HOLLY NADLER

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Who is the mystery woman on the pages of this week’s New Yorker? She belongs to 20th century history, Johannesburg, and Oak Bluffs. It’s Charlayne Hunter-Gault, of course, and anyone browsing through the pages of the Feb. 15 and 22 issue will come across the photo history of civil rights heroes assembled by photographer Platon and captioned by David Remnick, whereupon Ms. Hunter-Gault’s chic profile jumps out at you.

We know her on our fabled lanes for her bob of silver ringlets, green eyes and beautifully put-together apparel and jewelry. We also bow to her background of being one of two African American students back in 1961 to integrate the University of Georgia. After she enrolled, police were summoned with tear gas to break up the hostile crowds outside her dormitory. Her courage, smarts and hard-won college education paid off big-time: she went on to become a journalist and Africa Bureau Chief for CNN.

Ms. Hunter-Gault finds herself in excellent company in this New Yorker portfolio. There’s Judge Robert L. Carter and Jack Greenberg of the NAACP who brought Brown v. Brown to the Supreme Court in 1954, the Little Rock Nine who have aged somewhat since 1957 when, reinforced by President Eisenhower’s troops, they climbed the front steps of Little Rock Central High School, and a coterie of other pivotal figures of the struggle, including the Rev. Joseph Lowery, Dr. King’s ally in the Southern Christian Leadership Conference. According to the New Yorker article, a few weeks before his inauguration, President Obama left a message for Reverend Lowery, who called back and said, “I am looking for the fellow who is going to be the 44th president of the United States.”

“Well, I believe that would be me, Brother Lowery,” replied Barack Obama. Then he asked Brother Lowery to give the benediction on Jan. 20, to which the minister said, “Let me check my calendar.”

Back to Ms. Hunter-Gault, our winters in Oak Bluffs are measured by, among other events, the occasional news headline from Africa during which our correspondent in Johannesburg weighs in. Charlayne’s sultry voice comes through loud and clear as she sums up a life (as in the passing of President Pieter Willem Botha) or ticks off the salient points in the fighting in Rwanda. Then come summer we get her back again in person, her gorgeous face aglow with a smile, ready for the next glossy fundraiser or scintillating dinner party. This time around we can compliment her on her knockout black and white photo in The New Yorker.

This past weekend Claudia Bowser, new year-round resident of Pennacook avenue, held one of her celebrated Saint Valentine’s Day Massacre parties, only instead of whipping out the tommy guns, she distributed packs of bridge cards. She’s been celebrating the holy game of bridge, Valentine’s Day, and Al Capone’s killing spree for 40 years now, replete with Godfather music, contracts signed in blood (really red ink), pretend bullet holes in doors, and fettucine Alfredo in the great gangster’s honor. (For those too young to relish 1920s outlaw history, Chicago’s legendary mob boss ordered a major shooting spree on Valentine’s Day 1929.)

Ms. Bowser belongs to five separate bridge clubs on the Island, so here’s one enterprising lady who doesn’t let the snows of January, February and March pile up and smother her naturally positive outlook. Last Sunday she hosted guests from each of her bridge clubs, and all were treated to cards, goodies, snacks, and the high jinx that the game itself inspires. And although the event is named after a Prohibition era shoot-out, very little of a sanguinary nature was spilled at 78 Pennacook last weekend.

At the Oak Bluffs School last week, the Food Pantry drive banked up over 1,000 items of food, and was duly delivered by third-graders Aidan Araujo, Bella Arias and Tim Wallis.

My esteemed colleague and friend, Tom Dresser, will take over this column for the next four weeks as Jack, Huxley and I head out to California for a fun, sun and family fix. By the way, Huxley’s airplane fare is setting us back more than our own, and this involves tracking, bagging and sticking him under the seat in front of us. It would cost even less to buy him a seat, all of which seems like a great entrepreneurial opportunity. How about a company called Doggy Air with battened down dog beds, biscuits, and flight attendants trained by Caesar Milan? See you at the end of March.