Poor old Hamilton William Nation Leslie.

All he wanted to do was take a leak.

Instead the “former” schoolmaster – in fact an active teacher at Brisbane’s elite Church of England Grammar School (Churchie) time he was pinched and for three terms that followed, a fact covered up by his Freemason brother and fellow Anglican Judge Vaux Nicholson issuing a name suppression order in Queensland that allowed him to keep teaching for 9 months, much to many little abused boys later chagrin – all he wanted was a to take a leak.


Preferably straddled over a naked young man as he did pulled out the pony and let fly.

He thought he was onto a winner too when young plain clothes Constable Johnny Fulton – who of course Leslie didn’t realise was a copper – approached him outside the well-known 1960’s gay beat of the toilets on the corner of Elizabeth and Eagle Streets (below) and invited him into his car for a ‘cigarette’, which of course is a euphemism for something long and slender, but quite different altogether, if you know what I mean.


It was a classic honey trap, although Leslie didn’t realise it, even after uniformed Detective Lawrie Welldon bowled up and said ‘Oi! What are you pair of poofs up to here?’.

I can just see Fulton playing his role of the effeminate young gay and squealing and flapping his arms about, but Leslie must have just about sh*t his pants, because back in those days it probably wasn’t the the best of looks for a school teacher at an exclusive private boys school to caught in a car with his fly open and a man half his age by his side.

In fact it was downright illegal under the repressive laws of the 1960’s, and in an instant Leslie’s flagpole would have drooped to half-mast as he watched not only his career fly out the window, but a mid-length spell in a jail cell coming straight at him like a freight train, and social ruination for the descendant of one of the founding fathers of the exclusive suburb of Hamilton following soon after.

Leslie must have thought all of his Sundays had come at once when the uniformed copper proved that he was bent by offering him a way out of the god-awful mess he’d created for himself, as Welldon bent down and whispered in his ear that if he reached his pocket and pulled out two fifty dollar bills and slapped them down on the middle console, then he’d close his eyes and count to ten and if when he opened them again Leslie wasn’t there, well the detective would simply assume that he’d been dreaming and that the schoolteacher had never been there at all.

The next day some folk were reporting that they’d seen a speeding bullet hurtling down Eagle Street, and others were saying that they’d seen two coppers, one in plain clothes, the other in uniform, each with a $50 note in their hand, standing under the famous Moreton Bay fig trees that shaded the public toilets and laughing their bloody guts out.

The pair of crooked coppers weren’t laughing for long though, for there was something they didn’t know, but were about to find out in the cruelest of ways.


Commissioner Frank Bischof  (left), Glen Hallahan (center top), Tony Murphy (right)

A couple of far more senior and well connected much more deeply corrupt cops – Commissioner Frank Bischof  (left), Glen Hallahan (center top) and Tony Murphy (right) – had obtained an early model CCTV camera from their Yankee mates in the FBI, and they’d rigged it up to overlook the public toilets and record the comings and goings of the large number of establishment chaps – lawyers, businessmen, bankers, politicians – who had a hankering for a bit of rough trade and liked pulling young lads love sticks while the aroma of piss wafted through the air.

The coppers with the camera were men who weren’t to be trifled with, and these blokes wouldn’t get out of bed for a sh*tty little hundred dollar shakedown. Oh no, blackmail was their game, blackmail power and influence over people who could in the long game make them hundreds of thousands of dollars, and protect them from the possibility of ever going straight to jail, without stopping or collecting $200 from the community chest, if somehow they were collared for their wholesale crimes.

Tony Murphy and Glen Hallahan, the two most feared policeman in the land of Pineapples, were onto a bloody good thing and they weren’t going to let 2 greedy young constable plods stuff it up, especially when the bast*rds didn’t even have the common decency to offer their superiors a slice of the century they’d just scored.

Nup, this sort of thing was not on. Hallahan and Murphy ran crime in this town, not the pair of pissant policeman who’d just pulled the sting on the poofter schoolteacher, and a message had to be sent out loud and clear to any other bugger who thought it would be a lark to tread on the top boy’s toes.

The demonic duo decided that they were going to well and truly f*ck Welldon and Fulton, thus showing any other smart-arse what would happen if you tried to the Rat Pack, and offer Leslie the choice of the money or the concrete box so that they could recoup their losses in the process.

Murphy and Hallahan went to have a little word in Hamilton William Nation Leslie’s ear, and while we can only guess how much they advised him the price was to retain his reputation, his career and his liberty, you can bet your bottom dollar that it had a lot more zeroes on it that the mere ton that Fulton and Welldon had fleeced from the teacher.

That deed done, they then popped over to see their boss – the King of Corruption himself, Commissioner Frank Bischof – to share the love and explain the situation, and the next thing you knew there were squad cars flying all over town looking for the force’s finest f*ck-ups, and before the hour was out Detective Weldon and Constable Fulton found themselves banged up behind bars in Boggo Road charged with extorting the poor innocent school teacher who only wanted a smoke, not the suck and f*ck that the wicked felon Fulton was claiming that the lecherous Leslie had asked him for.

Of course a job worth doing is worth doing well, and the bad boys in blue lined up the perfect judge for the trial job, a bloke named Vaux Nicholson (below) who was not only an Anglican churchgoer who knew Leslie from the Sunday morning service, but was a fellow Freemason brother who’d taken an oath to burn any bugger who hurt his brethren to boot.


Brother Nicholson threw the book at the pair of pocket-picking plods who’d selecred the wrong place, the wrong time and the wrong bloke to pull a shake down on, and then the judge upended his chair and chucked that at them too, and in what old timers still say to this day was the most impressive coup de grace ever seen in the Queensland District Court, old Nicholson grabbed his gavel in a single, swift movement and slam-dunked it on the accused now-former-coppers heads.

They copped five years did our men Welldon and Fulton, and after being labelled a disgrace to the force the honey trappers did their time hard too, for Murphy and Hallahan made arrangements with their ex-copper mates who ran Boggo Road to ensure that their was no protection for this pair who’d tried to cut their lucrative lunch, and no early parole either, not under any bloody circumstances.

Leslie, by now without doubt a lot lighter in the pocket but with a smile across his dial wider than the Brisbane River, received the gift of name suppression, meaning that the case could not be reported in Queensland, and I’ll bet my bottom dollar that a transport glitch meant that the Sydney papers could not be delivered to Brisvegas the next day.

So off he sauntered down the street, and if you ever want to know what the price of police corruption is, then don’t worry about what happened to Fulton and Welldon, because they did the crime, and even if they did get framed like the Mona Lisa by Murphy and Hallahan, well bad eggs need to be thrown out – or in, as the case may be – and rascals simply reap what they sow, which is no good and plenty of it.

No it’s not that pernicious pair who shine a bright light on the evils of corruption among the police force. The real price of corruption is the damaged lives of the three unnamed young boys, now men, written about in the article below.

If the law had been applied fairly and properly in 1968 then Hamilton William Nation Leslie would never have stepped foot in a school yard again, and these young boys would have been spared from the clutch of his kiddy-fiddling paws.

From little corrupt things terrible big things flow.