Nibbs

In my last ruminations about Dr. Van Mulsen (See, Going to the Dentist, below) I mentioned Nibbs, the bartender, at the Grand Hotel, (here there be pictures.) The Grand was built between 1839 and 1840 and is one of many historical attractions in downtown Charlotte Amalie.

Nibbs. I will try to give a clear picture of this wonderful man.

He was tall and dark skinned with a wonderful broad smile. I like to think his ancestry could be traced back to those taller African tribes, like the Zulus or Maasai, who, when merely standing, exude a kind of elegance that is not prideful, but part of their very genetic make-up. Straight back, square shoulders.

Nibbs was like that.

At the time I write about, the Grand Hotel was the gathering place for many locals, both black and white. On the balcony there was a huge round table which could seat at least 20, maybe 30 people. This was the table where the locals sat to discuss the latest news and gossip while they ate lunch, had cocktails, or dined in the evening.

I don’t think he had to, but Nibbs often took responsibility for the round table. He would not only take, but also serve the drink and food orders. Only if it was very busy, would the drinks and food bound for the round table be served by someone else.

He must have, but I don’t remember him ever writing an order down, yet when you went to pay your bill (and he was in charge of that too) there would be your tab, waiting for you.

For years Nibbs had a parakeet. It's cage sat on the counter were people paid their bills and the door was usually open so the bird could come and go as it pleased. Its wings were clipped so it couldn’t fly away. It was very tame and spent a good deal of time riding on Nibbs' shoulder. It was also allowed to wander around the round table. One had to be on the alert for small thefts of food or tiny sips from one’s drink. One day there was a tragedy. While delivering an order, Nibbs stepped on his beloved bird who happened to be walking around on the floor. Nibbs was heartbroken. It was many years before he finally gave in to gentle urgings and got another parakeet, which, in time, was treated much as the first one had been.

When Mom would leave Erva and me at the Grand while she went shopping she’d leave us with coloring books and books to read. In the huge ball room (with stars on the dark blue ceiling) there were several sitting areas with couches, chairs and tables. We would commandeer an area directly across from the bar so Nibbs, as he came and went from bar to balcony, could keep a watchful eye on us. I can’t tell you how many pictures Erva and I colored and gave to him. And I think for many years he kept them all together under the bar.

Once we moved to St. Thomas from St. John the Grand became a favored hang-out. Almost every day after school I went there to wait for my father to pick me up after he got off work. I’d often sit out on the balcony at a small table, farthest from all the others, a place that was out of the way and usually empty. If it was windy or rainy or cold I’d settle myself inside at the same seating area Erva and I had used when we were small. I’d usually get an iced tea, sometimes a Coke, and while I waited for Dad I’d do my homework or study for tests.

Most of the time I had enough money to buy myself something to drink. But sometimes, perhaps once every two months or so, I didn’t and I’d ask Nibbs to “put it on our tab.” It wasn’t until years later, long after I’d graduated from high school, that I learned we never had a tab at the Grand! Nibbs had given me those drinks on the house. I’m so glad I didn’t take advantage of the gift.

A year or so ago my sister ran into Nibbs, who was hale enough to be driving. She said he looked almost the same and that he remembered us.

Certainly I remember him; a gentleman, gracious and generous, with a ready smile and laugh, who was also a most excellent bartender.

I raise my glass: “Here’s to you Nibbs. This is a small token of my appreciation. Live long and prosper.”

Going to the Dentist

Once a year my mother took Erva and me to get our annual dental check-up.

In those days, between 1955 and 1962, going to see the dentist was an all day affair. When we lived up at Gifft Hill the three mile jeep ride to Cruz Bay to catch the ferry took a good half hour. The mile long road out of Gifft Hill (#104) which met up with Center Line (#10 see map) was a kind of rocky river bed which in places required low transfer and four wheel drive. So it was slow going as we picked our way over rock out-croppings and ruts near a foot deep.

The ferry ride from Cruz Bay to Red Hook took 30 to 45 minutes. At Red Hook, on St. Thomas, we either drove a car we had stored in a rickety garage or we got a taxi to take us into down town Charlotte Amalie, a journey of at least another 20 t0 30 minutes.

If we took the 8 o’clock ferry, we were usually in town by 10 AM. This meant we’d been up and getting ready to go since about 6:00 or 6:30 in the morning.

Our dentist, Dr. Van Mulsen, was Dutch and spoke with an accent. He had been, for many years a dentist in New York City who had served an upper crust clientele. In fact, some of his patients came down to the St. Thomas on a regular basis to have him work on their teeth, he was that good and they were that loyal to him.

He had come to St. Thomas to retire, but he just couldn’t keep his figures out of people’s mouths. It wasn’t important to him that a person’s teeth be perfectly straight and even, only that they were perfectly clean and healthy.

Dr. Van Mulsen wore his lovely graying reddish hair in a page boy. Picture the boy on labels of Dutch Boy Paint and you have a near replica of what his hair looked like.

His office was on Back Street in a building built by slaves for the Danes. The walls of these buildings are anywhere from a foot to a foot and a half thick. Usually my sister went first. Mom would sit in a chair near-by and I sat on the wide ledge of the open window. From my vantage point I could see what he was doing to Erva and watch her reactions. When Erva was done we switched places.

Dr. Van Mulsen hated and feared causing his patients any kind of pain or discomfort. And so he was the gentlest of dentists. He hummed tuneless tunes while he worked.

Any time the person in the chair got a squirt or two of Lavoris with which to rinse out her mouth, he’d whip around with his sprayer and say, “Open wide,” and give the person sitting on the window ledge a squirt too. I will always remember the sweet minty taste of his magic red liquid. It was the long awaited high-light of the visit.

At one check-up Erva turned out to have a small cavity. “Ah, a wee small holey,” he said. I got to watch the whole procedure. That filling he put in is still there.

By the time we were finished it was time for lunch. We always went to the Grand Hotel which was built between 1839 and 1840. After lunch Mom would leave us at the Grand (where we were “watched” by Nibbs, the bartender) to do some grocery shopping. By three we’d head back to Red Hook to catch the ferry back to St. John. By 5 PM or so, we were back home.

Like I said, it was an all day affair.