A bounder or a visionary? NICHOLE OVERALL talks to author Brian O’Malley about the unbelievable backstory of maverick King O’Malley, the ‘Yankee dandy’ at the heart of Canberra’s foundation. 

He was a politician preposterously known as King who courted controversy to such a degree there are undercurrents of an Australian Donald Trump of his day. 

The abounding mix of legend and mystery when it comes to King O’Malley’s reign at the turn of the 20th century extends to his position as a recognised Canberra entity. 

A member of the first Parliament of the Australian Commonwealth and a pivotal figure in the establishment of the Federal Territory, there’s an ACT suburb named for him, and a local pub, too. It’s an ironic nod given that while Minister for Home Affairs he was responsible for alcohol prohibition in the capital, an almost two decade-long ban on “stagger juice”.

Even more significant is the charge that O’Malley, an unexpected independent MP in SA (1896), subsequently securing a federal seat for Tasmania (1901, Labor), was never eligible to sit in this country’s parliaments as he was American by birth.

Now a Canberra author, Brian O’Malley – no relation, as it turns out – in delving deeper into this often unbelievable backstory has added yet another layer: as a young man in the US, the insurance salesman turned legislator stood trial for murder. 

Brian has unpicked the convoluted trail from the origin point of a scrapbook belonging to his great-grandfather. In meticulous detail he sets forth the argument in the recently published How James became King – the true story of James ‘King’ O’Malley.

“King is often described as a larrikin or a maverick, but his history is a series of unscrupulous vocations including fraudster, evangelist and ‘bishop’ of his own church, even a self-declared newspaper owner,” says Brian.

“There’s an aura that’s arisen around him but the startling truth about why James Malley fled includes a notorious 1882 trial involving the unexplained death of a young woman in which he was a prime suspect.

“Malley was eventually acquitted and proceeds to disappear from most records, but not before he’d become ‘King’. Then in 1888, he reappears in Australia.”

Like so many of his tales, King O’Malley projected himself as tall and swaggering. A self-styled media celebrity before it was a thing; of swept-back auburn locks and a full, reddish beard. Flamboyant attire was another penchant: “A wide-brimmed felt hat, blue-grey suit with huge lapels and a low-cut vest, loose cravat with a diamond collar stud, and in the centre of his cream silk shirt-front a fiery opal.”

On turning up in the Antipodes, King promptly earned a reputation as a “Yankee dandy” with rollicking yarns ranging from the Wild West to his having lived in a cave for two years after his arrival.

Almost all of it was patently untrue. The seemingly accurate element – his American origins – jettisoned as the theatrical raconteur eyed his chances for a political platform from which to spruik.

“King claimed to have been born in Canada because this would make him a British subject and therefore permitted to run for our colonial and then Commonwealth Parliaments,” says Brian.

A 1981 book about King O’Malley was even titled The American Bounder. It does acknowledge many of the “embroideries”, but employs other euphemisms such as “colourful” and “eccentric”, suggesting the subject a “visionary” with “a love of storytelling”.

“He was absolutely Trump-like, the similarities are very stark” says Brian more matter-of-factly.

It was South Australian women, first in the country to gain the right to vote and fourth in the world, who helped propel the charismatic King to parliament, many sympathetic to his pro-temperance views on alcohol.

Other “social evils” that earned him attention included his arguments against the employment of barmaids.

“He did champion unpopular causes and advance women’s rights as well as important projects such as the Trans-Australian Rail [the critical freight corridor between SA and WA], and the concept of a national bank, too.”

“Even then though, he always made himself to be more central to it all than was the actual truth.”

An acrimonious 1899 election saw King defeated – twice. The first poll was declared void after his successor was accused of “bribing voters”. Charles Tucker was returned, again, resoundingly.

A strategic move to Tasmania gave the opportunity for the former state member to be elected at the federal level. 

Initially passed over for a ministry, he’d eventually inveigle his way into cabinet. In this capacity, despite having referred to the selected site of the new national capital as “a howling wilderness”, it was he who’d make the announcement on Walter Burley Griffin’s vision. 

King was also bestowed with the honour of handing over the golden trowel to the governor-general at the official foundation ceremony on March 12, 1913. 

Four years later, at the age of 63 (or thereabouts, his birthdate yet another furphy, he claiming it to be July 4, 1854) his political, almost “Rasputin-ish” influence was at an end. King attempted to resurrect himself on a number of occasions, but his time in elected office was as buried as his beginnings.

Controversy remained a constant companion and he’d spend much of his later years defending – or reinventing – most of the earlier parts.

“The mythology had just become widely accepted, he was a part of the establishment,” says Brian. 

“There was a scholarship set up by him and his wife, Amy, which continues to be awarded, and he was even the subject of an Archibald Prize entry just before his death in 1953, now held by the Commonwealth Bank.

“While perhaps King avoided real consequences for his actions, I guess democracy ultimately prevailed – there’s suggestions that although many thought he was a great guy, in the end, they voted for the other guy.” 

Just as Trump earned populist prominence as a reality TV star, maybe King O’Malley would have made a perfect candidate for the show “Survivor” with its tagline “outwit, outplay, outlast”.

On his death, possibly almost 100, he was the last man standing of that first Australian Federal Parliament, in which he should never have had a seat.

Nichole Overall is a social historian and journalist. She can be heard co-hosting the CityNews Sunday Roast program, 9am-noon, on 2CC.