#13: 'Sir' Wayne Martin
Man's man, ladies man, man about town. No wonder they still call him "Sir"
Back when Sydney's veins ran riot with neon and the city's main artery was a vice wonderland called Kings Cross, the right-hand man to Mr Big, Mr Sin, Mr Showbiz and Mr Sinatra was "Sir" Wayne Martin: chauffeur, pantsman, club owner, confidant to the stars... and 'Honorary Director' of 20 companies owned by "one of the most notorious, despicable human beings living in this country".
But "Sir" Wayne has always seen the world through a rose-coloured windscreen. History may record the men to whom he rode shotgun as underworld tyrants, but Abe Saffron, Lenny McPherson and Jack Rooklyn remain, to Wayne, "gentlemen and scholars". His defence of such deadly men is proof of their trust and respect for him and why, for three decades he presided as a prince in one of the most salacious and sensational eras in Sydney history.
Raised under the whiphand in a Christchurch orphanage, Wayne was a ratbag kid cannoned into the real world when a trio of Aussie sailors wrapped him in a blanket, threw him over their shoulders and stowed him away on a ship bound for Sin City. Ever the pirate, Wayne lived seven years as a seaman and scallywag before returning, a man with a plan.
Having tasted Bugsy Siegel's Las Vegas on shore leave, Wayne asked "gentle Satan" businessman Saffron to back him and mate, "Last Card" Louie Benedetto, in what would be Sydney's first strip club - The Pink Pussycat. "In those days all the brothels were on or around Stanley Street and the streets were packed with guys and gals, five quid, bang, bang, bang. But when the police shut it down we invited the molls and hoons up to the Cross where we could keep an eye on 'em."
Kings Cross in those days was "beautiful - no heroin or cocaine, just a bit of pot. Last Card and I would open up the Pussycat at 7pm and look in on the girls in the first show. Then we'd stroll down Darlo Road and the shop owners would load us up with cheese and ham and oysters for the girls in return for a few palmed tickets. There was no El Alamein fountain in them days, the Cross was movie houses, bands at Surf City, supper club shows at the Chevron and Silver Spade - a real swinging scene."
Wayne knew everyone and everyone knew Wayne "because Louie and I were very powerful with Lenny and his crowd... the guys who kept the criminals in order by employing plenty of muscle, breaking arms and legs and handing out floggings."
Wayne himself was no tough guy. His vice is one he tenders to Time Out in the form of a ragged red book of 35 pages, each adorned with 30-odd female names apiece. "These were all the girls that came to my house in Paddington back in the day," he winks. "See, I was firmly of the opinion that King Farouk and Frank Sinatra couldn't fuck every sheila in the world. My secret? I always left 'em sweet so they'd say: 'Wayne, I've got a girlfriend. Would you like to have a coffee with her?'
After 12 years and 39,000 shows, Wayne sold the Pussycat to become 2IC to master impresario Lee Gordon and soon, driver and wingman for Ol' Blue Eyes himself. "One night I bring Frank the mail that Ray Charles has just been pinched for drugs in America. Frank was just outta the shower with a towel around him and he sits down on the lounge and leans back. Well, my jaw dropped. His valet says: 'Now you know why they call him The King'. Some nights after the show Frank and I would walk from the Chevron Hotel down Macleay Street to Garden Island, turn around and come back, talking and kicking puddles all the way."
After star-corralling for Gordon, Wayne played right hand man to Jack Rooklyn, the cigar-chomping gambling heavy who introduced Bally poker machines to Australia in the late 60s and was rumoured to be Mafia-connected. Not that Wayne will speak ill of the dead. "Abe says to me one time, 'Wayne, if they're talking about me or you or Louie, they're at least leaving someone else alone'."
Today, "Sir" Wayne holds court from a small apartment overlooking the slowed pulse of Stanley Street. As a budgie called Lincoln twitters in the corner, the shelves stand jammed with true crime books and videos like Transsexual Heartbreakers, the floors piled high with folders of old show programmes and newspaper clippings (one recording Wayne's arrest for "scandalous conduct" at an orgy). On the walls school photos of his surrogate grandkids jostle for space with snaps of his many female conquests. Several depict "Sir" Wayne in flagrante on a yacht vigorously entertaining a Miss Universe.
He still catches plenty of action over coffee at Bill & Toni's and by driving old ducks around for St Vincent de Paul, too. When Time Out enquires if he still has the old va-va-voom, "Sir" Wayne rakishly tilts his head at his bed's rumpled sheets and a girl's handbag beside. "My cue's not in the rack just yet." Wink.
Lifeline
1930 Wayne Martin born in Christchurch, placed in orphanage
1946 Stows away for Sydney. Meets "Last Card" Louie
1953 Returns to Sydney from life at sea
1956 Charged with "scandalous conduct" at Palm Beach love-in
1958 Pink Pussycat opens on Darlinghurst Rd
1959 Starts work for Lee Gordon. Chauffeurs Frank Sinatra
1971 Sells Pussycat. Joins Jack Rooklyn
1990 Retires to Sydney's first high-rise block
1996 Beats cancer, starts charity work
2003 Pink Pussycat closes. Era ends