Exclusive: Me And Harold Holt’s Underpants
ABC Television airs the beautifully realised The Prime Minister Is Missing on Thursday, Oct 23rd. I’ve had a preview but I won’t go on too much and wreck your viewing pleasure. Enough to say that the doco concludes that Harold Holt was going through a very, very nerve-racking period of his Prime Ministership and was chockas with perscription calmatives when he plunged into the surf off Cheviot Beach on Dec 17th, 1967. Read: Harold was not in a position to make sound decisions about whether a swim in tsunami-like conditions, was a good idea.
Click this if you want the official guff: The Prime Minister Is Missing.
Without a doubt though, the most sensational thing about The Prime Minister Is Missing (and still is) is the stroke-of-genius casting of Normie Rowe as Harold Holt. It is a non-speaking, non-singing role - mainly shots of a very nervy Harold/Normie in the backseat of the big, black Fairlane Com Car 001.
After the initial awe generated by watching Normie Rowe morph into a missing-presumed-dead Prime Minister, my routine creepy thoughts were interrupted by a graphic flashback. Specifically, to 1972 when I had a Saturday morning job in the menswear section of Leeton’s largest and most innovative retailer, the Mates Department Store.
The extraordinary events of one particular shift will always be with me. Some background. Normie Rowe was in town for a singing engagement in what was then the state-of-the-art auditorium at the local RSL. The fact that I was nowhere near 18, the age of legal pisspottery and admittance to adult entertainments, had NOT stopped me from securing a blackmarket (run by a local hoon ring) ticket to Normie’s show. So, I was very, very excited even before the man himself suddenly materialised on the other side of my counter.
Holy holy shit……..this is quite the best thing to happen since Leeton High opted for co-ed sex education tutorials.
But, always the professional retailer, I kept my cool…….
Normie: Hello there, I’m looking for a new pair of jocks.
Certainly Normie. It’s great to see you and I do hope that things weren’t too bad for you in Vietnam. What size?
Roomy.
What colour?
Red.
No problem Mr Rowe. I will be back shortly with your roomy intimate apparel.
So, my most exotic and erotic transaction was completed - by this time, in front of 60-70 excited local ladies who’d massed in Mates after news of Normie’s jocks expedition burst forth along the main street.
Mates Emporium Window : circa 1973 (flickr credit: ibcbulk)
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In time, life returned to what passed as normal. Harold Holt was to go down in history as our most active political pantsman. Normie Rowe, our former King Of Pop, was in Leeton for only one reason: his once stellar musical career had been hijacked by a war which had been backed to the hilt…..by a then presumed-alive Harold Holt. Shortly after the famous Normie Rowe jock transaction, I was rocked to my very core when the Mates management team suddenly declared that I was surplus to all present and projected requirements. And on December 2nd of that year, a cash-strapped HSC aspirant was with Hec (dad) in our loungeroom, watching beautifully realised events from the Federal Election tally room unfold on ABC TV. He’d commandeered two eskies for use as sidetables. Justification was easy: A man’s waited 23 years for this….and a man’s NOT gunner miss a bloody thing!
Que Sera Sera.
****Can you top my brush with fame? Do you have fresh info about our missing PM? What do you make of Normie Rowe as Harold Holt. Have you anything to say about anything at all? As usual, I’d love to hear from you.
Just click on the ‘comment’ thingo and follow the simple instructions. The place to write your gems is at the bottom of the last published comment. *A little bit of counsel for people new to this caper. Your email (just called ‘mail’ in this case) address does NOT come up on site. And just ignore the ‘website’ space - not necessary!
October 18th, 2008 at 8:16 pm
My brush with fame occurred when I was having my annual procedure in a private hospital in Melbourne.
1st on the “list”, I had a very early start to the day; so had the anaesthetist. I’m still getting into my whites when I hear “Meg, Meg” - in song.
It’s the man himself, rushing me to theatre without me having even time to go through the hospital’s checking in procedures. I think I’ll be out earlier than expected so who was I to argue? I get rushed into the lift, nurses come running, some startled visitors were even more startled when the anaethetist introduced me as Doris Day (I was a little surprised myself) and all hell broke loose. There were a few tears by the unit manager (I was later told she never cries), I assured her I wasn’t upset or wouldn’t complain and that I had no bruises where I was pulled by nurses on one side and the big bloke on the other. Things quietened down, I woke up on time and to my great disappointment no-one called me Doris Day! I wonder if I called the anaethetist “Rock” while I was having a little pillow talk.
Needless to say, I haven’t seen Rock around in the past 2 years when I’ve had the annual check-up. I still think fondly of him - after all he’s the only person who ever mistook me for a person of note.
October 19th, 2008 at 12:09 pm
My goodness Meg - I have been in the business a very long time but this story is the most scathing indictment of our the cash-strapped, overstretched PRIVATE Hospital system I’ve ever come across. Brush with fame? I think not. I think you had a brush with mortality with a self-medicating maniac armed with a bow tie and a couple of old VHS tapes. Wonder what his fave Doris Day is……Lover Come Back, Pyjama Game or Young Man With A Horn?
God bless you Meg.
And while I’ve got you here - what was the EXACT nature of your PROCEDURE?
October 21st, 2008 at 4:04 pm
I commend the casting director/producer who determined Normie Rowe should neither sing nor speak. This trend is to be encouraged.
However, the casting of Nicholas Hope as Willy McMahon was unimaginative. Surely Julian McMahon could have taken a break from “Nip And Tuck” to play his old man?
October 22nd, 2008 at 7:00 am
Always good to hear from you Marmaduke…..with another beautifully realised observation. You’d very interested to know that, around the ABC, the casting of Sir Billy, was very, very controversial. At one point, a V-Dub with doors open was locked in. However, the militants at Actors Equity would not have a bar of it. They argued that it was yet another sign that the Corp was ruthlessly pursuing a dumbing down agenda. Management buckled. Enuff said.
October 22nd, 2008 at 1:38 pm
Dear KJ,
Do you recall when the main pavilion at Leeton Showground, Acacia Avenue underwent a minor upgrade of facilities? After many an Italian wedding party suffered frostbite to extremities, strip radiators were nailed to the walls. The hall was so big, the trotting track could have been relocated in there in times of inclement weather. It was of course the biggest venue in town, and as such was booked for Ray Brown and the Whispers. Posters were put up and and an air of frenzy hit the town. So concerned were the custodians of the hall, so afraid those radiators wouldn’t survive Leeton’s teenage population on a pop-induced rampage, Ray’s tour to Leeton was cancelled. At least you got to see Normie.
KJ: Dear Ex-Leetonite - this is extraordinary stuff. On your first question: Do I recall the Pavilion at the Leeton Showground? Recall? It still stands. At last reports, the civic fathers were seeking heritage listing on the grounds of it holding the biggest indoor reserves of pigeon shit in the Southern Hemisphere. HOWEVER, this is the first I’ve ever heard about the disgraceful Ray Brown & The Whispers censorship imbroglio. SHAME civic fathers shame. To condemn hundreds of teenagers to endless Saturday nights of lapping Pine Avenue in hotted up Datsun 120Ys (and all because of fears generated by the new technology of strip radiators), was unforgivable and should always be remembered as such.
October 22nd, 2008 at 2:16 pm
In 1983, I saw Jeremy Irons veer across William Street in Sydney’s Kings Cross wearing a brown and white stripped Kaftan. I think we’ve all had those moments. It was then I knew I BELONGED in a big city with intellectual stimulation and glamour simply not possible in the back of buggery- not that I dismiss the bush - oh no not by any stretch of the brow. Yesterday, a colleague from a regional university and I were talking in the corridor about digital libraries and what we would do if we had the Dean’s office positioned as it is in the corner of the building with a view. The pipes that snake naked between us and the low ceiling began to drip a sticky sort of fluid onto the carpet. I wasn’t too worried until the carpet began to smoke and a nasty smell rose up into our nostrils. What would Jeremy Irons do in a situation like this? Have celebrities anything to offer us? Yes! This was a kind of omen - this memory of Jeremy (in a kaftan) was cautioning me that to have been similarly dressed was quite out of the question in this situation and downright dangerous. No matter HOW intriguing a kaftan looks it’s simply NOT worth it physically. I also had a friend who spent the night with a well-known harmonica player. Next morning, her toaster was missing.
Must get back to clearing out my email.
October 22nd, 2008 at 6:53 pm
Lonely Scholar - I cannot, will not, absolutely refuse to believe that Jeremy Irons is - or as ever been - a kaftan aficionado. I think you saw Sam Neill.