Steve Braunias: One Dread, the sequel

Ian Morgan (aka One Dread) tidying up his Housing corp home in Westmere before a housing inspection. Photo / Supplied

After writing about Auckland legend One Dread last week, readers have been in touch with their memories of him. Steve Braunias compiles some responses here.

One Dread was the street name of Ian Morgan, who I wrote about in the Herald last week in an attempt to mark the passing of one of the strangest people in Auckland life. He looked homeless. I assumed he was homeless. In fact, he was a bona fide eccentric, who wandered the streets of Auckland at all times of night day, busy, harmless, distinctive on account of his size (as small as a child) and hair (worn as one single dreadlock nearly down to his feet). The story prompted a lot of emails and messages. No one ever knew much about him but he was famous, an urban legend.

One Dread liked to take the bus. He rode the Outer Link every single day from his state house in Westmere, and then changed to other services all around Auckland. Annabel messaged, “I remember when I was at uni seeing him often on Link. He was usually with a small plump lady who also looked like she had an intellectual disability and I thought they were in a relationship. I hope I was right and he had companionship for a while.” One Dread, lover.

One Dread subscribed to the Herald, but his brother Dave wondered if he could even read, that its only use to him was the Lotto results and the death notices. Robert emailed, “I very clearly remember him coming to tabletop gaming conventions in Auckland in the 90s. Specifically, I saw him playing a game called Space Marine Epic, part of the Warhammer universe, several times. He had his own army of little painted figures, which I presume he painted himself, that he deployed against opponents in games that typically take several hours to play. The conventions were held in community halls full of hundreds of people, so not something that people who completely hated being around others would enjoy, and constant interaction with your opponent is also necessary. The rules are quite complex and definitely require an ability to read quite well and a reasonable intellect. I saw him carrying his armies around the streets a few times as well so he must have been right into it at least for a while.” One Dread, gamer.

One Dread had other interests, too. Scott messaged, “I have memories of Ian Morgan from the early 90s, when he used to sometimes attend poetry readings at Shakespeare pub in the CBD. These readings attracted lots of people, including some homeless people, who weren’t necessarily there for the poetry, but members of my circle, especially the poet Richard Taylor, used to talk to Morgan at length. Richard said that he was an autodidact, with a strong interest in history. He’d been reading about a series of ancient civilisations, and he told Richard he wanted to go all the back to the beginning, which he defined as Sumeria.” One Dread, historian. (Scott added, “After that whenever I saw him round on the streets I always thought he must hole up in the public library, and was on some of mystical-historical quest.” I asked staff at the central library whether he spent time there. They said he never came in.)

One Dread left school as soon as he could, at about 14 or 15. Geoff emailed, “The high school I went to in Penrose in the early 70s was a f***ing cruel environment to grow up in. Maybe he had similar experiences to us all in that era. If you were a fat kid, all you dreamed of was a fatter kid stepping in to the limelight so you could slip into the shade… We all knew an ‘Ian Morgan’ at high school. We had a guy who had swallowed bleach as a kid, who had a hole in his throat and a squeak when he spoke. He was bullied by everyone. Me included. To my eternal shame. I can’t imagine the hell he went through at a place that was meant to be safe.” One Dread, shunned.

One Dread had courage, wit, determination. But Mervyn emailed, “An unwashed eccentric misfit who cuts a desultory figure meandering around the suburbs is hardly going to evoke a wave of grief and sorrow. By all means report his passing but it didn’t warrant a 2-page spread.” One Dread, worth a thousand Mervyns.

One Dread was not one of a kind. Phil emailed, “You wrote with clarity and found a way to connect your audience with one of those rare eccentrics that bless big cities. It was a great sadness to learn of Frank Blennerhasset last year when I was visiting home at Christmas, and Mr Morgan was also familiar to me from my days as a 90s student in Auckland.” I wondered: who was Frank Blennerhasset? I looked him up. The Rangitoto Observer marked his death with a wonderful 1600-word article about a man who walked the streets of the North Shore for more than 50 years. He stopped to pat dogs. He picked up shells, golf balls and bits of wire, and put them in a sack he carried with him on his walks… One Dread, like Frank Blennerhasset, was loved. They never walked alone.