‘Gentleman Bookmaker’ brought style and daring to Australian racing scene
Louise Waterhouse pays tribute to her larger-than-life bookie dad.
Bill Waterhouse, ‘‘The King of the Bookies’’, was the patriarch of Australia’s most colourful racing dynasty. His death, aged 97, marks the end of an era not just in horse racing but in Australian history. He epitomised a resilient war generation who ‘‘gave it a go’’.
He was also a barrister, hotelier, fragrance importer, journalist, author and Australia’s longest-serving diplomat – a remarkable life.
Apart from dominating the
Sydney betting ring for more than 20 years, he also operated for a decade at the Melbourne spring and autumn carnivals and represented Australia at Ascot and The Derby in England.
He was larger than life. He was known for taking the biggest bet in racing history at the time – when the ‘‘Filipino Fireball’’ Filipe Ismael placed $1 million on a winning favourite in Newcastle in 1968, and for his betting duel with the ‘‘Hong Kong Tiger‘‘ Frank Duval in 1967, which was covered live on radio and TV. Many punters of the day were suddenly intoxicated with the gamble – trying to challenge Big Bill.
Waterhouse wrote racing columns and even ran his own racing newspaper, the Referee. His business cards would simply say Bill Waterhouse, Sydney. No doubt his 6ft 4in (1.93-metre) height and good looks helped. He also had a fair dose of charisma. He could charm the ladies and was just as comfortable with the man in the street as he was with prime ministers or the king of Tonga.
He was first and foremost a businessman. He was driven by a Depression-era upbringing to work incredibly hard (seven days a week) and to think of ways to do things differently. He rarely took a taxi, preferring to walk or take the bus.
He became a bookie by fate – his father wanted him to become a barrister, so he read arts and law at Sydney University, along with a fine crop of undergrads that included Gough Whitlam, Neville Wran and the future king of Tonga. As a student he clerked for his father, taking charge of the betting. His father would say ‘‘I can’t bear to watch’’ as Bill took on large bets. Later, when he practised as a barrister, he kept Wednesdays ‘‘a brief-free day’’ for the races.
When his brother Charlie died in 1954, Bill needed to support their fledgling building business, so he took ‘‘leave of absence’’ from the bar to be a bookmaker. He told his young wife, Suzanne, that it was only for a year. His first clerk was his best friend, Wran (later premier of New South Wales).
Called the ‘‘Gentleman Bookmaker’’, Waterhouse brought a different style to racing. His clients included a Who’s Who of Australia. Some were very discreet – one simply wrote ‘‘water’’ on cheque butts to Waterhouse, but it wasn’t for water rates.
In 1984 he and his son Robbie lost their bookmakers’ licences when it was alleged they had prior knowledge of the infamous Fine Cotton ring-in scandal. Waterhouse always denied any connection. I n 2002, at age 80, following an enforced 14-year absence from racing after the Fine Cotton fallout, Waterhouse picked up his old bookie bag and went back to the track to train his grandson Tom in the dying art of bookmaking. He again became the largest ontrack bookmaker and laughed that the Australian Turf Club awarded him ‘‘most improved bookmaker‘‘.
Always looking for new opportunities, in 2009 he launched his betting business online – with Tom as the face to appeal to a new generation. They used the mantra ‘‘With four generations of betting in my blood I know what punters want!’’ They built up more than 200,000 active clients before selling to William Hill.
As well as his bookmaking and property investment, he continued as a hotelier – he built and ran several successful hotels including the top-turnover pub in NSW in the 1960s, the Charles Hotel at Chatswood, where he introduced the first drive-in bottle shop and the affordable smorgasbord lunch.
Waterhouse always talked about business and making money and generously shared his ideas. Tributes since his death have said: ‘‘I would never have been successful without the advice from Bill.’’
He had another long career as a diplomat – serving as the honorary consul-general for the kingdom of Tonga for 44 years – under the reign of three kings.
After he started betting shops in Fiji, he was called to Tonga by his old university friend, by now King Tupou IV. They brainstormed ideas to help the tiny Pacific nation, and Tupou appointed Waterhouse as his representative for Australia.
The Tongan community in Australia grew from just a few hundred in the 1970s to more than 25,000. Waterhouse always took time for the Tongan people and helped wherever he could. He also sponsored community projects such as the first dual language Tongan/ English children’s storybook A Little Seahorse in Love.
He helped bring the seasonal worker programme to Australia, using Tongan workers to help Australian farmers.
He regarded his biggest success as his family. He was devoted to them and instilled a powerful bond, telling them: ‘‘Family is everything and, if you stick by each other, no one can harm you.’’
He trained son Robbie and me – whom he lovingly treated as ‘‘equal to the boys’’ – to follow him into business, and was a doting grandfather – playfully donning the Santa suit at Christmas, although Tom, as a 4-year-old did once ask Santa: ‘‘Why are you wearing Grandpa Bill’s shoes?’’
On the Sunday before his death he was overjoyed to have his children, grandchildren and all five great-grandchildren around him for a great family sendoff. – Sydney Morning Herald
He was driven by a Depression-era upbringing to work incredibly hard ... He rarely took a taxi, preferring to walk or take the bus.