EXCLUSIVE: National treasure Ita Buttrose reflects on her life

It is with great pride that The Weekly can lay some small claim to one of Australia’s most successful female icons.

She was, of course, this magazine’s youngest ever editor at the age of 33, having started as a copy girl at 15. And en route she challenged the status quo as the founding editor of Cleo magazine bringing feminism, fun, sex advice and male centrefolds to the youth of Australia in 1972.

She became the first woman to edit a major metropolitan Australian newspaper and ultimately launched her own magazine, ITA: “For the woman who wasn’t born yesterday.”

She was, in fact, born in 1942 and such is her fame, like Oprah and Madonna, is one of very few to be recognised by her Christian name alone.

At the age of 77 Ita was appointed Chair of the ABC, chosen by Scott Morrison in a Prime Ministerial captain’s pick over a short-list of three men for the top spot. It was a position, she says, she was “stunned” to be offered, but once she had got over the shock was certain she could do.

But while shattering glass ceilings has been all in a steely day’s work for Ita, her secret weapon, I soon realise, is her willingness to sit back and listen. That, and her passion to support and nurture, where others have perhaps trampled their way to the summit.

Ita’s hero has always been her father, Charles, who schooled her to be adventurous, work hard and believe in herself. From her mother, Clare, she learned compassion; from her “wonderful three brothers” the art of fighting for her corner in a bloke’s world and from motherhood the true meaning of love.

And now, as she enters her 81st year and the ABC celebrates its 90th birthday, it seems fitting that Ita, still at the top of her game and showing no signs of slowing down, shares precious memories of a life lived to the full in a deeply personal interview with the magazine where it all started.

What is your earliest memory?

America with my parents and two of my brothers, Jules and Will – the third one, Charles, hadn’t been born yet.

It was towards the end of the war in 1944. Dad [journalist Charles Oswald Buttrose who, 30 years later, became Assistant General Manager of the ABC] had returned from being a war correspondent with The Sydney Morning Herald and was seconded to the Australian government’s News and Information Bureau in New York.

He went to America without us and my mother followed in a ship with us kids. I was two and Will was pretty much newborn.

We sailed non-stop across the Pacific. I don’t know how my mother did it. There were servicemen on board and I’m told that they always found me somewhere with a soldier.

But my first real memory is from when I was five, tobogganing in the snow in Bedford, where we lived. I had just started school there, and I have snapshots of that time. I played Mother Goose, in the school play for instance.

And we sang When the red red robin comes bob bob bobin’ along. And my mother didn’t make my witch’s hat so the teacher was cross and she had to make it herself. My mother was not good at making things!

Did you think of yourself as American or Australian?

I don’t know, but I had an American accent. Grandma loved to listen to me talk.

That was your maternal grandma who you were named after. Are you like her?

In the sense that I can be trusted, yes. I knew she would never tell anybody if I told her a deep and dark secret or confided in her.

I knew Grandma would never let me down. I hope I’ve inherited that trait.

Do you have special memories of her?

She used to make the best roast beef and Yorkshire pudding. And she said there were two things a girl had to know. One was to make scones and the other was to be able to waltz. She taught me both.

She had an ample bosom even though she was quite tiny in height. And if you stayed with her in Manly, you had to take her breakfast in bed – one piece of toast with Vegemite, one with Rose’s lime marmalade and a cup of tea.

Then she’d send me to do the shopping saying, ‘I want you to go to the butcher, tell him that Mrs Rodgers of Karoon sent you and not to give you chops with fat on them because I’ll only send them back’.

I’d sometimes meet her at David Jones and she’d be there in her hat and gloves and four books with a strap and we’d go to the cafeteria on the seventh floor.

It was one of those places where you load up your tray. I thought this was divine. Then we’d go to the Pickwick Club library where Grandma was a member and would exchange her books.

She was a big reader and also very musical. She’d made her debut as a professional singer. Then she met Grandpa and that was the end of her singing career.

She got married instead! She was an interesting woman in that even after Grandpa died, she didn’t become ‘Mrs Ita Rodgers’. No, no, no! She was still Mrs William Rodgers.

It was a badge of honour to have a husband, even a dead one.

You didn’t meet your dad, Charles, until you were six months old?

No, because he was away in Java.

But once we did meet we became very close because we were very similar. I thought what he did for a living was the most wonderful thing in the whole world.

I thought, ‘Dad and his friends, they know how to live, look at these people!’. When Dad was editor of The Mirror here in Sydney, I used to get up and make his breakfast just as I did with Grandma.

The papers were delivered and we’d look at them together and discuss the news of the day. I was about 11.

How would you describe your mum?

She was beautiful and a very talented pianist. She taught me piano from the age of five.

I was studying for the concerto competition when I became a copy girl on The Australian Women’s Weekly. That was the end of my piano playing career, journalism was it for me.

Mum was kind-hearted and compassionate. She was always volunteering; we’d serve at stalls, fetes at the Spastic Centre, which is now the Cerebral Palsy Alliance, selling Legacy buttons on the streets.

You name it, my mother would say, ‘yes, I’ve got some volunteers’. The next thing you know, the boys and I are out doing something or other.

The big thing in our house was there was always room at our table for someone who had nowhere to go on Christmas Day.

We were encouraged, if we knew a waif, to invite them in and that’s how I met my husband, the children’s father. Julian brought him home.

He said to Mum, he’s a poor lonely Pom (he was a Scot actually). ‘Of course, dear,’ she said, ‘bring him!’. I sat across the table and looked at Alasdair and I thought, ‘oh my God, there is a Santa Claus!’ He was so handsome.

What was the best thing your mum taught you?

Oh, compassion, I think.

She had it in spades. I’m sure her influence has rubbed off on me in the voluntary work I do in the community. Giving back was like second nature to me.

And your father?

Curiosity. Never giving up. Being adventurous. Believing in yourself. Enjoying life. Appreciation of good music.

I learned that from Mum, too, but especially from Dad because I went to concerts and opera with Dad. He was my hero.

You were their only daughter.

Yes, a very good arrangement.

The boys would be first to tell you that I owe my success to them because they taught me how to be competitive, how to speak ‘bloke’, how to understand the workings of the male mind.

And I think to some extent that’s true. I never thought I couldn’t do what the boys did, and I think that has paid off in my career.

That aside, my brothers have been fantastic. I remember if we were somewhere and there was someone I didn’t like the look of coming my way, Will would say, ‘just tell me what you want to do, Toots’.

They were my protectors. And they know me. I can just be me with them.

When you’ve got a very high profile sometimes there’s a reserve you adopt, but I don’t need to have a reserve when I’m with my brothers. They mock me.

You left school at 15. Do you wish that you had stayed on and gone to university?

Not really. I’ve educated myself.

I’ve read, studied and travelled. I’ve learned about art, I’ve graduated from the university of life.

My first husband was better educated than I was and as an architect he took me to the world’s top art galleries and museums. He also introduced me to writers – Maugham, Hemingway, Greene!

Can you remember your first day at The Weekly?

Oh yes. It was nerve-racking, because I knew most of the deities, as they were to me.

A lot of them were friends of Mum and Dad. There was Mrs Shelton Smith and Mrs Fenston – none of this first name familiarity; everyone was Miss or Mr.

The formidable Esmé Fenston was the editor.

We either called her Mrs Fenston or ‘the editor’.

There was a bell system outside the cubicle where the copy boys and girls sat, it was like Upstairs Downstairs. You’d hear the buzzer and the flap would come down stating ‘editor’s office’ so you’d go charging along there.

I used to make tea and coffee for 40 people in the morning and the afternoon. I was so embarrassed in the art department because there were a lot of men there and I was only 15 and it was quite an ordeal.

I was just a gauche teenager. They were all grown-ups. I’d wash up all the teacups, but there was no tea towel so I brought one in from home.

I didn’t know until I became editor 18 years later, but that tea towel marked me as a copy girl to watch, because I was the only one who had ever done that. I showed initiative.

What was special about The Weekly?

Everything. It was the magazine.

Everybody bought it and in our house there was a discussion about who was going to read it first. Every news story of the day was in The Weekly. If it was a big story they had colour photographs, which was special because we didn’t have colour TV then.

‘Man goes to the moon’, The Weekly has the photographs. It kept you informed with the world.

You met your husband Alasdair – aka ‘Mac’ – when you were 18.

I looked across the table and he looked really interesting and he looked across the table and obviously thought something about me, too. Pretty early on I had that feeling that I’d like to have children with him.

Immediately?

No, I was only 18 but quite soon.

Jules organised with Mum for him to have the downstairs area while he was studying architecture at uni. It was a friendship to begin with and then he asked me out to Alouette, a trendy French restaurant.

I got out of the car afterwards and, I said, ‘Well, I must go’, and he said, ‘Oh, I was just about to kiss you’. So I got back in again and said, ‘Why don’t you?’. And that was it. Click. We’d fallen in love.

You married at 21. Too young?

Looking back, probably yes.

I remember Dad saying to Alasdair, ‘you’re marrying a very independent girl’. But you did get married that young then.

You had 13 years together and two beautiful children – Kate and Ben. What went wrong?

I think we just grew apart.

I don’t think anybody goes into marriage not wanting it to last. And certainly, when you realise it isn’t working, it’s painful.

Were you surprised when Mac successfully sued the ABC for his negative portrayal in Paper Giants – the 2011 TV miniseries about the launch of Cleo magazine?

No, I wasn’t and I told the producers what they were putting in there [suggesting Mac walked out on his family] was not true and they still went on and did it.

I told the children I would never say anything bad about their father like that, never ever, because it caused a lot of consternation in the family and I wanted the children to understand that as far as I was concerned he was their dad, the father of my children and I would always respect that.

How happy were you with your portrayal by Asher Keddie?

It was pretty good but I thought she overdid the lisp.

I found myself thinking ‘Oh God almighty, Asher, stop lisping!’ I reckon the producers found every word that was going to cause me a hassle and gave it to Asher to say.

But I think they captured the spirit of the ’70s quite well and the idea that the Cleo team was creating something that was going to make its mark in Australia at that time.

One thing … they had Asher in pants and they were banned at Consolidated Press. Sir Frank [Packer]wouldn’t allow it and we also didn’t wear boots and had to wear stockings!

How did it feel seeing yourself as a character on TV?

It was weird. I thought, ‘God, I know that voice’, and then I watched her walking and I thought, ‘Oh, I do walk like that’.

Asher had all my gestures perfectly. I did get some input.

There was one time I was having a session with Asher who was working on a scene when I was eight months pregnant with Ben. I slipped on the floor going down the corridor into my office. I remember it well.

I frightened myself to death and I frightened everybody in the office too. They all came out and hovered around me to make sure I was okay, and I sat there for a minute, because it was such a shock.

Well, in the script they’ve got me down on the desk sobbing like a maniac.

I said to Asher, ‘I would never have done that’. ‘No’, she said, ‘I know and I won’t be doing it either’.

She asked: ‘What did you do?’ I told her I just paused and breathed for a while. I was the editor; there’s a way you behave with rules for editors and I observed them.

Back then women got married, had children and rarely went back to work. But you did

I just wanted to stay working. Why wouldn’t I?

Also, when Mac and I got married he was still finishing his degree. We needed the money. Then I got pregnant and I kept on working.

What did motherhood teach you?

How wonderful it is to share and the real meaning of unconditional love. They’ll always be in my heart. The joy of watching them turn out okay, knowing all your nagging has paid off.

Now they’ve got children and I love watching them all grow.

Kerry Packer put you on the board of ACP in 1974. That was a very bold move at the time.

Sensible. Our magazines were all geared to women, run by women, bought by women.

Women were contributing to the Packer fortune. Kerry figured that the best way for the board to understand the female marketplace was to, goodness me, have women on the board!

You’re known in the industry for being steely. Are you?

I think there’s an element of toughness when you’re in the sort of leadership roles I’ve occupied. If I weren’t tough I wouldn’t survive because I do cop a lot of flak. But I wouldn’t like to think it was toughness without compassion.

There’s a tolerant side of me. As you get older you do understand people a lot better. I’m prepared to let things run and observe.

I take time to act, to say what’s on my mind. You don’t always have be in such a hurry.

Were you surprised when the PM asked you to be Chair of the ABC?

Stunned. I had no idea.

When he asked me my mind went into overdrive, but then I started thinking: ‘Ah yes, I can see why now. I can see the whole point of all the things I’ve done in my career, the TV, the radio, the print, the editing, the on the road jobs, the admin, the boards. It has equipped me for this role. It all makes sense. This is where fate has led me.’

Were you excited?

Of course. It’s a mighty organisation, wonderful. When I ran The Weekly it was a national magazine and this is a national organisation.

I understand national. It’s much bigger than The Weekly was but nonetheless the rules are the same.

Has it been what you expected?

It has really. Dad was here.

He was Assistant General Manager when he retired and I used to hear lots of stories about the ABC around the dinner table from him. I also heard stories about newspapers and proprietors when I was growing up with Dad.

This is a tough business. Things can happen overnight. Your job can change overnight. You can be fired overnight. I know that. You don’t come here for a cushy ride.

You have got to be on your toes, well-read, well-prepared, and optimistic that you’ll get through the challenges of the day.

What would your dad have thought?

I hope he would have been pleased.

It would have been nice to have him around as a sounding board.

The ABC is frequently under attack – from the media, from government. As the network celebrates its 90th birthday, should we be concerned about its future?

In 90 years we have contributed a lot.

When we began in 1932 we reached six per cent of the population and we now reach 90 per cent every year, so we’ve grown. It is a very significant voice.

I think the value of a national broadcaster is under threat in many parts of the world but the world is a very uncertain place and we need national broadcasters to help steer us through these very challenging times.

ABC International was set up by Robert Menzies in 1939, just at the beginning of the outbreak of World War II, because he felt we needed to have our own voice across the Pacific. We needed to be in charge of our own destiny.

The Pacific is very important to us and it was then in 1939 but it’s even more important to us now. You cannot underestimate the role of the national broadcaster in presenting the Australian point of view in a soft power way.

Was turning 80 a milestone for you?

When Dad turned 80 I remember saying 80 is a significant age, and I was thinking this morning, it means you’ve been here for a very long time.

But I’m in no hurry to depart. The challenge is to stay fit and well so you can enjoy whatever years there are still to enjoy.

Will you stop work?

What would I do? I like working.

What is your life lesson for today’s young women?

Believe in yourself. Realise how good you are. I’ve been saying it to women for a very large part of my career and I’m horrified at how many women still don’t realise how good they are.

What is a perfect day for Ita?

Every day I wake up.

You can read this story and many others in the July issue of The Australian Women’s Weekly – on sale now

*The Australian Women’s Weekly: 90 Years of an Australian Icon opens on Sat 27 May and closes on Sat 27 August at Bendigo Art Gallery, 42 View Street, Bendigo VIC.*

The exhibition celebrates the contributions of some of the influential and trailblazing women who have made the Weekly a magazine for women, by women. Ita Buttrose has kindly loaned a collection of memorabilia and photographs which will be on display at the exhibition.

For more information, head to the Bendigo Art Gallery website.