National Geographic : 1962 Aug
Saturday afternoon, following 6A until it merged with the central expressway, the Grand Army Highway, for the last twenty odd miles to Provincetown. In bumper-to bumper traffic we rolled into town. Thoreau knew it as a simple village of peo ple who fished for cod and sun-dried them on racks in fenced squares of sand that passed for front yards. We found it jam-packed with vacationists. Many were weekenders come by excursion boat. We crammed the car into a parking lot and went on afoot, following the sound of a bell. Near the waterfront we encountered the bell ringer, a man in Pilgrim costume (page 152). "He's Arthur Snader, the town crier," a traffic policeman told me. "He has a voice like a foghorn. Best crier we've had in years." A man dressed like Popeye the Sailor hove into view. The town crier indignantly ordered him away. "This is my territory," said the crier. "Be sides, he only looks like Popeye when he takes out his false teeth."