Like 1950s America?

Last night we returned from the wildlife tour of the peninsula and felt a bit peckish. So we meandered down George Street (Edinburgh, anyone?) to see who was open at 10:30 in the evening. We found a Persian shop that offered us a fishburger-and-chips (a failed first attempt to get good fish’n’chips in Dunedin) and chicken-and-chips. While dining on fish, chicken, and chips (fries) with very un-American ketchup at a small table on the cobblestone sidewalk of the main drag, we watched the night life of Dunedin go past.

As we sat waiting for our meal to appear, we pondered an analysis offered to us by a few Americans before we left the States. They told us that “New Zealand is like the United States was in the 1950s.” We thought about what we had seen in New Zealand so far that would confirm that impression. First, we agreed, the large bell-shaped plugs on appliances reminded us of older appliances in America. Second, the absence of SUVs on the roads (almost all vehicles are smaller here than in the States) made us think of years past in America. Third . . . well, there was no third. The guy (yes, guy) walking down the sidewalk in a blue and white woman’s one-piece swimsuit and swimming cap certainly didn’t remind us of the 1950s in America. Except maybe the swim cap.

Then again, we weren’t alive in the 50s. Can anyone who was alive then testify to the popularity of middle-aged men wearing blue (with white polka dots) women’s one-pieces, walking down the street at night in the 1950s?

We found out that George Street was the main drag in more ways than one. This guy was strutting proudly along (no, really: elbows out, chin up and everything) the sidewalk with a bunch of guys behind him who were his moral support. By moral support I mean good doses of laughter, whooping, and hollering designed to draw attention to their athletically-clad compatriot. (The members of the peanut gallery were all wearing jeans, shirts, and jackets.) The whoa-man in question spotted a finely-dressed gentleman exit his car on our side of the street. He crossed and followed the man . . . right past our table and into the Persian cafe!

I don’t know if you’ve ever seen a middle-aged man of unathletic physique wearing a woman’s swimsuit—especially one who’s not wearing that butt chapstick that Miss America candidates wear to keep their suits from riding up. It is not a sight for the weak soul. (I have yet to find out if mine will recover.) His quivering buttocks moved right past me (at eye level—I wish I could have torn my eyes from the sight, but it was like a car wreck: you know how it is) and into the restaurant. This occurred much to the annoyance of the finely dressed gentleman, who was apparently no friend (or even acquaintance) of the Night Swimmer.

When he had worn out his welcome in the Persian café, the man walked back past us, patting me on the head and saying “How are ya?” to my smirking visage. Needless to say, I could not respond. Things had passed beyond my capacity to articulate a sensible response. So we just marveled. Perhaps not the 1950s in America.

Perhaps it was a bachelor party. This explanation was the only one that came to us as an adequate explanation for the phenomenon we had just encountered. What’s more, it made sense in juxtaposition with the next phenomenon that walked by: a woman clad in jeans, t-shirt, string bikini (on the outside, over the aforementioned), and cowboy hat with attached veil. (Did Elvis ever wear this getup? Did they have string bikinis in the 50s?) This must have been the bride and her bachelorette party (she too had an entourage), since her husband-to-be had just passed down the street on the other side.

There were other things, too, that brought us back to the future from the 1950s impression we were by now straining to imagine. The small flock of teenage boys perched on park benches across the street shouting at the cab full of drunk, screaming women to reveal their unmentionables was one element. I don't think teenage boys in the 50s wore so much denim, black, and metal in combination. Thumping bass from low-riding window-tinted station wagons was another.

What happened to greased hairdos, poodle skirts, and varsity letter jackets? No, this was not reminiscent of 1950s America. At least we hoped not. If so, then television has betrayed the fair history of our country. We never saw the Beaver running around in a woman’s one-piece, did we? (Shiver.)