There's a conspicuous hole along the west side of Commercial Street in the densest part of Boothbay Harbor's business section. It's right across from the Fisherman's Wharf Inn parking lot, and for many decades, it has been and continues to be an auxiliary parking lot for the inn. Perhaps many people who drive or walk by wonder what was there.

Loraine Nickerson and Virginia Brewer

I talked to Loraine Nickerson who I knew had worked for Fisherman's Wharf 60 or more years ago. She remembered the building across Commercial which was dilapidated in her time, saying it had a store below with large windows between a door, as well as apartments above. She suggested that Virginia Brewer, who had lived next door to it, might remember more. Virginia's daughter, Marcia Soler, asked her about the building for me and she repeated Loraine's impressions, but also remembered some of its prior occupants.

For 63 years, from the late 1870s to the late 1930s, Charles F. Kenniston (born 1863, died 1941) had his business there, and he and his wife lived upstairs. Many old-timers, such as Asa Tupper, Lester Barter and Harry Sawyer, told to me about him since he was such a striking figure and his place was so popular.

Charlie Kenniston

A well-remembered dapper man with a flair for penmanship, calligraphy, and drawing, Charlie Kenniston ran a book, newspaper and stationery store, which also featured cigars and small items. As one sideline, he blocked hats. Being skilled in carving, calligraphy, and engraving, he was often called upon for his graceful and ornate hand on paper and on casket plates, doing all of the local ones for decades. By 1937, he'd done 2,700 for local people. We have paper mementos of Charlie's fine work but, of course, no casket plates! A skilled musician, he played in or directed the bands and musical events, and was involved in town affairs and many organizations. In the early decades of the 1900s, local eccentric, King Stewart, lingered daily with his perennial cigar and gold shoes in front of Charlie's store, bedecked with medals and pins that people gave him. It was a great spot to intersect with the most people. The newspapers were the daily magnet, and Harry Sawyer sent me his memories of Charlie and the papers in 1990.

Harry Sawyer's Memories

On any Sunday morning along toward noon, Charlie could be seen pacing the planks on the Islander wharf awaiting the steamer and the delivery of the Sunday papers from Boston. Nervously twisting his slightly-waxed mustache, he repeatedly thumbed open his gold filigree watch at the end of a heavy gold chain and ornamental fob.

Dressed in a three-piece suit, dress shirt, high starched collar, and a flared tie with a jeweled pin, Charlie was the essence of style in earlier times. Set rakishly on his head was a derby hat — he was seldom seen without it.

The papers came in several bound stacks destined to be inserted in the proper order by the newsdealer. Upon arrival, the shipment was piled up on a four-wheel dolly which Charlie hauled to his paper/tobacco store where expectant customers had formed a line and awaited the distribution. It would be a while. . . . . .

Charlie would roll the dolly inside the store, ignoring the prospective customers and shutting the door in their faces. He removed his coat and hung it up neatly. He then put on dressy armbands, pulled up his long sleeves with French cuffs and ornate cuff links, and proceeded to assemble the various newspaper sections into their completed form.

Charlie was not a tall man, maybe 5'4" or so, and he wore shoes with elevator heels to stand high enough to handle his counter work appropriately. With the papers properly assembled and the steady customer copies marked and set aside, he opened the door to the extended line of patrons waiting outside and graciously allowed them entrance.

We have one photo of Charlie, a posed studio shot of him seated with the 1916 Boothbay Harbor High School orchestra, obviously the musical leader. He personifies a barbershop quartet member, with mustache, fancy clothes and cuff links, and a middle part in his slightly curly, very neat hair.

Virginia Brewer's husband, Howard, worked for many years at Fisherman's Wharf in nearly every capacity. She remembered that he brought her a basket and another trinket that were laying around the foundation soon after the building, next to which they lived, was torn down. Howard may have helped Fisherman's with that effort. It was apparently torn down soon after the 1958 Fisherman's Wharf fire, perhaps about 1960. A sad end for a plain building that, while not out of the ordinary, housed a memorable man. As Lester Barter closed his comments on Charlie Kenniston for me, "He was a remarkable man."