K
Kate
Guest
ROCKING METHODISM
It was about 1961 in a northern Tasmanian city and we had a new minister at the Methodist church – from Melbourne! He was young and to their amazement he told jokes to the congregation. He commenced his address to his first meeting with the ladies committee with a joke about a bald man who wore a wig. (John, the Minister, was bald himself). On his wedding night, John ploughed on unaware of the pitfalls, the man waited until his wife was asleep and then quietly slipped off his wig. During the night his wife woke and reached over and stroked his bald pate and exclaimed, “George, get your backside off the pillow”. The ladies never recovered I don’t think.
I was around 14 at the time and when the minister, “John” as he asked us to call him, started a youth club my girlfriend and I converted from the Anglican to the Methodist in a flash – catechisms quickly forgotten. There was a pretty even spread of young boys and girls and we met every Saturday night for some activity or another.
John had worked with street kids in Melbourne and I think he thought we were quite old-fashioned. He decided to bring us into the 20th Century by arranging for some city street kids to visit our club one Saturday night with the object to teach us to rock and roll. The girls were nervous - flighty, but secretly delighted. The boys were surly and on edge. The street boys – I vaguely remember some girls – slouched in and were introduced to us collectively as a city group from somewhere or another in town. These strange boys all looked like young Brandos or Deans and a thrill of apprehension went through the room (the girls anyway). I think the boys from our group were impressed with the girls that came – certainly then were a sassier lot than my girlfriends and me, who were always dressed in “nice” dresses or skirts and sensible shoes and – horror of horrors as I think back – ankle socks!. One of the street boys headed my way as the music started and my heart thumped. I couldn’t look at him. He just grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the floor and from then on I was putty in his hands. I rocked and I rolled as I’d never dreamed I could. I can still hear the music – “One o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock – rock!” I longed to talk to him, but I was overawed by his charisma. After the music stopped he and the other street kids were whisked away quick smart and we were all left wondering about what might have been.
I don’t think any of us were the same again. We’d seen the other side of life and before long started to dress differently and wanted rock and roll every Saturday night instead of the usual progressive barn dance or mambo. I’m sure our Reverend John saw this as a good thing for his congregation, but little did he know he’d opened Pandora’s Box. John was obviously an imaginative minister. Shortly after he started a bible group hence unheard of in that church where older youth were encouraged to speak their mind. He showed us a balanced view of the bible – told us some translations turned out like Jesus was a magician pulling rabbits out of a hat! He asked us why we were attending his class and I remember one boy saying because he was forced to by his parents. This shocked me, as I attended freely in search of knowledge and truth in my naivety. We had all suffered many sermons from the pulpit by previous ministers promising fire and brimstone for perceived transgressions. Now we knew different.
Of course the youth in the church were totally unable to handle this newfound freedom and took advantage by sneaking away from youth club meetings to private parties where they got up to all sorts of mischief. My friend and I were pretty much what today would be called “nerds” and didn’t get invited to the parties - which was just as well, because when John found out what was happening he contacted the parents – realizing his error of judgment.
When he came to my mother she was able to say no, I hadn’t attended the parties and, yes, she knew I had left the youth club and come home because there was no one there and why. I was pleased to have this alibi but also felt some sort of loss for being left out. Being a nerd has its drawbacks.
I became disillusioned with the church soon after that. One day my father’s car ran out of petrol and there were no neighbours around to help him out. He’d walked quite a way home and was hoping for a lift out to his car. Mum suggested the minister, so 14 year old me tagged along with dad to see John and go for the ride. It was a hot day and I remember I was dressed in shorts and top. When John opened his door to dad’s knock and heard dad say “I’ve got a little problem, John”, he immediately looked at me and said quickly, “Come in, Arthur”, looking at me pointedly. Dad stood stock still in shock, then hastily told John that - no; I wasn’t the one with the “little problem”. He explained his reason for the visit and ended up getting a ride out to his car. I felt uncomfortable all the way.
The confusing messages coming from the minister and my peers led me to feel I didn’t belong there any more. Not that I gave up believing in God – I just gave up believing in the church, I guess. But one of my best memories is rock and rolling with that street boy who I never set eyes on again. Oh, and John? I was saddened to hear that he got cancer and didn’t live very long after that. He was a good guy.
It was about 1961 in a northern Tasmanian city and we had a new minister at the Methodist church – from Melbourne! He was young and to their amazement he told jokes to the congregation. He commenced his address to his first meeting with the ladies committee with a joke about a bald man who wore a wig. (John, the Minister, was bald himself). On his wedding night, John ploughed on unaware of the pitfalls, the man waited until his wife was asleep and then quietly slipped off his wig. During the night his wife woke and reached over and stroked his bald pate and exclaimed, “George, get your backside off the pillow”. The ladies never recovered I don’t think.
I was around 14 at the time and when the minister, “John” as he asked us to call him, started a youth club my girlfriend and I converted from the Anglican to the Methodist in a flash – catechisms quickly forgotten. There was a pretty even spread of young boys and girls and we met every Saturday night for some activity or another.
John had worked with street kids in Melbourne and I think he thought we were quite old-fashioned. He decided to bring us into the 20th Century by arranging for some city street kids to visit our club one Saturday night with the object to teach us to rock and roll. The girls were nervous - flighty, but secretly delighted. The boys were surly and on edge. The street boys – I vaguely remember some girls – slouched in and were introduced to us collectively as a city group from somewhere or another in town. These strange boys all looked like young Brandos or Deans and a thrill of apprehension went through the room (the girls anyway). I think the boys from our group were impressed with the girls that came – certainly then were a sassier lot than my girlfriends and me, who were always dressed in “nice” dresses or skirts and sensible shoes and – horror of horrors as I think back – ankle socks!. One of the street boys headed my way as the music started and my heart thumped. I couldn’t look at him. He just grabbed my hand and pulled me onto the floor and from then on I was putty in his hands. I rocked and I rolled as I’d never dreamed I could. I can still hear the music – “One o’clock, two o’clock, three o’clock – rock!” I longed to talk to him, but I was overawed by his charisma. After the music stopped he and the other street kids were whisked away quick smart and we were all left wondering about what might have been.
I don’t think any of us were the same again. We’d seen the other side of life and before long started to dress differently and wanted rock and roll every Saturday night instead of the usual progressive barn dance or mambo. I’m sure our Reverend John saw this as a good thing for his congregation, but little did he know he’d opened Pandora’s Box. John was obviously an imaginative minister. Shortly after he started a bible group hence unheard of in that church where older youth were encouraged to speak their mind. He showed us a balanced view of the bible – told us some translations turned out like Jesus was a magician pulling rabbits out of a hat! He asked us why we were attending his class and I remember one boy saying because he was forced to by his parents. This shocked me, as I attended freely in search of knowledge and truth in my naivety. We had all suffered many sermons from the pulpit by previous ministers promising fire and brimstone for perceived transgressions. Now we knew different.
Of course the youth in the church were totally unable to handle this newfound freedom and took advantage by sneaking away from youth club meetings to private parties where they got up to all sorts of mischief. My friend and I were pretty much what today would be called “nerds” and didn’t get invited to the parties - which was just as well, because when John found out what was happening he contacted the parents – realizing his error of judgment.
When he came to my mother she was able to say no, I hadn’t attended the parties and, yes, she knew I had left the youth club and come home because there was no one there and why. I was pleased to have this alibi but also felt some sort of loss for being left out. Being a nerd has its drawbacks.
I became disillusioned with the church soon after that. One day my father’s car ran out of petrol and there were no neighbours around to help him out. He’d walked quite a way home and was hoping for a lift out to his car. Mum suggested the minister, so 14 year old me tagged along with dad to see John and go for the ride. It was a hot day and I remember I was dressed in shorts and top. When John opened his door to dad’s knock and heard dad say “I’ve got a little problem, John”, he immediately looked at me and said quickly, “Come in, Arthur”, looking at me pointedly. Dad stood stock still in shock, then hastily told John that - no; I wasn’t the one with the “little problem”. He explained his reason for the visit and ended up getting a ride out to his car. I felt uncomfortable all the way.
The confusing messages coming from the minister and my peers led me to feel I didn’t belong there any more. Not that I gave up believing in God – I just gave up believing in the church, I guess. But one of my best memories is rock and rolling with that street boy who I never set eyes on again. Oh, and John? I was saddened to hear that he got cancer and didn’t live very long after that. He was a good guy.
Very honest and sincere.
