Few of you will know me or know of my friendship over two decades with Dale West. Some who do know, called us the ‘Odd Couple’.

Dale liked Pepsi Max: I was more of a Penfolds man.

Dale loved punting: I’m not sure what the initials TAB stand for.

Dale’s passion was mountain climbing: I’m scared of escalators.

Dale loved the Geelong Cats: I’m a Bombers fan.

And so, the differences went on. Fire and ice.

Yet Dale and I had a synergy, a common language.

Dale was a man of habit and pattern. We lunched every fortnight, always at the same place, same table – him with his Pepsi, me with my red wine. We abandoned one hotel when the chef refused to serve Dale his preferred two fried eggs on a medium-rare steak.

So what was it about Dale that drew us together? And brought you all here today.

When Dale retired, his staff produced a mock newspaper and I was asked to write a piece about Dale. I began by stealing a line from Sir Winston Churchill: I suggested Dale was a riddle, wrapped in a mystery, inside an enigma.

To each of us that captures Dale – a wonderful bloke, but different for different people.
An enigma.

He was one thing to you and me; another to the single parent battling to survive on welfare; another to the Government ministers he dealt with.

I tried to choose five words which described the Dale I knew.

Decent, humble, intelligent, non-judgemental, brave.

But wait, I hear you say. What about: generous, loyal, a man of integrity, calm, under-stated, under-estimated, eccentric, organised, considerate, honest, punctual, funny, loving, compassionate?

They all capture Dale.

Dale didn’t keep a conventional diary yet he remembered every appointment, every entry on the calendar. In a decade and more he never misplaced his expensive Mont Blanc pen – which must have signed off on tens of millions of dollars of business arrangements.

He once told me that in 45 years he had never been late with a payment or financial commitment.

Dale was the only man in Australia who knew his 27 times table. What was it about number 27?
On Wednesday, June 25, there are 189 days left in 2025. Dale would immediately know that 189 was seven 27s.

I finish with two stories – one mine and one Dale’s.

In 2019 my son, David, contracted pancreatic cancer and after a 460-day fight, died in November 2020.

In those 460 days Dale was an enormous support to me. He seemed to know when to step forward and when to withdraw. He taught me much in that time about tolerance, patience and perhaps courage. We often talked about fairness, an issue many of us are battling with today.

I was in touch with Dale every day during his fight with a different form of cancer. Not once did he complain, not once did he suggest life was unfair. A man of enormous courage and grace.

Dale encouraged me to tell the second story today. He texted me: ‘I’d be disappointed if I heard you didn’t.’ A bit of Dale West’s understated humour.

Dale loved shopping. Not for fashion clothing (you might have noticed) – functional clothes, caps, mementoes and so on were his thing.

Dale and I were once in Chicago, which has a shopping street called the Golden Mile.
We were looking in shop windows when I spotted a pair of black and white ‘spectator’ shoes – Al Capone style. In Chicago, the gangster city. Irresistible.

Dale went in, asked an assistant how much they were, came out and said I couldn’t afford them.
The next day I went back and, without asking the price, bought them.

Dale was right: I couldn’t afford them.

When I told Dale he said: ‘Thank goodness. I felt terrible telling you not to buy them. You should have them.’

He would love the idea that I wore them today.

Sleep well, Big Fella.