“Quite spontaneously, we passed the hat around at the end of the night and gave whatever was accumulated to the kids’ hospital. And that was that. Except it wasn’t.” ANTONIO DI DIO continues his Short History of Kindness. 

MY friend Richard and I are, um… eccentrics. Our wives may use stronger language but the concept is the same. 

In 1936 Lee Falk created “The Phantom” comic strip and wrote it daily for 63 years till his death in 1999. The minute I found out about his passing, Richard, a teacher at the local school in Five Dock, was in my office. We knew an era had ended, part of Australian culture of a certain time and place. 

Bill Lawry, Aussie Test skipper, was known as Phantom, and thousands of groups of Aussie mates since World War II have had at least one person so named, usually if they were absent from anything or consumed milk.

Richard and I decided to go out that night to honor Falk, but life got in the way and we couldn’t catch up for a week. By that time, Steve, Glenn, Dan and some other dubious characters had all said they’d join. So did Cath, Bronwyn, Sarah and Judith. We booked a restaurant, gave ourselves a ridiculous name (The Lee Falk Memorial Bengali Explorers Club), and got Jim Shepherd, publisher of “Phantom” comics and my occasional SCG cricket companion, to say a few short slurry words. Then, quite spontaneously, we passed the hat around at the end of the night and gave whatever was accumulated to the kids’ hospital. And that was that.

Except it wasn’t. Richard loved it. He came more often for his blood pressure check (I didn’t mind, it was nice to get a bit diverse and have a patient speak English occasionally in that beautiful melting pot of a practice!) and we had another gathering. 

We just had our 34th dinner tonight, over 24 years and I’m writing in the spare room of my son’s house, about a 7 iron from that medical practice in Five Dock. We organised that first dinner while he was in nappies. It is possible that I’ve had nothing to drink and am in no way sentimental. Possible.

Our dinner tonight was a cracker as usual. About 60 folks from around Australia and NZ. A guest speaker delivering heartfelt thoughts about their career in art, a great fun night, a million silent auction items, then very late I got on stage as auctioneer. Four of my kids turned up at 10pm from some random inner-city pub, to cheer on dad. 

We made somewhere north of 10 grand and have now passed $100,000 in total donated, and every cent goes to the Westmead Childrens’ Hospital. There are no costs – everything is voluntary. And it’s euphoric to do good while having fun with people, some attending for the first time, some dear friends over decades. Same awesome night as usual. Almost. 

Last week, Bron returned from walking, and nudged lazy Richard to wake up. To her shock, Richard was gone, his full, loud, busy, wonderful love-filled life expired sometime during the night. 

It would take too long to list the wonder that resided in that infuriatingly enthusiastic heart, but it’s no surprise to anyone that this man travelled frequently and delighted in staying in every part of the globe with someone he had taught at Russell Lea Primary School. He inspired them to be citizens of the world, and for so many reasons they never stopped loving him. 

In recent years I’ve been busier than ever, and Richard has done almost all the organising of our functions, in association with Bradley and Joyful and our other buddies, leaving me, as Jane Austen would say of Mr Bennet, “to do nothing but take the credit of it”. 

The latter two insisted they take over tonight’s event, partly to honour him, mostly, I suspect, to save the event from my ineptitude. Of course, thanks to them, it was brilliant. 

Richard taught 50 years worth of kids to be the best version of themselves. He defined giving to others, and in our humble LFMBEC group, he’s given me one of the life items I’m most proud of. 

Bronwyn was back delivering babies yesterday – she’s tough and awesome. I won’t sleep tonight – too busy being self-indulgently sad, but also proud of what nerdhood gives me – kindness, friendship, purpose, connection, pride, tolerance, and working together to make the world free from evildoers! Vale, my friend.