There would have been Order of Australia Medal recipients less proud than my six-year-old self, leaving school early to accompany my dad on a trip in the truck.
It wasn’t about skipping times tables or because I’d get to trade the apple in my lunchbox for the melted lolly snakes that sat on the dashboard. It was knowing that I would spend the next 12 hours with my dad, listening to the same three-song cassette, spotting animals and begging to ask for another radio check over the two-way.
At 10 years old, my classmates would talk about their dads who fixed things, who helped others when they were hurt, who worked with cattle, who cooked incredible meals, who made sure people were following the rules. I remember being unimpressed.
My dad was a truck driver. He did all of that and more, and he did it on the Tanami Road.
By the time I was 13, I was disappointed when Dad couldn’t make it to watch my sports games or school assemblies. Leaving and returning home in the dark, I took for granted the effort he would make to sit on my bed at 4.30am every morning to have a quick chat before heading off to work.
When, at 16, I needed help with my maths homework, Dad never hesitated to give up his evenings. He brought with him a level of patience that I don’t believe many others could muster after a 14-hour day spent in the Alice Springs heat. Although he was facing the many pressures that come with managing a transport business, Dad never made my frustrations feel small.
Waving goodbye to Dad on my first day of university, I knew that I wouldn’t have this opportunity had it not been for the years of sacrifice he had made, ensuring that his family always had everything they needed.
Today, I understand just how impressive his story is. My dad, Franco Bilato, made his start in transport long before he legally held a licence, helping out his father, Dino. Dino, a first-generation Italian immigrant, relied on the help of his children to keep his small fleet of Fodens on the road.
“Dino didn’t discriminate between boys and girls in our family; workers were workers, Franco explains.
Dino believed that, provided his sons could read, write and do basic math, there was nothing further they could learn in a classroom. By the time Franco was 10, Dino’s teachings, albeit strict, had instilled in him an unrivalled work ethic and pride in his name and family.
When Dino passed away, he cautioned his children against following in his footsteps in transport. The risks were high, and the rewards were few and far between.
Franco, heeding his father’s advice, earned his trade as an electrician and worked in this field for five years before the pull of the transport industry proved too great.
In 1989, a 22-year-old Franco started at Gulf Transport, carting diamond ore from Argyle Diamond Mine in Jim Cooper’s old Autocar.
From here, Franco was tasked with hauling lead and zinc concentrate from Cadjebut Mine to Wyndham Port. A 1200km round-trip each day, the drivers were meant to work five days a week with a service day on Saturday.
The reality was that they were driving seven days a week and were responsible for maintaining their trucks enough to keep them on the road.
“We gained a hell of a lot of experience fast back then,” Franco remembers.
From 1994, Franco, wanting to stay close to home as he and his wife welcomed their two children, was appointed the depot manager for the business at Woodcutters mine and, later, operations manager for the business.
In this role, he learnt valuable lessons in leadership that would serve him when he and his two brothers, Robert and John, bought G&S Transport in Alice Springs.
When asked why they chose Alice Springs, home to just 25,000 people in 1995 when the brothers moved there, Franco describes a town that offered “a lot of freedom”.
“It’s just where the opportunity was, and we weren’t as regulated as much as the southern states.”
The business came with three Macks, two triples of end tippers, two triples of flat tops and “a good reputation as people who worked hard and got things done”.
“Everyone asks why we kept the name. It was out of respect for Greg Schlein, the previous owner,
” says Franco. “It’s a bit like changing the name of a boat – we thought it would be bad luck.”
In these early days of the business, the aim was not to turn a profit so much as it was to survive.
“If you wanted to start a business and stay in business, you had to break the rules. We kept the rates low; we worked too many hours and we did a lot of overloading.”
The sweat and struggle would eventually produce some semblance of reward when the boys purchased the first of many new Kenworths. The three 501s would mark the start of a decades-long relationship between G&S Transport and the Kenworth brand.
Running an exclusively Kenworth fleet, the brothers have worked closely with the brand to ensure their trucks are equipped to withstand the harsh conditions synonymous with Northern Territory roads. In 2023, the brothers were named the Kenworth Legends, an honour Franco recounts as one of the proudest in his career.
Franco attributes much of the success of the business to their dedicated drivers, many of whom have worked with the brothers for 20-plus years.
“Long-distance drivers are very independent people. Once they drive out of the front gate, it’s all on them,” advises Franco. “Because we’ve driven just as much and still work beside them, you talk to your drivers like they’re people.”
Traversing the most remote parts of Australia, Franco has seen many incredible sights, some he says he wouldn’t believe if he had not been there himself.
He recalls one night, when travelling north of Alice Springs, passing a car that had no bonnet or windscreen.
“The fuel pump must’ve been buggered because there was a bloke sitting in the engine bay with a five-litre oil can and a fuel line. This thing has got no lights, so the passenger is holding one of those big Dolphin torches.
“They were uppa though!” Franco laughs, “the driver gave us a wave like nothing was wrong.”
Other times, it was Franco who was responsible for unravelling a tall tale. Having been warned by a fellow operator of the presence of a panther in the area, Franco was quick to pull over when he spotted it in his mirror.
“It was black with a long tail, and it was sleeking along,” describes Franco. “I realised pretty quickly that it was just a weird looking dog.”
To the credit of those who had falsely identified the dog, Franco says, “you could make a panther movie and cast that dog”.
Franco considers himself fortunate to have been able to share these sights with his children, who often accompanied him on the road.
“Because I missed out on so much of the kids growing up, it gave you one-on-one time with them.
“I think the time my kids spent with me in the truck taught them to be observant. I’d tell them, ‘Look at the tracks, look at what is growing around you, look at what is flying around you’.”
Franco’s son, Ryan, credits this time spent with his dad as his driving force to become a diesel mechanic. Helping his dad diagnose and problem-solve as early as five years old, Ryan “was always amongst it”.
Franco is incredibly proud to have served, and to continue to serve, the transport industry for as long as he has.
“Whether the rail goes out because of weather, or there’s going to be a cyclone, or during Covid, who picks up the slack?
“It’s always the truckies who have to lift.”
In his role as the chair of the advisory committee for the Road Transport Historical Society, Franco advocates strongly for more recognition, not only within the industry but from the wider community.
There is a certain pride that comes with having a parent in an industry that can’t function without their sacrifice and toil.
My dad, Franco, has always been a source of wisdom, drive and humour.
At six years old, at 16 years old and today, he is my hero.