The eternal question is whether the area is called “skinny” or “skany”-ateles and the question seems to surface from time to time. I looked it up in some thick, august reference book and it was suggested that “scan” is the correct pronunciation, but locals say “skinny.” So now that you have the skinny on the issue, it is as clear as mud. I personally will continue with “skinny,” as that was ingrained in my head by my brother Sam. He was 15 years my elder and it is not wise to question your brother, particularly when he has a Ph.D. in chemistry and is a professor of chemical engineering at the University of Louisville. I’m grateful that I am spared all the razzing I would have received from my brother if he were still alive, as Rick Pitino sure has Jim Boeheim’s number.
The annex at the historical society is now complete. It replaces the old lean-to building which had severe cracks in the foundation and brickwork and appeared to be heading for the creek.
It did not take long to get some boats to fill the vacuum. First was the 14-foot Canadian dinghy that my dad bought in 1932. It was named for my sister Elizabeth Ann and I think it is a suitable memorial to her. In the course of getting a placard made for the boat, a picture of a fleet of dinghies massing for the start of a race was found. The second boat in the lineup is the Elizabeth Ann, skippered by my dad, with my brother Sam crewing.
There are two schools of thought about displaying functional boats in a museum. One school thinks you have to gussy up the boat so that the finish is in showroom condition. My idea is to have the boat look like it has been used, with the running gear correct and functional. The quality of the shine is not that important. The curator of the museum in Searsport, Maine, feels that working fishing boats need a good scrub and all lobster bait has to go.