John Duckett was vacuuming as the bell rang, His
fourth child was sleeping, blissfully unaware of
the arrival of guests at the family home in
Maroubra. Having completed his garbo round, John
was attending to his duties. He likes working as
a garbo because it keeps him fit and he finishes
early. His partner had taken the couple's three
other mites out for a walk. It was a normal
domestic scene.
It was also a minor miracle.
Duckett spent the years between 13 and 28 behind
bars, or in them. Now he opens the batting for
his state's Aboriginal team, earns an honest
living and raises a family. It is the tale of
the fall and rise of a resilient man.
Sitting in his armchair, serious face perched
above a slightly protruding belly propped up by
two skinny legs, Duckett speaks openly and
without self-pity about a past as chequered as
any finishing flag.
He grew up around violence and trouble and
booze and failure. Although his grandfather had
owned a banana plantation, the family had slowly
fallen foul of the demon drink. By the time John
was growing up the family's fortunes were in
apparently irreversible decline. Until the grog
took hold his folks had been hard-working
merchant seamen and cane cutters from Cabbage
Tree Island and Nambucca Heads.
Considering his background it was probably
inevitable the boy would become an alcoholic, an
addict and hence a thief. Certainly the odds
were stacked against him. In his youth he
thought it was normal to drink hard every day.
Growing up, he never knew any other way, was
surrounded by things "no child ought to see".
His family was a tight-knit group - "you
couldn't get close unless you were family, it
was like a gold pass". But it was a hard and
sometimes brutal upbringing that denied hope the
fresh air it yearns.
Duckett's early years were marked by a
succession of robberies to get money for grog
and drugs, followed by sentences to boys' homes
and prisons, including Long Bay, Grafton and
Cessnock. Between 13 and 28, he was mostly
locked up. Most of his friends were following
the same path. He committed plenty of robberies
and other stuff he prefers not to dwell upon.
His addictions were numerous: alcohol, marijuana
and, later, heroin, a drug he liked because it
took him away instantaneously.
When he came across heroin he thought he'd
"hit the jackpot". Always he was seeking the
high, the escape. Prison gave him everything he
needed. The drugs were readily available. Why
bother to get out? He'd only come back.
Duckett took a long time to realise he was not
so much bad as bound to alcohol. "I suppose I
knew I was an alcoholic at 15 but I just
couldn't accept it 'til I was 28." Breaking and
entering became a means to an end and a source
of excitement. The end seemed inevitable. Drugs,
violence, another early, unmourned death.
Ah,
but it did not happen that way. Last week
Duckett helped his team to win the Imparja Cup,
taking 3-27 in the final. For the third time in
four years he was named in the honours team at
the end of the tournament
Somewhere along the way the boy had come
across cricket. It was before the first time he
was sent away. It was not altogether a fluke
because the game was in the blood. Dad, brother
and relations were fanatics. To John, cricket
offered another escape. He was dismissed first
ball in his first match but soon realised that
he had been blessed with talent. He found he
could do "the stuff we saw on TV".
Before long he was chosen for state youth
squads. Later, in jail, he would follow the
fortunes of his teammates. Duckett is not a
sorrowful man but the faintest hint of a tear
enters his eyes as he remembers those lost
years.
But it was not cricket that rescued him. In
Cessnock, a lifer, a murderer, told him he was
not a real criminal but an alcoholic, and could
turn himself around. On her deathbed his
grandmother said the same, asking him why he was
throwing his life away. He was 28 and no longer
cared "whether I lived or died. I'd given up. I
was dead".
Besides these remarks, he heard that his
father and brother had stopped drinking.
Previously he'd told his parole officer he
wanted to stay behind bars. Now he went back to
his cell, took a look at his life, decided he
wanted something better and told the same
officer he was ready to go out. He went into
rehab in Nowra for six months and has not drunk
since. His father, brother and partner are all
dry.
Duckett rebuilt his life, finding a partner
and returning to cricket. Lani has her own story
to tell. Part Aborigine, part Maori, an
alcoholic at 11, she was raped by her first
husband. Eventually the culprit was put away for
32 years. Now she helps others in distress and
has produced four girls - another child is
expected in May. Children's toys lie around the
house and the bedrooms convey security and
affection.
Cricket came back into John's life through
Crusaders Club, a team attached to Alcoholics
Anonymous, whose praises he sings. His ability
had survived and chasing a garbo lorry kept him
fit. Soon he was chosen to represent NSW in the
annual Aboriginal tournament in Alice Springs.
It meant a lot to him.
Now he enjoys trying to beat "other Koori
teams", likes knocking around with his brothers
in the evenings, relishes the ceremonial march.
He had not realised that so many of his fellows
played the game. He talks enthusiastically about
emerging players such as Preston White and Chris
Swain from Queensland, Joshua Lalor and Farren
Lamb from NSW. Duckett knows where they came
from, the dislocations, disturbances and
disfunctions.
Duckett does not talk about black or white,
thinks instead about the economic and
educational needs of his community. He has known
the rise and the fall, and has much to tell
those unable to find their path. Now he wants to
show others the way back. What one man has
accomplished, others may dare to imagine.