The place between the tides

Hull will never be Hingham

On a sunny Sunday in July, Hull is packed with people who are unique, but somehow co-exist. There are hippies and hipsters, convicts and crew cuts, retirees and reprobates, bikers and bikini babes, dreamers and schemers. Each tribe hangs in its own designated area.

Senior citizens dance to the oldies under the bandstand. A gentleman who can cut a rug wears a captain’s hat and a smile: there are a lot more women than men.

The bikers, who look like they may rob a bank, instead just park in the lot of the closed Rockland Trust. Each bike is worth more than $5000, some as much as $25,000. The bikers walk with limps and hitches, their joints worn down by time and labor. Their bikes make up for their lack of personal horsepower. Deep paint jobs and thumping motors all scream out, “I am an individual.” Yet 90% of them wear a uniform: black tee shirt, blue jeans, boots.

The carousel, kept running by the local character James Hardison, who drives around in a red Jeep with the front windshield down, like he is the General of Hull, keeps spinning despite the odds, despite the bad economy, despite the fact that there are a dozen casinos that would pay cash money to have the beautiful antique in their midst.

At Joseph’s beach side pizza place, young men and young women line up for a slice of heaven. The young men show off their muscles. The young girls, their tattoos.

The games of the past have a future at Dream Machine, where fifty cents gets you the opportunity to prove yourself at that most righteous pastime, Ske-ball. Save up your tickets and you can say you earned your stuffed animal the hard way.

There are choice parts of Hull, with views that dwarf the beauty of surrounding communities. But to get to them, you have to pass through the gauntlet on Nantasket Beach. Precious few do.

Which is why Hull will never be Hingham. And really, does the world need another place filled with uptight guys who tie pink sweaters around their necks? For that’s the only type of person you won’t find in or around Nantasket, the place between the tides.