A time for youth

Andrew Mathieson
STANDING in front of a doorway at Barwon Youth’s head office, a troubled young man bumps into concerned staff members and starts explaining his new home’s been trashed.
A heroin dealer had previously rented the unit but junkies none the wiser were still turning up and venting their anger over a deal gone wrong.
The office doors open suddenly and, amid all the commotion, Shane Murphy’s evergreen head pops out accompanied by a friendly wave.
His spikey, snow-white hair stands out from the group of female staff and the youth wearing a flat-peak baseball cap.
Geelong’s longest serving youth worker is quick to assure that all the problems he faces on a daily basis aren’t responsible for his hair colour.
“Hmmm…it’s from my kids,” he nods after a long pause.
“Well, I use the excuse of family genetics.”
Raising five children now aged between 17 and 29 still keeps the prankish 59-year-old in touch with Generation Y.
Keeping dad in tune with anything cool, especially the latest gadget, could be a challenge, though, as Shane demonstrates when he pulls out a ringing iPhone and struggles to turn down the sound when speaking.
But he’s quick to prove he’s still hip.
“I find young people’s hairstyles, their clothing and behaviour all very interesting,” Shane observes.
“Oh, and I love the music as much as I loved it from yesteryear.”
There was never any doubt what path his life would take.
After growing up mucking around with his four brothers and coaching junior footy sides, youth work was a natural fit.
“I’ve always felt comfortable with young people,” he says.
“My upbringing was actually in a Catholic church, of all things, at the Young Christian Workers.
“There used to be lots of groups, always activities and it used to be a bit of fun.”
Shane’s first job back in 1976 was at Melbourne’s notorious Turana youth corrections centre.
Getting the word that a new Geelong youth program was going to keep offenders from being incarcerated in institutions motivated a move.
For its first 25 years Barwon Youth ran under the acronym BAYSA, initially with just six workers operating out of the one youth hostel.
Nearly three decades on, more than 70 staff are on the books at four Geelong West offices.
“I suppose I came down not expecting to be here for 30 years,” Shane admits.
“At first I could see it was just for a five-year plan that we had.”
These days Shane’s face is almost as recognisable on Geelong’s streets as champion street worker Les Twentyman’s in Melbourne’s western suburbs.
“I’m certainly one of the oldest youth workers,” Shane quips.
The age difference becomes apparent when Shane sits next to youth workers half his age. Many of the battling kids just gawk at him like they’re in the wrong place.
Shane just laughs and takes the looks in his stride.
“I just tell them that I put the rubbish out, lock the doors and they say to me: ‘So, you’re the boss then’.
“It’s interesting because at first they can’t envisage me having or wanting an interest with young people.”
Behind the jokes, there’s still an intensity in his voice that has saved hundreds from a life of alcohol, drugs, violence and crime.
Despite busying himself behind a desk as the agency’s executive director, he still remains relevant with a simple philosophy focussing on early intervention approach.
He compares his approach to stationing an ambulance at the top of the cliff rather than at the bottom for the fall.
“Youth work is about listening, being a good receptor to messages and being non-judgemental,” Shane explains.
“Young people will know whether you’re interested in them or not by how you talk or how you look at them.”