brain damage.
When lawyer Andrew Fraser was doing time over cocaine charges, he would always be the last in the queue for food as he would rather go hungry than have an inmate behind him and risk being stabbed.
It is a cliche that prisons are ruled by the laws of the jungle, but it is true.
The toughest may rule until age diminishes them, and those who can send fellow inmates into protection end up needing protection themselves.
Chopper Read was the king of Pentridge until he was stabbed by Bluey Brazel.
Brazel (who actually put on weight during a hunger strike by eating a stash of Mars Bars hidden under his bed) was the most feared inmate. That is until he was bashed by the fearsome Matthew “The General” Johnson, who in 2010 beat drug boss Carl Williams to death inside Barwon Prison.
Of all the inmates to reform, Russell “Mad Dog” Cox seemed one of the least likely.
A career armed robber and known killer, Cox escaped from Sydney’s Katingal Prison in 1977 and spent 11 years on the run before being recaptured in 1988 at the Doncaster Shoppingtown.
His former armed robbery partner, Ian Revell Carroll, had been killed by Cox in a shootout at Mount Martha in January 1983. His crime partner when he was arrested, Ray Denning, became a police informer and died of a mysterious drug overdose.
Cox beat a number of charges, including escaping from Katingal when it was discovered it had not been gazetted as a prison, and so returned to jail to serve out his existing jail term.
He was released in 2004. Prison officers reported he had become a model inmate.
Twenty years on, he is living a quiet life with his wife Helen Deane in Queensland.
John Silvester lifts the lid on Australia’s criminal underworld. Subscribers can sign up to receive his Naked City newsletter every Thursday.