Little Criminals: The Story of a New Zealand Boys' Home by David Cohen Page A

Orange. Contacted in turn, however, an assistant to Dr Orange reported that she, as well, had no material or recollections on the matter, suggesting instead that the best person to approach would be yet another academic, Sir Ralph Love, a professor of business studies at Victoria University and the namesake son of the late figure.
    Here, too, no information — or response — was forthcoming. Finally, a telephone conversation with Kara Puketapu, the veteran Maori leader in charge of the Waiwhetu Marae, drew a similar blank in regard to any possible tribal involvement. This absence is also reflected in the institution’s own logbooks, which over many years appear to contain few references to visiting Maori groups other than the occasional performing cultural party.
    All in all, one would think, this seems a particularly significant cultural omission, all the more so in light of the only other interesting press clipping from the media files of 1959: the news that as of late March bulldozers and tractors had finally put paid to the native setting of Maungapohatu, the last remaining stronghold of the Tuhoe people and, effectively, the old Maori nation, from which — as we shall see — a sizeable chunk of Epuni’s cohort would be drawn.
     
    EPUNI OPENED FOR BUSINESS LATE IN THE SUMMER OF 1959, which also happened to be — and every young ward worth his salt knew this — the same year young Cassius Clay, the child prodigy turned early pro, snared his first national Golden Gloves championship while still at high school in Kentucky, a milestone achievement that helped set the stage for what was soon to become the sport’s last golden era. As far as the Department of Education was concerned, Maurie Howe seemed like a champion in the making, too — a relatively youngish administrator who would help guide what was already shaping up to be something of a busy new era on the institutional front — and all the stops were pulled out to recruit him as Epuni’s chief executive.
    Maurie never intended to end up in the Hutt Valley. The native-born Timaruvian had first worked as a physical therapist in the same region for the Department of Internal Affairs, and he might have remained in that role had an incoming Nationalgovernment not served notice that his corner of the department was under threat. Sensing the writing was on the wall, Howe took a residential social worker’s position in one of the few institutions then operating, in Auckland, and, enjoying the challenge of the work, successfully applied in 1958 for a similar position in Hamilton.
    The division’s superintendent had another idea. Charlie Peek called to ask if Howe would consider transferring the Hamilton placement to a planned youth facility in Lower Hutt, which was to replace and significantly expand the guardianship of wards who until that point had been looked after in an ageing house in Austin Street, Wellington. Peek wanted the position filled right away. The new buildings had already been vandalised, he pointed out, and he didn’t want a repeat performance ahead of the formal ceremony inaugurating the new residence that he fervently believed would mark a new era in residential children’s care.
    Howe felt flattered but dubious. Wasn’t the Hutt among the country’s most monotonous urban zones? Hadn’t the region received an atrocious press at the time of the Mazengarb Report? On reflection, though, he figured that any town was what you made of it. As for delinquency, well, that was something that happened anywhere, surely, and besides, wasn’t squelching delinquency the reason for his work? So that settled it. He lit out for Wellington.
    On the morning of Thursday, January 29, 1959, the boys at Austin Street began packing and loading furniture on the watch of their new guardian for the move out of the capital. The journey was complete by five o’clock that afternoon. Fifteen kids were now resident in the new institution, built to accommodate 22 boys. It