Another boomer crime goes unremarked. The boomers ruined the social tradition of the sexes dancing — together and talking, albeit inanely — as they moved around the floor.
Once upon a time, before your first school ball, you were sent to a church hall to clutch a nervous partner for en masse classes on the waltz, or the impossibly elaborate Maxina.
Staring mesmerised at a left foot, we mumbled One-two-three, Trip-two three, Sorry-two-three. If that was bad, then ask yourself the next question: "How should a Fox Trot?"
In the middle of this dilemma, along came a fellow called Ernest Evans, who played a significant part in ending civilisation as we knew it.
Ernie, on the plump side of normal, had showbiz ambitions. However "Ernest" was not a star’s name. Seeking inspiration, he considered his equally chubby hero — the singer pianist, Fats Domino. If Fats could be "Fats", perhaps Ernest might call himself Lardface, Hog, or maybe even Chubby? And what about imitating the domino idea? He could be Larry Ludo, Dave Dice, Chuck Chess, or CHUBBY CHECKER!
It was smoko, circa 1961. We likely lads at the freezing works were eating the morning pie, and discussing the High Life.
"Stuff the Fellmongers’ Prom — have you heard about The Twist? It’s a new dance you do to a cool record by this fat bloke, Chubby Checker."
"Nope. What happens?"
"You stand on the spot, and sort of waggle your hips."
"You mean you put your hips up against the bird’s, so she wiggles with you? Great, but it sounds so sexy they’ll ban it."
"They won’t. The sheila stands a yard away and waggles by herself. The Twist is some sort of no touching dance."
"But why go out to dance by yourself?" I mused.
"And how can you get a broad’s phone number doing the Twist? No, it will never last."
I was wrong of course. Chubby’s Twist became the godfather of the dance party, and the new era of unpartnered dancing. We stood separately doing The Stomp, The Shake, and The Jerk — then finally, whatever wiggles, waves, or gym moves inspired you.
This hasn’t been entirely bad. Dancing is no longer a military skill which requires the protagonists keep in step — anyone can do it, and it takes genuine intent to stand on someone’s toes. Blessedly, the young male no longer walks heart-in-mouth across the room to be knocked back with the ballroom’s oldest excuse: "Sorry, but I don’t know how to Two Step, (Valeta, or Waltz Viennese)."
I considered all this, while being fitted for rented tails. I hadn’t been to a ball for a satisfyingly long time, but I was to accompany the Duchess to a grand university reunion affair held at Larnach Castle. You may have read about it.
Fifty years ago, some Otago university students decided they’d paint up the castle’s decrepit ballroom and stage a formal ball, with all conceivable bells and whistles. They had a piper, a grand march, and a chap at the door announcing the entrances of glamorously gowned girls, and boys wearing tails and pimples. It was so eccentrically posh, the national news filmed it for posterity.
Madness can be the mother of outrageous success. The owners of Larnach credit the triumphant 1967 ball with launching the castle as a fashionable function venue. So they asked two of the original party planners, Eion (now Sir Eion) Edgar, and Alistair Edmond, if they could get the same crowd back together for a 50th anniversary celebration.
The Duchess helped assemble the names. Astonishingly, 150 fronted, which says something about the Otago University experience, and how its students become friends for life. (Wit’s End was an Auckland uni student — it’s not the same).
Frankly, the night was magnificent. It also seemed a testimonial to the first of the baby-boomers who, in their youth, bridged the chasm between Frank Sinatra and Mick Jagger. The tell-tale moment came when the orchestra went home.
The sound system was switched on, the Rolling Stones blasted forth, and a dance floor which had been but modestly patronised, was suddenly crowded by the wiggling tailed and gowned. Ernie Evans, the man responsible, is 75. He would have been at home in Philadelphia resting up for his next Chubby Checker casino tour. It starts this weekend.
- John Lapsley lives in Arrowtown.
