Thirty-one years have passed since Nicholas Shand dreamed up this newspaper and gathered a band of fellow dreamers to help him make it real. In those 31 years The Echo has grown, like a magic beanstalk, far taller than we ever imagined, and it is now a feature of Shire life. Our ongoing series on the history of our beloved rainbow rag continues this week, written by the newspaper’s longest-serving drudge, David Lovejoy.
Changing Council and premises
By the election of September 1995 most people had had enough of Cr Ross Tucker and his crew. Although at that stage the evidence of the colossal mismanagement of Council’s planning and finances had yet to emerge, it was clear that most of the current councillors had no idea what the electorate wanted.
This time round The Echo had no doubt that the future of the Shire depended on candidates who would put long-term community and environmental matters above short-term development interests. It is not always easy to identify such candidates but at least ones with an opposite agenda are not hard to spot. This time the swing away from the conservatives was clear, and although Ross Tucker increased his personal vote, Ian Kingston easily won the mayoralty.
Finally Kingston was no longer a lame duck mayor opposed by a conservative majority in the chamber. The vote for progressive candidates was about sixty per cent, and this was repeated in subsequent elections. A Gang of Six was now Kingston’s to command, although, as is traditional, the progressives argued among themselves much more than conservatives did, resulting in some inconsistent decisions.
The mood at the newspaper, as in most of the community, was one of relief and expectation. We looked forward to a change of direction for the Shire, and a change of culture in the Council bureaucracy. Community consultation was the new compass bearing, and sustainable development the chart.
Nicholas took the opportunity of this lull to take three months’ long-service leave at the end of the year and visit England and South Africa. While he was gone The Echo made the last (to date) of its many moves by transferring to a rented office on the other side of Village Way.
The old restaurant had, alas, been converted into a stationery shop, but the landlord was building another storey and invited us to design the space expressly for a newspaper office. We sold the tiny sweatshop we had worked in since 1989 and moved into much more salubrious premises.
Alternative views
While The Echo settled into its new headquarters, Ross Tucker, stung by the electoral defeat of 1995, and perhaps convinced that we had engineered it, started a newspaper himself, in the hope of influencing the 1999 Council elections. Together with his developer friend Harold Ross he launched the Mullumbimby Star as an A4 weekly in 1997. Some time later the paper changed its name to the Saturday Star when it moved up to tabloid size and shirewide circulation.
Of course there was no room for three weekly papers in a population of less than thirty thousand, especially when minority right-wing opinion was already catered for in the Byron News. The Star collapsed after the 1999 election and shrank to a burned-out shell, appearing once a month in a format of twelve half-A4 pages.
The Star was to prove no problem to us, but the continuance of Max Eastcott in his job as general manager did blow up into a lengthy shitfight.
Freedom of speech
In December 1995, shortly after Nicholas left on his sabbatical, local activist Fast Buck$ bought a page in The Echo to make a closely argued attack on the mayor, claiming he was incapable of reining in the Shire’s notorious general manager.
As the piece had substance I let it run, although a little uncomfortable at apparently conniving in criticism of a friend of Nick’s (and by then of mine too). Ian Kingston did not respond to Fast Buck$’s attack. Instead he visited me at home on Christmas Eve with a more-in-sorrow-than-anger reproach.
I could only defend our publication on general free speech grounds – in common with most people I felt that the recent electoral victory had terminated the Eastcott-Tucker regime. And yet I was a little confused in my response, partly because one of the new councillors had already told me he was worried by Ian’s lack of action over the general manager’s excesses, and partly because when the mayor and his lady called I was acting as a guinea pig for one of the recipes in my then partner’s soon-to-be-published Cannabis Cookbook.
Events developed quickly at the beginning of 1996. Fast Buck$ published another full page, this time about Max Eastcott, subtitled ‘Confucius say, thing which look like bullshit, smell like bullshit and sound like bullshit unlikely to be cherry blossom’.
Then he had a stroke of luck. A developer in Byron Bay, motivated by jealousy or civic duty, forwarded to one of the recently elected councillors a file of papers he had put together showing that the owner of the recently renovated Cavanbah Arcade in Jonson Street had received preferential treatment in the matter of development contributions due to Council.
The fight was on.
More Echo history articles
The end of fun: David Lovejoy concludes the story of the...
While the drama of general manager Max Eastcott’s departure was playing out, The Echo passed its tenth birthday, and we marked the jubilee with a fourth awards night.
How do you dismiss a general manager?
Founding editor Nicholas Shand returned from his long-service leave at the end of March, 1996. He was highly amused at the comic opera scenario playing out in Council, and at The Echo’s unavoidable central role in it.
The danger of delegated authority as The Echo gambles its reputation...
When in February 1996 Fast Buck$ obtained a file that described a developer in Byron Bay obtaining preferential treatment from Council, he published an advertisement in The Echo headed, ‘Something stinks at Hog’s Breath’.
Changing Council and premises
By the election of September 1995 most people had had enough of Cr Ross Tucker and his crew. Although at that stage the evidence of the colossal mismanagement of Council’s planning and finances had yet to emerge
Ross and Max to the fore: Dirty tactics key to undermining...
As the Club Med battle described in the previous episode approached its climax, the leader of Council’s conservatives, Ross Tucker, decided on a diversion.
Club Med and the Gang of Six
By the beginning of 1993 The Echo had outgrown its A4 page size, and our first large-format edition appeared in March that year. The increased work combined with the ritual of putting the paper to bed on Monday nights became quite stressful.
The newspaper wars and A Small Wooden Tray Called Albert
In the mid-nineties the local newspaper scene was heating up almost as much as the always feverish local politics.
Re-zoning back on the agenda: Beating off the Academy rort
During the 1987–91 term of Council an application was made to develop a large site at Broken Head as an ‘academy’.
Expansionist plans! The Echo embarks on the Lismore foray: a town...
A major milestone in The Echo’s history occurred in 1991: we decided to start another weekly newspaper.
The Echo – The Thinking Dog’s Paper
Thirty-one years have passed since Nicholas Shand dreamed up this newspaper and gathered a band of fellow dreamers to help him make it real.
Printers and politicians: The Echo gives voice to the community
After the first year we moved the newspaper to Brunswick Heads. Lured by cheap rent, we took three small shops in an arcade and filled them with the newspaper office, production facilities and, significantly, a printing press.
The Echo dream bursts into being with a dash of controversy
Part two: So far in the story, Nicholas Shand has been unable to get local media to cover police hooliganism in the Main Arm Valley, and has invited David Lovejoy to join him in starting a newspaper…
Echo beginnings: Tales from the Magic Beanstalk…
Thirty-one years have passed since Nicholas Shand dreamed up this newspaper and collected a band of similar dreamers to help him make it real. In those 31 years The Echo has grown, like a magic beanstalk, far taller than we ever imagined, and it is now one of the primary institutions of Byron Shire.
For four decades The Echo has printed the stories some people loved, some people hated, and some pretended not to read. If you want us to keep telling the truth, the real truth, not the sugar-coated version. We’ll need your support to keep the presses rolling. 
