Dundalk – Baltimore Magazine

This Pharmacy on a Quiet Corner in Dundalk is a Whiskey-Lover’s Best-Kept Secret

Baltimore Magazine — Wed, 22 Oct 2025 16:36:46 +0000

Drug City owner George Fotis. —Photography by Mike Morgan

From the moment you walk through the automatic doors at Dundalk’s Drug City, it’s clear this is not your average pharmacy. Sure, it has endless aisles of medical and beauty products, like every CVS or Walgreens. But there’s also an on-site liquor store, featuring a front display of bourbon bottles and, in old-school style, a soda fountain, selling everything from deli sandwiches to ice-cream floats to something unexpected: house-made, old-fashioned craft cocktails.

Slowly but surely, a theme emerges, with the pièce de résistance found through a door in the back left corner. There, a staircase leads to a dimly lit hallway that seemingly dead-ends at a stately bookcase. But here, Drug City owner George Fotis pushes an inconspicuous black button that reveals a hidden room beyond it.

“It really doesn’t have an official name,” says Fotis, 50, walking into the pharmacy’s second-floor speakeasy—a sort of sumptuous Bat Cave equipped with leather armchairs, rustic wooden tables, and a bust of Shakespeare. “It’s more of a community than a club.”

The Drug City speakeasy, as we’ll call it, might be North Point Road’s best-kept secret—a local whiskey club that happens to be known by aficionados around the world. There’s no cost to join and anyone can patronize it, with one main caveat: The room only fits 40 people. So its monthly events—first-come, first-served, and announced via the GroupMe app—typically sell out quickly.

“We’ve had whiskey royalty here—the top people in the industry,” says Fotis, who started at Drug City as a cashier in 1996, before becoming a pharmacist in 2000, and taking over the business in 2016. It was around this time that the Greektown native first got interested in liquor. With the rise of the craft cocktail movement, brown spirits were experiencing a boom across the United States.

“IT’S MORE OF A COMMUNITY THAN A CLUB.”

Here in Baltimore, a Scotch-loving friend suggested that Fotis meet the moment by enhancing the pharmacy’s liquor store offerings. Soon enough, he became a fan himself, partnering with other enthusiasts to form the Maryland Bourbon Society group on Facebook, and, with a “tavern license,” it wasn’t long before Drug City was slinging drinks itself.

Today, it not only carries a wide variety of bottles in its liquor store, from the local Sagamore Spirit to the well-known Maker’s Mark to world-renowned labels like W.L. Weller, Willett, and Pappy Van Winkle, but also pours hard-to-find bourbons at The Fountain. For brown-spirit aficionados, says Fotis, pictured above, “We are now a destination store.”

(For the uninitiated, whiskey is an umbrella term for a liquor distilled from fermented grain, whereas bourbon and rye are types of whiskeys—one made from majority corn, and majority rye, respectively, typically made in Ireland or America. The latter has deep roots in Maryland, with Baltimore being an epicenter of its production well into the 20th century. Meanwhile, whisky, spelled with no “e,” hails from Scotland, Japan, or Canada.)

Of course, Drug City’s hype is due in large part to the upstairs club, which Fotis runs with his friend Justin Jarvis, who owns Allview Liquors in Howard County. Not only do they draw devoted drinkers, but also the master distillers behind many of those beloved brands, who often pop in to host talks and tastings on their way through the Mid-Atlantic. These events are what set Drug City apart from other well-stocked bars in Baltimore, with each special guest offering historical anecdotes and insights into how spirits are made today.

“This is what makes us different—we share the stories with people, and that’s something special,” says Fotis.

And for those just passing through, there’s always a pour at The Fountain for reasonable prices. For him, that’s half the fun—allowing the public to try rarities they might not otherwise be able to find, let alone afford.

“I like giving people that opportunity,” says Fotis. “I get a customer for life.”

Source

Amid Ongoing Grief and Unresolved Legal Issues, the Rebuilding of the Key Bridge Begins

Aaron Hope — Fri, 07 Mar 2025 21:00:57 +0000

News & Community

March 2025

the Port of Baltimore for Sri Lanka, the ship’s captain and several crew members reached out to Andrew Middleton, the director of the Apostleship of the Sea, a Dundalk-based nonprofit which serves foreign seaman. “I didn’t know the exact time they were pushing off, but they were getting ready to sail Monday night or Tuesday morning on a 27-day voyage,” recalls Middleton. “They wanted to get off the ship, go do some shopping, and pick up whatever they might need for the next month.”

A volunteer with the organization, which is supported by the Archdiocese of Baltimore, took a handful of Dali crew members to the Arundel Mills shopping center. Middleton drove the captain and another seaman across the Francis Scott Key Bridge to Walmart and Best Buy in Glen Burnie that same Sunday afternoon.

Later that evening, the genial, 51-year-old Middleton, who lives in Dundalk with his wife, Amy, woke up at 1 a.m. and had trouble falling back asleep. Still lying in bed, he heard what initially sounded like the crash of thunder. A self-described weather nerd who regularly checks radar reports and forecasts, it struck him as odd. There were no expected storms in the area. Then, as the sound continued, he realized it was something else.

“My second thought was that a jet must be flying very low overhead, which is also strange given it’s 1:30 in the morning,” Middleton says. “The noise lasted maybe 20-25 seconds and abruptly stopped. But it is what it is, and I try to go back to sleep for a few hours.”

Finally, around 4 o’clock and still awake, Middleton started a pot of coffee. Within 30 seconds of turning on the kitchen radio, he heard that the Key Bridge—just two miles from his home—had been struck by the Dali and, shockingly, collapsed. Realizing he still had cellphone numbers for two crew members, he texted the men, both Indian, like nearly all the crew, to make sure that they, and everyone else onboard, were okay.

“We had just talked about normal stuff the day before, but I do remember asking if they were taking the Suez Canal, or if because of the stuff off the coast of Yemen and the Houthi piracy attacks, they were going around South Africa,” Middleton says. “They said they were adding a couple of days onto their voyage to take the safest route. They wanted to avoid any possible harm.”

—PHOTOGRAPHY BY WESLEY LAPOINTE

y 7 a.m., Middleton had done two interviews and was fielding media requests from around the country as video of the Key Bridge collapse went viral. Almost immediately, conspiracy theorists began tossing around questions about the ship’s foreign-born crew and the cause of the collision, which disappointed him. (That the U.S. Attorney for Maryland, Erek Barron, released a statement saying that terrorism wasn’t likely did not seem to matter to many. Later, a Utah state representative and others blamed “DEI.”) Middleton had worked with foreign seamen for 16 years and knew the vast majority to be professional, humble men who found the difficult work and long stretches from home to be the best way to provide for their families. His last interview went live on CNN at 10 p.m.

Meanwhile, the search for seven missing Latino workers, who had been repairing potholes on the bridge's roadway at the time of the collision, had gotten underway in the still-dark morning hours. An eighth man, a highway inspector walking the length of the bridge, had safely made it to a surviving section of bridge before the collapse of the main span. Given the height of the bridge, which rose 185 feet above the Patapsco River, and the water temperature—47 degrees—all except one were considered most likely dead by midday.

Miraculously, 37-year-old Julio Cervantes Suarez, a Mexico native who was sitting in his truck on break when the Dali struck the bridge, survived the 18-story fall. He later told NBC that the water “came up to my neck” after his well-worn pickup slammed into the river. Unable to open the vehicle’s doors, he escaped by manually rolling down a window and holding onto nearby debris for 25 minutes, until a Maryland Department of Transportation Authority police boat found and rescued him.

The bodies of his brother-in-law, Alejandro Hernandez Fuentes, a father of four, and Dorlian Ronial Castillo Cabrera, 26, were located the day after the tragic crash, submerged in 25 feet of water in a red pickup truck, near what had been the middle of the bridge.

Working in murky, extremely low-visibility conditions, divers were not able to recover the body of 38-year-old Maynor Suazo Sandoval, a married father who had raised four children and sent remittances back home to help establish a youth soccer team in his native Honduras, until the following week.

The body of Carlos Daniel Hernández, Cervantes Suarez’s 24-year-old nephew, was pulled from his submerged truck April 15. He had texted his fiancée moments before the collapse: “We just poured cement, and we’re waiting for it to dry.”

It was not until May that the body of Miguel Luna, an El Salvadoran immigrant who left behind a wife and several children, was found in a construction vehicle at the bottom of the river. He often assisted his wife with her Glen Burnie-based food truck business, Pupuseria Y Antojitos Carmencita Luna, when not working a construction shift. He picked up his dinner from his wife at the food truck before he went to the bridge that night.

“A lot of times, he gathered dinner orders from the guys he was working with and then would come by to get everything,” recalls Carmen Luna during a sometimes tearful interview at her home, with her daughter translating from Spanish. “He was very good friends with Julio, the man who survived, and also with Alejandro and his nephew. He was the best possible husband. He was hardworking. He was a family man, and we had many dreams that will not become reality. I will not forget our life together.”

The body of 37-year-old father and Guatemalan immigrant Jose Mynor Lopez, described by his pastor as “a quiet guy with a big heart,” was the last of the six men to be recovered.

A month later, Sacred Heart of Jesus, the Catholic home of the city’s largest Latino congregation, held a vigil in honor of the six deceased victims. Afterward, Archbishop Lori William, Auxiliary Bishop Bruce Lewandowski, and Sacred Heart pastor Ako Walker led a candlelight walk through the surrounding Highlandtown community, which included crosses draped with reflective work vests, hard hats, and Mexican, El Salvadoran, Honduran, and Guatemalan flags.

From its beginning 152 years ago, when it served German immigrants, the church has been a refuge for Catholic newcomers to the U.S. and Baltimore.

After learning of the collapse from the director of the Mayor's Office of Immigrant Affairs, Father Walker, a Trinidad and Tobago immigrant, had rushed to the scene to be with the families of lost men.

“The sadness was palpable. It was overflowing,” recalls Walker, adding that even as someone whose vocation is consoling those in grief, he had never witnessed anything like the emotion of that day. “Families were experiencing a lot of pain, hurt, uncertainty, shock. And they were trying to get answers to what had happened. What was the state of recovery? Was it possible anyone might have been alive? It was very tough for them.”

In March, the church is planning a special Mass for the victims and their families in recognition of the anniversary of the tragedy. People should continue to pray for the men, Walker says, “for their children, growing up without their fathers, wives without their husbands, mothers without their sons.

“A year might seem like a long time, if you were not directly affected—there’s distance for us in our own consciousness,” continues Walker, whose church hosted the funerals of two of the victims. “But for the families, the pain is still like it happened yesterday.”

—PHOTOGRAPHY BY WESLEY LAPOINTE

he second-longest continuous truss bridge span in the U.S. when it was built, the Francis Scott Key Bridge was a Baltimore landmark from the moment it was completed in March 1977. Two decades earlier, the Baltimore Harbor Tunnel—the pair of two-lane roads that connected southeast Baltimore and Dundalk to Fairfield and Brooklyn— became the first way to cross the Patapsco River. But with the populations of Baltimore and Anne Arundel counties ballooning by some 250 percent, a second crossing was needed. And the Key Bridge—so named because of its proximity to the spot where its namesake penned “The Star-Spangled Banner”—was notable for another reason. It was the final piece of the Baltimore Beltway.

But its construction was not without controversy. The Maryland General Assembly and then-Speaker of the House Marvin Mandel wanted to build another tunnel. Gov. Spiro Agnew wanted a bridge. In back-and-forth debates, the “Outer Harbor Crossing” developed into a political football and then a flashpoint for corruption, which in hindsight is not a huge surprise considering the players involved. (A tunnel would have avoided potential conflict with the port’s shipping traffic, but Mandel came around to Agnew’s less-expensive bridge proposal after he became governor.)

Agnew, of course, was chosen by Richard Nixon to be his running mate in 1968. But not before his administration authorized $220 million in bonds to cover the cost of a second Bay Bridge—and a second crossing across the harbor. Agnew awarded the Key Bridge design contract to a politically connected Baltimore firm, Griener Engineering, which eventully became part of the kickback scandal that helped end Agnew’s vice presidency in late 1973.

Two other companies would reorganize and change their names due to scrutiny around their Key Bridge contracts and links to Mandel, who became governor when Agnew departed for D.C. Three months after the Key Bridge opened, Mandel stepped down from office because of his own horse racing-track scandal.

It’s worth noting the Dali was not the first vessel to strike the Key Bridge. In 1980, the bridge was struck by a significantly smaller container vessel. However, it required relatively minor repairs from the blow to a “fender” on one of its main supports, and only briefly led to discussions about strengthening the bridge’s structural protections.

In the end, the political backstory—which included a successful fight by Locust Point residents to prevent placement of the bridge near Fort McHenry—was quickly forgotten.

Long and narrow, a mile and a half long and 1,200 feet across its arching main span, its functionality and simple grace stood as a monument to the ironworkers who built it and the port’s industrial might.

“Immediately, the bridge shows up in all kinds of public ways and popular references,” says Mike Kuethe of the Baltimore Museum of Industry, who researched the history of the bridge for a public presentation in January. “Companies begin advertising they’re only five minutes from the Key Bridge. Real estate companies advertise that houses or condos have views of the bridge. The Baltimore Sun ran a regular outdoors column, and you start seeing references to the best fishing spots inside of the Key Bridge or the distance of certain fishing from the Key Bridge.

“There are comments, too, from people able to look down on Curtis Bay and Dundalk from the bridge, getting a view that previously you could only see by helicopter or plane,” Kuethe adds. “It gives Baltimoreans a different perspective of the outskirts of the city.”

As fans of The Wire will recall, the Key Bridge also served as a poignant backdrop in the show’s second season, when longshoreman union leader Frank Sobotka and his stevedore nephew briefly share a ruminative lookout across the harbor and bridge as seagulls glide past and water laps against the shoreline.

“Great view,” says the nephew.

To which his uncle replies: “It’s fucking picturesque, is what it is.”

Above: Carmen Luna, whose husband Miguel Luna was killed in the Key Bridge collapse, speaks beside a memorial photo of her husband at a press conference.—PHOTOGRAPHY BY WESLEY LAPOINTE

n the early hours of March 26, Maryland Transportation Authority dispatchers were informed of a threat to the Key Bridge about a minute and half before the 947-foot Dali struck one of the bridge’s main pillars, causing the center span to collapse. Onboard were 21 crew members, two local pilots, and 4,680 20-foot equivalent containers.

Just before 1:25 a.m., when it was roughly three ship lengths out from the bridge, one of the Dali primary electrical breakers tripped. It caused the loss of electric power to the shipboard lighting and most of its equipment, including the main engine cooling and steering gear pumps, which automatically shut down the 112,000-ton vessel’s diesel-powered propellers.

The crew manually closed the open breaker, restoring power, but only briefly. At 1:27, at the same moment the senior pilot ordered the anchor dropped, the Dali lost power a second time, now little more than a football field from the bridge.

Drifting at 6.5 knots, the starboard bow struck pier No. 17 of the bridge at 1:29 a.m. A Dali crew member told National Transportation Safety Board (NTSB) investigators that, as he was releasing the brake on the port anchor, he was forced to flee the bow to escape falling debris. As the bridge deck collapsed onto the ship’s bow, another crew member, also trying to avoid falling debris, sustained a mild injury.

By 1:34 a.m., the Coast Guard issued an urgent request for assistance from passing ship traffic. The first Coast Guard boats arrived at 1:51 a.m. Multiple agencies immediately began searching for survivors from the road maintenance crew, only halting the active search that evening. Their efforts transitioned to recovery operations the next day.

It would take 11 weeks for the bridge debris to be cleared, temporarily stranding some 40 ships in the Baltimore harbor, and largely shuttering commercial operation at the port. Some 15,300 jobs were directly impacted by the bridge collapse and the port’s closure, with 140,000 jobs indirectly affected. The nation’s largest terminal for auto exports, Baltimore shipped nearly 850,000 cars and light trucks in 2023. It is also the second-largest U.S. hub for coal exports.

According to a preliminary NTSB report, a loose cable likely caused Dali’s electrical issues. When disconnected, the problematic cable triggered an outrage similar to what occurred prior to striking the bridge.

Later, as media attention dissipated that summer following the reopening of the channel, the mouth of the Patapsco River took on a surreal quality—a void in the skyline—with its missing span and 30,000 displaced daily commuters.

Kayaker Matt Klinck paddled to the bridge remains this past December, taking a video camera with him to document the scene before reconstruction began. Up close, the gap between the two sides of the bridge was shocking. “Once you see the first half of the bridge, you think, ‘Where’s the other half?’ and you keep paddling, paddling, and paddling, and finally, you’re like, ‘Okay, there’s the other half, jeez.’

“It was also very quiet,” continues Klinck, who posted a video of his trek on YouTube, where it quickly received more than 2,000 views. “When I paddled the Bay Bridge, you constantly hear car noise, but when you paddle near the Key Bridge now, there’s no car noise. There’s an eeriness similar to those pictures of New York City when the streets were empty during the pandemic. The silence is stunning.”

The other striking takeaway for Klinck was the iron rebar bundles—which once fortified the bridge pillars, but were now twisted and bent by the seismic collision—and drooped over what was left of the cement base. “From their shape, they looked like they were made of string, not steel,” he says. “Hanging loose like threads of clothing.”

Preliminary designs for the new bridge.—COURTESY OF MARYLAND TRANSPORTATION AUTHORITY

ive days before Christmas, former President Joe Biden signed a bill that averted a government shutdown and included a pledge to fully fund the rebuilding of the Key Bridge. Afterward, Gov. Wes Moore declared that “while the tragic collapse of the Key Bridge happened during our time in office, we will rebuild it on our watch.”

Much has changed, however. Whether President Trump attempts to retroactively cut off the legislated funding, which cannot be done legally by executive order, remains to be seen. For now, the work is a go and the projected completion date is October 2028.

The preliminary designs for Key Bridge, revealed in early February during a press conference at Tradepoint Atlantic in Sparrows Point, are conceptual and part of what’s referred to as a progressive design build.

That said, the new bridge will be four lanes wide, the same as the original, but will be significantly higher—a projected 230 feet above the river at its highest point—to make room for increasingly large container vessels. The new bridge will also be the first cable-stayed in Maryland, in contrast to the truss style of the original bridge, and it will have a wider channel opening as well as an enhanced pier protection system.

No decision has been made yet on whether the new bridge will carry the same name.

Nor has there been a decision about the construction of a permanent memorial to the victims of the tragic collapse, as some have called for.

An unofficial, evolving memorial for the six victims at Hawkins Point—including flowers, candles, crosses, murals created by Texas-based artist Roberto Marquez, and Mexican, Guatemalan, El Salvadoran, Honduran, and American flags—was vandalized in early June.

Maria Aldana at the Baltimore Museum of Industry conducts interviews.—PHOTOGRAPHY BY J.M. GIORDANO

Maria Aldana, the director of the nonprofit Art of Solidarity, has been recording oral and video histories of impacted community members, including the victims' families, for the Baltimore Museum of Industry.

Aldana says that, like many members of the Baltimore-area Latino community, she sees herself and her family in those who lost loved ones a year ago.

“The kind of relationships that I saw among the victims’ families were very similar to the relationships I have with my own parents, my brothers, my aunts, my cousins,” Aldana says. “I met family members arriving from Mexico. I watched the daughters of one of the victims, both teenagers, console each other, their younger sibling, and their mother.

“And seeing Carmen Luna be there for her children, grandchildren, putting herself last, there are no words.”

—Ron Cassie

COMMUNITY OUTREACH

In the shadow of the Key Bridge, the historically Black community of Turner Station finds hope for the future.

By Lydia Woolever

WHEN THE Francis Scott Key Bridge collapsed last year, less than 500 feet from Turner Station’s Mt. Olive Baptist Church,Pastor Rashad Singletary knew what to do. Using his experience as head of community affairs for the Mayor’s Office and a longtime Safe Streets director, he quickly organized a community vigil for that very evening, providing a moment of unity amidst chaos and fear.

“We know this was a tragedy—individuals lost, families impacted, communities impacted,” says the 36-year-old Singletary, whose historically isolated Black community sits at the tip of Dundalk on the Patapsco River. For nearly a half-century, the bridge served as a lifeline to family, jobs, resources, amenities, and the outside world. “But faith also says it’s an opportunity, for us to see what God is going to do through us.”

In Turner Station, churches have long been more than just Sunday service. St. Matthew United Methodist provides a weekly food pantry. New Shiloh Baptist offers music lessons. Union Baptist hosts annual Black History Month celebrations. First Apostolic Faith Gospel Tabernacle throws back-to-school giveaways. Over the years, they’ve also teamed up with politicians and community leaders to confront persistent concerns, which include the local food desert, environmental hazards like pollution and flooding, and affordable and improved housing as developers eye up the neighborhood’s waterfront property.

Now, since the collapse, faith leaders feel a newfound urgency, as their congregants worry about what the future might bring. And a sense of camaraderie, too. “It’s always out of the collective that we can do greater things,” says Pastor Kay Albury of St. Matthew. “Each church has its own strengths, so . . . we can share resources and empower each other.”

Last year, Singletary gathered his colleagues for an introductory meeting with the Maryland Transportation Authority Police, and he has since joined the port’s Tradepoint Atlantic board as a community liaison. Following in the footsteps of St. Matthew, which hopes to transform its parsonage into a crisis center for concerns like mental health and homelessness, Mt. Olive is also now applying to become a nonprofit community development corporation, with the goal of obtaining funding to launch additional services such as financial literacy programming and an early learning development center.

“Building infrastructure is our main focus,” says Singletary. “Turner Station is a resilient community. But how do we capitalize on this moment to make sure that, as billions of dollars are being allocated to rebuild the bridge, we’re also bringing resources into this forgotten community that are going to be sustainable for generations to come.”

In the early 20th century, Turner Station grew out of the industrial heyday of the two World Wars. During the height of segregation, African-American workers had to find their own housing, and built a vibrant community with schools, businesses, and, of course, churches.

“We were a self-sufficient community,” says Pastor Donald Jones of Friendship Baptist, who grew up on Fleming Drive in the 1950s. Eventually, as factories declined, so too did populations and services, with residents remaining underserved for decades. “But we hold onto hope. One of my favorite scriptures is Jeremiah 29:11, where the Lord says, ‘I know the plans I have for you . . . to give you hope, and a future.’”

On March 26, one year after the collapse, the community will once again return to the pews of Mt. Olive, this time for a day of remembrance—of the lives lost, of the old bridge, of dreams for the days ahead when a new one is built.

“When you come into the community, you could always see that arch,” says Jones. “Almost like a reminder that Turner Station is still there.”

THE WIFE OF A KEY BRIDGE VICTIM HOLDING A FLOWER. —PHOTOGRAPHY BY WESLEY LAPOINTE

ORAL HISTORY

Mayra Loera is the program manager for client services at the Esperanza Center, which has served the Baltimore immigrant community since 1963. A Mexican immigrant, Loera shares her memory of the Key Bridge collapse and the Esperanza Center’s assistance to the families of the six immigrant workers who died in the tragic event.

Interview by Maria Aldana / Edited by Ron Cassie

used to travel over the Key Bridge two or three times a week. I always prepared my phone, when it was evening, to take a picture of the sunset because it looked so beautiful with the bridge. I still have some of those pictures in my phone.

My boyfriend [who lives near the bridge] texted me at five in the morning [the day of the collapse]. I was visiting my sister in New Jersey. All I saw was the bridge is gone. I was like, “Am I reading this right? What is he talking about?” And then he sent me a video and I got up and made a cup of coffee and I just sat there, and I watched the video over and over again.

It was scary because I crossed that bridge on my way to New Jersey from [my home in Anne Arundel County]. And then I realized that I’m not going to cross that bridge on the way back home. I also got an email from my supervisor that we were going to be involved in helping.

At [Esperanza], we see a lot of victims of crime, a lot of people who are escaping a situation in their home country that really leaves them no choice but to seek a better life somewhere. I’ve been asked why don’t undocumented people just do it the right way? Take a plane, send your papers, and come in and work. Every single person wishes they could do that. The problem is the system doesn’t really work for people with these needs, and they live in poverty. If you can provide the things that they request, it may take five, 10 years for someone to be approved. I’ve talked to families that experienced trauma on the way here. Some feel so sad and desperate that they just want to go back home. [The immigrant community] experiences discrimination at work. People walk through our doors saying, “I’ve worked for a month and my boss kept saying, ‘I’ll pay you later.’” And they never saw the money.

[After the collapse], we met weekly with Catalina Rodriguez Lima, the director of the Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs, and Giuliana Valencia-Banks, chief of Immigrant Affairs for Baltimore County, and other crisis response groups, sharing information and [figuring out] the best way to provide services to the impacted families.

The Esperanza team visited with the victims’ families and filled out financial assistance applications so that they wouldn’t have to worry about not working during this terrible thing because they don’t have money to pay rent, don’t have money for food or their car payment. We talked almost every day and sometimes multiple times a day with families when [first responders] were still searching for their loved ones. Maryland Casa, their legal team, made sure that family members obtained visas to travel to the U.S. to be with their loved ones. They worked day and night, seven days a week.

We told them we’re going to buy you a plane ticket so that you can come to the U.S. and if they needed a hotel, that too. We sort of became a travel agency. Some of them had never traveled before. They sometimes called that they were lost in the airport and then they find nice people that guided them to where they needed to go so that they wouldn’t miss their plane.

THE HAWKINS POINT MEMORIAL HONORING THE SIX MEN WHO DIED IN THE KEY BRIDGE COLLAPSE, INCLUDING MURALS BY TEXAS-BASED ROBERTO MARQUEZ. —AP PHOTO/MARK SCHIEFELBEIN

ORAL HISTORY

Guiliana Valencia-Banks, a native of Peru, joined Baltimore County as its first immigrant affairs outreach coordinator in 2021. Now the chief of Immigrant Affairs, she led the county’s effort to assist the families impacted by the collapse of the Key Bridge.

—Interview by Maria Aldana / Edited by Ron Cassie

woke up that morning [of the Key Bridge collapse] with plans of going to an education conference in Montgomery County. I saw the text messages and I thought, “Okay, well, I’m supposed to be at this this conference.” I got dressed, drove down to Montgomery County, and then the reports started to come in about a work crew on the bridge. I parked my car at Montgomery County Community College, told the organizer that I was not going to be staying, and turned around and drove back to Baltimore.

I went to where the first responders and county and city officials were [situated] and spoke to our chief of emergency management and asked if I could check in on the families. Once we knew there was a work crew on the bridge, [and understanding] the demographic of folks that work in construction, I instinctively knew there were at least one or two immigrant families who were going to be impacted by the collapse of the bridge.

At 10:30 a.m., we didn’t know whether it was going to be a recovery mission versus a rescue mission and there was still the hope that we were going to find survivors. I wanted to ensure that the immediate family and extended family members were getting services through an interpreter and that there was mental health support for the families while they waited for the news.

As an immigrant, I know the first thing you must do is address [the language barrier]. My mom has lived in this country for 36, 37 years. She speaks enough English to have passed the civics test and naturalize, and she can go to the bank and ask questions about the status of her bank account, and she can go to the grocery store and read the signs and know where to find the pasta. But if she’s going to have a conversation about her blood pressure or her diabetes, she’s not having that conversation in English.

Also, having gone through the process of applying for asylum and naturalizing and seeing how that process works . . . my lived experience shapes the way I react to my work, which has always revolved around providing services to immigrants. The entire time I was also in communication with Catalina Rodriguez-Lima from the Mayor’s Office of Immigrant Affairs, just texting back and forth about what we were seeing and what were some of the needs that we were going to have to figure out solutions for.

[Ultimately], we were able to get the two largest direct service providers of immigrant services to work together, three jurisdictions to work together, and the state and the federal government. We had 34 humanitarian paroles [visas] approved for family members [of the deceased workers] and that happened in weeks, whereas that normally takes months, if not years. That’s because we were collaborating with our U.S. senators’ offices, the White House, and the nonprofits.

At the end of the day, we have to remember that these are people. They’re not just construction workers or, you know, immigrants. These are human beings, and they live in our communities, and they have children in our schools, and they have family members that are grieving and experiencing this [collapse of the Key Bridge] on a much deeper level. I don’t drive over bridges in the same way that I used to before March 26, and I didn’t lose my dad.

CRISIS AND THE LAW

Passed in 1851, the federal Limitation of Liability Act (LOLA) was intended to shield vessel owners from significant financial liability due to events beyond their control, such as storms and shipwrecks.

By Kate Livie

THE LOOPING video footage of the Francis Scott Key Bridge disaster on the morning of March 26, 2024 showed what appeared to be a straightforward tragedy: a massive ship, adrift without power, colliding with the base of one of Baltimore’s iconic landmarks.

However, the ensuing investigation and legal battles against the Dali’s owners and operators have exposed complicated questions about a controversial, some might say antiquated, 19th-century maritime limited liability law.

Built in 2015 in South Korea, the Dali, which went back to sea earlier this year after extensive repairs, open water trials, and recertification, was a titan designed for the demands of modern global shipping. Owned by Grace Ocean Private Limited and operated by Synergy Marine Group, the ship was registered in Singapore, which is known for strict regulatory oversight. But despite its advanced technology and compliance on paper, the Dali’s collision revealed significant gaps in its operations and maintenance.

The disaster unfolded during what should have been a routine departure. At 12:40 a.m., the Dali left the Port of Baltimore carrying over 4,600 containers, guided by two pilots and assisted by tugboats. Investigations later brought to light a domino-effect of systemic failures onboard Dali. There were long-documented vibration issues that damaged equipment, making it vulnerable to power outages, and an over-reliance by the crew on its flushing pumps, which violated safety protocols and rendered generator restarts impossible during blackouts. And it suffered a power outage just 10 hours before departure that had not been reported to the U.S. Coast Guard or the two pilots prior to departure.

Not only did these lapses create a potential case for negligence against Grace Ocean and Synergy Marine, but the legal fallout brought renewed attention to an arcane bit of maritime law. Passed in 1851, the federal Limitation of Liability Act (LOLA) was intended to shield vessel owners from significant financial liability due to events beyond their control, which in the wooden ship era of the mid-19th century largely meant storms and shipwrecks. Under LOLA, Grace Ocean and Synergy Marine sought to cap their liability at $43.7 million—essentially the combined value of the vessel and its pending freight.

In the Dali’s case, however, additional possible damages included the estimated $1.7-billion cost of rebuilding the Key Bridge, economic losses from months of halted port traffic, and, of course, the devastating human toll. Civil wrongful death claims by the families of the road workers who died in the crash are among the nearly four-dozen lawsuits that likely will remain unresolved until 2026.

At the time of its passage by Congress, LOLA was put forth to incentivize maritime commerce in an era when commercial vessels were small and slow, voyages were risky, and overseas communication could take weeks or months. Contemporary critics argue that the modern shipping industry, with its satellite communication, robust safety protocols, and enormous vessels, no longer needs such protections to do business.

In a recent maritime law panel on the Dali disaster at the Maryland Center for History and Culture, James Jeffcoat, a member of the MCHC maritime committee and a partner at Whiteford, Taylor & Preston, summarized the argument against LOLA. Eliminating the limits on the shipping industry’s liability, Jeffcoat said, “can discourage risktaking and compensate those injured as a consequence of someone else’s negligence.”

Despite its critics, the 164-year-old law has its defenders, mostly in the shipping trade, not surprisingly. They argue that maritime shipping is the backbone of global trade, carrying over 80 percent of goods worldwide. Removing these liability protections could deter investment, LOLA proponents argue, raising shipping costs and disrupting an economy that has benefited from these safeguards for more than a century.

The Singapore-flagged Dali container ship after its March 26, 2024 collision with the Francis Scott Key Bridge.—PHOTOGRAPHY BY WESLEY LAPOINTE

Meanwhile, the legal consequences for the Dali’s owners and operators have already begun. In late October, Grace Ocean and Synergy Marine agreed to pay $102 million to the Justice Department to cover federal cleanup costs, including removing 50,000 tons of debris from the river. Additional lawsuits, including claims by Maryland, Baltimore City, and Baltimore County for expenses related to the cleanup and rebuilding of the Key Bridge—as well as the aforementioned claims by local businesses, the victims’ families, and the longshoreman’s union for their economic losses—will likely push total damages much higher.

“Now that the federal government has committed to cover the cost of replacing the Francis Scott Key Bridge,” says Jeffcoat, who is closely following the outcome for Maryland’s claim, “one of the most interesting aspects of the ongoing litigation will be to see to what extent Maryland will succeed in recovering these costs from the Dali and her owners to reimburse the federal government for the cost to rebuild.”

As the courts untangle the liability issues, the maritime community faces a reckoning. Will the Dali disaster lead to meaningful changes in how ships are managed and how justice is served in maritime law? Or will it become another cautionary tale, overshadowed by the next tragedy?

For now, the legacy of the Dali is one of loss, questions of accountability, and the urgent need to reconcile 19th-century laws with 21st-century realities.

Retired Local 16 Ironworker Frank Piccione with a photo of his Key Bridge crew.—Photography by J.M. Giordano

WORKING HISTORY

Frank Piccione was raised in Gardenville and did three tours in Vietnam before coming home and joining Local 16 as an apprentice ironworker. He’s 78 today and lives in Rosedale.

worked in the field as an ironworker for 25 years. But I was with the Ironworkers Local, and then the International Association, for 45 years altogether, holding a lot of different positions. Former Gov. [Parris] Glendening appointed me to the Maryland Apprenticeship and Training Council. I was president of the Baltimore Building Trades Training Council. I retired in 2013.

My father was a United Autoworker at the GM plant on Broening Highway. I’ll tell you a quick story. When I got back from Vietnam in 1969, I was going around visiting family and so one day my cousin Pete invites me in and I sit down at his dining room table. I couldn’t help but notice there’s a centerpiece on the table, and in that centerpiece was his paycheck from the previous week. It was for $200 and some dollars, $240 maybe, something like that. I said, “What the hell do you do?” And he said, “I’m an ironworker.” And I told him, “If you’re making that kind of money, you’ve got to tell me where to go.” That’s how I got into hard work.

The apprenticeship was three years. Now it’s four, as it is with most trades across the United States. It’s not just about climbing iron or tying rebar [the process of connecting reinforcing steel bars with metal wire to create a strong structure]. Ironworkers work in nuclear facilities. It’s many hours of safety and health training before you can step foot on a job site. And when we use the word iron, we’re really talking about structural iron, steel, precast concrete, and today, glass and other composite materials.

Two stages of the Francis Scott Key Bridge under construction in the mid-1970s. Cars and trucks approach the FSK toll plaza before heading over the iconic truss bridge. —COURTESY OF THE MARYLAND DEPARTMENT OF TRANSPORTATION

Before the Key Bridge, I worked on the second span of the Chesapeake Bay Bridge, and after I finished there, I actually worked on a renovation, a retrofitting, of the first Bay Bridge. A lot of guys didn’t like to work rebar because it was what we called “grunt and groan” work. Have you ever seen a guy tying rebar? Another term we used to describe it was “assholes and elbows” because you’re bent over all the time and all anybody sees is your asshole and elbows. But that work as a young guy prepared me for other phases of the trade. Whenever work came up, I always worked. Some guys would turn away from the grunt stuff. Hell no, the money wasn’t dirty.

There was one man who was killed working on the Key Bridge, on land, on one of the approaches to the bridge. He was inside a concrete rebar column, and I don’t know if a gust of wind came up or whatever, but that column went over, and he was crushed—the only fatality that I’m aware of. After the Key Bridge, the Brandon Shores power plant [built in the early 1980s in Anne Arundel County] was another large project.

There was definitely a lot of pride in building the Key Bridge. To me, it wasn’t about the port—it was that it completed the Beltway and it eased traffic. Later, my last 12 years when I was with the Ironworkers International, I commuted to D.C. over the bridge. I guess I’m lucky I don’t have to do that anymore, but when it came down, that was heartbreaking. They’re talking about the new bridge won’t be done until 2028. Right now, my health isn’t bad, but that’s years from now, if you catch my drift. I hope to see it.

I still have a photo of our raising gang, [Piccione holds it, framed, in his portait, above], that closed the truss. Keep in mind that truss, the big arch, was what held the roadway. We set the final piece.

—PHOTOGRAPHY BY J.M. GIORDANO

WORKING HISTORY

Buddy Cefalu grew up in Pimlico and after returning from military service in Vietnam, he joined Ironworkers Local 16 and helped build the Key Bridge. Now, 76, he lives near Ocean City.

y father was in the produce business, which had our family name on it. My grandfather Giovanni and great-uncle Phil started the business at the old Belair Market after they came from Cefalù, Sicily, in the early 1900s. I went to Saint Ambrose School on Park Heights Avenue and then Towson Catholic High School. I went into service in 1966 and served four years, including two tours and 18 months in Vietnam.

The day I came home, my mom and dad had a “welcome home” get-together for me at the house, and my brother-in-law Jerry said, “What are you going do now, boy? You can’t do that shit you were doing over there.” I told him that I didn’t know, but the first thing I was going to do was go to Wildwood for two weeks and chill out.

My brother-in-law was an ironworker in Local 16 and he helped me to get into the local’s apprenticeship program. That’s where my career began, in the summer of 1969. Frank Piccione (whose oral history is above) was in the same three-year apprenticeship class.

How do I say this? Like in everything else in life, everyone is not the same. Just because you have the title of an ironworker, doesn’t mean that you’re going be the guy up on the top of the building or bridge raising the steel. I worked as Frank did and Butch did (below), mostly in the erection of steel on buildings and bridges—numerous buildings in downtown Baltimore and in the surrounding counties, Baltimore, Howard, and on the Western Shore. We never did too much on the Eastern Shore other than the second span of the Bay Bridge.

We were still fairly young but experienced ironworkers when the Key Bridge project started. The Key Bridge was a chance for young guys starting in the business to make their bones and build a reputation. You live on your reputation, and nobody wants a bad reputation, meaning you couldn’t or wouldn’t do the work—you didn’t have the confidence, or you weren’t reliable. It was physically demanding and a prideful thing to help build that thing with your own two hands. I’ve had four back surgeries and I’m going back to Hopkins for a fifth, a spinal fusion, a byproduct of all those years.

I don’t remember the first time that I drove over the Key Bridge, but I made thousands of trips over it, especially after I became a union business agent. Our union hall was so close to it. We’d use that as a main thoroughfare from Dundalk to the Curtis Bay side. It made everything so much more accessible.

As far as memories, the tall ships sailing beneath the bridge to the Inner Harbor [in 1976] just as the bridge was getting to the point where we were setting the roadbed—that was like a movie from our vantage point. But there are a lot of memories. The bitter cold in the winter, the brutal heat and humidity in the summer. We fought conditions like windy days. We went out and worked even if it was 18 degrees because the next day it might sleet and be ice. You make each day count. That’s what ironworkers do. That’s how it got built.

It was the second-longest truss bridge in the world when it was built, just the site of the arch was a symbol of industrial strength. It was a monument to the working-class people of the area, the last vestige of an era when generations worked at Bethlehem Steel, General Motors, and Lever Brothers. I just hope I live long enough to see it rebuilt and the first car go across.

—PHOTOGRAPHY BY J.M. GIORDANO

WORKING HISTORY

Butch Henry grew up in O’Donnell Heights. He served in Korea before coming home in 1965 and eventually joining Ironworkers Local 16 and helping build the Key Bridge. Now 80, he lives in Colgate.

got my GED in the Army, but I didn’t have a plan when I got out. I first started working at a drug company, but when I lost that job, my uncle got me an apprenticeship with Local 16. My father and two of my uncles were ironworkers. I was on the second span of the Bay Bridge and loved the work. Everything it was. I was young and working with a lot of other young guys. In those days, if you didn’t like a certain job that you were on or got tired of it, you could go to the union hall and get another.

In the late 1970s, I worked on the USF&G Building (the first Inner Harbor high-rise when built at 100 Light Street). There was even a photo of me working on that building in Baltimore magazine. Not everybody is built to work in an office, but I did do that my last couple of years, as a business agent with the ironworkers, before retiring.

I spent two-plus years working on the Key Bridge. I was married by then with three kids in Middle River. We worked 10-hour days, seven days a week, to stay on schedule.

I was 200 feet up [one day] when a bolt got sheared off a beam. I don’t know if a wave came by, but something caused the crane to move as we were fastening the beam and it hit me in the mouth. Four of us were up there and I started to fall forward. The guys grabbed me. A friend found my teeth 20 feet down in the section below. I walked off the bridge myself and returned the next week still missing my front teeth.

I do remember the ironworker on the other derrick who fell off the bridge and got paralyzed. I was there that day. We stopped working until he was lifted out and then we went back to work because management told us no knocking off. The guys in the union donated money to his family. I had another serious injury working a section of I-83 near the old Pepsi sign 12 to 15 years afterward. I fell 40 feet when a section of rebuilt road collapsed and broke my ankle.

Later, I took a job with the state, doing road maintenance on the Key Bridge like those poor guys who died.

I wake up every day at 6 a.m. and watch Morning Joe and the first image I saw after turning on the television [the day of the tragic crash] was the bridge collapsing. It brought tears to my eyes. The guys up there that night that lost their lives—my heart broke on that. I couldn’t believe that would ever happen.

Every time we that we’d drive over the bridge, I tell my grandkids that I helped build it. I don’t know if the average person understands how dangerous that work can be or not, to tell you the truth. I had a friend who was a cop and lived in our neighborhood. He said he wouldn’t do that kind of work. But I wouldn’t be a policeman, you know? I guess he understood what it was all about.

To me, it doesn’t matter if the new bridge is named the Francis Scott Key Bridge or if the design is similar in some way—as long as it’s safer. I mean, I thought that bridge was safe. We would talk about that—that the bridge would never come down. And then a damn ship as big as that [nearly 1,000-feet long, weighing more than 100,000 tons] knocked it off its haunches. That was shocking. You thought it was impossible.

Source

Sea Change

Aaron Hope — Mon, 28 Mar 2022 14:00:45 +0000

By Christianna McCausland

Photography by Mike Morgan

Opening Spread: New and renovated homes in Middle River can be seen by drone.
CAPTAIN WATERFRONT COURTESY OF SKIP TOLLEY OF EXP REALTY, HOMETRACK REAL ESTATE MARKETING

Real Estate

By Christianna McCausland

Photography by Mike Morgan

Opening Spread
New and renovated homes in Middle River can be seen by drone. COURTESY OF SKIP TOLLEY OF EXP REALTY, HOMETRACK REAL ESTATE MARKETING

April 2022

RICHARD HEAD CAUGHT ONE OF HIS FIRST fish on Bullneck Creek in Dundalk when he was 10 years old. His parents had moved to the area from New Jersey during the Great Depression because Bethlehem Steel was not only hiring, but also creating an entire town to house its growing workforce. With a $2,000 loan, his parents were able to purchase a home.

For Head, who is now 90, it was an idyllic childhood. When he was fishing on Bullneck Creek there was only one marina there, Martini’s, and a few houses surrounded by farms. During World War II, his mom and the other mothers in the neighborhood would take the kids to swim at the beach off Sollers Point Road. After high school, he got a job at Penwood Power Station in Sparrows Point. He did time in the U.S. Navy and got married while on leave in July 1952. After his military service, he and his wife bought one of the new homes being built in Dundalk’s Eastfield neighborhood for about $9,000. They lived there for 47 years and spent much of their time fishing and crabbing.

Today, Head lives on Bear Creek, only one creek over from his first fishing foray. He and his wife bought the home in the 1990s for about $80,000 and one of their sons lived in the cottage on the property while they continued to live in Eastfield.

“I never wanted to be on the water because of the upkeep on the piers and all,” says Head. Instead, he would trailer his fishing boat to community ramps. Still, he says, “I grew fond of [being on the water].” Eventually he and his wife sold their home and built a modular home at the back of the 100-foot-by-300-foot lot. They kept the original cottage as a workshop. The newer home sits on a gravel foundation and was raised about four feet to avoid flooding.

Homes built further back from the waterline and on higher ground are just one way the waterfront of Head’s youth has been completely transformed. In the decades he’s lived around Dundalk, Head saw the beaches closed due to pollution from the steel mill and areas that were once dirt roads and fields converted into homes and marinas. He saw Bethlehem Steel flourish, flounder, and close, and Amazon’s expansive distribution center open.

Still, the biggest change he’s seen has nothing to do with real estate.

“The biggest change is in the water quality,” says Head, who remains a passionate fisherman and keeps meticulous logbooks of his fishing trips. “I remember when you couldn’t swim here. You’d get this orange powder that would stick to your skin. Now I catch rockfish right off my pier.”

Improved water quality is just one more reason these communities are more attractive than ever before to homebuyers. Head’s pier is littered with the gear that denotes the life of a passionate waterman, including crab pots where he can pull in a nice catch to steam for dinner. From that same pier you can look a few yards up the creek and see the next wave of change in the neighborhood—a waterfront townhome community built in 2016-17 by Ryan Homes. Those homes sell from the mid-$300,000s to over $400,000.

Call it a renaissance—or call it gentrification. Whatever the case, homebuyers and developers are clambering to purchase waterfront homes near Baltimore that were once popular only with farmers, watermen, and factory workers. As demand for waterfront living increases and supply dwindles, areas like Dundalk, Middle River, and Essex are the last bastion of available waterfront homesites. Unlike other areas of the coast, these neighborhoods are only 30 minutes away from major metropolitan centers like Baltimore, Hunt Valley, and White Marsh. But while they were once considered affordable, the opportunity to snap up a bargain may already have passed.

Niya Davis is a realtor and associate broker with Harris Hawkins & Co., specializing in Baltimore City and eastern Baltimore County. As a child she lived for a time in Essex, too. While she doesn’t deal exclusively in waterfront properties, she’s seen the change in areas like Essex, Dundalk, and Middle River. Many of her buyers are escaping city life for the relatively slower pace of the county, and, unlike the more expensive areas like Owings Mills, these communities are at least relatively affordable.

Richard Head, 90, stands on his pier in Dundalk.

“These were strictly townhome communities at one time, but you see a lot more single-family communities, and new construction is hot now,” she says. “The demand is driving up, too. People didn’t always migrate to these areas, but with demand being high and inventory low, and with economic development like improved shopping centers, it’s driving people to them.”

According to Bright MLS, the region’s multiple list service, median sale prices (MSP) are on the rise across many of these areas. In Dundalk, MSP went from $150,000 in 2019 to $185,000 in 2021. Middle River went from $235,000 to $275,000 over the course of the same years. Spots in Anne Arundel County, like Edgewater, had been more affordable than their Annapolis neighbors. They too are now running an MSP of $474,450, a 14.3 percent increase over 2019.

The average goes up exponentially on the water. The waterfront properties that sold in Edgewater, Essex, Dundalk, and Middle River in 2021 ran the gamut from a tiny bungalow ripe for rehab at $199,000 to million-dollar mansions. The result is a median sold price of $715,000.

Davis says that there is a lot of real estate investing taking place. “People are rehabbing the older homes or tearing them down to build bigger homes while big name builders—Lennar Homes, Ryan Homes—are also coming in.”

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Zack and Rachael Belcher say waterfront living in Chase is perfect for families.

ZACK BELCHER AND HIS WIFE, Rachael, were not in the market to buy a home, much less one on the water. They happened to be walking their dog in Gunpowder Falls State Park when they saw a sign that said, “waterfront property for sale,” and they decided to take a look, just for fun.

“We weren’t looking for a house, but we fell in love with the property immediately,” says Zack. The lot was in Chase, Maryland, just north of Middle River. The three-quarter acre property had 100 feet of waterfront on the Bird River in a quiet neighborhood at the end of a dead-end street. The house, however, was less than awe-inspiring. Rachael explains that in the local vernacular it was what’s called a “shore shack.” The small, one-story bungalow had been temporary housing at Aberdeen Proving Ground at one time before being moved to the lot purchased by the Belchers.

The couple tried to put the vision of that waterfront property aside but couldn’t stop thinking about it. Finally, they went back and found the price had dropped. They ended up purchasing the property partially in cash for $215,000 in 2014. They immediately set about renovating the home to make it functional for themselves and their two sons, now ages five and seven. But shortly after getting the electricity turned on, the house suffered a fire and burned down. Both are, ironically, employed by the Baltimore County Fire Department—Zack as a driver, Rachael as a paramedic—but Zack also had previous experience working with a contractor. The couple designed a new home within the original footprint of the old home, as required by Chesapeake Bay Critical Area guidelines. By adding more floors, they were able to gain more square footage.

“Instead of going out we went up,” says Rachael.

The Belchers moved into the new three-bedroom, three-and-a-half bath home in 2016. They renovated the dilapidated bulkhead and built a pier. They now have room for their two boats and their kayaks. Despite being in a neighborhood, the house feels rural, and they enjoy the wildlife: turtles and singing tree frogs and especially the bald eagle nesting site across the water. The kids, they say with a laugh, are spoiled.

“We can jump in the boat and go for a half-hour boat ride when they get home from school without having to get the boat ready and trailer it somewhere,” says Zack.

The Belchers aren’t alone in their migration to the waterfront lifestyle. They have a few friends who have also recently moved to the area. “I think more people are recreationally crabbing and fishing, especially after COVID,” says Zack. “Lots of people were looking for boats and to be on the water just to be away from people.”

With new development comes the potential for conflicts. Dirk Schwenk, an attorney at Baylaw LLC in Annapolis, has been in maritime law for two decades, including a stint with the Port of Baltimore. Over the course of his years in practice he saw enough litigation related to piers, buildable area, view issues, encroachment, and general homeowner riparian rights—the rights one gets in buying waterfront property—that he made it his primary area of practice in 2010. Having seen the old three-season cottages disappear in his area, this is a trend he understands.

“Here, almost all that housing stock is gone and has been torn down and restarted,” he says. “For the few places that are left, you’re paying for the lot, not the house, and it’s really very expensive, so it doesn’t surprise me that eastern Baltimore County and even northern Anne Arundel County, areas that are traditionally blue collar, are under pressure.”

CAPTAIN WATERFRONT / COURTESY OF SKIP TOLLEY OF EXP REALTY, HOMETRACK REAL ESTATE MARKETING

In their enthusiasm to purchase a new home or tear down an old one, there are things potential homeowners can overlook. Most important is building codes. The first 1,000 feet from tidal water is the Chesapeake Bay Critical Area, and there are restrictions on how and what can be built in that area. Even more stringent, the first 100 feet from the water is the Critical Area Buffer, and any construction in that area faces significant restriction unless there’s already a structure on-site.

“As a caution, I would tell people that if there is a building on the property when they purchase it, no matter the condition, do not tear it down without a definitive plan of how you’re going to rebuild it,” Schwenk says. “If you’re right in the Critical Area, particularly if you’re within the 100-foot Critical Area Buffer, you’re not going to be able to rebuild unless you can absolutely demonstrate you’re rebuilding within the footprint of the pre-existing structure. By tearing down you lose the benefit of having something there to compare to.”

Schwenk says it’s essential to understand one’s riparian rights. While it may seem self-evident that when you buy a waterfront lot you can build a pier, that may not be the case. For example, in older waterfront communities it is not uncommon for the community association to own the strip of land near the waterline. That third party ownership can make it difficult to build that pier, says Schwenk. Additionally, if someone owns property between the lot and the waterline it also gets harder to defend one’s view of the water.

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715 SENECA GARDEN ROAD, MIDDLE RIVER / COURTESY OF LINDA FELTS OF SAMSON PROPERTIES, HOMETRACK REAL ESTATE MARKETING.

MANY OF THESE POTENTIAL obstacles can be seen by poring over land records but aren’t visible “in the real world,” which is why Schwenk recommends homebuyers pay the extra money for a boundary survey, not just a location drawing.

Of course, being mindful of floods is essential, including unforeseen costs associated with risk mitigation.

“If [the property] is prone to flooding, maybe two feet above mean high water, sooner or later it will need to be rebuilt on stilts,” says Schwenk. “And if it’s currently eroding or disappearing, how much will it cost and how quickly can a permit be obtained to construct a bulkhead or other protection from erosion?”

Flood risk is real, especially in this era of sea level rise. These neighborhoods have already been hit hard by Mother Nature; when Hurricane Isabel landed in 2003, it sent storm surge waters averaging six feet into homes. Many homeowners did not have flood insurance and had to sell, often to savvy buyers with the means to rebuild on raised foundations. So while the uptick in waterfront home sales may be more obvious in the recent COVID-induced real estate feeding frenzy, the area has been transitioning away from modest shore homes for a number of years.

Richard Head remembers well the surge lapping at his doorstep.

“When it flooded during Isabel it came within about a foot of the house,” he says. “It makes me wish I’d raised the house even higher than it is.”

One of the reasons the Belchers like their home’s site is that it sits 200 feet back from the water, which explains why it survived Isabel’s storm surge when many others in the neighborhood did not.

“Isabel took out a lot of the ‘shore shacks,’ and that’s why you see a lot of these newer homes, because the older homes were destroyed by the hurricane,” says Rachael. “We’re lucky as far as waterfront property goes that our risk for dangerous events is very low.”

The change in eastern Baltimore County after Isabel is a phenomenon John Mutscheller, 61, has seen as well. The former Hunt Valley resident has kept a boat in Middle River since 1982 and just became a fulltime Middle River homeowner. He says the real estate along the waterfront has changed dramatically over time, getting far swankier. It’s a change one might only see while cruising the area’s waterways by boat.

“Few people realize that when Isabel hit, a lot of the old summer shacks were flooded out—I mean flooded to the roofline—and they’re gone,” he says. “Those people had to sell their land because they didn’t have flood insurance, so the waterfront now has gorgeous homes.”

Mutscheller was done with the inconveniences of single-family homeownership and always said he would be the first person to buy if there was ever a condominium development on the waterfront. When he realized condominiums were being built just yards away from the Bowleys Marina where he keeps his boat, he and his wife were, indeed, the first ones to buy in. They purchased a 1,900-square-foot, two-bedroom, two-bath condo at Galloway Creek, a development of just 36 condos, each with waterfront views and a slip on its new pier. Construction began in 2020 and the Mutschellers just moved in.

“The views of the sunrise and sunset are just spectacular,” says Mutscheller. “Even though I’m still working, this is like being on vacation every day.”

COURTESY OF MAGILL GENERATIONS REALTORS/HOMEJAB/CURT ELLIS

“Middle River has had something of a bad rap, either for the element that’s there or the houses, but if you take a boat out, everything is gorgeous now,” he continues. “It’s a hidden gem that has obviously become a lot more attractive to people.”

One of the attractions of Middle River is the ease of life on the water. Mutscheller says there are at least five bars and restaurants where boaters can pull directly up to a pier, not having to anchor and use a dinghy or a tender as you do elsewhere on the bay. That attracts a fun group of boaters from all over the bay, one that gets especially lively in summertime.

Doug Magill of Magill Generations is the condominium’s exclusive sales agent. He states that the condos sell for $400,000 to $750,000. Perhaps a third of the buyers are purchasing the condo as a second home; others are retirees or downsizers. The pricing is more competitive than comparable condos in Annapolis, for example, where Magill says the units would be smaller or cost more. But the purchase is really one made for lifestyle.

“For many, the draw is their boat, to be able to live where the boat is, and to be here where they get a resort-like environment,” he says.

The Galloway Creek condominium development is rare and is the result of a long and contentious zoning battle. It is located on the site of a marina that never recuperated after Hurricane Isabel. The developer, who is also the property’s long-time owner, graded the land up 12 feet to be above the flood insurance requirement. The under-building garage adds another 14 feet.

These calculations are not lost on Mutscheller, who works in property casualty insurance. The extra height makes for great views, but it also mitigates flood risk. “If I were down there buying real estate, I would be very careful,” he says, “though most of the real estate that was rebuilt after Isabel is on pilings.”

Flood risk notwithstanding, most of the waterfront dwellers say they wouldn’t trade their lifestyle for the world. That said, it’s not all tiki bars and sunset cruises. One thing the Galloway Creek development fight brought to light was a battle between those who want to keep things as they’ve always been and those who see new opportunities in a more developed waterfront. There is an old guard and a new, and conflicts can arise.

But even those conflicts have lessened. Mutscheller says that the older generation who used to look askance at him when he first started pleasure boating in Middle River in the ‘80s have been mostly replaced by a younger generation that’s much more accepting.

When he does come across an old-timer, they’re often the ones who remember his dad, Jim Mutscheller, who was a tight end for the Colts from 1954 to 1962.

“Down there I run into people who will tell me they have a whole basement full of old Colts stuff,” he laughs.

One of the reasons the Belchers love their home is that it is in a close-knit community where everyone looks out for their neighbors. Still, Rachael has seen the different perspectives between old and new residents when she does home visits in neighborhoods like Bowleys Quarters.

“You can see the conflict between the old-school waterman families and the newer yuppie families coming in, but I also see them being respectful of each other,” she says. “The people who have been here for generations don’t consider living on the waterfront a sign of wealth or status; it’s a means of income and there are a lot of commercial fisherman and crabbers. For the new families it’s more of a status to have a home on the waterfront.”

While conflicts over how these coastal areas will develop in the future are not likely to go away, an even bigger, more immediate issue facing these communities is infrastructure.

“Since we’ve been here, in the area there’s been a major boom in houses but there’s not been a major boom in schools or roads,” says Rachael. As their children get older and concerns about over-crowded local public schools start to loom large on their horizon, the couple has spoken to a real estate agent to get a sense of what they might list the house for if they opt to move. The agent suggested they list the home for $750,000, a rather nifty return on their initial $215,000 investment.

But such appreciation in waterfront property values is par for the course. “I think five years ago you could have gotten a deal, but all the lots with the old shacks on them are mostly gone, from what I’ve seen,” says Mutscheller. “What is left now is going for a premium price.”

Richard Head takes changes in the neighborhood in stride and has no plans to move. His neighbor is a Dundalk transplant and young enough to be his grandson. They get on just fine. So long as there’s lunch at the Hard Yacht Cafe at the end of the street and the fish are biting, life is good in 21222.

2403 BEACH AVE, ESSEX / COURTESY OF TROY SMITH OF REAL ESTATE PROFESSIONALS INC., HOMETRACK REAL ESTATE MARKETING

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CLIMATE CHANGE AND THE FUTURE OF THE WATERFRONT

ILLUSTRATIONY BY MICHELLE KONDRICH

EVERY FIVE YEARS the University of Maryland Center for Environmental Science (UMCES) produces a report on sea level rise for the state. The last report, published in 2018, states that the “relative rise of mean sea level expected in Maryland between 2000 and 2050 is 0.8 to 1.6 feet.”

Sea level rise is a gradual process, but it is insidious, and it is real. “It is absolutely a risk to homeownership, for sure,” says Ming Li, a professor at UMCES.

While sea level rise may take time to be fully apparent, it’s already making itself known through increased high-tide flooding, that is, flooding that occurs outside of a major weather event. With gradually rising sea levels, a high tide can easily morph into a flood tide. Another report by UMCES notes that high-tide flooding used to occur just a few days a year in Annapolis in the 1950s. Now it occurs 40 or more days a year.

“You don’t need a hurricane or a tropical storm,” Li explains of high-tide floods. “A strong northerly wind could push water into the bay and drive the tide higher. People call me all the time and ask me why, on a sunny day, the water is creeping up their lawn.”

Homes continue to be built in vulnerable areas, too, outpacing construction in safer coastal zones in some states, according to a 2019 report created by Climate Central and Zillow, “Ocean at the Door: New Homes and the Rising Sea.” The report states that not only will devastating flooding increase, it will reach further inland. Between 2009 and 2017, Maryland added 682 homes valued at $345 million in what is considered to be a risk area.

Li says it’s important for homeowners to understand the risk, particularly if the home is intended to be a long-term investment. He cautions that we need to think bigger in our flood-mitigation efforts than bulkheads and more collectively than scattershot protection of low-lying areas.

“Everyone on the bay is connected. When a storm surge brings water into the bay and you’ve protected some low-lying areas, the water will just go somewhere else,” he explains. “This is a shared responsibility.”

FOR INFORMATION on how sea level rise may impact your area, check out the NOAA sea level rise tool or the Surging Seas Risk Finder.

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Monalisa Diallo in her Mondawmin home, near Druid Hill Park.

MONALISA DIALLO, 56, jogged from her rental home in Park Heights to Lexington Market the day after the Freddie Gray uprising. That same day she vowed to become a homeowner and make a positive impact in the city.

In 2018 she did just that, purchasing a four-bedroom, end-unit rowhouse in Mondawmin. (Diallo has since become an ambassador for Neighborhood Housing Services, which helps individuals achieve and maintain homeownership.) In addition to having room for her partner and grandchildren, the house has original wood floors, is walking distance to transportation, groceries, and the Dovecote Cafe, and, most importantly, adjacent to Druid Hill Park.

“My most favorite thing to do is the Dreaded Druid Hills,” she says, referencing the 10K race route that weaves through the park. “I walk that probably every day.”

Since she has seven grandchildren, the park and its lakes have been essential for kid nature walks and hikes. She also has an exercise group of four “mature” ladies who meet in the park to walk and run and bike.

Diallo says she made a calculation when she bought her home in 2018 for just $68,000. She knew the park was being renovated and it would improve the value of her investment. Now her home is worth $168,000. But she’s not selling. She wants it to build wealth for her grandchildren. And she wants to stay near her beloved park.

“I love to sit right at the edge at the backside of the reservoir, where the tower is,” she says. “You can see all of downtown, and when the daffodils come up in March right where the 28th Street bridge exits—it’s just so beautiful. I absolutely love it.”

SURE, YOU KNOW Canton and Fells Point and Federal Hill, but there are waterfront neighborhoods in the city beyond the harbor. We asked Live Baltimore, the city nonprofit dedicated to healthy housing, to reveal the best-kept secret areas on Baltimore’s other waterfronts.

COURTESY @ HISTORICHOMESOFBALTIMORE/JASON FREEMAN

Hanlon-Longwood—or just “Hanlon” for the long-term residents—is an established neighborhood in northwest Baltimore City that is rich in history and design. The community of grand 1920s to 1950s homes borders the west side of Hanlon Park and a reservoir known as Lake Ashburton.

Ashburton Reservoir (east of the Hanlon-Longwood neighborhood) is a major selling point for many longtime residents. It sits within the Olmsted Brothers-designed Hanlon Park, which spans 100 acres. The lake and the park surrounding it are major areas for fun and recreation. At one time, the lake was even a fishing spot.

The man-made lake was drained in 2018 as part of a federally mandated, four-year construction project to help preserve the safety of Baltimore’s drinking water system, but its restoration is right around the corner. Along with a newly designed Hanlon Park, the refreshed space will include a playground and additional green space to the north of the lake. Other neighborhoods in the areas to consider include Ashburton, Garwyn Oaks, and Forest Park.

COURTESY OF LIVE BALTIMORE/ PHYLICIA GHEE

Bordered by Clifton Park, Herring Run Park, and Lake Montebello, Mayfield in northeast Baltimore features an assortment of architecture, from authentic Victorians to bungalows and Tudor-style cottages, that is so varied the neighborhood was put on the National Register of Historic Places in 2004. A portion of its landscape was designed by the Olmsted Brothers landscaping firm. Yet plenty of people have never even heard of it.

Mayfield is a tight-knit neighborhood, and the sense of belonging is cultivated by an active community association, the Mayfield Improvement Association. The group oversees a spring fling to benefit the community playground, annual bulb and tree planting, and welcome baskets for new neighbors. The summer block party is a huge fête that has been taking place for more than 50 years.

With a 1.3-mile paved loop around the lake, complete with exercise equipment and a playground, beautiful Lake Montebello is a favorite spot for residents to walk, run, bike, and play. Stop by for the Market at Montebello on the fourth Saturday of the month in the summer and fall to pick up everything from produce and farm-fresh meat to vegan eats and soy candles. Also, don’t miss the Baltimore Running Festival, when residents line the lake path to cheer on runners. Other areas nearby include Coldstream Homestead Montebello, Belair-Edison, and Ednor Gardens-Lakeside.

COURTESY OF LIVE BALTIMORE/ PHYLICIA GHEE

Whether you’re looking for a brownstone, a small Italianate-style rowhome, a Second Empire-style home with an eclectic interior, or an ornate Victorian mansion, Reservoir Hill has something for everyone. Part of the neighborhood is even listed on the National Register of Historic Places. The neighborhood offers diversity of both demographics and housing styles and has ease of walkability to public transportation.

Perhaps the greatest draw to Reservoir Hill is its close proximity to Baltimore’s biggest backyard—Druid Hill Park. Within the park’s 745 acres there are playgrounds, tennis and basketball courts, a pool, the Howard Peters Rawlings Conservatory and Botanic Gardens, and, of course, Druid Lake, which features a lakeside loop trail.

Like Lake Ashburton, Druid Lake is also under construction as part of a federally mandated project to help preserve the safety of Baltimore’s drinking water system. Two covered storage tanks are being installed underground on the western edge of the lake. Once this project is complete, the lake itself will remain as a recreational amenity on a slightly smaller footprint with a new amphitheater, lighting, additional park space, and a new path for pedestrians and cyclists. Adjacent neighborhoods to consider include Parkview-Woodbrook (also referred to as Auchentoroly Terrace), Madison Park, and Bolton Hill.

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Photo Essay: Silent Spring

Lauren Cohen — Thu, 30 Apr 2020 08:00:00 +0000

A closed-off playground at Patapsco State Park. - Photography by Sean Scheidt

Under normal circumstances, freelance work, slower in the winter, picks up each spring, says Baltimore contributing photographer Sean Scheidt. This was how he found himself at Patapsco State Park in March.

“I was going stir crazy,” says Scheidt, who shot the following images. “My gym was closed. People told me to work on design projects, but I’m not a graphic designer. I needed to get out of the house and go for a hike.”

The restlessness is genetic. His grandmother has been a Dundalk crossing guard for 52 years, and it was all he could do to keep her inside while he made the grocery runs during the coronavirus outbreak.

In his neighborhood, Scheidt took pictures of church signs explaining services were canceled, a shuttered senior center, empty stores, and highway signs warning against large gatherings.

“At Patapsco, the first thing I saw was the closed playground,” he recalls. “It was eerie. Disconcerting. It’s a place for kids covered with police crime tape. I did a six-mile trail and put one foot in front of the other. It took my mind off things. I took the photograph when I got back.”

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The Bid & The Kid

Jess Mayhugh — Wed, 15 May 2019 08:30:00 +0000

Gerald Delp liked Ronnie Franklin from the start. “He was small, but he didn’t take any shit from anybody, and he was funny,” the 56-year-old Delp recalls with a laugh. “He was from Dundalk, and I grew up in Laurel. We clicked. Just the way you do with some people.”

As teenagers, they shared a mutual love of horse racing, girls, partying, and skipping school. Delp had known since he was 7 that he wanted to follow in the footsteps of his dad, legendary trainer Grover “Bud” Delp, and he quit school after the ninth grade. Franklin had no interest in school, either, or a Baltimore factory job (in the mid-’70s, when such things still existed) and he quit Patapsco High and went to Pimlico looking for a job, even though he’d never been near a horse in his life. “I was 13 and Ronnie was probably 15 when we first met,” Delp says. “We began walking horses together.”

A few years later, 40 years ago this month, Delp’s father trusted the reins of a colt he called “the greatest horse ever to look through a bridle” to then 19-year-old Franklin, who rode the race of his life at the Kentucky Derby, rallying a slow-starting Spectacular Bid past six horses into the winner’s circle. In front of 72,607 at Pimlico, The Bid—owned by Baltimore builder Harry Meyerhoff—and The Kid did it again at the Preakness, producing two of the biggest moments in local sports history in the span of two weeks.

Franklin, who passed away last March at 58 from lung cancer, went on to win 1,403 races and $14 million in prize money during a 15-year career. “Horses liked to run for Ronnie,” says Walter Cullum, Franklin’s nephew and a former jockey. “You have to be fearless, and Ronnie was, and he was strong, but his gift was in his hands and the way he communicated with them. God-given ability.” Delp recalls a horse named Pioneer Patty, so tightly wound she’d climb the walls of her stall. “We put rubber padding around to protect her from herself,” he says. “She was Ronnie’s first mount. He rode her to five straight wins.”

Bud Delp had sent a green Franklin to the Middleburg Training Center for experience, and it was there that Franklin first developed a bond with Bid, a charcoal gray yearling. By that time, Franklin, the youngest of six, had moved in with Bud Delp, who was raising his two boys, Gerald and Doug, by himself.

The road to the Derby and Preakness was not easy for Franklin, however. With such little experience under his belt, he was pulled at one point off Bid, clearly a thoroughbred with the potential to be one of the sports all-time greats. “He’d eat twice as much as a normal horse, a sign he wanted to work,” Gerald Delp recalls. Franklin got the mount back when Bid didn’t respond to seasoned Panamanian jockey Jorge Velásquez.

The road after the Derby and Preakness was not easy, either. Franklin and Bid missed their Triple Crown shot at the Belmont Stakes when Franklin took him out too fast. Shortly afterward, the young star was busted for cocaine, and addiction became an on-and-off struggle. “Ronnie loved people. He’d give you the shirt off his back,” says Gerald Delp. “We all have our demons, including me.”

Franklin was again working with horses in California when he was told he had Stage IV lung cancer in 2017. He returned Dundalk, which had welcomed him home after his Kentucky Derby victory with banners up and down Merritt Boulevard. Franklin, who told a reporter back in 1979, “I never had no dreams of being nothing until I came to a race track,” had remained close to his family throughout.

“He lived the life he wanted to live,” says Cullum, who was just 5 in 1979 when Franklin gave him his whip and dusty racing goggles from the Kentucky Derby as a keepsake. “He didn’t have many regrets,” Cullum continues. “The only thing he wanted was to live until May so he could go crabbing again. He didn’t quite make it.”

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Fall of Bethlehem Steel Chronicled in New Photo Exhibition

Ron Cassie — Wed, 08 May 2019 11:25:00 +0000

Raised in Dundalk and the son of a retired Baltimore City police officer, award-winning photographer (and occasional Baltimore magazine contributor) Joe Giordano witnessed first hand the fall of Bethlehem Steel and its blow to the workers, families, and fabric of his hometown.

His work has been featured in The Guardian, GQ, Rolling Stone, the Washington Post, and City Paper where he served as photo editor. Giordano’s “Struggle” series, his portraits of Civil Rights and Black Power-era leaders, is in the permanent collections at the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History and Culture and the Reginald F. Lewis Museum.

Giordano’s ongoing current project, Shuttered: Images from the Fall of Bethlehem Steel, opens with a preview Wednesday evening at the Baltimore Museum of Industry from 5:30-7:30 p.m. and then remains on exhibit through April 2020.

With his new show—amid renewed debates over trade and tariffs and the role of unions—we asked Giordano about the exhibition and its relevance today.

Other than growing up in the shadows of Sparrows Point, what prompted this decade and a half, continuing effort?
The pictures, I want to use as a warning. They aren’t intended as political, the idea started during the George H.W. Bush steel tariffs in 2002 when I started shooting for the paper [the Dundalk Eagle]. They are harbingers of corporate ownership.

They look like images of the post-industrial America. Why did you use the word harbingers?
General Motors and Unilever are gone. The Amazon warehouses and Wal-Mart and Under Armour will be gone someday, too, and Amazon isn’t going to worry about the impact on workers when they pick up and leave—not unless you get back to unions and have some representation. They just leave everybody behind.

The photographs convey a loneliness. The sense of abandonment is palpable.
Intentionally, there are no shots of molten steel, of the product being made. Everyone has seen those. These are photos of the hulking monsters (the weathered steel mills) that were left behind and the people left behind.

How many photographs are in the show?
About 30. I didn’t count [laughs]. But the installation looks great.

A lot of interesting faces. Faces and images of small houses, American flags, and unions hall that communicate a certain pride and dignity among the retired steelworkers.
In 2010, I was at union hall for an announcement of benefit and pension cuts. Some of the shots are the reactions from a lot of elderly people who counted on those benefits and pensions.

Growing up in Dundalk, you obviously knew guys or knew guys whose father or uncle who were steelworkers.
My grandfather didn’t work at Bethlehem Steel, but at Eastern Stainless in Colgate. They made some of the steel that went into the St. Louis arch. My 92-year-old grandmother still lives there.

At a time when so many fewer breadwinners are in union jobs, it’s almost impossible to imagine the huge role those unions and big mills and plants played in the community.
It wasn’t just working together, but working for a common good. They were not just wage employees; their lives were centered around the union. There are two union halls right next to each other on Dundalk Avenue. Obviously, they needed two. That should tell you something.

What have you learned from this project?
The importance of unions. I’m in my mid-40s and I think my generation took a lot for granted—like unions. Unions hurt themselves in the past, too, with some of their mob ties, bad investments, and poor leadership. But as the old guard fades away, I do think today that unions, like SEIU, are now are attracting younger laborers and that gives me hope and young leaders like New York Congresswoman Alexandria Ocasio-Cortez, who defends workers’ rights.

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Spin City

Jess Mayhugh — Thu, 24 May 2018 08:30:00 +0000

Sure, streaming is convenient. But you can’t flip through bins full of MP3s, and algorithms can’t beat a trusted recommendation from your friendly neighborhood clerk.

As our profile of the Arbutus Record Show suggests, there’s still an undeniable allure to vinyl. Maybe it’s the cover art, or simply the tangible object in our digital world, but vinyl record sales continued their 12-year climb in 2017, with sales topping the previous year by more than $1 million.

Whether you’re just jumping on the bandwagon or you’ve been collecting for decades, you’re sure to find something for your turntable at one of these local spots.

Baby’s On Fire
This young café-cum-record shop takes its name from a Brian Eno track, which is a pretty good indication of what you’ll find there. Match your coffee to your listening-station pick for a fun, multi-sensory experience: French pop pairs well with cafe au laits, while Fugazi begs for a double shot of Hair Bender espresso. 1010 Morton St., 443-885-9892.

Celebrated Summer Records
Looking to embrace your inner punk or hardcore headbanger? While the music inside this Hampden shop is of the messier variety, it’s also one of the best-organized record stores you’ll encounter. Check out the local section for releases from Baltimore bands like War On Women. 3616 Falls Rd., 443-866-9988.

El Suprimo
Packed with used finds, this Fells Point hole-in-the-wall is a haven for Baltimore music-heads who love the joy of the hunt. Whether you’re into Morrissey or Memphis blues, chat with Jack about your tastes. He might just dig out something special from the back. 1709 Aliceanna St., 443-226-9628.

Normal’s
This Waverly record and book store has recently updated its exterior, and inside you’ll find one of the best jazz selections in town, as well as notable additions to any collection (interested in a private press of early U2 demos?). Pick co-owner Rupert’s brain for insight on the store’s ever-expanding inventory. 425 E. 31st St., 410-243-6888.

Protean Books & Records
Books, music, games, movies, and more fill this eccentric treasure trove near M&T Bank Stadium. Used records run the gamut, with Jay-Z, JFK, and Miss Piggy all having been spotted in the bins. Brave browsers can also enjoy a quick scare at the oddities museum, Dr. Gloom’s Crypt of Curiosities, located in the back. 836 Leadenhall St., 410-227-3006.

The Sound Garden
After more than a quarter century (and being named one of Rolling Stone’s top record stores in the country), this beloved Fells Point music shop still stocks an abundance of new and used vinyl of every genre and price. Keep your eyes peeled for records from local artists and your ears open for the shop’s occasional concerts. 1616 Thames St., 410-563-9011

Trax on Wax
This local gem is a classic record store experience, with a friendly staff and packed bins of new, used, and rare music. Hit the reissue section for fresh copies of old favorites, such as Bowie’s whole range of Berlin recordings. It’s also a great place for newbies to check out equipment. Ask Gary or Jeff for help—those guys know everything. 709 Frederick Rd., Catonsville, 410-869-8729.

Ka-Chunk!! Records
If you’re in the Annapolis area, this solid shop hosts a sizable selection of new, reissued, and used LPs, plus live in-store performances and something good always spinning while you browse. One recent playlist included The Replacements, Leonard Cohen, and Ty Segall. 78 Maryland Ave., Annapolis, 410-571-5047.

True Vine
Established by friends with a love for “raw and non-traditional” music, this Hampden haunt is the place to go for music beyond our borders. Also dubbed one of Rolling Stone’s top record shops, its truly eclectic selection includes globe-spanning sounds from the “organ king of Cairo,” Belgian avant-rockers, and the Baltimore Club scene, just to name a few. 3544 Hickory Ave., 410-235-4500. [Editor’s Note 6/11/21: True Vine remains temporarily closed.]

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Down and Derby

Jess Mayhugh — Thu, 15 Feb 2018 08:30:00 +0000

On a Sunday night in December, it’s hard to find a parking spot in the Skateland lot in Dundalk. Inside the old skate hall, the arena is filled with eager spectators, all waiting to see a pack of elbow- and knee-padded women on wheels skate onto the oval track.

Soon enough, the scoreboard activates, the audience erupts in applause, and an organized chaos ensues as these fearless females strategically slam into one another and sprawl across the laminated floor.

This is a typical bout for the Charm City Roller Girls, Baltimore’s all-female roller derby league, now in its 13th year. While lesser known than the city’s big-name sports teams, these underdog athletes have garnered a loyal following for their serious athleticism and diehard commitment to this throwback full-contact sport.

“Players have to be on both offense and defense,” explains Boom Shocka Latke, last season’s fan favorite player.

Some 20 athletes make up each of the league’s six teams, with five on the track at a time: three blockers, one pivot, and one jammer. To win, a jammer must rack up points by passing her opponents during a series of short matches, or “jams.”

The games are rigorous and intense, but so is the process of joining the local league, with each player enduring a weeks-long boot camp and then, once they’ve made the cut, up to four practices a week and scrimmages throughout the off-season.

But newbies are still encouraged to tryout as women of all ages, shapes, skill levels, and professions form the league. It’s not unusual to see an attorney, a butcher, and a software engineer skating side-by-side under playful monikers.

“This sport allows people to embrace the badassery of what women can do with their bodies,” says Shema Toma, who joined the league at age 42. Adds Marv E Lust, a first-time member of the all-star team, “It doesn’t matter what your age, race, or sexuality is. If you want to skate, then join us.”

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What’s Up, Dock?

Jess Mayhugh — Fri, 11 Aug 2017 08:30:00 +0000

Bars come in every flavor from dive-y to classy with brewpubs in between. But when we’re craving a very specific type of summertime spot with creaky wooden decks, bright nautical signs, and a bit of salt in the air, we point our tillers due east and head to the bountiful dock bars of Baltimore County.

There are so many of these gems scattered along the waterfront that it would be impossible to hit them all in one afternoon, but we set sail nonetheless.

On our jaunt, we headed first to Row Boat Willie’s (9033 Cuckold Point Road, Sparrows Point, 410-477-5137), a dock bar adjacent to the family boat-rental marina on Millers Island. After Hurricane Isabel got the best of the bar in 2003, its owners rebuilt stronger than ever with an outdoor area that features live music on the weekends. The focus here is on the simpler pleasures of life, so a can of Natty Boh and nachos did us just fine. (Word to the wise: Willie’s is only open Thursday-Sunday.)

Next up was the tried-and-true favorite Hard Yacht Cafe (8500 Cove Road, Dundalk, 443-407-0038), located on Anchor Bay East Marina overlooking Bear Creek. Prime seats are on the outdoor deck where reggae music plays and happy hour starts at 2 p.m., which leaves plenty of time to get a head start on those $6 crushes, $5 appetizers, $4 rail drinks, and $3 domestic beers.

Go with a tart and refreshing lemon crush or the potent Bear Creek Smash with coconut rum, banana liqueur, orange juice, pineapple, and a dark rum floater. To balance out the booze, try the addictive egg rolls stuffed with crab dip and shrimp, served with a sweet red chili sauce.

The Seahorse Inn (710 Wise Ave., Dundalk, 410-388-1150), a dive on Oakleigh Cove where frequent kayakers, boaters, and Jet Skiers whizz by. There’s a colorful deck to take in the view or a beach to play horseshoes below, where we enjoyed an amusingly named Creek Wooder (pronounced in your best Bawlmerese)—the Dundalk version of a John Daly.

Our crawl concluded at Island View Waterfront Café (2542 Island View Road, Essex, 410-687-9799), near Rocky Point Park with a view of the boat-accessible Hart-Miller Island. In true creek-front style, there are even kayak rentals available right at the restaurant. Menu highlights included the half-and-half crab soup (half cream-based and half tomato-based) and the grilled shrimp tacos.

We also appreciated the local selection of beer—a dock-bar rarity—and the Baltimore Storm, a mix of Old Line Spirits rum and ginger beer. It was a perfect sipper for watching the sunset.

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Y Features Baltimore in First-Ever Paid Ad Campaign

Jess Mayhugh — Tue, 26 Jan 2016 13:33:00 +0000

What did they tell you that they wanted out of it?
They didn’t prescribe anything. We had free reign. That was kind of the beauty of it being their first ad campaign. They were happy to follow our lead.

Can you talk a bit about your creative process?
There were a couple of rounds before we nailed down the line ‘for a better us.’ It just felt like the truest space and like it was saying something that needed to be said now. Relevancy was really big for them. They’re an old organization, so they wanted to feel like the now.

Why did you decide to go with Baltimore as the featured community?
We explored a bunch of different places. We ended up working with the director Seb Edwards, who is actually from the UK. Baltimore was one of the communities we visited because it’s been in the media a lot for not great reasons. But we know the people in the community are amazing. That’s what the Y does, it tries to level the playing field. Everyone was so phenomenal, amazing, and collaborative. Everyone had a great story. The place, spiritually and emotionally, really captured us.

How long were you here in Baltimore filming?
We were there for about three-and-a-half weeks. We started out casting and we realized it was silly because there were so many great stories out in the real world. So then we started ‘street casting,’ met their friends, then friends of friends. We asked people what they do and where they hung out. It was important for us to keep it authentic. I think the area gets enough misconception. We wanted to shoot in an area of Baltimore that gets a bad wrap, so that was West Baltimore, which is a place we’ve heard about a lot recently. We shot ‘Idle Hands’ in Dundalk because we wanted something that felt a bit more suburban.

What do you feel is the overall takeaway from the ads?
I think the overarching slogan ‘for a better us’ is what we really wanted to bring to life in different ways. Everything the Y does is in service for making us better. It was important to show how that comes to light in different ways. The relevancy played a huge role. Over the course of working with them, we learned that it really is one of the only organizations to level the playing field for everyone. It’s an election year, we’ve seen a lot of issues in the news about Sandtown and West Baltimore. You never hear underlying stories of why these communities are actually in the news. It’s systemic and people aren’t given an equal shot. The Y is working in hundreds other communities like this around the country. They prop us all up and make us all better.

Will you be running similar ads with other cities in the future?
We haven’t really decided on our plan for the next year. We do have a couple of different pieces coming out following these two spots. One of them is very different in tone, it’s a little bit lighter. We also have a partnership with The New York Times [called “Reverse the News”]. It allows readers to counteract bad news in the press by donating to a local Y initiative that mitigates the problem. For example, if you’re reading a new study about diabetes, you’ll see an ad about how the Y is working to fight that cause.

How did you feel about Baltimore after spending some time there?
I have a really good friends who lives in Baltimore, so I had been there before. But I hadn’t spent much time in these communities. I think it’s like anywhere—you get to know a place by spending time there and eventually it reveals itself. We found that the people were really great and so that became the focus.

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Friday Replay: Ravens Win in Craziest Way Possible

Max Weiss — Fri, 04 Dec 2015 11:41:00 +0000

The Orioles traded for Mark Trumbo (lol), so where's Chris Davis going? It sure as hell won't be Baltimore.
— Adam Bernstorf (@IDoNotGiveAdam) December 2, 2015

Well the #Orioles told us everything we needed to know with the trade to get Mark Trumbo that we are not gonna re sign Chris Davis
— Matthew Jenkins (@DutchMatt187) December 2, 2015

I don't want Mark Trumbo I want Chris Davis
— Kyle Reinaldo (@KyGuy01) December 2, 2015

The Orioles insist they’re still in the hunt for Davis. (And reliever Darren O’Day, to whom they’ve made a competitive offer). I guess it’s always good to have a backup plan.

3. Terps hire new head football coach.
The Terps have got their man. After firing Randy Edsall on October 11, the 3-9 team had been in the hunt for a new head football coach. Lots of high-profile names came up: Tony Dungy, Mack Brown, former MD quarterback Frank Reich. But in the end, it was Michigan defensive coordinator, 37-year-old D.J. Durkin, who landed the job. While not exactly a household name, Coach Durkin has a few things going for him. Michigan’s defense was one of the best in the nation. Plus, he was a graduate assistant under Urban Meyer and a coordinator under Jim Harbaugh. If you can’t get the best, get a guy who learned from the best? Reports indicate that interim coach Mike Locksley is unlikely to return to the team.

4. Navy football racks up the awards.
Navy cruised to a 7-1 conference record (9-2 overall) it’s first year in the American Athletic Conference and it now has the hardware to show for it. Senior quarterback Keenan Reynolds was named AAC offensive player of the year—and is on the shortlist for the Heisman Award—and Coach Ken Niumatalolo was co-named coach of the year. We’re sure the rest of the league hates them already.

5. Dundalk Owls make first trip to State Championship.
Let’s focus on the positive, shall we? With junior quarterback Darrius Sample leading the way, the Owls had an unlikely and incredible season—and made it to the Class 3A football final for the first time. Alas, all good things must come to an end, as they were overmatched last night at M&T Bank Stadium by an experienced Damascus team, losing 55 to 14. But, while we’re seeing the glass half full, let it be known that Damascus stud running back Jake Funk, who scored seven touch downs last night (no, that isn’t a typo) is on his way to College Park next year to play for the Terps. D.J. Durkin must be licking his chops.

Source

The Chatter: November 2015

Jess Mayhugh — Fri, 27 Nov 2015 08:30:00 +0000

Beastly Art

September 3, 2015
North Charles Street

Surrounded by Egyptian mummies, a “unicorn” horn, Buddhist statuettes, a leopard skin—head attached—and a stuffed alligator, The Walters Art Museum’s Joaneath Spicer explains to the packed Chamber of Wonders crowd that Renaissance noblemen often collected curiosities from around the globe.

“Partly, it was trophy collecting, like today, but they were also trying to understand God’s plan. Astronomy has shown that the Earth isn’t the center of the universe as the New World and other cultures are being discovered by Europeans,” Spicer says. “A squirrel might not be proof of God’s handiwork, of a miracle, but a flying squirrel—that’s a different story. That you’d have stuffed.”

The curator of Renaissance and Baroque Art, Spicer is hosting this evening’s event, Memento Mori: A Night of Rogue Taxidermy, along with taxidermy artist and author Robert Marbury and the Hampden shop, Bazaar Baltimore.

Meanwhile, in the Sculpture Court, artists have created pop-up exhibits for an “alternative” taxidermy competition. Efforts include a pistol-toting rat standing on its hind legs, a mixed-media painting with actual pigeon wings, raccoon heads on dinner plates, and a loin-clothed “sacrificial” lamb nailed to a cross.

There’s also a “jackalope,” the mythical American creature described as a jackrabbit with antlers, and a similar taxidermied “porculope” by artist Karen Nemes, who trekked from Indiana for the show. “A friend found it [the deceased porcupine] alongside the road. I can’t tell you how many times I got pricked sticking its needles back in,” the bubbly Nemes explains. “I mean, I play with dead things. I’m just happy people here seem to like my work.”

London Calling

Dundalk Avenue
August 29, 2015

“Are you ready, Mod? Are you ready, Rocker? Get set . . . slow down!” the starter yells, whipping down his arm.

With that, “mod” Janet Gripshover, in big, round sunglasses and knee-high stockings, oh-so-gently throttles her sleek Stella scooter as her “rocker” husband—in black T-shirt atop a 1970 Honda 350 motorcycle—does the same.

The 6th annual Charm City Mods vs. Rockers highlight “race” is literally a contest of who can ride the slowest until one rival loses his or her balance. In their heat, Gripshover’s burly, bearded husband puts his foot on the ground first—to the cheers of rowdy fans behind Dundalk’s American Legion Post. “I get a lot of practice maneuvering in and out of our alley in Mt. Vernon,” she smiles.

Festivities also include vendor, club, and custom-builder displays, and music from the bouffant-sporting Fabulettes. Bikes and scooters vie for awards in various categories, including best “Retro,” “Modern,” “British,” and “Café Racer.”

It’s all a celebration of early-’60s British subcultures, which occasionally clashed on the front pages of London’s tabloids. “Café racers”—lightweight motorcycles with dropped handlebars—got their name from disaffected youth racing from one cafe to another and back, organizer Tim Carter says. “They’d put a song on the jukebox and the idea was to get back before it was over.”

For most, experiencing a similar thrill is still what riding is about. “That’s a ’74 Vespa Rally 200—sexy Italian body—with a 225, two-stroke engine that I put in,” says Nicholas Mulkey, a restoration specialist, pointing to his scooter. “Even with my fat, 210-pound ass, I can go 95 miles per hour on that thing.”

Pastime

September 4, 2015
York Road

At the State Fair’s Exhibition Hall, fans of baseball history stare in awe as they come across the nearly life-sized photos of Hall of Fame catcher Josh Gibson and pitcher Satchel Paige—and pictures of the Baltimore Elite Giants and old Bugle Field, which hosted the Negro World Series in 1943. Their eyes grow even wider as they meet Luther “Luke” Atkinson, 78, here in uniform, and learn he played second base for the Satchel Paige All-Stars.

The display is associated with the Hubert V. Simmons Museum of Negro Leagues Baseball in Owings Mills. “I started playing for $10 a week for the Wilson [NC] All-Stars. I signed on with Satchel Paige’s barnstorming team after he offered me $125 a month,” recalls Atkinson, who later got an invite to spring training with the Pittsburgh Pirates. “Saw Willie McCovey there, biggest 19-year-old kid I’d ever seen, hitting home runs into the Florida palm trees.”

Eventually told the Pirate’s organization did not have room for more black players, Atkinson kept playing for the colorful Paige, whose famous line about “Cool Papa” Bell being so fast he could turn out the lights and jump into bed before it got dark was actually based on a true story, Atkinson says. “Satchel and Bell were roommates and the room had a faulty, delayed switch. Satchel took bets.”

Paige was like Muhammad Ali, Atkinson adds. “He had eight pitches, but he’d always say he had three when someone asked: ‘The first one is good morning,’ he’d say. ‘The second is good afternoon and the third one is good night.’”

Source

The Chatter: February 2015

Jess Mayhugh — Fri, 27 Feb 2015 11:44:00 +0000

Cargo Vessels

Dunmanway

December 23, 2014

Amid the Christmas decorations, tree, and lights, sit hundreds of gift-wrapped shoeboxes, stacked along the walls of the cramped Stella Maris Seafarers’ Center in Dundalk. Sent by local churches, schools, and charities, and filled with toothpaste, shaving cream, gloves, and scarves—as well as pens and stationery for writing home—some 1,500 presents will be delivered by volunteers to seamen docked at the Port of Baltimore this season.

“The sailors come from all over the developing world: Sri Lanka, Indonesia, the Philippines, former Soviet bloc countries, most working on eight- to 10-month contracts,” says Monsignor John FitzGerald, who oversees the center, a mission of the Archdiocese of Baltimore. “It’s a lonely life. They miss holidays, the births of children, and funerals of parents.”

Part logistics hub, chapel—FitzGerald celebrates Mass in four languages—and Internet cafe, the center provides services to 12,000 seafarers a year, many of whom e-mail and Skype with family from its computers. Volunteer van drivers also offer seamen, often in dock for only 12 hours, the chance to refill prescriptions at pharmacies and, like the visiting Chinese seafarers today, to shop for themselves or loved ones at their favorite American stores like Walmart and Best Buy.

“Everything in the U.S., you can buy in China. Bose headphones, UGG boots, and iPhone 6, but it costs a lot more. [An] iPhone 6—$150 more,” says Jianteng Li, 36, in heavly accented English as his mates pose for photos in front of the center’s Christmas tree, still apparently an exotic religious artifact in a country that remains officially atheist.

“My wife e-mailed me,” Li shrugs and smiles. “She wants UGGs. Two pairs.”

King for a Day

South Linwood Avenue

December 30, 2014

There is free ice skating here later for kids participating in Baltimore’s 75th Annual Doll Show, but right now they’re busy playing with their favorite dolls—the term is applied broadly—and looking forward to the contest. It’s a beauty pageant of sorts for toys, and the rules are simple: entrants must be 14 or under and may only enter one doll in one category—such as foreign, antique, best stuffed, action figure, or most unusual. “The judges ask the kids questions about their doll, which is great, because they get to talk about something they love and be taken seriously,” says Trish Jefferson, who’s been coming since 1957 and is watching her granddaughter run around the rec room inside the Dominic “Mimi” DiPietro Family Skating Center.

One 5-year-old enters her obviously well loved, worn, stuffed panda, which she’s had, she explains, since meeting Tai Shan, a giant panda, at the National Zoo.

“How old is your panda?”

“One-hundred and thirty,” responds the girl, not missing a beat.

After the category winners receive their ribbons, two overall winners are named the show’s official King and Queen. Along with trophies, they’re handed authentic-looking crowns and seated in a throne for pictures. “Queen” Kimore Spencer, 12, won for her vintage, box-kept, African-American Barbie. Edward Clark, 11, won both “most unusual” and “King” honors for his dead baby shark, preserved in a jar. “A friend of my father’s brought it from Florida,” he says, proudly, noting it’s a blacktip shark as he points out the telltale fin markings.

Afterwards, in line for skates, he adjusts the crown still atop his head.

“I’ve never ice-skated before,” he admits, “but I’m not taking this off.”

Hampden’s Ball

34th Street

January 1, 2015

“Somebody get me the time,” pleads 58-year-old Bob Hosier, pacing in his row-house living room in a diaper, bonnet, and bib. Surrounded by friends and family—including an actual baby whose diaper is being changed on the sofa—Hosier is nervously trying to sync the televised New Year’s Eve ball-drop in Times Square with the light-post ball-drop he’s been rigging up in front of his house for the past two and a half decades.

“It takes 22 seconds for our ball to drop,” explains Hosier, who, along with starting the audacious holiday-decorating phenomenon known as the “Miracle on 34th Street,” appears each year as “Baby New Year” at midnight to anxious throngs. “If it took a full minute, I’d need a 60-foot pole and the city wouldn’t go for that.”

Just before the climatic moment, Hosier kisses his wife and daughter, and then, as fireworks fly, he opens his front door to wild applause, popping champagne as he waves to the crowd.

“There he is!”

“Hey, Baby New Year!”

“Oh, that’s one sexy diaper!”

Fortified by 100-proof Old Grand-Dad, Hosier mingles with members of the fawning, and, for the most part, only mildly intoxicated crowd, who offer toasts and kisses, rub his belly for luck, and pose for delirious selfies.

“You know,” says an onlooker to his girlfriend, “waiting for him to come out of his house every year, it’s like he’s our version of Punxsutawney Phil.”

“The difference,” his date smiles, scanning the beefy, nearly naked Hosier, “is just a little less hair.”

Source

Then and Now: The ‘Burbs

Jess Mayhugh — Fri, 23 May 2014 08:00:00 +0000

Dundalk

In 1916, Bethlehem Steel Corporation purchased 1,000 acres to build housing for nearby Sparrows Point workers. With winding, tree-lined streets modeled after the garden-city design of neighborhoods like Roland Park, Dundalk became a haven for blue-collar, middle-class families. It’s also become known for its July Fourth parade and annual Heritage Fair—a three-day Independence Day celebration.

Towson

Towson, like many of the city’s surrounding communities, blossomed as a true “streetcar suburb.” It’s growth was supported by service from the No. 8 streetcar line, pictured below circa 1950, which shuttled between the Baltimore County seat and Catonsville via the city center. At 16-plus miles, the No. 8 was the longest line in the country and, in November 1963, the final one to cease operation.

Downtown Towson is undergoing another renaissance with a recently renovated and expanded Towson Town Center, plus a new $300 million “transformation” project announced last year by county officials.

Columbia - Courtesy of Design Collective Inc., for Howard Country Department of Planning and Zoning

Columbia

Howard County

The brainchild of developer James W. Rouse, Columbia was created upon the ideals of racial, religious, and economic diversity—hard to come by in suburban 1960s America. Rouse’s vision included attracting enough businesses to create an economic base for his new city, and building a mix of detached single-family homes, townhouses, and apartments available at rents and prices to match the income of all local workers. The first residents moved in in 1967, and the planned community, encompassing 10 self-contained villages, hasn’t looked back.

Bengie’s Drive-In

Opening June 6, 1956, the Middle River theater is entering its 59th season of showing first-run features on its giant screen, purported to be the largest in the U.S.

Gino's Restaurant - Courtesy of The Baltimore Museum of Industry

That was then, this is now

Gino’s Restaurant

Named after Colts defensive end and restaurant co-founder Gino Marchetti, the first Gino’s opened in Dundalk in 1957. The franchise was bought out in 1982, and its last burger joint closed in 1986. Marchetti and his partners revived the company in 2010, and the Towson location opened in 2011, followed by locations in Glen Burnie, the stadiums, Aberdeen, and Bensalem, PA.

Source

Dundalk – Baltimore Magazine

This Pharmacy on a Quiet Corner in Dundalk is a Whiskey-Lover’s Best-Kept Secret

“IT’S MORE OF A COMMUNITY THAN A CLUB.”

Amid Ongoing Grief and Unresolved Legal Issues, the Rebuilding of the Key Bridge Begins

News & Community

March 2025

—PHOTOGRAPHY BY WESLEY LAPOINTE

—PHOTOGRAPHY BY WESLEY LAPOINTE

Above: Carmen Luna, whose husband Miguel Luna was killed in the Key Bridge collapse, speaks beside a memorial photo of her husband at a press conference.—PHOTOGRAPHY BY WESLEY LAPOINTE

Preliminary designs for the new bridge.—COURTESY OF MARYLAND TRANSPORTATION AUTHORITY

Maria Aldana at the Baltimore Museum of Industry conducts interviews.—PHOTOGRAPHY BY J.M. GIORDANO

COMMUNITY OUTREACH

THE WIFE OF A KEY BRIDGE VICTIM HOLDING A FLOWER. —PHOTOGRAPHY BY WESLEY LAPOINTE

ORAL HISTORY

THE HAWKINS POINT MEMORIAL HONORING THE SIX MEN WHO DIED IN THE KEY BRIDGE COLLAPSE, INCLUDING MURALS BY TEXAS-BASED ROBERTO MARQUEZ. —AP PHOTO/MARK SCHIEFELBEIN

ORAL HISTORY

CRISIS AND THE LAW

The Singapore-flagged Dali container ship after its March 26, 2024 collision with the Francis Scott Key Bridge.—PHOTOGRAPHY BY WESLEY LAPOINTE

Retired Local 16 Ironworker Frank Piccione with a photo of his Key Bridge crew.—Photography by J.M. Giordano

WORKING HISTORY

Two stages of the Francis Scott Key Bridge under construction in the mid-1970s. Cars and trucks approach the FSK toll plaza before heading over the iconic truss bridge. —COURTESY OF THE MARYLAND DEPARTMENT OF TRANSPORTATION

—PHOTOGRAPHY BY J.M. GIORDANO

WORKING HISTORY

—PHOTOGRAPHY BY J.M. GIORDANO

WORKING HISTORY

Sea Change

Opening Spread: New and renovated homes in Middle River can be seen by drone. CAPTAIN WATERFRONT COURTESY OF SKIP TOLLEY OF EXP REALTY, HOMETRACK REAL ESTATE MARKETING

Real Estate

By Christianna McCausland

Photography by Mike Morgan

Opening Spread New and renovated homes in Middle River can be seen by drone. COURTESY OF SKIP TOLLEY OF EXP REALTY, HOMETRACK REAL ESTATE MARKETING

April 2022

Richard Head, 90, stands on his pier in Dundalk.

⇓ Article continues below ⇓

Zack and Rachael Belcher say waterfront living in Chase is perfect for families.

CAPTAIN WATERFRONT / COURTESY OF SKIP TOLLEY OF EXP REALTY, HOMETRACK REAL ESTATE MARKETING

⇓ Article continues below ⇓

715 SENECA GARDEN ROAD, MIDDLE RIVER / COURTESY OF LINDA FELTS OF SAMSON PROPERTIES, HOMETRACK REAL ESTATE MARKETING.

COURTESY OF MAGILL GENERATIONS REALTORS/HOMEJAB/CURT ELLIS

2403 BEACH AVE, ESSEX / COURTESY OF TROY SMITH OF REAL ESTATE PROFESSIONALS INC., HOMETRACK REAL ESTATE MARKETING

⇓ Article continues below ⇓

CLIMATE CHANGE AND THE FUTURE OF THE WATERFRONT

ILLUSTRATIONY BY MICHELLE KONDRICH

⇓ Article continues below ⇓

Monalisa Diallo in her Mondawmin home, near Druid Hill Park.

COURTESY @ HISTORICHOMESOFBALTIMORE/JASON FREEMAN

COURTESY OF LIVE BALTIMORE/ PHYLICIA GHEE

COURTESY OF LIVE BALTIMORE/ PHYLICIA GHEE

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Photo Essay: Silent Spring

The Bid & The Kid

Fall of Bethlehem Steel Chronicled in New Photo Exhibition

Spin City

Down and Derby

What’s Up, Dock?

Y Features Baltimore in First-Ever Paid Ad Campaign

Friday Replay: Ravens Win in Craziest Way Possible

The Chatter: November 2015

Beastly Art

London Calling

Pastime

The Chatter: February 2015

Cargo Vessels

King for a Day

Hampden’s Ball

Then and Now: The ‘Burbs

Dundalk

Towson

Columbia

Bengie’s Drive-In

Gino’s Restaurant

Opening Spread: New and renovated homes in Middle River can be seen by drone.
CAPTAIN WATERFRONT COURTESY OF SKIP TOLLEY OF EXP REALTY, HOMETRACK REAL ESTATE MARKETING

Opening Spread
New and renovated homes in Middle River can be seen by drone. COURTESY OF SKIP TOLLEY OF EXP REALTY, HOMETRACK REAL ESTATE MARKETING