Roger Rabbits with Jim Bunny

It’s a local fixture, a landmark, high above the Daisy Hardwick and Waikareao Estuary – a flagpole reaching skyward from behind the fence of a stately old Pillans Point home.

When the All Blacks played, a black flag bearing a silver fern fluttered our loyalty and support. But this week, the proud New Zealand flag, a constant patriotic reminder to kids traipsing up the hill to Pillans Primary about exactly who they are, hung limply at half-mast.

And the very familiar Model A Ford, which chugged up and down that same hill, sat quietly, respectfully, in its garage. It would not be driven today.

Because the compatriot who flew the flags and drove the car is gone. Businessman, financier, barrister, James (Jim) Lindsay Smylie died last week, at home, surrounded by family. He was 79.

The car is family 

Smylie and his legendary Model A, his signature get-about-town ride, have had their last outing. The cars ‘puck-a-ta’ song has been silenced for the moment. And the Bay of Plenty Vintage Car Club has lost a stalwart, a friend. As has Tauranga’s Aero Club, Yacht and Power Boat Club, the Tauranga Club, the Racing Club and its Japan Cup.

Smylie’s Model A was special, very special, according to Donn White, chairman of the BOP Vintage Car Club. “Even as a very sick man, just a couple of weeks ago, Jim was shuffling around in the garage, calling the shots, as we worked on the car.”

The car is family – it was owned by Smylie’s father, it was treasured when it passed to Jim, and it will remain an heirloom. Some families have silver, the Smylie’s have Model A’s.

The funeral notice painted Smylie “a strong man who lived life on his own terms with proud resilience and determination to the end.” The notice said Smylie “truly did it his way”. And now, also in the vein of Sinatra, he has faced his final curtain. 

His legacy is one of passion and leadership, according to wife, Kaaren Smylie. “A man of vision, integrity, a man of insight and generosity whose legacy will live on in the people he inspired and institutions he helped shape.”

Backed the Steamers 

When Smylie founded the used car lender’s Western Bay Finance in 1989 it quickly became a “darling” institution with local investors, and a dependable, empathetic ear for sports groups and organisations seeking sponsorship and support. More often than not it was forthcoming.

In August 2004 a full front-page photo appeared in the Bay of Plenty Times.  The Steamers had just beaten Auckland at Eden Park and Smylie’s ‘Western Bay Finance’ brand was centre stage, emblazoned across 15 Steamers rugby jerseys heaving with pride and delight as skipper Wayne Ormond held aloft the Ranfurly Shield. Smylie considered rugby more than sport – “a symbol of resilience and community pride, values he embodied through his life,” said Kaaren Smylie.

But a couple of years later his brand plunged into receivership after bad debts on its $53 million loan book breached allowable assets to liabilities ratio. It left 3000 investors in limbo.

At the time a devastated Smylie reportedly admitted “his life would never be the same” and promised to “work hard to repay investors”. Fifteen months later investors had been repaid more than $40 million dollars, or 82 cents in the dollar.

It was about that time the unstoppable Smylie became a barrister. “That was a measure of the man,” says Donn White. “When most of us might pull back, Jim would give things a go. He had gumption and energy. Things were never too hard.”q

Joy ride with a journo 

Smylie was canny. One day he drove up to The Weekend Sun office on The Strand in his Model A and tried to impress this reporter with the intricacies of something called “a water-cooled, L-head inline four with a displacement of 201 cu in.”

It was wasted on someone who calls the AA to change a puncture and has never lifted a hood. Smylie figured that but took me for a nice motor anyway.

Along The Strand, up Devonport Rd. I felt noticed. Then down the Takitimu Toll Rd. “Damn!” snarled Smylie when he realised he was up for $4.20 just to take a journo for a ride.

Then after checking there were no cops watching, he suddenly heaved hard to starboard and we bumped, bounced and bobbed across 20-30 metres of open rough country, effectively the traffic island, to reach the city bound lanes. But he saved the thick end of $5 by dodging the toll booths. Or perhaps that’s how Smylie dealt with people like me who had no vintage car talk. Fair enough. But I got my joyride in a Model A. 

Thanks for the encounter Jim, thanks for the experience, thanks for the memory.