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Nantucket Nostalgia by Leeds Mitchell, Jr. ANYONE WHO HAS more than casually observed Nantucket over even a few years in recent times has noted with deep sadness the ac celerated passing of its simply, beautiful and lovable quaintness. Those of us with many years of memories view the unrecoverable past with a bittersweet nostalgia. Though the memories are sweet, the contrast with today is bitter. Some memorable images of mine: Uncatena and Gay Head sidewheeling their dainty course past Brant Point, breathy but musical whistles saluting the Town; hausfrau Lillian making her stately passage up harbor and back; the whistle salutes for departing residents, sounded from the steamers in answer to lowered ensigns at the Wharf Rat Club and harborside homes, to the bell at The Point and the horn at the end of the East Jetty; the Main Street fetes; the steam fishing boat Petrel rounding The Point en route to the shark grounds (shark meat is most palatable, often served as "sea scallops); the Nan tucket dialect, distinctive, salty, rich in character (nowadays everyone sounds like Dan Rather). And Old North Wharf with its wonderfully variegated cast of denizens: Uncle Sidney Mitchell, Austin Strong, Bay Wilson and his kids, Pete Pedersen, Herb Coffin, Johnny Cross, et al. Sid had a catboat-turned yawl, and he spent every day of his stay on the Island at her wheel (no tiller on Mnemoosha) in the waters be tween Tuckernuck and Great Point. When at home in his boathouse he was a host we young fry loved - plenty of lemonade and cookies. He en joyed a moderate amount of whiskey and an immoderate number of cigars. When he would come to visit my father, who prided himself on his stock of fine whiskey, and Havana cigars, Sid would bring his own preferred brand of "stogies" and "rot gut." "Uncle Austie" occupies a special niche in my Nantucket pan theon. He was a special friend, a fine teacher, a role model. He was delightfully colorful in everything he did, whether telling stories about his most interesting past, reading one of his plays or just yarning. When he taught us to sail in his little dinghy he would send us out to practice maneuvers he had assigned, would watch us working at them, then call us back to the boathouse and squeeze a spongeful of cold sea water down our backs for each transgression.
