Museum event keeps oyster culture alive

In a white room the temperature of a cooler, a dozen or so people huddling in winter coats leaned over a white-clothed table as Beryl Whittington, 89, took a stabber's knife in his hand.

It was all so clinical.

Grasping a palm-sized oyster, he banged a hammer against the shell, jammed a knife into the middle seam, scooped out the guts, chucked the shell in a pail and plopped the delicacy into a watery bowl.

At first he performed the ritual slowly for the crowd to observe, then picked up the tempo: Bang, jam, scoop, chuck, plop.

Repeat.

Then, the science of it began to swing. Donald Ciscrow, Mr. Whittington's son, showed his deft skills at the "birth board," a wedge of wood used in oyster houses for shucking the crustaceans, following the same rhythm as his father, while adding a melody on top.

His family, members of the Whittington Family Singers from Port Norris, N.J., joined him by bursting forth in song with the words "Stepped in the water one day... "

Yesterday afternoon in Eastport, a small but enthusiastic crowd of spectators were witness to a once-widespread Annapolis tradition now fading into history - the life and work of oystermen.

The free event at the Annapolis Maritime Museum was the third annual Back Creek Bonfire and Oyster Roast. Director Jeff Holland said this is the first year the museum has added oral history seminars, shucking and cooking demonstrations, and musical performances to the festivities.

"We want to preserve the life and work of these watermen," Mr. Holland said. "We feel there's a real thirst for this knowledge."

The museum itself was once the McNasby Oyster Co. building, the last vestige of the oyster-packing industry in the region. But as the 20th century waned, so did the harvesting and shipping of seafood. McNasby Oyster, the last shop standing, closed in 1986.

Not only is the culture dying, but so are the oysters. The Chesapeake Bay has for some time been facing oyster depletion. The population is now at an estimated 1 or 2 percent of historic levels because of overharvesting, pollution and nonhuman diseases.Though environmentalists are keeping a watchful eye on the species so it doesn't become extinct, the paucity of the filter-feeders means more impurities are free-floating in the water.

Today a culture that was once so entrenched in Annapolis heritage has almost vanished, Mr. Holland said. Few even know how to shuck their own oysters as evidenced by the crowd at yesterday's event.

Folklorist Rita Moonsammy, a special guest at the event, agreed.

"Times are changing," she said. "People can show their kids how to shuck, but it's not the same thing as if it's your way of life."

It was far from glamorous, watermen said at the event. The labor was strenuous, and the workers were underpaid.

Music wasn't just a practical tool to keep work going at a steady pace - like if a crew was trying to pull a net at the same time - it lifted spirits, Ms. Moonsammy said.

"In African-American culture, gospel is not just something for church, it's a way of life," she said. "Because the music isn't just religious, it's about their condition."

Art Tuer, a lifelong Eastport resident, said he used to do odd jobs for McNasby Oyster and his brother was once the head skimmer. Mr. Tuer, 78, said back in the day he liked to come to the oyster house just to hear the singing.

Then it was Mr. Tuer's turn at the birth board to demonstrate how to open an oyster from the back end.

"There's stabbers, hingers and breakers," he said of the three types of oyster shuckers.

He flipped around the oyster to point out the hinge.

"Stab it through that hinge there, and slide it through," Mr. Tuer said, using the blade to pry the top bill up, salt water gushing over his hand.

Then he tilted his chin back and slurped the oyster down, some juices dribbling down his chin.

"Ooh, it tastes so good," he said. "I've always ate them. It's a very salty taste."

A few experienced oyster fanatics, including Audrey Bourdeau, laughed as a first-timer tried her first slurp, grimacing as the gray lump slid into her mouth.

"No, no, keep going," Ms. Bourdeau encouraged. "It's delightful."