Dave Sharma (Wentworth, Liberal Party) Share this | Hansard source

It was March 1994, and a young 18-year-old was in the wings of the Darling Harbour convention centre rather nervously, wearing an ill-fitting suit belonging to his father, waiting to go up onto the stage to meet then Premier John Fahey. That 18-year-old was me—I'd graduated from high school the year before—and I was receiving an academic award, a NSW Premier's award, for my HSC results. This was the biggest occasion I had been involved in, up until that time, in my life, and I remember waiting nervously for my name to be called out and to bound up onto the stage and shake the Premier's hand. As always happens on these big occasions, you can often overthink things, and, as I reached the top step of the stage, I tripped and stumbled and sprawled my way across the floor and slid into the feet of the then Premier John Fahey. I can't imagine a more ignominious entrance to receive an award, but John, the gentleman and truly decent man he was, quickly pulled me to my feet, made a joke about it, put me at ease, shook my hand and, I think, probably gave me more of a rousing send-off than any of the other following recipients, who didn't do what I had done in slipping up and falling on the stage.

John had moved equally quickly two months earlier on Australia Day in 1994 when he'd moved to shield Prince Charles from an attack at the time. But, like many Australians, I think my most vivid memory, my first memory of John Fahey, when he pierced my consciousness, was the night when Sydney won the right to host the Olympic Games in 2000. This was in September 1993, and it was his jump for joy alongside the head of the bid committee, Rod McGeoch—he's still with us today and still a constituent of mine in Wentworth—when the IOC president, Juan Antonio Samaranch, declared in his distinctive Spanish accent, 'The winner is Sydney!' It was John's jump for joy alongside Rod McGeoch, his unbridled joy and his enthusiasm, which I think spoke to a genuineness of character and authenticity, which was one of his most defining characteristics as a person and one that he carried through with him into public and political life. This was a man who was very deeply grounded in the ideals of service.

John was first elected as a state member of parliament in 1984, to the seat of Camden, rising to become the Premier of New South Wales from 1992 to 1995. He then moved to federal politics in 1996, winning the seat of Macarthur and immediately joining the ministry of the first Howard government, serving as finance minister for five critical years, helping to turn around public finances at the time and presiding over the privatisation of Telstra. He left the federal parliament in 2001 after 17 years of parliamentary service, both state and federal, due to ill-health, only to embark, once his health had recovered, on another career of service. John went on to be a director of the Royal Flying Doctor Service, the Chancellor of the Australian Catholic University, chairman of the rugby league development board, Chairman of the Sydney Olympic Park Authority and, most significantly, Chairman of the World Anti-Doping Agency, one of the most significant sporting administrator positions in the world.

On top of this lifetime of service, John was a deeply committed family man. He was a loving husband to Colleen. He was a father. He was a grandfather. Whilst I can't pretend to have known John personally—and I know we only met on a few occasions, and, although he loomed as a significant figure in my life, I was undoubtedly not one in his—I do recall a recent encounter with him at a dinner held just last year in the Great Hall of Parliament House for the 75th anniversary of the Liberal Party. John was there with his wife, Colleen. Although it was a crowded night, he made a point of searching me out and congratulating me for my electoral success in my second attempt to win the seat of Wentworth. This personal touch—that he would bother, with so many others vying for his attention, with so many others he knew better at the dinner that evening, and with many others with whom he would have preferred to be having a conversation, no doubt—was a touching gesture, and I remember it well and I remember it very fondly. I think, without wishing to flatter myself here, it spoke to the fundamental decency and deep humanity of the person who was John Fahey.

I know faith was important throughout John's life, and I hope that faith provides some comfort to those he leaves behind—his wife, Colleen, his surviving children, Melanie and Matthew, and his grandchildren, Amber and Campbell, to his daughter Tiffany. May they have all comfort in this difficult time, and may John rest in peace.

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