“How do you say goodbye to someone who was your life for 30 years?”
These were the words my darling friend Marcella Zemanek had to ask herself when her dear husband, and legendary Beast from Beauty & The Beast, Stan, left this world in 2007 after his heroic battle with brain cancer.
Charlie Teo was his surgeon and had given Marcella the farewell so many families facing cancer with a loved one just don’t get.
She has since made it her life’s mission working tirelessly for The Charlie Teo Foundation so other families don’t have to suffer. I have personally witnessed a miracle from this man myself, with a friend of my twins when they were in pre-school. Ollie was only four. His parents, a gorgeous couple here from Sweden to raise their young family, were told to go home and accept the worst.
At Xmas we shared a wonderful pizza with that family, including their little boy Ollie. That family, visiting from Sweden, had once been given a diagnosis their little boy would not make it. I am happy to report at 15 he is more than gorgeous, happy and a seriously wonderful teen.
Dad looking up to former Wallaby Warwick Waugh
Receiving the Randwick trophy from Captain Ben Houston
"His classic line was 'let me have a look at' — crack — and the bone would be back in place before you could count to three."
Warwick Waugh · former Wallaby
He became a confidante to generations of players, who would welcome his steady bandy legs walking towards them as blood poured from a wound. "When his hands started working on you, and he looked over the end of those glasses at the end of his nose, you knew you were going to be right," says Waugh. Anyone who has met Dad will describe him as devoted and dedicated — admired for his work ethic and the fact he never has a bad word to say about anyone.
A little boy gazing out of a fruit shop window
Born and bred in Darlo, the son of Italian migrant fruiterers from the Aeolian island of Salina off Sicily, Dad grew up in the fruit shop opposite St Vincent's Hospital — watching the ambulances arrive from his bedroom window and dreaming of becoming a doctor. A scholarship to Sydney University followed, then training at that very hospital, and a residency at Concord in 1965 — where he met an English nurse, Lis, who he will tell you chased him around Ward 19 till he succumbed. She, of course, has the real version. They celebrated their 55th wedding anniversary last year.
Dad and Mum — they met on the ward at Concord Hospital
He established his practice at 7 Vicar Street, Coogee in 1972. During four decades as the club's Honorary Medical Officer he oversaw the scalp stitching of Michael Cheika, kept the skin on Simon Poidevin and tended the dislocated kneecaps of Tim Coppa among hundreds of other injuries. He was instrumental in setting up the club's first medical insurance for players, and was assistant doctor at the first World Cup in 1987 — where he made headlines by sending home a key English player with severe concussion, a move well ahead of its time.
It was often said in the sheds: if you hadn't suffered a field dressing, a catgut stitching or copped an on-the-go painkiller injection at the hands of Doctor Joe, you hadn't played for Randwick. When he was nominated as a life member in 2001, he was the first non-playing person to join those illustrious ranks.
La Famiglia…
Dad is a proud husband to Elisabeth (affectionately known as Lizzy), father to eight children and Nonno to 25 grandchildren, with his first great-grandchild now here. He worked full time for 55 years as a much-loved GP — I still get stopped in the street by people who tell me he changed or saved their life. There is little doubt he has left his imprint on the hearts of the Randwick and Coogee community.
Dad celebrates his 80th with 22 of his 25 grandchildren
I know the club thanks you for your service, Dad. Your immense impact is immeasurable — as club doctor, as friend and confidant to generations of players, and for so many people's lives in this community. You have left your mark on Randwick's treasured turf.
It's impossible to put into words how proud we children feel — even I, who is never short of a word, can't find one big enough. So I'll just go back to those three little initials you can now scrawl in that terrible doctor's spider handwriting of yours, forevermore. OAM. I can assure you, those three little initials say just about everything.
One of his other favourite pastimes — the Randwick Racecourse
Mum and Dad's 50th anniversary — eight children, 20 grandchildren
