Do you ever wonder about the men – they are primarily men – who guide your car onto the ferry with a whirl of the wrist and a flick of the hand? After three decades of driving onto the ferry, I’ve come to the conclusion that the guys authoritatively directing us into a parking slot are actually partaking in a piece of performance art. I am convinced that all of their limb-lifting, hand-halting reproaches are part of a choreographed dance.
The next time you drive on, observe the arms. Notice that the dancer – ferry loader, if you must – instructing you to turn your steering wheel to the left is actually moving his arms through the five ballet positions. Or is he doing an interpretive post–Al Gore “Macarena”?
These dancers – ferry loaders, if you must – appear to have been influenced by Cabaret choreographer Bob Fosse’s signature shuffle of the feet. I wouldn’t be at all surprised if renowned dancer and choreographer Twyla Tharp, who has Island connections, has given them a few pointers.
If this sounds improbable, think about it a bit more. Every time you take your eyes off of a performer – ferry loader, if you must – he implores you to watch him. It makes sense. The men in yellow vests are not simply parking cars; they are divas and they command your attention.
“I’ve often thought that,” says Toni Cohen, a former choreographer who lives in West Tisbury. “It’s like they’re doing a dance, but their hearts aren’t really in it.”
It was in the 1920s when boats transporting cars started making the passage from the mainland to the Vineyard. “Automobiles had to be driven slowly up a narrow gangplank, through a side hatch, then jockeyed into position,” wrote the late Arthur R. Railton in his book The History of Martha’s Vineyard. In 1950, the Steamship Authority introduced the Islander, a double-ended ferry. It had the ability to transport fifty cars and maintained a separate gangway for walk-on passengers. This new ferry held the promise to change the lives of Vineyard residents. Its maiden voyage was greeted with such fanfare that the Vineyard Gazette reported, “So far as the records disclose, nothing in the past can rival last night’s tribute to the new Islander.”
It is impossible to know whether crew members chasséd across the decks of these early boats. It was never reported. But I suspect that during the 1950s, George Balanchine may have needed a break from all those tutu-twirling ballerinas in The Nutcracker and came here to help choreograph a short movement for the ferry men.
My calls to the Steamship Authority asking for confirmation of this theory went unanswered, so on a recent trip off-Island I approached a member of the loading crew whose movements were particularly graceful. As I drove on, he extended his right arm to the side and reached out forcefully. Then in a breathtaking move his arm bisected his chest for three beats before circling up into the air.
I yanked the emergency brake and jumped out of my car to observe him as he directed other cars into their spots. Was his background in modern or ballet? Did he study tango? His gestures remained clear and pronounced, car after car. Another yellow-vested man nearby had a far more understated approach; his motions were squirrelly, almost despondent. Was this intentional? Had I caught these two dancers – ferry loaders, if you must – in a pas de deux? Was I witnessing a tragic love story as it unfolded?
When all of the cars had boarded, I approached the principal dancer – ferry loader, if you must – and asked if he’d be willing to talk about his training. He agreed but requested anonymity. He didn’t admit to any personal training as a dancer, and even denied that his troupe had ever practiced together. “We don’t get trained in hand motions. We try to use clear and concise movements so people know what they’re doing,” he said, but then admitted, “Some of the guys do seem to like to dance,” before walking away.
My sister Halley believes it’s not only the parking guys who are part of this secret dance. “I’m pretty sure I heard that everyone on the boat is complicit in a dance, down to the vendor who will sell you a hot dog or a cup of chowder.”
Interesting. I suppose it’s possible.
Not everyone I spoke to agreed with my theory. Vineyard-based painter Basia Jaworska suggests that the men helping us maneuver our cars onto the ferry are trying to be helpful and they’re doing what it takes to get through the day. “It looks like an interpretive dance because of their frustrations with dealing with tourists.”
I suppose that’s possible too. But I like to think they are doing a dance. And I like to imagine that at the end of their night shifts, the ferry loaders – dancers, if you will – leap in grand jetés across the empty car deck.
