“I used to come into the city and have blinkers on, and through this role we get the opportunity to look up and around and discover things I had no idea existed. It’s the interaction with people from all walks of life, from different nationalities, that I love. And we learn things from them.”

Mitchell agrees. Lured by a friend already volunteering as a city ambassador, Mitchell signed up for the role four years ago. “I thought this would be a great thing to do,” Mitchell explains. “You meet so many different people and just being out on the street meeting people – I love it.” I

n return for the ambassador’s time each week, City of Melbourne organises theatre tickets, gallery passes, yearly functions, and weekend trips. It’s a balanced relationship.

“The appreciation you feel from the organisation, that’s partially what keeps us coming back,” Speas says. “That, and it really doesn’t feel like work,” Mitchell agrees. Proving the point that in giving you receive twofold.

JOAN McQUEEN

‘Coming in, love?” Joan McQueen says, more as a statement than a question, from within the shoeboxsized space of the Nicholas Building lift. With one eyebrow cocked slightly she holds the heavy metal door aside for the waiting passengers. Something she’s been doing for a lifetime.

McQueen is the indisputable ruler of Melbourne’s vertical transport system; the elevators. Starting her career at Big W and Buckley and Nunn Emporium driving lifts, McQueen admits to walking past the iconic Nicholas Building nightly after work, sparing not even a glance for the landmark.

That was until she spotted an advertisement in the local paper for a lift attendant. “Then I got the job,” McQueen says. That was 33 years ago. “It was all the rag trade then,” McQueen explains, perched on her chair inside lift number 1 (there are three), fl icking the lever and charging the elevator skyward. “The building was fi lled with manufacturers and clothing agents. It was very different back then. We used to have fantastic Christmas parties,” she says with a smile.

What’s still fantastic is the feeling once inside the lift. It’s like walking into McQueen’s lounge room. Photos of her grandchildren, her children, her pets and other people’s pets adorn the walls. Newspaper clippings and personalised greetings each hold a story. “Well, who wants to look at grey all day,” McQueen says by way of explanation.

For more than 33 years McQueen has been sharing her charming smile and genuine warmth with the people of Melbourne. “It’s the people, love. That’s what keeps it interesting,” she says of the job before angling the lever and bringing the lift to a stop on the ground level and sliding the door open. She peers around the doorway out to the waiting passenger. “Coming in, love?”

BOBBY ZEN

It’s a familiar sight on any given night. A line of hungry would-be dumpling munchers snaking their way down the darkened alleyway of Tattersalls Lane. They’re all waiting for the same thing, a table at Camy Shanghai Dumpling House, and the possibility of an eardrum-blasting version of ‘‘Happy Birthday to You’’ crackling over the loudspeakers.

Almost as famed as the plates of steaming dumplings that churn through the kitchen at Camy Shanghai, is maitre d’ and owner Bobby Zen. Manning the door since Camy Shanghai sprang to life 11 years ago, Zen has matched the pace and enthusiasm of the space with his own on a nightly basis. His beaming smile is cut with a sudden shout of “two people, OK, upstairs this way” before he hurriedly steers diners through the restaurant.

Twenty years ago Zen came to Australia from Shanghai. In opening Camy Shanghai, he delivered a slice of his home city to Melbourne.

What keeps Zen’s enthusiasm for the often harsh hospitality hours and trade in one of Melbourne’s most celebrated dumpling houses? Well, that’s simple: “Good dumplings,” he says, grinning.

NEIL MARTIN

There are no secrets in Neil Martin’s closet. He has bared them all for the good of others. At the tender age of 14 Martin was placed into a boys’ home for troubled youths. As punishment for bad behaviour he was made to polish 365 pairs of boots a week. “I learnt from this,” Martin says enthusiastically. “I’ve turned a punishment into a pleasure, and now a pleasure into a business.” It’s true. Martin is the Shiny Shoes shoe shiner, who from Monday to Friday can be seen opening his nugget, pulling up a stool, and working his magic on the mistreated and ill-fi tting shoes of city workers. He’s taken up the same post outside Harrolds at the Paris end of Collins Street for the past fi ve years. Prior to that, Martin could be found polishing up a storm outside the Bourke Street Mall. That was until co-owner of Harrolds John Poulakis offered Martin a booth outside his boutique store. Martin hasn’t looked back. A recovering alcoholic, Martin is in the business of helping people. “I try and help people as best I can,” he says. “When people come out of the offi ce in a mood I think, I know how to fi x this,’’ he says, grinning. “If they don’t want me to polish their shoes, a joke and a smile is all it takes.”

TRAVIS DEMSEY

He was once the drummer for celebrated Australian rock group The Living End, wielding his drumsticks in front of thousands of screaming fans. These days Travis Demsey’s interest lies with another legion of fans, the kids he mentors.

Demsey is the creator and director of the primal beats drumming program (PBDP), run through the equally lauded non-profi t organisation, Whitelion. Almost four years ago PBDP was trialled in a juvenile detention centre for a couple of hours per week.

“I was looking for a way to help young people use music as a vehicle to inspire them to go after their dreams,” Demsey says. “I approached Whitelion about using my passion for music and playing the drums as a way to help in some way.”

It worked. PBDP now operates in Victoria, Tasmania and South Australia, across high schools, corporate sectors, prisons, local councils and the indigenous community. It’s impressive for a relatively new program, but Demsey is already looking further ahead. He hopes the program can one day be Australiawide.

According to Demsey, Whitelion brings hope to the young people of Melbourne. “Young people can get extremely lost in society due to issues such as broken homes, drug and alcohol addiction and self-esteem problems,” he says.

“Whitelion makes Melbourne a better place by addressing these issues and accepting that young people do make mistakes because of the situation they find themselves in.” PBDP is about teaching and exploration through music.

Like many programs where inspirational role models are put forward to paint a picture of their life stories and the obstacles they face, the learning goes both ways.

“When a young person gives me positive feedback, I feel that I am on the right track with my work,” Demsey admits. “And then there’s the team at Whitelion. They are truly inspirational.” Pot kettle black, some would say.