Chapter 2      

Very few decisions in life are irreversible, so make some!

It was only upon graduating and getting my first job in PR that I realised I really didn't like PR at all! My first job out of university was with a government agency. I quickly found the work to be deeply annoying! Looking back, I realise PR itself wasn't the problem; I simply didn't have the maturity to work in that field.

Convinced by an act of grace

In any government agency, much revolves around your minister. It's your job to keep them interested in your portfolio, up-to-date with the latest goings-on, and to give them opportunities to shine in front of their staff, the media and the community. A big part of our role was to create events for the minister. We would work for weeks and weeks, often very long hours, to schedule, plan and conduct fantastic events for our minister. More often than not, and primarily because we were a reasonably low-profile and small agency, the minister wouldn't attend. We would get a call from his office the night before the event to say that ‘something has come up’ and he had to reprioritise to attend to more urgent matters on the day, which meant all our preparation and planning was wasted. At the time I found this deeply demoralising, but later (after working in and with government for 15 years) I realised it's often not appropriate for politicians to attend a launch or a breakfast, particularly when bigger issues and higher priorities exist. As a 21 year old, though, I found this frustrating and disrespectful and started looking around for different things to do.

One of my roles in PR was to lead bus tours. On these tours we would take lovely retired people on outings into our metropolitan parks. My favourite at the time was Jells Park, in Glen Waverley. Smack in the geographical centre of Melbourne, Jells Park contains waterways, bush trails, barbecues and a visitor centre. The thing I loved about Jells Park is that I always felt good when I was there. I loved how the park rangers obviously loved their job and took great pride in explaining the fine details of the flora and fauna to visitors. One visit I witnessed a remarkable example of customer service that inspired me to pursue a career as a ranger.

A young boy, no more than eight, came to the rangers office cradling a very sick starling in his jumper. He was quite upset, on the verge of tears, when he knocked on the rangers office door. The ranger looked at the starling, looked at the boy, then carefully took the injured bird from the boy and promised to ‘fix it up’.

Now, anyone will tell you that starlings are not high on the list of birds that rangers want to see flourish, or even survive! As an introduced pest, they crowd out native birds, destroy habitat and breed like crazy. So the ranger had a dilemma that he solved in a beautiful way. Once the boy had left he quickly euthanised the bird — I know some people won't like this idea, but (a) the bird was nearly dead and (b) that was the ranger's job. Then he wrapped the bird up and disposed of it in a way that wouldn't spread any disease, feed the rats or risk it being found by park visitors. Job done.

Two hours later the boy, with his father, came back to see how ‘his bird’ was getting on. The ranger took them outside and, with the boy holding both the ranger's hand and his father's, walked them deep into the surrounding bushland. Pointing up at a totally healthy starling, the ranger said, ‘There she is. She's all better. We fixed her right up’.

It wasn't the time to be gruff and practical. It wasn't the time or place for this boy to be given the story about introduced pests and our absolute requirement to manage their numbers in order to protect our native species. It was the time to show grace and compassion. To give a worried boy a song in his heart and a story to tell at school.

The next day I applied to be a park ranger.

Since I had started, my agency had been renamed and merged with two other agencies. It was now virtually unrecognisable from the small operation I had joined just two short years earlier. Parks Victoria, as we were now referred to, managed both national and metropolitan parks. It had a specific responsibility to improve the biodiversity of plant and animal life in all state-owned crown land. To meet this challenge, Parks Victoria was recruiting Park Rangers — Customer Service. These rangers would work primarily with visitors, lead possum prowls, manage events and be ‘the face of the Park’.

I didn't like my chances. I had no background in sustainability or the environment. Apart from the bus tours and work at the supermarket I had no background in customer service. But I wanted to be happy in my job and all the rangers I knew loved their work. I didn't want to wake up anymore thinking, ‘Can I take a sick day today?’ So, motto in mind, I applied, winged my way through the interview process … and got the job!

Me … a park ranger?

I really landed on my feet in the role of park ranger. I loved the interaction, the planning, working with the environmental specialists who knew every tree, every shrub and every animal track in their park. But it wasn't long before I realised that my ignorance of the technical aspects of the environment was holding me back. I needed to be able to talk to visitors with more knowledge and authority. I needed the environmental understanding to write the park notes, media releases and newsletters. I needed the confidence that comes with fully comprehending what it was we were actually doing at Jells Park. Importantly, I understood that in this male-dominated environment, where I was one of only two women in a team of 18, I had to be technically competent to be taken seriously.

With this in mind, I enrolled in the Associate Diploma in Applied Science — Environmental Management at Frankston TAFE. The travel drove me nuts. Three nights a week I would drive for over an hour in peak-hour traffic to Frankston, engage with the lessons and then drive an hour home. After a year I reflected on the value of the course and came to realise that there was a better way to build my technical understanding of environmental management: through a mentor.

I attached myself to John Goodman, who at the time was the Operations Ranger at Jells Park. John was a long-time ranger, highly trained with deep expertise in both the operations and environmental aspects of the park. He was very highly regarded by everyone on the team and was well respected by all our stakeholders. He was a sound, down-to-earth father of seven who absolutely lived for his family. An all-round good bloke.

I didn't approach John and say, ‘Will you be my mentor?’ Unassuming and humble people like John often feel uncomfortable in ‘official’ roles like that. Rather, I just joined him in the park and peppered him with questions, asking ‘why’ a lot. John taught me obvious things like identification of flora and fauna but also the more esoteric skills that rangers often require, such as how to estimate the tonnage of crushed rock needed to create a walkway of a certain depth, width and length; how to touch up park signage with enamel paint — and clean up the brushes and tins afterwards! He even taught me how to drive a manual car, with much mirth and merriment — well, at least from his side of the vehicle.

I'm sure I drove John crazy at first, but after a while it started working both ways. John had seen me excel at dealing with difficult people at the park, both visitors and staff. He started to seek my ideas about what he should do in particular situations. I had such an immense respect for the man that when he was promoted to Ranger-in-Charge at a new park I followed him there as his Customer Service Ranger. We worked very well together and often shared a laugh over the absurdities of life and people. And after nearly 20 years we still have this relationship!

Mentoring was a fantastic way to accelerate my learning. It had two great advantages over the formal qualification. Firstly, the advice was practical, grounded in real-life experience and knowledge of the local environment. Secondly, the mentoring relationship enabled me to develop a deep and highly visible relationship with someone who was trusted throughout the organisation.

I quickly became head of the customer service team in the park and at the grand old age of 22 I managed four rangers. In private industry it's normal for quick learners to be rapidly promoted. In government, particularly back in those days, it was unheard of. Promotion was usually based on years of service. People, particularly park rangers, could typically work at the same park for 10 to 15 years at a time. There was talk: ‘It's because she's a girl’ was one of the rumours I heard around the traps. From time to time it became more overt, and one of those times stands out in my memory.

The day in question started with a light summer fog over the park, giving everything a warm orange glow as the rangers unlocked the gates. By 10 am the park was full of parents and young children taking full advantage of the bike tracks, playgrounds and visitor centre. By lunchtime most families had gone home and were replaced with several large groups of young adults, mostly men, with eskies full of beer and sausages. Most were in board shorts and singlets. As they arranged themselves around the park I made a mental note. By 1 pm it was already hot, about 32 °C, and it would soon be hotter still as the northerly pushed through the city, bringing with it parched dry air from the centre of Australia. As it heated up, my visitors would drink faster, and it was also unlikely to cool down quickly, as the northerly was predicted to stay for at least three days. Tomorrow and the next day were forecasting 40 °C plus. This is not unusual in Melbourne, and I had an inkling of how this would end for the groups enjoying their barbecue in my park.

By about 8.30 pm I was concerned. The noise levels had continued to creep up, voices becoming raucous — they were all good natured and enjoying themselves at this point, but I understood alcohol, and I knew it could turn in an instant.

At 9.00 pm, the last of Melbourne's wonderful twilight was falling and I was getting ready to close the park. How these people intended to get home I didn't know. My concern was to get them to leave peacefully and willingly so I could close and lock the gate behind them.

There were now upwards of 30 very drunk and very loud men. I was just 22, alone and hesitant. I made the call on the trunk radio. I would not put myself in danger by attempting to round up and hustle out these people on my own. I radioed the other ranger on duty, explained the situation and asked for his help to lock up the gates. His response: ‘Well, if you women want to be park rangers, you've got to do all the park ranger work!’ My response, although I can't quote it verbatim, was that it wasn't about whether I was male or female, but about making sure we empty the park quickly and safely. I wouldn't expect a male to act on his own in this situation either. It wasn't a gender issue, it was a safety issue.

This was my first encounter with gender-based discrimination and I pondered on it. Was this a one-off experience? Or should I always expect discrimination and prepare accordingly? Is the ‘glass ceiling’ for women so low they can't even be trusted to do basic work? I didn't know the answer, but it sure made me cross!

I didn't get it right all the time though. In summer visitor numbers rose and we needed more park rangers to run the place. We would bring in casual labour, mainly university students, to keep the place running. In my naivety I appointed three of my friends to the casual roster. I liked them and found them friendly and engaging people. If we just whacked a ranger's uniform on them and sent them out the visitors would also like them, and everyone would win!

Well, not quite. There were two big issues with this. Firstly, none of my friends, although lovely, had any experience in customer service. They didn't have the discipline, empathy or other essential qualities needed to deliver good customer service. I bailed them out of tricky situations several times.

Secondly, and much more importantly, I didn't realise the resentment it would create among my colleagues as I handed out ‘jobs for the boys’. At the time, it made complete and obvious sense to me. It was four hours on a Saturday and Sunday afternoon for two months. It wasn't high stakes, it wasn't even particularly interesting, and they reported directly to me. So what was the issue?

I didn't stop to think that we needed transparency in the process. My colleagues might well have known other people who were equally eager to apply and were probably better equipped. There were most likely numerous sons, daughters, nieces and nephews who would have loved the opportunity. But my colleagues didn't get a chance to put them forward. They were aggrieved, and rightly so. It didn't go down well at all, to put it mildly, and it took some months and an apology to fully regain the trust of my people. It was a good lesson to learn early in my career about how to make the right decision the right way.