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David Haselhurst was a raconteur who beat the market and defined a golden era of business journalism, mixing it with prime ministers and Kerry Packer.

In 2008, the portraitist Melissa Beowulf met and became friends with business journalist David Haselhurst. Recalling him as an “intelligent, articulate and always companionable fellow,” Beowulf caught a glimpse of his gregarious nature, and she asked him to sit for a portrait.

“He suggested one of his favourite watering holes and posed for me; I wanted to capture his classic resting state: beer in one hand, ‘ciggie’ in the other,” Beowulf recalls. “The eyes are essential for capturing the character but, with David, his stance says everything about his comfort with himself.”

David Arthur Haselhurst, who passed away in March aged 86, was born on September 19, 1939 in Perth, Western Australia. The eldest son of Arthur (Snow) and Edna Haselhurst, he was followed by four brothers: Gordon, twins Graham and Howard, and Dennis. The boys were exceptionally close; David, and Graham and Howard, shared the same birthday.

His grandfather, Elisha Haselhurst had established and operated the Haselhurst Woodyard in Maylands, in the north-east of Perth. Young David, who took a paperboy’s round as a boy, obtained a Diploma of Agriculture – the formal qualification of a farmer – but a farmer’s life was not likely on his radar. His journey from the west coast to the east was punctuated with a pastoral stopover: writing for The Countryman newspaper.

In Perth, Haselhurst worked for the Avon Valley News Express and the Beverley Times, later The West Australian, where he completed his cadetship in journalism, and finally Channel Seven in Perth. Moving to Sydney, he landed a gig as a writer (and later editor) of Everybody’s, a teen magazine which ran stories about pop stars of the era, including The Seekers, Normie Rowe and Johnny Young.

But Haselhurst made his name in journalism when he joined The Bulletin magazine. Founded in 1880, it was a cornerstone of Australian culture, featuring essays on politics and finance, poetry, fiction and satire, and was notable because its early roster of writers included Henry Lawson, Dorothy Mackellar and “Banjo” Paterson.

His knowledge of the resources industry, particularly in the fields of mining, oil and gold, gave him an edge in business journalism. And for 34 years, beginning in 1973, Haselhurst’s column The Speculator offered stock tips to readers via an imagined, and briskly traded, portfolio of real stocks.

For 30 of its 34 years in The Bulletin, it outstripped the All-Ordinaries index, including nine years of triple-digit growth. He kept meticulous notes. His daughter Nada described his office as one hidden behind “piles, almost room height, of mostly newspapers, but also books and magazines. As a child it was like navigating a maze”.

One of the column’s keenest readers was his own boss, the magazine’s owner, Kerry Packer. The legendary media mogul trusted Haselhurst enough to let him run two investment companies for him, memorable for one wild day in which David sunk a large pile of Packer’s (and his colleagues’) small change into the Tasmanian gas industry.

“I’ve been meaning to tell you, Kerry, you’re now the biggest shareholder there, and we’re in it with you,” Haselhurst said, in an exchange recorded by Gideon Haigh some five-and-a-half decades later in The Monthly. Packer replied: “Ah well, when Haselhurst takes me down the gurgler, at least you’ll all be coming too.” Naturally, a banquet in Chinatown followed.

Despite those wild and sometimes lavish times, The Bulletin was a somewhat modest if influential flagship. “There were no slow ants or time-servers at The Bulletin,” David later told Haigh. “They ran a very lean ship.”

In its 128-year-life, the magazine was home to a diverse field of Australian perspectives: J. F. Archibald (of Archibald Prize fame), 60 Minutes pioneer Gerald Stone, Australian Financial Review editor Max Walsh, and two future prime ministers, Malcolm Turnbull, who wrote about politics and legal affairs, and Tony Abbott, who wrote about social issues, education, and economics.

Abbott offered high praise to the excellence of Haselhurst’s journalism. “[The Bulletin] hosted an impressive stable of writers amongst whom David more than held his own. It was a wonderful nursery for talent and David was one of its most notable characters and best teachers. I will always be grateful for his help and encouragement,” Abbott said.

Business journalist Janine Perrett met him when she was a cadet journalist on The Australian in the 1980s, and spoke similarly of his kind mentorship. “David was always encouraging and helpful,” Perrett said. “In those days many of the blokes could be wild, but David was always a gentleman. He had a wonderful, droll sense of humour and turn of phrase.”

Haselhurst’s move to Sydney also introduced him to his future wife, Ann Kronja, the sister of “Big Sam” Kronja, a radio star on 2UE and 2SM. They met in the Ladies Bar of the Journalists’ Club, and there was a spark of romance. They were married at St Joseph Catholic Church, Edgecliff, in June 1966, set up house in Queen Street, Woollahra, and had two children, Patrick and Nada.

The irregular hours and drinking culture of journalism – long nights, carousing with colleagues and contacts – might have suited David’s temperament, but they did not make for an easy marriage. David and Ann divorced in 1975; neither remarried.

In fact, both would acknowledge later, they went on to become great friends. The house in Woollahra was a social crossroads: busy at all hours, with friends and family coming and going. I became friends with their son Patrick in high school, and I came to know that house as well as my own, and David and Ann, as well as my own parents.

In particular, David enjoyed socialising with his children’s friends. He may have been an imperfect father at times, but he seemed to have no shortage of fatherly advice. My own career in journalism was dreamed into existence in that house, one night in my teens, after I articulated my ambition to David, Tony Abbott and Daily Mirror finance editor Tony Curtis, who had turned up unannounced.

In many ways, David was the archetype of a late golden age journalist: wonderfully social, from a family of raconteurs, noted for their telling of stories, and the occasional bawdy joke. He loved a drink and, at every stage of his life, saw the pub as the front line of connection: to friends new and old, to contacts, and a place where he could take the pulse of the community.

Like many journalists of his vintage, as full-time work gave way to retirement, he never traded connection for a quieter life. He religiously read The Sydney Morning Herald, The Telegraph and The Australian every day. He also read The Land, The Countryman and The Economist. He was a lifelong Sydney Swans supporter, a regular at the Tattersalls Club, and, in his final years, enjoyed spending time with his grandchildren, his newspapers and crosswords.

He was “a wild, impetuous, entertaining character,” his daughter Nada recalled. “He was a hard drinker and smoker and close family and friends often learnt the hard way never to try to keep up.” But he was also generous, self-reliant and often paradoxical. “He was never going to be easily summarised, and I think he’d be quietly happy about that,” she said.

His son Patrick described him as an “old school journo from an era when journalism was well funded and journalists went to far-flung places and met the people that move the world. And getting stories often involved carousing in bars where the booze would loosen the lips of people with ‘secrets’ to tell”.

“As a father, he was as flawed as any ... [but] he was, overall, a great guy who looked out for his family, and was generous with his time, money and connections to anyone he thought needed a hand,” Patrick said. “I loved him very much, and it was an honour and a privilege to have him as a father.”

Ian Macintosh, a financial PR who became mates with David, described him as “a real character, part Errol Flynn, part [French poet] Arthur Rimbaud, and one hell of a journo. One thousand and one stories flowing from the Journo’s Club, the Phoenix Hotel, Old Tatts, the Imperial Peking and mine sites from Kalgoorlie to Kathmandu. [He was] truly one of the good ones”.

David is survived by his children, Patrick and Nada, and his grandchildren, Declan, Laura, Monty and Ewan.

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