Word: nantucketer
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...donated 162 acres near his house in Fairfield, Conn., to the Audubon Society for a bird sanctuary, which the society named for him and his wife Margaret. He served on the board of the Nature Conservancy, which acquires and manages wild lands throughout the U.S., and he organized the Nantucket Conservation Foundation, a group that solicits donations of open land on Nantucket Island to keep it out of the hands of developers. The organization is a typical Larsen success. It now controls 17% of the island-and through the acquisition of productive cranberry bogs, it even turned a profit last...
...long line of other flights waiting to take off. Just as we reached the head of the line, the pilot said he had to refuel. At last, at around 7 p.m., we departed. But later, in midcourse, we veered left toward the Vineyard's neighboring island of Nantucket. Apparently our flight number was switched with that of the flight to Nantucket. So we landed there, stayed on the ground for a while, and then once again headed for the Vineyard. It was really wild...
That tale of travel woe is told by Author Vance Packard, one of the many cultural and corporate heavyweights on the New York-Boston axis who have vacation homes on the Vineyard or Nantucket. What they also have in common is a feeling of strained camaraderie and a fund of furiously exasperating stories about Air New England, which links 14 New England stops with Boston and New York City. Says New York Times Columnist Russell Baker, a Nantucket man: "It's an eerie operation. I resign myself to disaster every time I book with them." CBS Anchorman Walter Cronkite...
Baker seemed comfortable with himself too a few weeks ago on Nantucket, though he had reason for discomfort. For a year or more he had worked on the script of an ill-fated play called Home Again, with music by Cy Coleman (On the Twentieth Century) and lyrics by Barbara Fried...
Baker is lean (172 Ibs.) and long (6 ft. 2 in.), although when he was encountered in his Nantucket backyard he was crouching on a brick wall, pulling an anarchy of weeds from between the cracks and muttering at the lawn's first dandelions, the very embodiment of compulsive suburban man. He has a full shock of sandy gray hair, bushy eyebrows of a color that somebody with a window dresser's vocabulary once described as "ginger," and a face easefully lined, like the leather seats of an old Jaguar. Friends say that women tremble in his presence. E.P. Dutton...