Tributes flow for Tasmanian journalist Mike Bingham
He started as a copy boy at Burnie’s Advocate newspaper, and enjoyed a fruitful career spanning 40 years. Tributes have now flowed for the “larger than life” Mike Bingham.
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From copy boy to foreign correspondent, travel editor, author and columnist Mike Bingham is being remembered for his wit and warmth and as “larger than life”.
In a journalistic career spanning more than 40 years, Mike started as a copy boy at Burnie’s Advocate newspaper, worked at the Bundaberg News Mail, Brisbane’s Courier Mail, the Sydney Morning Herald, the Melbourne Sun and was foreign correspondent for the Herald and Weekly Times in London for three years (1970-73) covering Europe and the UK, before joining the Mercury in 1979.
He also wrote five books including My Mate Matthew (1992) illustrated by Kev Bailey, Cascade: A Taste of History and Suddenly One Sunday the story of the Port Arthur tragedy based on eyewitness accounts.
His wife Liz said he would be remembered for his humour, as a great dog lover and passionate Geelong Football Club supporter with his latest dog Paddy, “named after Paddy Dangerfield!”
In a letter to his granddaughters, Mike explained his reasons for choosing to take a job as a copy boy after he cut short a job as a would-be office boy for a local accountancy firm.
“It paid five or six pounds a week,” Mike said.
“My tasks were taking messages, and buying ice-creams for the sub-editors who puffed on cigarettes all night.
“I also took death notices phoned in by funeral directors desperate to catch the advertising dead line.
“Running edited news to the printer’s right up to midnight was exciting.”
In tribute to his sub-editors, Mike also told of writing a “phantom story” about the dangers of smoking, which he inserted into a pile of articles for publication. It was allocated two columns on page three. But honesty prevailed and he owned up – the article was withdrawn.
He described landing a column and being travel editor for 22 years at the Mercury which saw him awarded life membership of the Australian Society of Travel Writers in 2009.
“What a gig! Moscow, most of Asia, US, Canada, the Pacific, luxury cruising.”
Former Mercury editor Garry Bailey said Mike was more than just a journalist.
“He was erudite, always had a yarn to tell, and was the master of the quick quip,” Mr Bailey said.
“He was fun to be around.”
One of Mike’s finest moments, he said, was writing a weekly column confirming “what a wonderful wordsmith he was” while his book on Port Arthur showed he could “turn his hand to weightier topics”.
“His weekly column was a master stroke as it tapped into a rich seam, something so many readers could identify with. The simple story of a man and his dog. In this case his beloved scruffy terrier, Matthew.
“It was warm, witty, beautifully crafted and when Matthew passed away, many a reader shed a tear over the morning paper.”
Leica Wagner, who with Mike was part of a dog walking community at Sandy Bay’s Marieville Esplanade for more than 25 years said he would always “stop for a chat and to fill us in on the latest shenanigans”.
“The stories always got bigger, better and funnier with Mike around,” she said.
“On a daily basis he would confidently stroll around Marieville Esplanade often with his Geelong scarf flying in the wind with his canine of the day.”
Ms Wagner said Mike often regaled about his fellow dog walkers “the ‘speccy’ some Geelong player (always and only a Geelong player) had taken the night before with Paddy always by his side”.
She said Mike taught Paddy to say hello to the garbage truck entertaining the drivers who waved and laughed.
“We will miss Mike’s wit and humour.
“There are a million and one stories about Mike. He was larger than life.”
Neighbour and friend Paul Sheahan first had a conversation with Mike in 1967 about an article he wrote on Test cricketer Paul Sheahan before they became neighbours in 1992.
“Despite his Geelong obsession we had a perfect neighbour friendship with our son Jack falling in love with Bingy’s dogs, Matthew, Gus, Benny and Charley and now Paddy and us enjoying being the subject of about 20 of his Mercury columns,” he said.
“He was a classic and will be sadly missed.”
Mike, 82, who is survived by Liz, their daughter, son-in-law and two granddaughters, died in Hobart on June 1.
A celebration of his life will be held at the end of July.
The heartbreaking column which reduced many readers to tears
This is a column Mike Bingham wrote about the death of his dog Gus. It struck a chord with Mercury readers who send in hundredsof letters and cards of condolence
We farewelled a wonderful character a few nights ago, and the house hasn’t been quite the same since.
Gus, that loving but fiercely independent graduate from the dogs home at Risdon Vale, died in my arms from a heart attack.
His passing was quick and painless. He just turned to look at me for one last time, then his head dropped, he lay down, and was gone.
It was that easy, and it seemed a moment of his choosing. For months he’d been on medication. He had lost weight, his hearing went and his sight faded, but his spirit and contentment were obvious, as were his demands that his routines continue to run the household.
In the last months he turned his nose up at dog-food, and preferred being hand-fed with lightly grilled steak (cut into small pieces, please), or chicken and noodles.
The last five licks of a frozen fruit yoghurt stick sufficed for dessert each evening and he demanded that we flicked off the TV by 10pm so he could get a full night’s rest.
In the days since his death the house has seemed terribly empty. Reading the sports pages in bed yesterday just wasn’t the same without Gus deliberately sprawling across the paper to get me out of bed and down to the kitchen to serve him breakfast. But there’s been time to reflect on all those years of wonderful companionship, and to be so grateful that he went so easily.
He had taken a turn for the worse while I was away in Vietnam and my wife had phoned to say she thought we should call the vet and put an end to his suffering.
I agreed, but the following morning he rallied as if to say, ``Not yet. Not yet.’’ A few nights later she held the phone to his ear while I chatted to him from Hanoi. He wagged his tail, as he had done over the years with all the calls from exotic destinations. Gus liked phone calls, but hated seeing suitcases packed.
When I arrived home he was ecstatic; more animated than he had been for months. He spent the weekend tracking me, negotiating snacks and patting and delivering lavish slurps on the hand.
I can see now that this was his last hurrah. By Tuesday night he was just tottering around, drinking water, but with little appetite.
All that night he wandered aimlessly around the house. I worked from home on the Wednesday to be with him and for the first time he refused the pills which were keeping him alive.
On Wednesday night he lay on the back mat for a few minutes contemplating the garden and the night sky. Then I carried him to his favourite spot under the computer table and put a rug around him. It was then he said goodbye.
As my wife said, Gus did it his way. But then, he always did. Thanks for everything, mate.
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