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Fear and favour at the court of King Jones

I watched the great Alan Jones and 2GB drama unfold from the wings, where I witnessed flashes of his profound power and influence. In fact, I was once the beneficiary of it – purely by luck.

Alan Jones broadcasting his show from the Orange Ex-Services Club. Picture: Jonathan Ng
Alan Jones broadcasting his show from the Orange Ex-Services Club. Picture: Jonathan Ng

One time, when I was the executive producer for the 2GB afternoon show, I was sent to Canberra for a week. It was me, the host I was working with, the breakfast producers and their host, Alan Jones.

We were a small group and had a few obligatory social events with clients. If I was conspicuous, it was because I was the only woman on that trip, and the only producer not working on breakfast.

Despite this – and to my immense amusement – Jones introduced himself to me no less than four times in just three days.

Every interaction went the same way. Jones, thinking I was a client or perhaps a fan, would go to shake my hand. He was smiling then, full of charm. I would take his hand and tell him, again, that I was from 2GB. In an instant, the beatific expression fell from his face like a meat pie dropped on concrete. Suddenly all jowls and scorn, he’d walk away without another word.

For Alan Jones, women – especially young women – were completely below his notice. I could never muster any energy to be offended. I found these interactions to be funny, so I filed them away as fodder for future dinner parties. In fact, if I felt anything towards Jones at that time, it was pity.

If 2GB was a zoo – and it certainly felt that way much of the time – Jones seemed like a particularly rare and endangered exhibit. A lonely relic from another time, stuck on the wrong side of a glass cage, trapped by public scrutiny and unable (or unwilling) to live truthfully.

Which is not to say Jones’s sexuality was a secret. He would have obvious infatuations with the beautiful young men who worked at the station. Jones would take them to dinner, foster their career, speak warmly of their sharp wit and intelligence (even when those merits were lacking).

We – the mostly young producers – thought it was innocent. Funny, even. Here was a powerful man, a titan of the media, clearly beleaguered with schoolboy crushes. It made for good office gossip.

But I was never close to the inner circle or the people he tried to charm. I didn’t know the details. These days I sorely regret being so glib about it.

But for all involved, the best trial is a fair trial and I will say no more on that matter.

But even from the wings, where I watched the great drama of Alan Jones and 2GB unfold, I saw flashes of his profound power and influence. In fact, I was once the beneficiary of it – purely by luck.

While working at 2GB, I had been doing bits and pieces on air. I had a regular segment on one of their weekend shows, and had been a guest on the sister station of 2UE to talk generally about politics.

Then one day the person in charge of organising the roster took me into his office to have a chat. They were filling up the holiday timeslots, and he wondered if I’d like to do a shift on-air? It would be Christmas Day from midnight to 6am – easily the worst spot of the year – but I would not have to do it alone.

My friend at the station, who happened to be a member of Jones’s team, would be co-hosting. I gladly accepted the offer, and we chatted for a while longer. We spoke a little about developing talent, the lack of women on radio.

“The thing is,” he said, leaning back in his chair, “people just don’t like the sound of women’s voices on air. It’s a shame but it’s true.”

I nodded as though this was an unfortunate but undeniable reality. I knew this was a betrayal to my gender, but I wasn’t willing to compromise my on-air spot by interrogating his views. That’s the trouble with ambition sometimes – you sell who you are for a shot at who you might become.

Jones coaching the Barbarians.
Jones coaching the Barbarians.

It was weeks before our shift, but my co-host and I quickly set to work planning the show. We both knew that booking guests to appear at such an antisocial time was all but impossible, so instead we decided to pre-record our interviews.

But who would be bothered to come on a show hosted by two no-names on a timeslot with no listeners? I needn’t have worried.

My friend explained that while Jones wasn’t thrilled I would be co-hosting the show (“there will be too much giggling if they let her do it” he said, still not knowing who I was) but he was willing to help nonetheless.

Jones looked out for his people. So he sent out a letter to several associates, asking if they’d be willing to record an interview with us. The people who agreed to appear on the worst slot in radio?

John Howard, Mike Baird, Tony Abbott, Andre Rieu, Bob Katter, Julie Bishop (though we lost her interview due to me not pressing record) along with a few other notable musical and sporting talent.

Off the back of this line-up, I then managed to convince Anthony Albanese (then just the shadow minister for transport but quickly rising through the ranks) to also come on.

It still amazes me today that, such was the power of a mildly written Jones letter, John Howard was willing to talk to us. At the time the former Prime Minister was a notoriously hard interview to get on radio.

Jones plugged our timeslot on his show with such warmth, you’d have thought we were friends. He typed a letter to us both with sincere and useful advice. Jones was also our first caller, lavishing us with praise and good humour.

This is what people sometimes miss about Jones. It wasn’t just power, bullying and misogyny. A smart king yields fear and favour in equal measure – and truly Jones was a master of both. Merely being in the reflected light of his attention was intoxicating. I can only imagine what it would have felt like to have his full, kind ­regard.

Former Australian prime minister John Howard and Jones on stage in 2017.
Former Australian prime minister John Howard and Jones on stage in 2017.

It’s dangerous territory where old people with power and young people with ambition meet. It doesn’t always end badly, of course. Professional mentorships have opened doors, started careers, launched companies.

But the value of youth is compromised by its inexperience. It takes time to learn your boundaries or to know the extent of your agency. Or, importantly, to gauge the debt for the opportunities you accept.

There are many who will be grappling with that quandary right now – people in powerful positions who Jones helped socially, financially, politically. What do you owe a man, who gave you so much?

I do not know the full details of the investigation against Jones and can only speak to the behaviour I witnessed.

Like many, I was shocked by the allegations made against him. But I welcome the upcoming case. Youth, power and influence make for murky waters. Better for all they are illuminated.

Stephanie Coombes is a Sydney-based writer.

Original URL: https://www.theaustralian.com.au/commentary/fear-and-favour-at-the-court-of-king-jones/news-story/3c91a80fc2025979d814fdda45d776ea