Sean Dorney, Kwanja and the media candidate

 

'shit, it's only seven kinas,'

 

Two of the legends of Konedobu, the ABC's Sean Dorney (left) and Post-Courier's Michael 'Wardsey' Ward in the old PC newsroom having the usual Friday arvo drinks. Notice the old typewriters. Mine was the big bazooka behind Dorney's skinny legs!
It was the culprit behind the K7 per shit fun run story!

PART 01

By Big Pat

SPORTY

Sean Dorney is an Aussie name synonymous with journalism in Papua New Guinea.

And Lofty got to know him in more ways than one and here are some of the lighter moments in our friendship.

I remember Sean Dorney as a good friend, a mentor, a critic and especially someone with an incredible character and courage who had the time to share with you, whether you were young or old or black or white. 

He also had a great sense of humor.

He is the kind of person who has a heart for anybody. Ask his Manus in-laws and they’ll tell you, Sean has never once let them down, even done the famous ‘hey, hey’ Manus swing to the Manus Garamut.

Ask any Pacific Island reporter who has had the good fortune to have crossed his part and he or she will tell you too –Dorney is a champion media freedom in the Pacific, a forte of knowledge of anything of Papua New Guinean, even to the extent that he once captained the PNG Kumuls rugby league team at one stage of his footy life.

Lofty first bumped into Dorney when I began my newspaper career starting as a copy boy at the Post-Courier in 1985. He would come around to the newsroom on Friday afternoons for a yarn and a beer. And he touched me as a very funny guy. He had this obnoxiously happy smile and a way with words.

One day, when Lofty had graduated from copy boy to writing sports, he took me to the top of the Lloyd Robson Oval grandstand, hooked the ABC phone line up, and told me that at halftime, ‘call this number in Sydney and tell the lady at the other end the halftime score, who scored the tries, kicked the goals, crowd size and what the weather is like’. After that Sean wandered off – I don’t even know where to? And left me wandering and still wondering to this day!

Post-Courier old tea room with late tea boy Masu Morim (centre), on the left is late Yehiura Hriehwazi drowning in a brownie and Wally Hiambohn on the right hanging onto one for dear life. this tea room personified the Yangoru Drop.

It was a rugby league Test match between the Australian Kangaroos and the PNG Kumuls at the good old Lloyd Robson Oval now OSNFS. At halftime, after a few stubbies, I was already feeling very drowsy and forgot to make that very important call to the gracious lady north of the South Pole. I would have done with a vegemite sandwich though.

At fulltime, I had to file the match report for ABC, which I tried my very best to do, albeit very tipsy, over the line. From the top of the roof, I yelled into the phone as if I was yelling at my girl on Manus Island too.

Late Mark Sapias, late Tom Alau, the original Ori Kenia, the irresistible Terry FM Longbut, those seasoned radio guys had big smiles on their faces. Lofty was flabbergasted!

Lofty ended up back at Lawes Road where I tried my best to remember what the score was, even scratching my head on which park it was played on, 'wee yaka', Lofty was courting trouble by forgetting my notebook, but my black man mate, the late Blaise Nangoi rescued me that day.

Anyways, Monday comes around and Sean pops by and demands: 'hey Lofty, you have my phone? Lofty - 'What phone?' Sean - 'The expensive one I left with you on the rooftop!'

'Bikpela hevi', problem.

So I don’t have his hello ring but I want my koble coins for sending his ABC story.

‘Come next Friday’ he smiles ‘and bring my phone’.

Those were the old landlines, heavy, ugly, most times you got caught in a crossline, especially when you was anxiously calling your 'lalokau' across the Bismarck Sea.

So Friday rolls by, Frank Kolma, Wally Hiambohn and Lofty duck up the Airvos Avenue to the ABC before our boss and Sean’s tambu Luke Clement Sela can send us somewhere else.

Port Moresby A grade basketball was very popular during weeknights.
Even the players played barefoot at the Hohola Courts.

The esky is out; we are all having a good time and then Lofty decides to have a stroll around Sean’s office. The door rolls back and lo and behold - on the back of the door is a collection of old newspaper cuttings.

This was the ABC’s door of horror and contained all manner of errors, bearers, corrosion, and journalism poison. And there in a little corner, I spot my blessed name! 

Dorney had done me the honors by underlining the offending word ‘shit’ in red!

Shiddo diddo, Lofty almost fainted!!!!!! 'Karanas lewa' . . how did this happen? But it did for the record, embarrassingly occur one fine Friday morning!

It was 1988 and Coca-Cola was the major sponsor for the annual SP Games fun run event. The 'T' shirts for the run were going for K7. 

With my rickety old typewriter working overtime, I had the greatest most embarrassing honor to spell 'shirt' as SHIT. 

How it passed the sports editor Numa Alu's eagle eye or even the proofreading stage, is another mind-boggling mystery.

At seven bucks, it probably could have made me the richest shit seller in no hurry, like my old friend Mister Shit. 

Of course the editor Luke was not too pleased and the MD Don Kennedy was about to hang me out to fry!

But shit is bullshit and shit does happen!