The Courier Mail

THU 21 SEP 2006

Tears flow for man who changed our world

By Trent Dalton

IN a cream-coloured condolence book, resting on a table before the entrance to Australia Zoo's Crocoseum, memorial guests summed up their feelings for Steve Irwin.

``Steve, you helped me see things in a new light," said Mary, in a six-line scrawl that canvassed the Croc Hunter's life from exuberant youngster to television icon and wildlife warrior.

``You were a gift to us all,'' said Mal.

Sentiments broke through margins: ``You changed my life, Steve.''

Words crashed into corners: ``We will love you always.''

Thoughts trickled across pages: ``We will never forget.''

Families spoke softly. Kids in fluffy crocodile suits quietly shuffled into line. At the entrance to the Crocoseum, a young mum unzipped her handbag and felt around for a plastic pack of tissues. She was going to need them.

And there he was: Steven Robert Irwin -- croc catcher, tree hugger, snake charmer, brother, son, husband, father -- staring out from a television screen: that ubiquitous grin beaming across the 5500 people gathered in his beloved Crocoseum, a stadium the size of a tennis arena surrounding a still crocodile enclosure. Khaki shirts signed by friends and fans were draped over the enclosure's black steel fence, beside the draped national flags of Australia, New Zealand and the US.

``He Changed Our World,'' the screen pronounced.

In a sectioned-off VIP area, John Stainton -- the filmmaker who 15 years ago took Irwin from backwater braveheart to global phenomenon -- greeted friends and family with handshakes and hugs.

Nicole Byrne, Irwin's faithful personal assistant, helped usher guests to their seats, thanking them for their gestures of sympathy. Justin Lyons, Irwin's intrepid long-time cameraman who was with Irwin when he died, assured friends he was doing OK.

Maybe the quality of a man can indeed be judged by the quality of his friends. Irwin's mates were champions: such as Kostya Tszyu, the two-time world boxing champ who was seated beside Allan Langer, and Mal Meninga, who sat next to Langer. To the right was motorcycling great Michael Doohan, trading Irwin stories with Grant Kenny and Lisa Curry-Kenny. Four seats down was Kasey Chambers. Across from her Raelene Boyle. Down from her sat Tracey Wickham. They were doing what we all do when a friend passes: they were reminiscing.

``Remember the time he flipped a 13ft salty.''

``Remember that orang-utan he made friends with.''

``Remember what he was like around a barbecue.''

Then the crowd applauded. In a section to the left, Prime Minister John Howard made his entrance -- sombre, restrained.

Calls echoed across the stadium: ``Thanks for coming John.''

To equally enthused applause, Opposition Leader Kim Beazley followed behind him. For the briefest moment, the two political bulls were seated side by side.

``Only Steve could make that happen,'' said a nearby Irwin friend.

Then the crowd rose to its feet, as eight-year-old Bindi Irwin -- animal lover, media veteran, tough cookie -- led her mum Terri and baby brother Bob into the stadium.

It was a standing ovation that lasted two minutes, climaxing with a wave of thanks from Bindi.

The calls echoed again.

``Be strong, Bindi.''

``We love you, Terri.''

Behind wide-rimmed sunglasses, Terri burst into tears. And she would not stop for the next hour and 10 minutes while two-year-old Bob wrestled merrily on her knee with a stuffed green and yellow toy crocodile.

Actor Russell Crowe began proceedings: ``Your passing has suspended reality for all of us.''

``We have all lost a friend, we have lost a champion and we are going to take some time to adjust to that.''

It was hard to tell what would set guests off, what would tug their own individual heartstrings. Everybody had their breaking point: a poignant line from John Williamson's True Blue; the sincerity in David Wenham's voice as he read a Rupert McCall poem; Irwin's father, and lifelong hero, Bob Irwin's straight-up plea for the world to not grieve for Steve Irwin. ``Grieve for the animals,'' he said. ``The animals have lost the best friend they ever had, and so have I.''

For many, the moment came when Steve's oldest friend Wes Mannion fought back tears to tell the world about the man who saved his life. How, no matter where you were -- in the red-rock chasms of Central Australia or the harsh deserts of Africa -- Steve Irwin made you feel safe. And you weren't mistaken, those were Mal Meninga's eyes welling with water.

With every tribute, Terri held baby Bob closer. Her father-in-law rubbed her shoulder. The PM shook her hand. When she was too moved to voice her thanks, she simply nodded her head. That's plenty polite for a grieving widow.

Where Terri couldn't speak, young Bindi spoke for her: ``My daddy was my hero -- he was always there for me when I needed him.''

In a final gesture, a flock of rosellas were released into the Crocoseum. They dipped and soared around the stadium: vivid greens, reds and blues flashing across startled faces.

John Williamson returned with True Blue. The audience rose to its feet and sang along. People hugged. People mourned. And amid it all, there was baby Bob, his head tilted to the sky, trying to trace the flight paths of the rosellas. He was laughing, with a smile as wide and as bright as his old man's.