Today, it's a dull commercial hub of Wollongong, a spot frequented by green shuttle buses and workers sneaking a cheeky ciggie. But some 55 years ago - October 1957, to be precise - what is now the meeting point of a retail giant and a sweaty gym, where Keira and Burelli streets intersect, could lay claims to being the unlikely birthplace of Australian rock'n'roll.

It was then the site of the Crown Theatre, a stately pleasure dome opened in 1911 as an open-aired complex that could house 2000 punters. Its features were many, varied and grand, including a proscenium that was described at the time as "strikingly designed with fluted columns". By 1957, a "new" Crown, incorporating some architectural tweaks, had taken its place: they'd tacked on a roof, for one thing, and installed a reasonable sound system, along with dress circles, stalls and private boxes. The building was leased by Union Theatres.

It was the perfect place for this new fangled thing called rock'n'roll.

Little Richard, a jibberish-spouting American loon with a sky-high pompadour and a thing for flashy clothes, was booked to rock the Crown in October 1957.

It was one of the first rock'n'roll roadshows to tour Australia.

Among the numerous support acts was Johnny O'Keefe, the black sheep of a wealthy Sydney family, who'd managed to talk his way on to the bill at the last minute - and then only after repeatedly pestering the promoter, the notorious, flamboyant Lee Gordon.

O'Keefe was a novice, but he didn't lack self-confidence.

However, the cocky 21-year-old wasn't prepared for the reception he received from the full house when he stepped on to the Crown stage.

In fact, he could have pieced together a nourishing salad from the fruit and veg that was hurled in his direction.

O'Keefe was under siege. Booing drowned out the band.

However, J O'K, to his eternal credit, came up with a retort that over time became part of Aussie rock and roll folklore.

"You may boo me," Johnny said, as the yelling continued, "and you may throw things at me. But you all pay your money to see me - BECAUSE YOU LOVE ME!"

The shouting stopped. How could you not admire someone with the guts to say such an outrageous thing?

An Oz music legend was born - within a few years O'Keefe was the biggest name in the country, our first rock'n'roll star.

Sadly, the Crown didn't fare so well. Hit hard by the high cost of film rentals, and undermined by the rise of television, the Crown closed its doors on October 11, 1965, was demolished in 1972 and slowly morphed into the bland grey stretch of bitumen and bricks that it is today.

... AND THE END

"I knew it would have to end, exactly like Elvis," promoter Lee Gordon said.

"I just didn't realise it would be so quick."

On Thursday, October 5, 1978, O'Keefe and his second wife, Maureen, went out to dinner.

He told her about his plans to buy a house in Double Bay, that he had tour dates to arrange, and discussed bringing in Johnny Farnham to work with him.

There is a suggestion that the couple may have had some sort of argument later in the evening. However, Maureen is sick with bone cancer and in no position to talk about the night.

What is known, is that when Maureen woke the next morning, Johnny was not in bed next to her. He was lying on the floor.

When she shook him and he didn't respond, she called a friend who summoned both the police and ambulance.

By the time his first wife - Marianne - arrived at the hospital, O'Keefe was only alive because he was on life-support.

"He was lying in bed bare-chested with an awful machine strapped to him," she would later write.

"I have never seen Johnny looking worse - or so utterly helpless."

A doctor told her that Johnny was brain-dead and that there was no hope.

The official cause of his death was a heart attack induced by barbiturate poisoning.

There is no evidence that he intentionally upped his medication or that he was in any way suicidal.

O'Keefe was no saint. He was a long-time pot smoker who would regularly smoke a joint before going on stage.

His death made the headlines. He was Australia's first rock'n'roll idol, the nation's biggest recording star and still capable of filling venues with fans.

Among the hundreds of tributes and obituaries, was one that perfectly summed up the moment: "The trip is ended but the melodies linger on."

More than 3000 fans and friends went to his funeral at the Mary Immaculate Church in Sydney's eastern suburbs.

In his eulogy, O'Keefe's former teacher, Brother Frank Marzorini, remembered that he had once said O'Keefe would lead a revolution one day.

"He flooded Australia with happiness as he leapt into the world of music and swept towards a revolution that was almost as affecting on our society as the music of Haydn and Beethoven had been on the Europe of another day.

"For John O'Keefe was never a man to do anything by halves."

O'Keefe was laid to rest at the Northern Suburbs Lawn Cemetery where his epitaph reads: "In loving memory of John Michael O'Keefe: Pioneer of Australian Rock'n'Roll".

Shortly before his death, O'Keefe had been asked about his philosophy on life. He quoted American poet Ralph Waldo Emerson:

"All life is an experiment," he said. "'The more experimentation, the full the life you lead. Sometimes, you'll try something and get knocked to the ground.

"That's when you get up and try again.

"Because it'll never hurt as much again, even when you get knocked down."

The first copies of Apter's biography, Johnny O'Keefe: Rocker. Legend. Wild One. go on sale next week at the Southern Highlands Writers' Festival. The book goes on general release next month.

With William Verity