‘‘Third place’’ has been a piece of sociology jargon since American sociologist Ray Oldenburg wrote The Great Good Place in 1989.
But I think Oldenburg is right on the money.
He listed three examples of social environment as places. Home and workplace were two of them but the third was ‘‘a space for informal, free social interaction, essential to democracy’’. Sounds pretty highfalutin but the third place was basically a pub. And he was right!
Of English pubs he wrote (with a touch of sociology-ese), ‘‘The English pub enjoys a good press, an aura of respectability, and a high degree of integration in the life of the citizenry. Three-fourths of the drinking done in England still takes place in public settings and, in the face of many forces that discourage its use, the pub hangs on.’’ Samuel Johnson proves it has always been so. He wrote about 250 years ago, ‘‘There is nothing which has yet been contrived by man, by which so much happiness is produced as by a good tavern.’’
A summary of Oldenburg’s ‘‘third place’’ describes the ideal as being neutral ground with no social status barriers where the main activity is conversation and maybe a bit of drinking — not necessarily alcohol. There is no pressure to spend money and you can turn up alone and probably leave feeling rather less alone.
Such a pub should be a target for the real estate ad writers. I haven’t admitted it before, but when we bought land in Patearoa the fact that it was exactly 57 paces from a good old country pub clinched the sale. It was at the pub that we met the locals, learned about the area and were, as Oldenburg describes the process, ‘‘absorbed gently’’.
The absorption may have meant a daily visit to the pub but such are the sacrifices which must be made if you have any hope of being promoted from ‘‘just a cribbie’’ to ‘‘almost a local’’.
One English pub chain, no doubt hiring a sociologist to do the research, has come up with a guide to good pub behaviour especially if you want to be accepted as a local. It includes some handy tips like going frequently at the same time, sitting with a group rather than hiding behind your phone, learning the bar staff’s names and saying hello to someone new.
All basic stuff, really, and my hours of study in pub bars have confirmed it’s the way to go.
On my first visit to the Patearoa pub my natural shyness was a problem until a local wandered over, stuck out his hand, and said, ‘‘G’day, I’m Fred. Who are you?’’ (He wasn’t called Fred, of course, but the deal is not to use real names in the newspaper as it means the victim has to shout).
After that, the process of getting to know almost all the hundred or so people who live in the area was a doddle and the ‘‘third place’’ became almost a second home. After all, it was the hub of the community.
When the Patearoa pub closed there were some bleak months but eventually a Tuesday visit to the Waipiata pub became a weekly ritual for half a dozen dedicated ‘‘third placers’’.
At Waipiata there was already a long-established crew of regulars who were soon calling Tuesdays ‘‘Patearoa night’’.
We get on pretty well. So much so, that when I forgot my wallet a few weeks ago a Waipiata local paid for my round with no hesitation. I paid him back soon afterwards (he knows where I live) but his gesture was something only possible in the type of environment created by a good ‘‘third place’’.
We don’t need a sociologist or any -ologist to tell us how important a pub is.
In recent times, while country churches are sold to become dwellings, country pubs have been saved by being bought by the local community, perhaps inspired by poet William Blake (1757-1827) who wrote, ‘‘A good local pub has much in common with a church, except that a pub is warmer, and there’s more conversation.’’
Just like the Patearoa pub used to be and the Waipiata and Oturehua pubs are still.
• Jim Sullivan is a Patearoa writer.
