This piece first appeared in the New Bedford Standard-Times in the fall of 1989.
NEW BEDFORD - Tell Charles W. Conner he's been living in an ivory tower and chances are he'll thank you. This local bait-and-tackle shop proprietor has been carving a niche for himself in the folk art tower of fame for more than 14 years. Mr. Conner is a scrimshander.
"I was possessed," he said, his eyes burning as he recalled his first kindling of passion for "scratchin' ivory." Mr. Conner, 32, traces his first itch for scrimshaw back to 1974, when he came under the tutelage of art teacher Bob Rayno at Westport High School. "He was one of the few teachers that taught kids something they could carry over and make a living from," said Mr. Conner.
"I learned by practicing on ivory piano keys in the cellar of my parents' home. I used to scratch and scratch all night long, every night for a year. I must have done a thousand pieces before I could sell one," he said. Mr. Conner's apprenticeship came to an abrupt end in 1975, when his family moved to Indiana and -- much to their horror -- he chose to stay behind. Suddenly, it was literally make or break.
Scratching in New Bedford, Mr. Conner barely eked out a living at first. "I started out at the bottom, and I mean the bottom," said Mr. Conner, the sharp light of pride breaking through bitter remembrance in his eyes. "I worked for local jewelry companies, doing piecework for peanuts, while they harvested the profits."
Mr. Conner had no sooner broken away from these local profiteers when he crossed paths with a pirate. "One time a fellow in Florida ripped me off by mass-producing my work in plastic." Mr. Conner recalled, "And believe it or not, I first found out about it when I saw one of my pieces right here in a New Bedford shop. It hurt," he said.
Mr. Conner was forced to take legal action, but his was a suit with an ivory lining. In the midst of the piracy proceedings, his work came to the attention of Paul Whidden, a fine craftsman of Nantucket lightship baskets, who was enthused by the scrimshander's potential. Mr. Whidden became his mentor and teacher. "Whidden was my worst critic but my best teacher. He was a fanatic for precision and detail. I would spend weeks on a project and he would reject it," Mr. Conner said. "He knew I had the talent to be one of the best."
Mr. Conner has little patience for second-rate scrimshaw. "All scrimshaw is not equal," he insisted. "There are lots of people out there who claim they are scrimshaw artists but are hackers. Most of the scrimshaw today is just chicken scratching."
While most New Englanders think of whale bone as the scrimshander's medium, Mr. Conner prefers to work exclusively with elephant ivory. "Most of the work is with colors, and elephant ivory is best for color work," he said. "Whale's teeth are best for black and white." Use of whale ivory is also limited by conservation laws.
"Scrimshaw isn't just a matter of scratching away. You have to mentally visualize the line you cut into the ivory before you do it," he said, his eyes narrowing intently. "You have to turn the piece over constantly."
The tools and materials of scrimshaw are simple: "They're so basic it's not even funny. This is the whole thing right here," said Mr. Conner, motioning with his hand. "Your hands and your eyes." He uses ivory, cotton swabs, India ink, tiny scribes, and polishing pads. "Material costs are slight compared to the expense of labor in a piece," he said.
Retail prices for scrimshaw span a wide range-- from $25 for small items like fingernail picks to thousands for intricate works like lightship baskets. "I've sold buckles right off my pants," he exclaimed. "People always come to me."
But the art faces challenges: rising ivory costs and mass production. "Elephant ivory is expensive and getting harder to obtain. There are strict laws," said Mr. Conner. "The price goes up almost every month. Depending on your source, ivory costs between $80 and $165 a pound." He estimates 95% of modern scrimshaw is low-quality: "Popular artists mass-produce using plastic, but most buyers won't notice."
New Bedford whalers developed scrimshaw during long voyages, peaking in the early 19th century. If the market disappears, Mr. Conner fears the art will become "history." "There are people who could be taught, but by the time they master it, ivory may be gone."
To supplement income during sales lulls, Mr. Conner took up bass fishing-- ironically, the opposite of whalers' pastimes. Just as sailors perfected scrimshaw in idle hours, he became an adept freshwater angler.
When his father warned him scrimshaw was "going down the tubes," Conner pivoted. "The only other thing I knew well was bass fishing. About four years ago, my father suggested, 'What about setting up a tackle shop?'" He opened Outdoorsman on River Road in New Bedford, where he lives with his wife Judy. "I won't be just another bait-and-tackle shop," he vowed. "But I'll never forget how to scrimshaw."
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