The evening world. Newspaper, August 7, 1922, Page 15

THE EVENING WORLD, MONDAY, AUGUST 7, 1922, Darkest Provincetown 8% Commercial Street Is Really Quite Un- ' commercial, Like the Travellers Who Pass Along the Thoroughfare, and Chips of What Might Be Greenwich Village Nestle Among the Really Antique Cottage Homes ot the Old Pilgrim Town. art work” and had long forward t1 By Don Allen ra Sete Copyright, 1922 (New wed PROVINCETOWN, M A 4 1 ward—sin ong ROVINCETO\ t and other way station Often had I wondered wh Now I knoe stones t brought y out is to Provincetown. It is w boat; and its rock 1 happ sasoline-soaked gara are not pebbles. Sinclair Lewis might well have chosen as his working model—only then his famous book would hav lished under the name “Commercial Street,” a name, by the we Provin a misnomer if ever there was one. "here is nothing comr mercial Strect save a Greek restaurant, , Commercial Street is ce- line of the Pa Ree ~eA town's Fifth Avenur eet aes : ; % tral Park and Brooklyn under the y 1 fn melted down and poured du ttle } an fature mould, It resembles ave been nue because it is there that almost since the { 1 t every one of any account live has Pi 1 his, or her, business. It is like way because it fast fl mobiles, helter- (when the boat traffic laws because it is so di semblance to t lie Jn the fact that it hasn't re encugh for traffic in either direction. out ck should t Provincetown lies on the tip of his- stand as a perpet REAL first eltering humanit in) and but few Central 1 toric old Cape Cod. There many : prevarications too anent its climate. over in 1’! i 1 its population, its artists and its po- would make the t t unar lice force. As far as any other tips 1 ¢ : ; fare t just as £0, Provincetown mi slide off the tip o’ the simply won't take ‘em, administers gas; and the tow been piped for that com else in Provincetow ; elongated and undul fare runs the ent 1 1 town, much a 3 1 es runs the len f And } again reverting fi nd 1 simply cannot t hin Provincetown—the funny , t streets, hardly more than than hai grown lanes, swerve off f \ “backbone"’ at the sliglitest tion. Once in a while ¢ Street will run, or, better along for four or five fee I being punct A cross stre¢ a street that may not 1 exactly cross, but is, to suy the | ' ‘ what pe But on of its twe mK and down, r nd left Commercial Stroet is cr scarred by the little hollyt e Fes 2 lanes that cut in when the Se least expected ' “ But it is sitting back off the main ¢ Commercial Street, Province had shed most of town, after it its commercialism and blose somed into the most wonderful ~ peeved at some of the pictures ~_ the artists make of it.’ on big on in th A cross street in Province. town. (It isn’t really cross; just hearted y m's w r ese more-or-less United Provincetown “Studio,” where the bay serves as « waste-basket for most of the “paintings.” natural °o YLT SS SSS yy =. ion und no ba ball extra, “Pink Poppy" and “Joe's Quick Luneh—Coffee and Sinkers 10 cents a copy.” All of which means that the best place to get a good cup of corfee ty to make it in your own room in the vest-pocket percolators. But the artiste! Not to mention stand out like the Forest us artistic; ve roadways; they an Omega OW sign in Primeval-~and are about they are the only things wn that do not jump when the fast-flying-no-local-stops automo- biles whiz up; the autos do the shy- ing when they meet a Provincetown artist. Solomon tn all his glory was not arrayed like one of these, and Joseph's coat may have been rainbow- hued, but his tailor overlooked a tew tints in the way of sartorial splen- dor as compared to the raiment of the average Provincetown artlst, ‘ is more patnt spilled and more of canvas ruined beyond re- rovincetown per capita area In the or unlike) ' wn Commercial nd off in the dis tinel light, we saw an ‘seated two degrees off the yery memory of the Pilgrims and al- lowed to stand so that by com- parison the hotel bills will seem a Little Journey into the Most Different States middle of the road. We knew he was an artist the minute we saw him, because he was parked behind an easel and his hair was bobbed tn the latest approved artistic style. We have always stopped to look and listen when we came upon anything out of the ordinary, and so we hesi- tated. In a few moments a: friend of the painter happened along and he, too, stopped. “What color!’ exclaimed the stop- over. ‘What wonderful, WONDER. FUL color! I never saw such tones, such shades, such hues im my, life! What WONDERFUL color!** And as a rude interruption to his colorful ravings came @ voice which in deep, melodic tones demanded: “Listen heah, yo' artis’ man! Aw knows Ay'm cullud; but don’ yo’ all try t’ git funny wid disaheah niggah, or Aw'll bus’ yo’ one on yo" haid!” The artistic duo had made the al- most fatal mistake of discussing color in front of the dwelling of the oaly ante-bellum, ebon-hued family in town and the painter finished his tm- pressionistic painting of a ‘‘Cow at Peace with the World’ from the deck of a fishing schooner — outward bound. And now, away from the artists and Commercial Street! But not too far away; in fact, it would be tmpos- sible to get very far away from either without having your hat float right off your head. As hard as it is to dodge the artists and to go anywhere without treading the main thorough- fare, that task is simple compared to the effort necessary to get away from the fish. One may, if one walks far enough, get beyond sight of the great mass of fish that are destined to don tin kimonos and be served at New York's most fashion- able delicatessens—but tt would the speed of an amplified greyhound to keep four hops and a skip ahead of the aroma. To some a defunct fish, shining and shimmering in the July sun, is a thing of beauty and joy forever (almost), and we would enjoy the prismatic beauties of the mackerel's hide too—providing we were gazing at its opalescence through the Lick telescope. As far as we can see, a fish In the sea {s worth two on the wharf. In its native eles ment our finny friend is a sby, timid and retreating young thing, as bash- ful as a schoolgirl tn the dim long ago! But when placed in rows or piles along a sunkist dock, it loses all its timidity, develops a streak as mean as a tiger that has just dined off steak la Tartar and actually files at the beholder, Its aura je o'ere powering. But if it were not for Fish—spelled quite correctly with a capital “F'— there wouldn't be the slightest excuse for folks living here all the year ‘round. Provincetowners do not, as the good folks of Bostontown do, bend knee and worship at the altar of the Sacred Cod, but they are continually bowing in abject humility before the shrine of the mackerel. And they at- tend worship daily in the House of Halibut. But Provincetown, with all its quaintness, with all its wonderful Pilgrim simplicity, with its hollyhocke lined lanes, {ts wonder-dunes, its tra« ditions, {ts untqueness—that for years has made it the Mecca for a few wise and knowing folks—looks to be doomed, a helpless victim thrown ruthlessly in the pathway of the Jug- gernaut of Progress. In years to come—and not far distant—we are afraid that we'll look around for the house that Jack, the Pilgrim, built and find—a Coney Island merry.gee- round—baljyboo and all, —_ (