Sir Howard Morrison - he did it his way

Cartoon / Rod Emmerson

In March last year Michele Hewitson interviewed Sir Howard Morrison. Her article won a Qantas Media award. Sir Howard liked it too.

Why do people hate Sir Howard Morrison? He was perfectly lovely to me, which is why I didn't put the question exactly that way. But he's not silly. He phoned me back - "Listen my pet, Sir H here" - to say he didn't want "to sound like a big cry-baby [saying] 'and people don't love me'. All I know is I polarise people."

He polarised me rather. People said, "don't let him charm you", but why the hell not? He is in the business of being charming, it's what showmen do.

He is supposed to think a lot of himself, to be a big show-off - he has often said that's how he's regarded. Who could blame him if he was a bighead? Even if he's not your cup of tea, he's been a high-profile entertainer for more than 50 years, has been knighted for his singing and good works and might be entitled to think of himself as the father figure of New Zealand entertainment and worth a bit of respect.

He was at Parliament this week briefing Labour's Maori caucus on a pilot project he's involved in, called Fight for the Future, aimed at tackling the crisis in Maori and Pacific Island health. He has, he points out, been involved in health issues for years.

He went around the country once, on a horse, and was caught smoking in the saddle - "oh now and again, when nobody was looking". But they were looking, of course, and everyone went "tsk, tsk" and there was another Naughty Howard headline. "I get shot down because I'm a big target.

"[Journalists called and asked] 'Who do you think will win [NZ Idol]?"' He says he said, "'Oh, probably Rosita but she'll have to lose some weight'. The next day, lose some weight becomes fat! That was almost, 'At last we've got the bugger'."

Why on Earth would people want to "get the bugger"? "Oh, I've probably brought a lot of it on myself for being a shit." Was he a shit? "I could be. I could be. Sometimes you don't know and you can't explain when you were and all that." And, "I am a big target. And I'm good looking!" Does he think he's good looking? "So I'm told." Who by? "Well, you might. Jeez, you might! I use lines like that to annoy people, to be honest." But why does he? "Because I know that's what they're thinking. 'He thinks he's crash hot. He thinks he's neat'."

You can see how easily he could come across badly, and baldly, in print. That business about getting the bugger seems paranoid when you write it, and it's a refrain. He has long said Maori didn't like him, that there was a lot of jealousy from his people. So why, I wanted to know, does he do all this work for Maori in social and health areas if he really feels disliked or envied? He said that the jealousy hasn't dissipated but "I've got the support of Maoridom where it counts".

He sang at the Maori Queen's tangi and that was the first time, "for me to finally feel comfortable with myself in front of my own people ... I had this opportunity and I could feel them warming to me. It was like picking an audience, you know after three or four minutes. If they're not with you, you're going to have a very hard night. It's the very, very first time I've ever felt embraced by my own people."

This seems to me to be incredibly sad but he said, "No, Michele, I don't think it's sad. It's just the opposite." I'm pretty sure he'd rather be thought a shit than be felt sorry for.

His "number one best friend" is Lady Kuia, his wife of "51 years in May", and she is in his interview the way she has been in his life. She sits on the sidelines while we talk. He calls her "my silent guardian" but I'm pretty sure that's one of his jokes because she has plenty to say.

Of people having a go at her husband, she says, "I used to confront them. 'Why do you say that? You're not so hot yourself?"'

He is supposed to have a temper, and he says he has always had "a short wick", and he is known for his intimidating stare. I saw the look she gave him when he was making a wriggly attempt to get out of driving her to Hamilton that afternoon and I know who I think is scarier.

I had wondered what he must be like to live with - fairly demanding, I thought before meeting them. But maybe not. She says she's the Scorpio and he's the Lion and he says, "The way I put it is, when I'm away from home, I'm Leo the Lion and when I'm home I'm Mickey the Mouse."

They live in this, her house - another of his terrible jokes: "I married her for her money" and wink, wink, "her assets!" - in Ohinemutu village where the tourists wander about outside while one of NZ's most famous faces potters about inside.

I don't know how much money they've got because "we don't talk about money", they both say, but you can tell from their nice but not at all posh house that living like nobs has never been an ambition.

Of course, he could have taken the million from his rich mate Owen Glenn and stood for Parliament as an independent, and he says he did think about it, but decided he was too old. He says people think this was all a nonsense about the money, designed to take the heat off the Glenn donation to Labour, but it's true, he insists. Glenn also gave him $100,000 to spend however he wanted and he set up a youth trust in Glenn's name. And after hearing Morrison's niece sing recently, he said he'd send $20,000 for her studies.

He says Glenn calls him "at all hours" from his boat to say, "Hey man, I love you, buddy", wanting him to sing Pokarekare Ana down the phone. He says of Glenn that "he needs to be loved more than any other person I know ... And I've seen his other side. I've seen his business acumen just come in and whack, whack, whack."

I wondered whether the friendship was a matter of mutual recognition.

"Well, he's told mates he likes me because I go out of my way not to laugh at his jokes, and I argue with him so ..."

He doesn't really have starry mates other than Glenn.

I asked if he was friends with Kiri and he said, "No, no. She used to be but [pause for showman's effect] she's moved into another world."

He could have gone to Vegas and made pots of money but he says he and Kuia figured out early that the entertainers there were chasing the dream of what they already had from their living room windows: spectacular lake views. And he looks over at Kuia and says, "that's riches, there".

Which is not to say he didn't enjoy the lifestyle of the famous entertainer for a time. I have been trying to get to the bottom of how much he played up, made difficult by Kuia's presence (I don't want to get the look). In the end I just ask them both and he says, "Look, I'm talking 1969, 1970, 1971 ... That's the best way I can put it. I had a seven-year itch when I did all the things I should not have done." But he never strayed? I ask Kuia.

"Well, he's still here with me. No, there might have been the odd [one], eh, hon?" "They were odd too, honey," he says, and they shriek with laughter at what is obviously an old joke.

If you listen to what he volunteers about his character - short wick, mean-spirited, a shit, huge ego - he ought to be a monster. But what the tourists will never know is that at 4pm one of the most famous faces in the country puts his jammies on, gets into his big leather chair, eats the tea he has usually cooked for himself, has his wine - "two glasses. Gone!" - and goes to sleep.

Kuia gives him a nudge a few hours later and he wakes up and says, hopefully, "Have we had a cup of tea? Have a fart and go to bed." Kuia told me most of this and I think he was a bit - but not very - concerned that I might think this behaviour dotty if not doddery. He says it's partly to do with the entertainer's regime of eating early but I'm afraid I think it's mostly, and endearingly, dotty.

When he called back I told him we had a new phrase at our place for a nice early night: I think I'll have a Howie. He said he was hugely flattered and laughed and laughed. He phoned again at 3.59pm, to check I was slogging away and to say, "I'm in my pyjamas. I'm having a curry. I've got a glass of chardonnay."

I told him I had been in mid-sentence, writing something nice about him to finish but now he'd blown it. Bloody Sir Howard, he's such a show-off.

POSTSCRIPT Some people thought he was a bit of a prickly bugger - and he would have been the first to admit that he could be - but Sir Howard Morrison could also be an absolute poppet. He was to me. The other thing he could be: a bit regal. People thought he thought he was "crash hot". He was showbiz royalty and he sometimes expected to be treated royally. I half expected him to call after this column appeared to tick me off about something: tone possibly.

Because he did tell me he could be a bit windy, just before bed, but telling people things and seeing them in print can be another matter altogether. Then he did phone, a few months later, but just to check that I was behaving myself. And to let me know, that, yes, he was in jammies, having his wine. He phoned every so often after that to say hello: "Hello my pet! Sir H here!" And to tell me what he'd had for his tea: curry, or a "nice piece of salmon. Lovely!"

I sent him a text to say it might amuse him to know that this piece - "about your pyjamas" - had won an award. It does after all take one bloody show-off to appreciate another. He called immediately. "I am amused. I'm very, very amused!"

We were supposed to meet in Auckland a month or so ago. "We'll have a few wines! I'll buy you tea." I had to cancel. "You're standing me up," he said. "Have you got a better offer? Next time, pet." I'm sorry there won't be a next time, Sir H. But we'll have a nice early night, a Howie, at our place tonight in your memory.