Rising fifteen metres above the outback, The Big Orange is undoubtedly South Australia’s finest feat of engineering. Generations of Aussies have gazed in wonder at her enormity and stepped, hearts aflutter, into her juicy endocarp. This Orange is more than just Big; her grandeur is all-consuming.
Songs have been sung about this spherical marvel. Legends of her size have been passed down from father to son to grandson. This colossal citrus is the very fabric upon which this country has been built. But now the Orange stands empty, wilting in the relentless sun, serving as a totem to everything rotten with modern society.
What should be a monument to all Australia has achieved, has instead become a national disgrace. This is the story of a people who have strayed from their path, and the enormous roadside attraction, once the pride of this sunburnt land, that has become collateral damage.
This is the tragedy of The Big Orange.
The zest laid plans…
The 1970s was an exhilarating decade for a spirited young country discovering its own unique identity. The Sydney Opera House was shocking the architectural community. The Bee Gees were turning the heavy metal world on its head. Rolf Harris was showing off a more refined, sophisticated edge to our society. Nothing epitomised this cultural awakening quite like the influx of Big Things – led, of course, by Ploddy the Dinosaur – and South Australia was at the forefront of this movement.
Following the resounding success of Adelaide’s Scotty the Big Scotsman, local entrepreneurs Bronte Coombe, Vern ‘Chubby’ Chubb and David Marshall wanted to get in on the action. Each tipped in $145,000, before handing over design and construction duties to John Twopenny from Hoffmann Engineering. John, you were worth every penny!
Constructed from fibreglass panels over a steel frame and weighing an impressive 85 tonnes, The Big Orange boasted four interior levels and a viewing platform offering stunning vistas over the area’s orchards. There was space inside for a conference centre, souvenir shop and 360 degree mural that, from all reports, put the Sistine Chapel to shame.
When The Big Orange was officially opened on January 14, 1980, crowds of crow-eaters squeezed in to be a part of history. The landscape of Berri had changed forever but, more importantly, the very essence of what it means to be Australian had transformed. With the opening of The Big Orange, Australia thrust herself onto the world stage. A progressive and daring land, the equal of any that had come beforehand.
The future looked as sweet as the Valencias the Big Orange was modelled upon. The reality, however, would prove to be as sour and withered as a Seville (which is, for reference, the most bitter and inedible variety of orange that is commonly grown).
More than a peeling
Millions of visitors and the sort of rockstar celebrity that most Bigs can only dream of couldn’t protect this landmark from the twin henchmen of time and eroding moral values. By the turn of the century The Big Orange was in poor condition and running at a loss. Sadly, she was sold to an employment agency for a paltry $100,000.
This was a poor financial move as, not surprisingly, most jobseekers preferred to admire The Big Orange than find gainful employment. She was sold once more to Kevin Dickerson, a man with a big heart and even bigger dreams. He envisioned her as South Australia‘s answer to Disneyland, with the Big Orange as the bulbous counterpoint to the Magic Kingdom.
Of course, the Americans had their own Big Orange, which entered the national zeitgeist and altered the course of North American politics, but it was nothing compared to our down under wonder. Kev’s ambitions, tragically, ran deeper than his pockets, and the Orange was put into liquidation.
Honestly, with disappointment like that, it’s no surprise the locals took to popping each other in barrels.
Local golf enthusiasts suggested painting her up like an oversized Titleist but, thankfully, this mockery never came to fruition. I guess they just didn’t have the drive to see it through. The site was instead bought by a local businessman, who still hopes reopen it as a tourist attraction someday.
But someday, as the pop rock poets from Creedence Clearwater Revival once told us, may never come.
Stripped of her dignity
Disturbingly, a repulsive suggestion to transform the Big Orange into a low-rent strip club has gained momentum amongst the dregs of society.
Rest assured that myself and some other ‘Karens’ are doing everything in our power to ensure this appalling citrus-ation is not allowed to germinate – and that those responsible spend sufficient time in one of the Riverlands’ most inhumane penal colonies.
See how much you enjoy the lapdances in there, boys!
We’ll see you a’rind
Today The Big Orange sits, alone and afraid, behind a gnarled barbed-wire fence by the Sturt Highway. She’s in surprisingly good condition considering what she’s been through and, whilst it’s not possible to venture inside or touch her rippled exocarp, it’s easy to see her from the side of the road.
She serve as a testament to what South Australians can achieve, and represents all that’s good and wholesome and adventurous about this harsh corner of the planet. But she’s also the bittersweet emblem of a state tossed upon a sea of bigotry against gigantic roadside representations of fruit.
I’d go as far as to say that the government’s reaction to this tragedy has been pith-etic, but now is not the time for amusing wordplay.
The Big Orange holds a mirror up to modern-day Australia. The question is, how many of us are willing to take a good, hard look at ourselves?
