I met Peter Foster in 1997 when he became my next door neighbour. Unlike “Cheriegate” our flats were rent-free courtesy of the Queensland Department of Corrective Service. Foster was housed in the A2 Immigration Unit at Queensland’s Arthur Gorrie Correctional Centre and I lived in A1 awaiting sentence with my little Pommy mate after we came unglued for the 1996 National Australia Bank robbery in Brisbane.
The Pom and I were in serious trouble. We were looking at double digits for the NAB stick-up, at least 10 years on the inside, and we were both nudging our 50s when the long arm of the law collared us. One Queensland judge had already stuck “career criminal” tags on us, so community service or probation was definitely out of the question.
I had some serious form for robbing banks and the odd payroll or two back in the 1970s and Pom had form in England that went back to the days when Ronnie and Reggie Kray were running the London underworld. By the time they let us out we’d be dinosaurs in the bank robbing game. It was time for a career change and the University of Crime gave unlimited choices. We decided to turn our sentence into a learning curve. Peter Foster became an unsuspecting tutor.
Advertisement
Foster was an affable type of bloke who seemed out of place in a maximum-security prison. At the time he was fighting extradition back to England after doing a runner from Sudbury prison where he was serving time. The Brits wanted Foster back at all cost and Amanda Vanstone, the minister who failed to get to the starting blocks in the Skase chase, was eager to accommodate them.
My conversations with Foster provided a thought provoking insight into the psyche of a con man.
“To be a great salesman is to be a great con man,” Foster once told me as we walked the yard. “Selling is an art. You are an actor and acting is all about conning people and making them believe what you want them to believe. I am not being unethical - in fact being a con man is one of the most prestigious professions you can pursue.”
That one stumped me. What was so ethical and prestigious about conning old ladies out of their life-savings? Foster sensed my uncertainty and continued.
“A barrister is a prime example of a con man,” he said. “He or she will defend the indefensible and make a passionate plea to a jury for the acquittal of their client notwithstanding any overwhelming evidence of his guilt.
“Doesn't a barrister pretend that the client is innocent knowing full well that he could very likely be guilty?” Foster asked. “A barrister will look a jury straight in the eye and tell them his client is innocent. He is actually conning the jury.”
Advertisement
Foster continued with the analogy.
“We look upon the legal profession as distinguished and noble. We have the greatest respect and admiration for barristers. They are the elite of the legal profession - the pillars of the community.
“The more successful the barrister, the more we elevate them until they become judges to oversee our court system. We trust them to protect our justice system but as the saying goes; ‘don't try and con a con’. Who better to keep the practicing con men (the barristers) in line than the former con men (the judges)?”
Discuss in our Forums
See what other readers are saying about this article!
Click here to read & post comments.
1 post so far.