The Mensa Black-tie Sauna – No Clothes, But the Tie is Obligatory
Originally published in Miami Mensa's Flamenco
by David Frost
Winner of American Mensa's 2010 Award for Mensa-themed Non-fiction
My IQ
test has definitely passed its sell-by date, because I first joined
Mensa in the 1960s. That was in the old country, where I eventually
became a local secretary in Manchester, in the north of England.
However, I'm not going to take another test at my advanced age and
risk failing.
Back
in the olden days British Mensa was very hierarchical, some might say
class-ridden. There was a self-appointed aristocracy, ruled over by
the late Victor Serebriakoff, who became international president of
Mensa, a position that he held until his death on New Year's Day
2000, aged 87.
He
wasn't one of the founding members of Mensa, but he was one of just
four people (including his wife Winifred) who attended the annual
meeting in England in 1954, eight years after the foundation of
Mensa, and he oversaw the growth from its unpromising state then to a
worldwide organization of more than 100,000 people.
Serebriakoff
was born in a bygone era, and he and his aristocratic circle had a
predilection for formal black-tie dinners – no Cheap Charlies for
them. We in Manchester, on the other hand, were blunt northerners,
and self-appointed rebels and non-conformists.
For
example, I discovered a small sauna which could be rented by the
hour, and experienced a semi-mystical vision – of a group of
Mensans of every sex sitting in a sauna having intellectual
discussions and wearing black ties, but nothing else.
Other
members were enthusiastic, so the event was scheduled. There were
only two rules: clothes were forbidden and a black tie was
obligatory. What type of tie was left to the person wearing it. It
could be a bow tie, a funeral necktie or a cowboy-style bootlace tie.
The tie didn't necessarily have to worn around the neck, but in any
place the wearer chose. Don't ask.
When
the appointed day arrived I began to fear that everyone would have
second thoughts and that I would have the sauna to myself. But in
fact we had almost the maximum number permitted by the sauna owners,
and everyone obeyed the rules.
Another
odd venue was a Victorian bar on the platform of a train station,
where folk musicians gathered to perform on Saturday nights.
In
addition to odd venues, the local Mensa group had its share of odd
people, just as American Mensa has the usual national quota of
eccentrics. For example there was the child pathologist – a doctor
who cut up dead children, not a child prodigy and doctor – who sat
in the station bar playing with an electronic game, an expensive toy
in those days, ignoring the lively boozy exchanges going on all
around him.
An
odd event was a Mensa Hallowe'en party, where all the food was
colored with vegetable dyes so that a plateful looked like a pile of
vomit. I don't know whether it was the sight of the food or an excess
of alcohol, but after an evening of eating and drinking I was forced
to dash to the bathroom where I knelt down over the bowl and produced
what the Aussies call a Technicolor
yawn.
Then
I moved to Spain, where I changed my name. Spaniards asked me what I
was called, so I replied “Michael” or “Mike.” But Michael
they pronounced as Michelle and Mike as Mickey, and I didn't like the
Spanish equivalents, Miguel and Miguelito. So I decided to reinvent
myself as David, which they pronounced Dah-veed –
near enough. A new name for a new life, I thought, because as well as
moving to a new country I lost my second wife there. I don't mean she
died. She just went off with someone else.
It
wasn't really a change of name, as my full name is Michael David
Roger Frost, so I still have a spare name in reserve for one
potential future change.
When I
joined Mensa España I was surprised to discover that my
membership number was 1022. After living in Manchester, where there
were several meetings a week in various locations, and previously in
London, where there was a meeting of some sort virtually every day,
in Spain I was a minority of a minority, because the national group
is a very small part of Mensa International.
Nevertheless,
as many as 15 people attend the monthly meetings in the city of
Málaga, perhaps half of the membership of the entire province
of Málaga. These are very low-key affairs, consisting of
chatting for a few hours in the bar of an upmarket hotel. Members
from other countries are welcome. Spain's Mediterranean Costa del
Sol, is a very cosmopolitan area. Málaga has a Mensa Yahoo
group and the local secretary, Santiago Cárdenas Martín,
can be found in Facebook. (I don't think he speaks much English, but
he does read and write it.)
Although
I've also lived in New York and Saudi Arabia, I didn't seek out Mensa
members in either place, which I now regret. I know that Saudi Arabia
doesn't have a national group, but no doubt there are expatriate
members from other countries working there.
Inevitably
I'd have encountered the usual mix of intellectual under-achievers,
plus a handful of out-and-out screwballs. But I'd probably have had
an interesting time, because although some Mensans you might never
want to meet again, they're rarely boring.
