#2 :- Hiding 4 million dollars worth of damage from one of Australia’s wealthiest men.

Never give a broke 27 year old a drill

“Possibly the most driven and controversial art auctioneer Australia has known; the formidable Rod Menzies.”

When I started in the gallery, my first job for Menzies, for Deutscher-Menzies, was opening the door for people. It was a very glamorous Auction House position.

They told me who Mr Menzies was and you had to use “Mr Menzies”. When he arrived, I opened the door and said “good morning Mr Menzies”. And with his distinctive handshake, he replied “you can call me Rod”. So I went “hey Rod!” And it was awkward.

He came over to me later on and said “Simon, I’d like you to come to my place at Norrilum on the weekend. I've got this painting I would like hung please”

I don’t know why I made it awkward again but I said “ Sorry Mr. Rod….Menzies….I’ve got something on on the weekend already”

Mr Menzies said “I'd like you to come up on Saturday and hang a painting”

I reply “I've got plans already on Saturday Mr Menzies”

 “You’re coming up on Saturday”

 “No worries Mr Menzies, I will see you on Saturday”

You never say no to Mr Menzies, because it just doesn't go in. 

So I drive to Noorilim on Saturday. Noorilim is a historic mansion…a mind-blowing historic mansion. It took me about 30 visits to get around to all the rooms. The turret is awesome. 

When I get to the house, I'm taken into the dining room. The carpet is maroon, it was dark, with windows you could walk through. It was there Mr Menzies wanted me to hang the McCubbin painting. 

If you know, Mr Menzies had one of the few McCubbin paintings. I couldn’t remember how many there were at the time, but I knew it was not many. The number of McCubbin paintings I’d seen, let alone touched, before that moment, was 0. 

And I'm hanging it by myself.

I’ve got a cordless drill, and I’m drilling holes through this original antique wallpaper that's ornate and aged. Then into brick which you can’t see and it's like honeycomb because the bricks are old. I'm thinking “you've got to do this Simon, you've got to do this.” So I made the fasteners, thought it was good, hung the McCubbin and left the job. 

I was living in Kensington at the time, so to get there from Norrilum is about a 2 1/2 hour drive. When I got back home, I went straight to bed.

At 1 Am I received a call. 

I made it back to Norillum in 45 minutes.

It’s the grape manager who rings me and he says “Simon, the McCubbin’s fallen off the wall”

It was awful. I jumped out of bed, into the Commodore station wagon, and it's just “fuk fuk fuk fuk fuk” the whole way. “Fuk fuk fuk”.

He didn't say what happened to it, just “its fallen off the wall”. Any painting I"ve seen that’s fallen off the wall is damaged, you know?  I've never seen one that is undamaged. And this one is heavy and I’d hung it up high. There was everything underneath it as well. 

When I got there, Rob the grape manager runs out to me and lets out this cockatoo screech, “SIMON! Come in here”

He starts telling me the story: “I heard a noise, I was in bed. And it was this…” I'm listening, because it was his story now and I'm getting frustrated. 

“Just show me the f****** artwork, don't tell me what …”

But he kept talking “…and we came in and, and it was up here..” He was gesturing, motioning, like stretching up, out into the sky.  

Then he pointed to where the painting now was…

…leaning on the wall, outside the dining room, standing up. 

“ Is there damage, what happened to it?”

Rob keeps explaining “..when we got up after we heard it” ( just take all the time in the world there Rob) “and went into the dining room, it was still hanging up on the wall”

What had happened is the honeycomb brick had pretty much exploded, and one end of the McCubbin fell down and hit the top of the side cupboard thing in front of it. So you’ve got to picture it: it’s a big painting, resting on its corner, on an angle, with the one remaining fastener hooking it into swisse cheese.

Right in front of where the 25kg solid timber frame hit the cheffon-side-cupboard thing, was Arthur Boyd's sculpture “Whistler”, which is almost like a spear. If you described its shape, it turns up into a point, and it was positioned directly in front of where the McCubbin fell. Whistler was next to the prized, irreplaceable crystal racing trophies that Mr Menzies had won with his horses. 

Rob finishes his story: “we came in and lifted it up and we put it outside the door. Then we rang you”

I sat on one of the dining chairs and put my head in my hands “Did you see any damage?” I asked. 

“At the top there's like, a dint, in the wood. And on the frame, you can see a little of the guilding has dropped off. It’s okay Simon, we can figure something out…

…we don’t have to tell Mr Menzies”

Two years before I dropped the McCubbin, my mum died of breast cancer.

I don’t know how she managed it, but I reckon she was the one holding that painting against the wall.

Because I got it wrong, back then. The Arthur Boyd sculpture wasn’t called “whistler”, it’s called “Mother protecting her children”

So that was my first hang job for Mr Menzies. How's that for a lesson? 

Ps: I did tell Mr Menzies what happened. I rang him from the scene of the crime at 6:30 AM and explained that for some reason his $4 Million+ painting fell off the wall and came out unscathed. He said “I’m really grateful for you telling me that”

And that’s how I got the job. Working for Rod Menzies, for more than 20 years.

Pps: I also accidentally filled his Bentley with diesel petrol.

Twice.

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