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	<title>Frederick Douglass &#8211; Baltimore Magazine</title>
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	<title>Frederick Douglass &#8211; Baltimore Magazine</title>
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		<title>Decades Before the Civil War, Maryland Funded a Colony in Liberia to “Resettle” Free African Americans</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/maryland-funded-african-american-resettlement-colony-in-liberia/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Ron Cassie]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Mon, 05 Feb 2024 20:31:05 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[History & Politics]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[American Colonization Society]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[enslaved individuals]]></category>
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		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Liberia]]></category>
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		<category><![CDATA[Rev. Daniel Coker]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Stephen Allen Benson]]></category>
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Liberia, c. 1860s. —Courtesy of the Maryland Center for History and Culture, PP161.I.24</figcaption>
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			<p>Stephen Allen Benson was six years old when he emigrated to West Africa. Born on Maryland’s Eastern Shore in 1816, he sailed from Baltimore on a brig named <em>Strong</em> with his free-born African-American parents and four older and two younger siblings. His father, a 36-year-old Cambridge farmer, and mother, a 30-year-old weaver, no doubt had high hopes for themselves and their children when they departed the Baltimore harbor.</p>
<p>Though not enslaved, the Benson family was part of a group of 37 leaving behind the brutal racism endemic to the country of their birth for the promise of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in the fledgling private colony of Liberia (literally “land of freedom”).</p>
<p>Motivated by the domestic politics around slavery and their own white nationalism, prominent Southern white Americans, including Maryland lawyer Francis Scott Key, had founded the American Colonization Society several years earlier. As an alternative to emancipation and citizenship, their answer to the growing “problem” of free Black Americans was “resettlement” in Africa.</p>
<p>Things took a tragic turn for the Bensons, however, after landing in Monrovia on Aug. 8, 1822, as it did for so many of their fellow passengers. Most of the African Americans aboard ships funded by the American Colonization Society would die from malaria and disease and in confrontations with the native West African populace. Stephen’s mother succumbed to disease three years after their arrival. Four of the Benson children died similarly over the ensuing two years. Underscoring the inevitable contentiousness of colonializing inhabited land, 16-year-old Joseph Benson was shot to death months after arrival by what his brother Stephen described as “an attack of the natives.”</p>
<p>Maryland, with other slave states, including Mississippi and Kentucky, later formed its own resettlement colony under the American Colonization Society umbrella in what is today’s Liberia. In fact, after seceding from the American Colonization Society, the short-lived Republic of Maryland—now the Maryland County in Liberia—became an independent country. More than half of the African Americans who ultimately emigrated to Liberia were emancipated on the condition of deportation to West Africa.</p>
<p>Stephen Benson would survive and, emblematic of Liberia’s settler colonialist roots, become the nation’s second president after it declared independence from the U.S. in 1847.</p>

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			<h4 style="text-align: center;">HE BELIEVED IT WAS BETTER TO “DIE IN MARYLAND THAN BE DRIVEN LIKE CATTLE TO&#8230;LIBERIA.”</h4>

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			<p>Not surprisingly, Liberia has struggled with its dual heritage—a mix of minority Black Americo-Liberian settlers and indigenous Africans—since the constitution, “For the Government of the African Colony of Liberia,” was written 100 years ago.</p>
<p>“Liberia continued to mean different things to different people,” writes Claude Clegg, a Black historian of the African diaspora at the University of North Carolina, in <em><a href="https://uncpress.org/book/9780807855164/the-price-of-liberty/">The Price of Liberty: African Americans and the Making of Liberia</a></em>. “Those who had come from America looking for liberty sometimes found a semblance of what they sought, but very few discovered absolute freedoms untampered by hardships and sacrifice.”</p>
<p>For many, however, it was worth the risk. “Particularly, for ex-slaves,” Clegg writes, “freedom meant legalized personhood, civil rights, and a documented existence. In essence, it was the unfettered ability to create one’s own familial, communal, and civic relations in a land beyond the overbearing control of white people.”</p>
<p>The role and identity of free and formerly enslaved African Americans evolved quickly in Liberia, taking a complex, empowering, but also surreal turn. With support from their U.S. backers, the Americo-Liberians constructed a replica of the antebellum society they had fled, oppressing the native population and denying them the right to vote, which still has political reverberations in Liberia.</p>
<p>“The Americans, in this case, are repeating what global, British colonizers did,” says local historian Lou Fields, author of <em><a href="https://www.amazon.com/FREEDOM-SEEKERS-Abolitionists-Antebellum-Baltimore/dp/B08KH3TDGL">Freedom Seekers: Early Abolitionists in Antebellum Baltimore</a></em>. “Britain laid down a philosophy that says go somewhere, take somebody’s land, call it yours. Put people in charge, give them all the guns, and they’ll make the rules and regulations and tell the poor people, ‘You’re just a laborer, you don’t have much say.’ Unfortunately, we still see that elsewhere in the world today.”</p>
<p><strong>The bonds between</strong> the country we know as Liberia, uniquely allied with the U.S. since its inception, and Maryland are profound, if generally little known. Stephen Benson was followed in office by Daniel Warner, who was born in Baltimore County to a formerly enslaved person and departed with his father and family aboard the <em>Oswega</em>, arriving in the teetering settlement of Monrovia in 1823.</p>
<p>Liberia’s capital, with a population of more than a million people today, Monrovia was named 100 years ago this month for then-President James Monroe, one of the largest slaveholders in the U.S. at the time and a staunch colonization advocate. (In a 442-page memorandum to Congress in 1845 from slaveholding President John Tyler, Black Americans emigrating to Liberia were documented as “recaptured Africans.”)</p>
<p>It was not until 1904, after Baltimore-born Garretson Gibson, who emigrated in 1845 and served a four-year term in office, that Liberia saw its last American-born president. Other prominent Americans who supported the colonization movement included Speaker of the House Henry Clay, Secretary of State Daniel Webster, and President Abraham Lincoln, whose views on race would evolve during the Civil War.</p>
<p>Johns Hopkins made a small, one-time donation to the cause. John McDonogh, in whose name the McDonogh School was founded in Owings Mills, refused to free those he enslaved unless they agreed to deportation to Liberia. He eventually sent 118 formerly enslaved individuals to West Africa on American Colonization Society ships as part of an incentivized manumission “work” program on his New Orleans plantation.</p>
<p>The motivations behind those who supported colonization efforts are not easily unpacked 150-200 years later. Some could no longer tolerate slavery but, believing freed African Americans could not make it in a white society, viewed their “return” as a moral effort. Others recognized that slavery was a doomed institution and preferred deportation to citizenship. Meanwhile, slaveholders simply did not want free Black individuals near enslaved African Americans, fearing they’d encourage escape—or worse, revolt.</p>
<p>Frustrated with the pace of colonization, which he said would take “centuries,” McDonogh proposed a 50-year “removal” plan akin in theme to the infamous Trail of Tears. In an April 1830 letter to his friend, Louisiana Sen. Edward Livingston, McDonogh suggested marching free Black Americans to the Northwest Territory—similar in concept to the removal of Native Americans from the South, which would begin the following month and last two decades:</p>
<blockquote><p>
“How would it accord, Sir with your ideas, to have the country belonging to the U.S. on the North West Coast set aside by law as an asylum or place of refuge for the free people color of the United States where they might establish either a government of their own or become a state of the union forming a part of the American confederacy.”
</p></blockquote>
<p>In the U.S., the colonization effort had the opposite effect intended by its slaveholding founders—it galvanized early abolitionists. In the eyes of former Morgan State University historian Benjamin Quarles, the colonization movement “originated abolitionism,” arousing the free Black community and slavery opponents. The overwhelming majority of 19th-century African Americans saw through the embedded racism of the era’s white liberalism.</p>
<p>In his pioneering book, <a href="https://www.amazon.com/Black-Abolitionists-Paperback-Benjamin-Quarles/dp/0306804255"><em>Black Abolitionists</em></a>, Quarles makes the case that the “colonization scheme had a unifying effect on Negroes in the North, bringing them together in a common bond of opposition.” Certainly, it had that effect in the Washington and Baltimore area.</p>
<p>“There might have been a little support for colonization initially [in the Black community],” says Scott Shane, author of<em> Flee North: A Forgotten Hero and the Fight for Freedom in Slavery’s Borderland</em>, whose protagonist, Thomas Smallwood, supported colonization before his 1831 manumission and then reversed his stance. “I suspect Smallwood might have been influenced by Black abolitionist writer David Walker in this famous [1830] essay in which he denounces colonization in the strongest terms. I think there was a change of heart in the Black community, at least in Washington and Baltimore. There are recorded public meetings where people basically get together and say, ‘Screw these people.’”</p>

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			<div class="vc_single_image-wrapper   vc_box_border_grey"><img decoding="async" width="1200" height="767" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/RS10107_1885-3-1_view-of-cape-palmas_maryland-in-liberia_CMYK-1.jpg" class="vc_single_image-img attachment-full" alt="" title="RS10107_1885-3-1_view of cape palmas_maryland in liberia_CMYK (1)" srcset="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/RS10107_1885-3-1_view-of-cape-palmas_maryland-in-liberia_CMYK-1.jpg 1200w, https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/RS10107_1885-3-1_view-of-cape-palmas_maryland-in-liberia_CMYK-1-768x491.jpg 768w, https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2024/02/RS10107_1885-3-1_view-of-cape-palmas_maryland-in-liberia_CMYK-1-480x307.jpg 480w" sizes="(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px" /></div><figcaption class="vc_figure-caption">Painting of the “Republic of Maryland,” a settlement established in Liberia by the Maryland Colonization Society, c. 1835. —Courtesy of the Maryland Center for History and Culture, 1885.3.1. Gift of John Hazelhurst Boneval Latrobe</figcaption>
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			<p><strong>The brig <em>Strong</em></strong> was not the first the American Colonization Society sent to West Africa. Two years earlier came the <em>Elizabeth</em>, which carried 86 emigrants, including the Rev. Daniel Coker, a remarkable figure in the history of the Black church in the U.S. and eventually, West Africa.</p>
<p>An African American of mixed heritage born into slavery in Baltimore, Coker, after gaining his freedom, served as the first official pastor of the historic Bethel African Methodist Episcopal Church on Druid Hill Avenue. Arriving initially in Sierra Leone, where the British had formed a colony of free and formerly enslaved Black individuals in Freetown, Coker became one of the founders of the West African Methodist Church.</p>
<p>Remarkably, the journal he kept of his voyage, chronicling his seasickness and then his heartbreak after learning of the death of nearly 400 enslaved Africans aboard a captured Spanish slave ship, survives to this day. So do letters to his wife, mother, and brother in Baltimore from his earliest days on West African soil. In one dispatch to his brother, he writes his group has met “such trials” and that only a handful of his cohorts remained together, and provisions were running low. He refers to his new home as “a strange heathen land,” adding he had not heard from America and does not know whether more people or provisions will be sent. He admits he does not know “what is to become of us, far distant from my dear family and friends,” but his faith in his mission and God is steadfast. Coker implores everyone who is able to follow his path:</p>
<blockquote><p>
“If you ask my opinion as to coming out—I say, let all that can, sell out and come; come, and bring ventures, to trade, etc. and you may do much better than you can possibly do in America, and not work half so hard. I wish that thousands were here, and had goods to trade with. Bring about two hogsheads of good leaf tobacco, cheap calico, cheap handkerchiefs, pins, knives and forks, pocket knives, etc.; with these you may buy land, hire hands, or buy provisions. I say come—the land is good&#8230;”
</p></blockquote>
<p>Interestingly, William Watkins, who attended and later ran the Bethel Charity School in Baltimore which Coker founded, rejected the invitation. He became, with <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/frederick-douglass-exile-in-ireland-1845/">Frederick Douglass</a>, among others, one of colonization’s most vocal opponents.</p>
<p>In 1827, Watkins penned a letter to<em> Freedom’s Journal</em> urgently reminding readers that many prominent colonization supporters were slaveholders who wished to remove the influence of free Blacks on those enslaved. He also wrote anti-colonization and anti-slavery essays for the Baltimore newspaper <em>Genius of Universal Emancipation</em> while becoming acquainted with journalist and abolitionist William Lloyd Garrison, who had initially supported colonization. Garrison credited Watkins with changing his views and their relationship linked Baltimore’s Black community with the larger abolitionist movement.</p>
<p>Watkins believed it was better to “die in Maryland, under the pressure of unrighteous and cruel laws than be driven like cattle to the pestilential clime of Liberia.”</p>
<p>It goes without saying, even free Black men and women in Maryland did not have statutory guarantees of their rights before Emancipation. (Watkins, like so many liberty-seeking African Americans, eventually emigrated to Canada.) They could not vote, testify in a trial, or sit on a jury. They paid taxes, but their children could not attend public school.</p>
<p>The laws in Maryland, and elsewhere in the South, worsened after the 1831 Nat Turner slave rebellion in neighboring Virginia. In May 1832, the General Assembly banned free African Americans from other states from moving to Maryland—and prohibited free African Americans from returning to Maryland after leaving for employment elsewhere. New legislation denied free African Americans in Maryland from owning firearms without permission from local officials.</p>
<p>By the end of the decade, the state passed legislation that could, for all intents and purposes, re-enslave free African Americans by permitting courts to sentence forced servitude for debts, vagrancy, and some criminal convictions.</p>
<p>Four months after Turner’s uprising, the Maryland legislature allocated $10,000 annually for 26 years “for the transportation and removal of emigrants to Africa.” Maryland representatives subsequently purchased land from native peoples just south of the Liberian settlement in Cape Palmas.</p>
<p>The deportation effort struggled from the outset, however. In a report to the Maryland State Colonization Society’s board, one of the state’s traveling “recruitment” agents clearly summarized the reasons that African Americans overwhelmingly opposed colonization. They unyieldingly believed they were as entitled to the human rights set forth in the Declaration of Independence as all others born here.</p>
<blockquote><p>
“They [free Blacks] are taught to believe, and, do believe, that this is their country, their home. A Country and home, now wickedly withholden from them but which they will presently possess, own and control. Those who Emigrate to Liberia, are held up to the world, as the vilest and veriest traitors to their race, and especially so, towards their brethren in bonds. Every man woman and child who leaves this country for Africa is considered one taken from the strength of the colored population and by his departure, as protracting the time when the black man will by the strength of his own arm compell those who despise and oppress him, to acknowledge his rights, redress his wrongs, and restore the wages, long due and inniquitously withholden.”
</p></blockquote>
<p>From 1831 to 1851, only 1,025 emigrants—a fraction of manumitted African Americans in the state—were sent to Liberia. Colonization had been an issue upon which white supporters and opponents of slavery found common ground—as well as at least a handful of African Americans. Some of whom, it should also be remembered, persisted and thrived on foreign ground.</p>
<p>“I expect to give my life to bleeding, groaning, dark, benighted Africa,” Daniel Coker later wrote to Baltimorean Jeremiah Watts. Coker died in Freetown, Sierra Leone, in 1846, but not before founding the African Methodist Episcopal (A.M.E.) Church there and helping establish a lasting community. His descendants would become prominent citizens and leaders in Sierra Leone and Nigeria, where they remain to this day.</p>
<p>Decades after his death, his family would still recall their roots in Baltimore. In a letter from November 1891, West African A.M.E Bishop Henry McNeal Turner recalls a visit from two of Daniel Coker’s great-great granddaughters, 20-year-old Jane Coker and 11-year-old Susan Coker, describing them as “two beautiful ginger-cake-colored children, and very smart and bright.” He explained that they had “called upon me to inquire about their relatives in Baltimore.”</p>
<p>Jane Coker, Bishop Turner noted, worked as an interpreter for the missionary United Brethren of America among the native tribal population. “She wishes to visit Baltimore, but money is wanting,” Turner writes. “I told her if she dared to visit Baltimore&#8230;she would never get back; that the people would feast and honor her to death&#8230;”</p>

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		<title>The Gritty History (and Gentrification) of Fells Point</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/fells-point-baltimore-250-year-history-grit-gentrification/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Aaron Hope]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Fri, 09 Jun 2023 13:26:50 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[History & Politics]]></category>
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<p>
<b>THE OUTBREAK OF WAR IN 1812</b>, a disconcerting letter from Capt. Richard
Moon to the Secretary of the Navy was reprinted in <i>The Weekly Register</i>, a Baltimore-based
magazine among the most widely read of its era.
</p>
<p>
Referring to himself as the “[former] commander of the privateer Sarah Ann,”
Moon reported his Baltimore-commissioned schooner had been captured. Worse,
Moon wrote, the British claimed six members of his crew were, in fact, treasonous
subjects of the king and “are to be tried for their lives.” Among those imprisoned was
George Roberts, described as “a coloured man and seaman” and someone Moon knew
to be born in the U.S., married, and living in Baltimore. Only following further correspondence between diplomats did the seamen escape execution.
</p>
<p>
After his release from a Jamaican prison, Roberts continued to fight the British
on the high seas, signing on as a gunner aboard the Chasseur. Newly constructed in
the shipyard of Thomas Kemp at the corner of Washington and Aliceanna in Fells
Point, the topsail schooner quickly became the best-known of the swift Baltimore
clippers. In 1813, the Chasseur raided six British vessels, sending all but one up in
flames when they were finished. The following year, its crew, including Roberts,
divested another dozen and a half British merchant ships of their cargo, the spoils
shared among its captain, seamen, and shipowner. (During war, the difference
between pirates and privateers depended upon one’s perspective. Governments in
need of naval help sanctioned the often lucrative, if risky, seizure of its opponent’s
vessels by normally illegal means.)
</p>
<p>
The Chasseur, from which the popular <a href="https://chasseurbaltimore.com/">Southeast Baltimore bar</a> takes its name,
also became famous for boldly proclaiming a single-handed blockade of the British
Isles. In total, the Fells Point docks were home to 58 such privateering vessels,
credited with the capture of more than 500 ships. The attempted British invasion of
the Baltimore harbor in the fall of 1814 (think “Star-Spangled Banner”) was in good
measure to rid the “nest of pirates” from Fells Point.
</p>

<p>
<p>
When the Chasseur returned and saluted Fort McHenry after the war’s end, its
crew were hailed as heroes. The already legendary schooner was dubbed the “Pride
of Baltimore.” Its ship’s captain, the renowned Thomas Boyle, who had lost men
in battle and had been wounded himself, praised Roberts for displaying “the most
intrepid courage.” Readjusting to civilian life as a free Black carpenter and laborer,
the ex-privateer purchased a home for $150 on Ann Street in Fells Point. Such was
Roberts’ reputation, that over the ensuing decades, despite the horrific racism of the era, he marched in uniform alongside the city’s prominent citizens
on civic occasions. His 1861 obituaries—he lived to 95—recalled
his patriotism, “many hair-breath escapes,” and desire to always
be remembered as “one of the defenders of his native city should
the necessity have arrived [again] to take up arms in its defense.”
His “brave character,” it was noted, was “adorned with amicable
[and charitable] disposition,” such that “news of death will cause
heartfelt sorrow.”
</p>

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<h5 class="captionVideo thin"><center>Battle
between the
<i>Chasseur</i>, a Fells
Point privateer, and
British schooner
<i>St. Lawrence</i> off
Havanna, 1815. <i>—Adam Weingartner, public domain, via Wikimedia Commons</i></center></h5>
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<p>
Roberts’ service was not unique, however. It’s estimated 20
percent of the War of 1812 privateers were African American. Other
Black Americans, free and enslaved, worked in Fells Point’s busy
shipyards, building the vessels that undid the British navy and merchant
fleet. (In a terrible irony, they were also forced to caulk ships
used in the foreign and domestic slave trade.)
</p>
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<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Free Black seaman
and a hero of the
War of 1812,
George Roberts <i>—Courtesy of the Maryland Center for History and Culture, PVF</i>
</h5>

</div>
<p>
It’s no coincidence the Caulkers Association, one of the first
Black trade unions in the U.S., was formed in Fells Point or that a
Black former ship’s caulker named Isaac Myers founded the Chesapeake
Marine Railway and Dry Dock Company in Fells Point, a
cooperative that employed 300 workers at its peak. Nor is it a coincidence
that <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/from-fells-to-free-celebrating-frederick-douglass-200th-birthday/">Frederick Douglass</a> learned to read and write in Fells
Point and escaped slavery posing as a free Black sailor. The same
month that Douglass escaped from Fells Point, 133 people of African
descent were shipped from Baltimore to New Orleans for enslavement
on Louisiana plantations.
</p>
<p>
Some 250 years ago this month, on the cusp of the American
Revolution, Baltimore City annexed both nearby Jonestown and
Fells Point, taking its early shape. But from its clipper ships and
compelling Black history to its yellow fever outbreaks and child labor horrors; from its boarding houses, brothels, and
bars to its inflow of Polish immigrants and landmark
<a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/senator-barbara-mikulski-daughter-of-polish-grocers-rise-to-the-senate/">“Stop the Road” battle</a>; from its rebirth in the 1970s to
its ongoing gentrification—the iconic waterfront neighborhood
with its “Belgian block” cobblestone streets
has a gritty, colorful, complicated story all its own.
</p>
<p>
And let’s not forget the tales of sailors getting
shanghaied from Fells Point pubs; or the tattooed,
hard-drinking, blacksmith and ward boss George Konig
Sr., whose election-day street fights with the Know-Nothings in the 1850s were straight out of <i>The Gangs
of New York</i>; and a certain bar where <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/edgar-allan-poe-baltimore-charm-city-culture-history-poetry-poet-festival/">Edgar Allan Poe</a> is
said to have had his last bender. Its narrow lanes and
alleyway are filled with secrets and stories.
</p>
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Fells Point reflections. <i>—Video by J.M. Giordano</i>
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<span class="firstCharacter"><img decoding="async" STYLE=" width:auto;" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/05/JUNE_FellsPoint-T.png"/></span>
he hamlet that sprouted on the small,
hook-shaped peninsula on the northwest
branch of the Patapsco River was on land
purchased by Quaker William Fell, who
followed his brother Edward here from Lancashire,
England. It’s a bit confusing because all the male Fells
seem to be named either William or Edward, but it was
William’s son Edward, a colonel in Maryland’s provincial
army, who first laid out the budding town’s streets
in 1763. The Fell family cemetery, awkwardly squeezed
today between rowhouses on Shakespeare Street, contains
the remains of William Fell, his son, Edward Fell,
and his son, William. (There was no Admiral Fell. The <a href="https://www.admiralfell.com/">Admiral Fell Inn</a>, it's been said, takes its name from an episode
about a drunk admiral, not named Fell, stumbling into
the harbor—“the admiral fell in.” Management at the inn
has changed hands since it opened in 1985 and says the
name is merely a play on words, but it’s too good of a story
not to repeat.)
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Early Fells
Point developer,
Ann Bond Fell. <i>—Courtesy of the Maryland Center for History and Culture, 1986.105.4</i>
</h5>

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<p>
Edward Fell advertised his plan to sell plots of his land
near “Baltimore-Town, Maryland on a Point known by the
Name of Fell’s-Point” a year earlier in the old <i>Maryland
Gazette</i>. Grammarians will note the apostrophe after the
family name, which has dropped out of general use, but not
without heated debate over the years. More importantly,
it was not Col. Edward Fell who ultimately developed the
wooded, 100-acre lot he inherited on the water and the
surrounding 3,000 acres he consolidated. He died at 33.
Rather, it was his first cousin and wife, Ann Bond—once described
as “the <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/city-of-hope-jim-rouses-columbia-md-turns-50-years-old/">Jim Rouse</a> of her day”—who sold the plots.
</p>

<p>
Wealthy in her own right, Ann Bond Fell proved a shrewd
businesswoman. She vigorously promoted Fells Point,
which was competing with Baltimore Town for investment.
She fended off gossipy attacks in the local broadsides and
rumors of unhealthy water in Fells Point. She also struck
up forward-thinking contracts, which stipulated that purchased
property would revert to her if not developed within
two years. (The City of Baltimore might take a cue from Ms.
Fell in its dealings with developers and slumlords.) She later
remarried a well-to-do county landowner, but not before she
made him sign a prenuptial agreement, ensuring her holdings
would be passed down to her children.
</p>
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<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
18th-century
Fells Point street
map. <i>—Courtesy of the Society for the Preservation of Federal Hill and Fell’s Point.</i>
</h5>

</div>
<p>
If it isn’t obvious yet, the neighborhood street names—Ann, Bond, Fells, as well as Lancaster, Thames, Shakespeare,
Aliceanna, Caroline, Bank, Gough, Wolfe, and Washington—
date to this 1700s period, marking “The Point” as
one of the oldest active waterfront communities in the country.
Fleet Street, it’s believed, pays homage to Capt. Henry
Fleet, a British Chesapeake Bay explorer. Other names have changed. Wilk Street, now Eastern Avenue, was known as “the
Causeway”—a notorious stretch of “houses of ill-fame” frequented
by sailors. Market Street became Broadway, which since 1786 has
been home to one of the <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/fooddrink/five-things-to-know-about-broadway-market-in-fells-point/">city’s oldest public markets</a>.
</p>
<p>
The names of Fells Point’s lively alley streets have changed,
too. Though not necessarily for the better. Strawberry Alley, home
to the Methodist church attended by Frederick Douglass as a young
man, became Dallas Street. (Douglass later returned and built five
rowhouses on the street, including one available on Airbnb, that
remain to this day.) Happy Alley became Durham Street, which
today is full of murals and mosaics celebrating the girlhood home
there of Billie Holiday. The alliterative Argyle and Apple Alleys
were renamed Regester and Bethel Streets.
</p>
<p>
The rebranding of the “alleys” to “streets” after the Civil War
might be considered the first attempt at gentrification in Fells Point.
</p>
<p>
The leveling of two majority-Black alley streets—sections of
Dallas and Spring, part of a “slum clearance” effort on the edge of
Upper Fells in the late 1930s—might be the second. They were demolished
to make room for white immigrant families—in what became
the Perkins Homes housing project. Recently, the majority Black residents of Perkins Homes have been moved
out and the low-rise Perkins buildings have been
knocked down in favor of a new mixed-use development,
which is supposed to include a percentage of
housing that is affordable for its former tenants.
</p>
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<h5 class="captionVideo thin"><center>Pay day for the stevedores, c. 1905. <i>—Library of Congress</i></center></h5>
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<span class="firstCharacter"><img decoding="async" STYLE="width:auto;" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/05/JUNE_FellsPoint-R.png"/></span>
emarkably, the streets of Fells Point, like
many in the earliest years of the city,
were not formally segregated during its
so-called “golden era,” which peaked
with the War of 1812 and lasted until the Civil War.
(Baltimore’s infamous housing segregation law,
which stated that no Black resident could move onto
a block in which the majority of the residents were
white and vice versa, came in 1910.) All seven of the
residential alleys in Fells Point had white and Black
households, as Mary Ellen Hayward, author of <i>Baltimore’s
Alley Houses</i>, discovered when she examined
the city’s first directory to note “householders of color”
in 1808. Eight of the larger streets, too, were at least somewhat integrated with Black caulkers, laborers,
laundresses, blacksmiths, barbers, and their
children—a trend Hayward traces through subsequent
directories. When Douglass, known as Frederick
Bailey as a boy, lived in Fells Point with the
slave-owning Auld family, “a [nearby] German baker
had a shop on the southwest corner of Aliceanna
and Happy Alley,” Hayward writes, “but there was
also a ‘colored grocery’ on the same block.”
</p>
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<p>
Two of the oldest wooden homes standing in
Fells Point, at 612 and 614 Wolfe Street, became
homes to Black caulkers in the 1840s and 1850s.
All during these decades, as tobacco receded as an
economic driver in Maryland, the free Black population
in Fells Point and Baltimore grew dramatically.
</p>
<p>
Two of the more unlikely stories of the period
involve a self-taught Black artist named Joshua Johnson 
and a French-speaking Black Cuban immigrant
named Elizabeth Clarisse Lange, both of whom lived in 
Fells Point. Born into slavery, 
Johnson, became an accomplished and sought-after formal
portrait artist and is
recognized as the first African-American professional painter in the United States. Lange, meanwhile, is under consideration by the Vatican for canonization.
From 1818 to 1828, with fellow immigrant
Marie Magdelaine Balas, she offered previously unavailable
free education to children of color out of
her Fells Point home. Later known as Mother Mary
Lange, she founded the <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/educationfamily/mother-mary-lange-school-first-baltimore-catholic-elementary-to-open-in-60-years/">first permanent African-American religious order of nuns</a>, the Oblate Sisters of Providence,
and the school that evolved into Saint Frances Academy in East Baltimore
(and recently graduated the 2023 NCAA Women’s Basketball
Tournament Most Outstanding Player, Angel Reese).
</p>
<p>
But even with the presence of Douglass, who, at about 12 years
old, purchased his first book, <i>The Columbian Orator</i>, from Nathaniel
Knight’s bookstore on Thames Street—perhaps worth consideration
as Baltimore’s first radical bookshop—it is not correct to view Fells
Point through the lens of slavery and abolition, says local Black historian
Lou Fields.
</p>
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<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Black maritime business owner Isaac Myers, c. 1875. <i>—LIBRARY OF CONGRESS</i>
</h5>

</div>
<p>
“The proper lens is economic, it’s about the building of Baltimore,
and because the Inner Harbor is naturally shallow and Fells
Point has a deep water port, that’s where life gets started,” says
Fields, who has been leading Douglass tours of Fells Point for 23
years. “At that time, it was a maritime community. Everybody was
working to make a dollar, a quarter, or whatever it was.” He notes
that some of the first whites to come to Baltimore from Europe were
indentured servants: “The first Blacks who came to The Point, like
the first whites, came to supply a labor force to clear land, build
houses, and build roads.” Landowners found they were more suited
to the work than the Indigenous people—Baltimore is part of the
ancestral land of the Susquehannock and Piscataway tribes—so
they brought in more enslaved people from the Eastern Shore and
Southern Maryland.
</p>
<p>
“That said, Frederick Douglass’
life changed dramatically because
he was sent to Baltimore,” continues
Fields. “He might not have survived
otherwise. But once he’s here,
he also sees Black men, women, and
children auctioned off at the foot of Broadway and others separated
from their families and put on ships headed to New Orleans.”
</p>
<p>
Eventually, Douglass joins the East Baltimore Improvement Society
on what is now Durham Street, where he gains some education
from older free Black ship caulkers and meets his future wife. There
were physical confrontations between white workers and Black
workers for jobs on the docks—and Douglass nearly gets killed when
he’s attacked by several men—but he also writes about a pair of Irish
immigrants who encourage him to escape.
</p>
<p>
“The light broke in upon me by degrees. I went one day down on
the wharf of Mr. Waters; and seeing two Irishmen unloading a scow
of stone, I went, unasked, and helped them,” recalls Douglass in
his 1845 memoir. “When we had finished, one of them came to me
and asked me if I were a slave. I told him I was. He asked, ‘Are ye a
slave for life?’ I told him that I was. The good Irishman seemed to be
deeply affected by the statement. He said to the other that it was a
pity so fine a little fellow as myself should be a slave for life. He said
it was a shame to hold me. They both advised me to run away to the
north; that I should find friends there, and that I should be free.”
</p>
<p>
“Fells Point is a place with a lot of history, a lot of issues, a lot
of different people from all walks of life thrown together in a tight
geographic area,” Fields says. “It’s the most fascinating neighborhood
in the city.”
</p>
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<h5 class="captionVideo thin"><center>Local historian
Lou Fields stands next
to the Frederick Douglass
memorial sculpture.<i>-Photography By J.M. Giordano</i></center></h5>
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y the 1960s and into 1970s, much of Fells
Point was set for demolition. Viewed by city
leadership as a waterfront slum, Fells Point
was deemed better to pave than preserve.
The shipbuilding yards had disappeared with the
advent of the steamship, which required a deeper channel
than even Fells Point offered. The canning industry,
which overlapped and then replaced the shipbuilding
industry and once filled more than a hundred packing
houses around the harbor, had all but disappeared as
well, following longer growing seasons and a booming
trucking industry to the south and west.
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<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Tugboats at Fells Point, circa 1950s.<i>—Photography by Tom Scilipoti</i>
</h5>
</div>

<p>
Rukert Terminals on Brown’s Wharf remained
one of the last surviving cargo warehouses in operation.
The toxic Allied-Signal chromium plant in now-rebranded
Harbor Point was still a major employer.
However, there were few others beyond the sprawling
<a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/community/h-s-bakery-at-70/">H&S Bakery</a> plant.
</p>

<p>
Synonymous with Fells Point since 1878, Baker-Whiteley’s tugboats remained a daily sight on the
water, echoing the past as the neighborhood’s future
became the subject of intense debate, activism, and
lawsuits. (The tugboats would leave, too, in the early 1980s, moving to Locust Point after the New York-based
McAllister Brothers acquired Baker-Whiteley. In
general, port business didn’t so much leave Baltimore
as migrate further out around the harbor from Fells.)
</p>
<p>
Meanwhile, transportation planners laid out an
east-west expressway across Lancaster Street to connect
I-70 in the west to I-83 in the center of Baltimore—with I-95 east of Fells Point, one of the final
pieces of Maryland’s interstate network.
</p>

<p>
The city told residents the highway was inevitable,
and their rowhouses and businesses stood in the way
of progress. With few options, many took the marketpriced
checks and relocation fees and left, some happily
no doubt, for the suburbs. Whole blocks, almost
a hundred homes and structures in all, were condemned
to make room for a massive interchange over
today’s Harbor East and a six-lane, elevated highway
through the heart of Fells Point’s historic district.
</p>
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<p>
It was in the middle of the Fells Point “Stop the
Road” citizen uprising in 1972 that <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/fooddrink/berthas-fells-point-closure-regulars-pay-respects-to-bar-that-changed-the-neighborhood/">Tony and Laura
Norris</a> stumbled across a dingy bar called The Lone
Star among the vacant rowhomes and dilapidated
boardinghouses. Both were musicians and teachers,
but Laura had gotten ill and couldn’t work for a period
and while they were figuring out what to do next, a
friend ventured to Fells Point looking for office space.
Unable to find anything suitable, a realtor pointed
him toward a small saloon for sale. “He came back
and said, ‘Let’s buy a bar,’” the now-82-year-old Tony
Norris recalls. “So, I called a Baltimore friend who was
in California teaching, and said, ‘Loan me $3,000,’ or
whatever it was for the down payment. At that time,
you could buy almost everything in the neighborhood.
I think we paid $14,000 for the liquor license
and the building, but there wasn’t much there. There
was an old room in the back that had a kitchen that
had never been finished. One of our customers who
was handy said, ‘Well, I’ll help fix the kitchen up.’”
</p>
<p>
Among some junk and antiques in a midtown garage, Norris
found a stained glass window dedicated to the memory of a mysterious
Bertha E. Bartholomew, which went on display with back lighting
behind the bar. That memorial window provided the inspiration for
one of the city’s beloved institutions of the past half-century, and
most well-traveled bumper sticker ever—EAT BERTHA’S MUSSELS.
</p>

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<h5 class="captionVideo thin"><center>From top: Bertha’s
owners Laura and Tony Norris
in front of their beloved
bar and restaurant today; the memorial stained glass
window and the inspiration
for the name of Bertha’s.<i>—PHOTOGRAPHY BY J.M. GIORDANO</i></center></h5>


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<p>
When Bertha’s opened, a few other bars changed hands and an
otherwise-declining neighborhood—that easily could have gone the
way of Philadelphia’s waterfront community, which had recently been
waylaid for I-95—became invigorated by an unlikely youth movement.
</p>
<p>
Which isn’t to say there weren’t colorful old joints or neighborhood
stalwarts that stuck around. There were always a lot of bars (and
complaints about bars) in Fells Point, the nature of an old port of call.
Helen’s Corner, run by Helen Christopher, whose merchant marine
husband had been lost at sea, catered to tugboaters. Now the Admiral’s
Cup, Christopher sold it in 1985 with the stipulation she could
continue living upstairs for the rest of her life. <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/fooddrink/jimmys-restaurant-to-reopen-celebrating-old-and-new/">Jimmy’s Restaurant</a>,
a greasy spoon and gathering spot for shift-workers and politicians
alike, had been around since the late ’40s. The Acropolis night club,
owned by the same Greek family, featured belly dancing. Miss Irene’s
at Thames and Ann—home to The Point today—remained a smokey, rough-around-the-edges bar with cheap beer, a big
pool table, and hard-drinking regulars.
</p>

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<h5 class="captionVideo thin"><center>Leadbetters
Tavern, the Cat’s Eye
Pub, and The Horse You Came In On in the 1970s.<i>—COURTESY OF THE SOCIETY FOR THE PRESERVATION OF FEDERAL HILL AND FELL’S POINT</i></center></h5>
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<p>
But The Thames Café (“Thames and Dames”) got
sold and remade as Leadbetters Tavern, named after
the blues musician Lead Belly. A well-known Baltimore
figure named “Turkey” Joe Trabert opened
Turkey Joe’s a few doors from Bertha’s. A 1775-built
tavern called Al’s and Ann’s on Thames Street was
rechristened The Horse You Came In On in 1972, after
a long-haired, twentysomething named Howard Gerber
bought it with a down payment won at Pimlico.
Things were a bit looser in those days. The day that The Horse You Came In On opened, a friend of Gerber’s literally
rode a horse through the front door and up to the bar. Some believe
the saloon is not only the oldest continuously operating bar in the
U.S., but also the last stop of Edgar Allan Poe before he was found
delirious in the street on Election Day 1849. (One theory holds Poe’s
death resulted from a Mobtown practice known as “cooping,” in
which eligible voters were kidnapped, drugged, or forced to drink,
and then disguised to cast multiple ballots.)
</p>
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<p>
In 1975, Irish-American Kenny Orye, who convinced some he
ran guns for the IRA, and Tony and Ana Marie Cushing opened the
<a href="https://catseyepub.com/">Cat’s Eye Pub</a> on Thames Street, taking their name from a West Virginia
distillery where Orye’s uncle bought his moonshine. Contrary to what’s been published elsewhere,
Ana Marie Cushing says with a smile,
the previous Harbor View tavern
there had not been a biker hangout,
but a lesbian bar. By the late 1970s
and early ’80s, the Cat’s Eye’s back
room had become a place to be after
closing time, recalled Steve Bunker,
a former seaman who operated the
nearby China Sea Trading Company with a parrot perched on his
shoulder. “At 3 a.m. you could run into politicos, hookers, sailors,
deal-makers, illegal Irishmen, riffraff, and refugees,” Bunker, who
now lives in Maine, wrote years later in the Fells Point newsletter.
“You didn’t ask too many questions about your stool mates, you just
drank your beer, passed a joint, and enjoyed the company.”
</p>
<p>
Before Orye died from an overdose at 33 in 1987, he organized
an Irish wake at the Cat’s Eye for a departed IRA leader. It was equal
parts publicity stunt to raise awareness for the IRA cause and joke
on city officials and the press: The body in the casket wasn’t real.
Five years after Orye’s death, longtime Cat’s Eye bartender Jeff
Knapp, who normally resembled Abe Lincoln and once snuck into
the St. Patrick’s Day parade dressed as the patron saint of Ireland,
was honored with a New Orleans-style jazz parade for his funeral.
</p>
<p>
Ghost tours of Fells Point claim the ghosts of Orye and Knapp
still work the Cat’s Eye bar.
</p>
<p>
The music and bar crawl culture developed over time as more
pubs opened kitchens and got permits for live music. But things
were not excactly popping in the early ’7os. “When [Bertha’s] first opened, someone would say, ‘Let’s go over to The Horse
or the Cat’s Eye for a beer’—there was this sense we
were all in it together—and you’d get into your car and
drive around the corner and have no trouble parking
right in front,” the now-84-year-old Tony Norris says.
“It was that empty down here.”
</p>
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<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Dreamlander
Edith Massey in
front of her store, Edith’s
Shopping Bag.<i>—EAST BALTIMORE DOCUMENTARY PHOTOGRAPHY PROJECT COLLECTION. SPECIAL COLLECTIONS, UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND, BALTIMORE COUNTY.</i>
</h5>

</div>
<p>
The Fells Point art scene had begun blossoming
earlier. By the late ’60s, the old Hollywood Bakery on
Broadway had turned into a full-blown artist colony of
former Maryland Institute College of Art students. Divided
into 22 rooms and studios, the entire place rented
for $100 a month, giant bakery ovens included. Others
began squatting in and renting previously condemned
houses from the city while the “Stop the Road” fight
continued in the courts. By 1973, at least 15 houses that
the city had bought out earlier were rented to people
who wanted to live in and repair them. A $7,500 home
went for $75 a month with the generous provision that
repair materials could be deducted from the rent—the nascent start of a now-50-year rehabbing movement.
</p>
<p>
The Fells Point Gallery, founded in 1969 by MICA alumni, became a
destination. Then, a second-hand bookstore opened. Many still looked
down upon “seedy” Fells Point at the time, but others saw it as Baltimore’s
version of Greenwich Village. The <a href="https://www.fpct.org/">Fells Point Corner Theatre</a>,
now in Upper Fells, raised its first curtain, appropriately, at the corner
of Shakespeare and Broadway in 1970. The still-thriving <a href="https://www.vagabondplayers.org/">Vagabond
Players</a> moved into the former Corral’s Bar on Broadway in 1974.
</p>

<p>
In the late ’60s, John Waters, Glenn Milstead, aka Divine, and
friends began making pilgrimages to Fells Point, finding new partners
in subversion. MICA graduate Vincent Peraino, who was among
the influx of artists, became Waters’ set designer. Susan Lowe, a
painter who later dated Orye (some of her paintings still hang in the
Cat’s Eye), appeared in nearly every Waters film. Other Fells Point
Dreamlanders included Mink Stole, George Figgs, Paul Swift, Peter
Koper, and Bob Adams. “The Hollywood Bakery, that was Vincent’s
commune, and it was right next door to Pete’s Hotel, where <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/edith-massey-the-egg-lady-in-her-own-words-actress-john-waters-films/">Edith
Massey</a> worked as a bartender and we hung out,” Waters recalls with
a laugh. “It was the worst possible time down there and it was the
cheapest possible place. Drinks were 30 cents. Divine hated it. He
called it a ‘hobo bar.’”
</p>
<p>
Waters shot all over Fells Point and Massey opened a thrift store,
<a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/edith-massey-the-egg-lady-in-her-own-words-actress-john-waters-films/">Edith’s Shopping Bag</a>, with Adams following her memorable appearance
as “the Egg Lady” in Waters’ 1972 movie hit,
<i><a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/pink-flamingos-john-waters-divine-celebrates-50th-anniversary/">Pink Flamingos.</a></i>
</p>
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<p>
“Fells Point was welcoming to all kinds of people,
that was the thing that was so amazing,” Waters continues,
noting he once did a fashion shoot at the Apex
adult movie theater on Broadway, which somehow coexisted
among the churches and families in Upper
Fells. “Paul Swift would jump up and dance naked
on the bars. They weren’t gay bars. It was gay and
straight. It was trans. Trans even then, and everybody
really got along. It was just cultural outlaws that didn’t
fit in their own minority.”
</p>
<p>
“The artists would hang around with the tugboat
guys and stevedores in the bar—we used to open at 8
a.m. for guys getting off their night shifts—that’s just
how it was then,” says Cushing.
</p>

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<h5 class="captionVideo thin"><center>Fells Point
Fun Festival, late 1960s,
with a “Stop The Road”
banner hanging on the
side of a building.<i>—COURTESY OF THE SOCIETY FOR THE PRESERVATION OF FEDERAL HILL AND FELL’S POINT</i></center></h5>
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<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
The Art Gallery building,
c. late 1970s.<i>—COURTESY OF THE SOCIETY FOR THE PRESERVATION OF FEDERAL HILL AND FELL’S POINT.</i>
</h5>

</div>
<p>
At the same time, pioneering preservationists had
moved to Fells Point. One visionary was Lu Fischer,
who lived in Ruxton and was married to a doctor but
bought a waterfront rowhouse with intentions of restoring
it, unaware a highway was planned through
her block. “Perhaps no other town on the eastern seaboard
boasts 18th-century houses facing the water
such as we have here in Fells Point,” she wrote in a letter
to <i>The Sun</i> in 1966. Former Councilman Tom Ward
helped found the <a href="https://www.preservationsociety.com/">Society for the Preservation of Federal
Hill and Fell’s Point</a> the following year. Bob Eney,
who’d grown up in Dundalk before a stint in the Army
and a career as a department store display artist in
New York, was another champion. Photographing and
documenting some 200 homes and buildings, Eney
led the successful campaign to get Fells Point listed
on the then-new National Register of Historic Places
in 1969—the first inclusion from Maryland—wooing
officials with walking tours, drinks, and dinners at
Haussner’s in nearby Highlandtown.
</p>

<p>
According to Eney, one of then-Vice President Spiro
Agnew’s female staffers, who secretly supported the
Fells preservationists, passed their completed National Register forms to Agnew to speed approval. Not realizing the obstacle
that placement on National Register would present to the highway he
and local contractors favored, Agnew dutifully forwarded them on and
“in three days we were on the National Register,” Eney recalled in 2004.
“The contractors [who’d been bribing him for years] were furious with
Agnew because he was so dumb. He had no idea what he had done.”
</p>
<p>
The annual <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/fooddrink/fells-point-fun-festival-celebrates-neighborhoods-old-and-new-in-50th-year/">Fells Point Fun Festival</a>, in fact, was first organized as
an anti-highway fundraising effort. At the 1969 annual street party,
<a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/senator-barbara-mikulski-daughter-of-polish-grocers-rise-to-the-senate/">Barbara Mikulski</a>, a then-33-year-old social worker, shouted her opposition
as future Mayor William Donald Schaefer tried to make his case
for the highway. “The British couldn’t take Fells Point, the termites
couldn’t take Fells Point,” announced Mikulski, part of group calling
themselves Radio Free Fells Point. “And we don’t think the State Roads
Commission can take Fells Point either.”
</p>
<div class="QuoteWrap">

<img class="singlePic" 
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</div>
<p>
The granddaughter of Polish bakers, Mikulski is a link between
Fells Point’s long immigration history and the fight to the stop the
highway. “My great-grandmother landed in Fells Point somewhere at ‘the foot of Broadway,’ which is what we called that
area then, not Fells Point,” Mikulski says. “When
she came to this country and lived on Chester
Street near Holy Rosary, she could read, but she
was from Poland. One of the things she did to learn
English was to buy a newspaper and go down to
the Broadway Market and practice the language
and the exchange of money, and so on. People were
helpful and she could trust that she wasn’t going
to be taken advantage of. The churches were like
settlement houses because they were bilingual.”
</p>
<p>
Prior to the Eastern-European wave, Fells Point
was the arrival station for thousands of farmers
and laborers from Germany and Ireland. <a href="https://www.archbalt.org/parishes/all-parishes/st-patrick-broadway/">St. Patrick’s
Church</a>, now serving a Spanish-speaking congregation
on Broadway, is the city’s oldest Catholic
parish, dating to 1792. Germans came to Baltimore early and often, with many fleeing their homes after the failed 1848-1849 revolution. The Irish, in the 1840s and 1850s, arrived as refugees, some in desperate condition as they were pulled onto the Fells’ docks from vessels known as “coffin ships” because of the number who succumbed during the Atlantic crossing.
</p>
<p>
But by the 1870s, Poles were the dominant immigrant group. The first Roman Catholic Polish parish—St. Stanislaus Kostka on South Ann Street—formed in 1880. The city’s first Polish newspaper launched in 1891. A second parish, Holy Rosary Church, where Sunday morning Mass is still said in Polish, was founded in 1887. St. Casimir’s in Canton was founded in 1904. Which is not to romanticize the immigrant experience. Women—and children—went to work in the Fells canneries and as seasonal laborers on Maryland farms. Mikulski later bought a house on Ann Street in part, she admits, because it was in the path of the highway. “She was ready to lie down in front of the bulldozer,” says Tony Norris, the Bertha’s owner, who has known Mikulski since the early ’70s. The Norrises subsequently traded rowhouses with
Mikulski and remained a neighbor for 20 years. When
she was elected to Congress in 1976, her Eastern Avenue
office was only steps from her grandparents’ bakery.
</p>

<p>
“It was a great neighborhood because people tended
to live, work, worship, and shop in the same area,”
says Mikulski, who was born in 1936 and retired from
Congress in 2017, after becoming the first woman to
chair the powerful Senate Appropriations Committee.
</p>
<p>
“In terms of the battle of ‘the Road,’ there was the
parochial crowd, the preservationists, [artists], the business
owners—we were all in it. Were the town hall meetings
contentious?” Mikulski adds. “<i>It’s Bawlmer, hon.</i>”
</p>

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<h5 class="captionVideo thin"><center>Barbara Mikulski
giving a speech.<i>—EAST BALTIMORE DOCUMENTARY PHOTOGRAPHY PROJECT COLLECTION. SPECIAL COLLECTIONS, UNIVERSITY OF MARYLAND, BALTIMORE COUNTY.</i></center></h5>
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<p>
The fundamental problem behind the conception of
“the Road”—including the stretch known as <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/businessdevelopment/highway-to-nowhere-baltimore-expressway-demolished-black-neighborhoods/">“The Highway
to Nowhere”</a> that got built through majority-Black
West Baltimore—is officials did not appreciate the value
of working-class neighborhoods, Mikulski says. “That
was certainly the attitude of Robert Moses,” the New
York highway builder who first designed Baltimore’s
planned east-west highway. “He did not see the value,
he didn’t see the jobs that were there, and he didn’t see
what I call the social capital. It was the relationships
that were, and are, important in those communities.”
</p>
<p>
The artifacts, both living and dead, of those Polish
roots are all over. Sophia’s Place, a Polish deli selling
stuffed cabbage, among other specialties, continues in
the renovated Broadway Market, as does Ostrowski’s
Polish deli on Bank Street. Patterson Park’s monument
to Gen. Pulaski, a Revolutionary War hero, and the
Katyn Memorial in Harbor East hardly need mention.
</p>
<p>
Eventually other groups came, though situated farther
from the waterfront. After World War II, there was a
huge <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/baltimore-lumbee-indians-upper-fells-point-claim-their-history/">migration of Lumbee Indians</a> from North Carolina
into Upper Fells. The Baltimore American Indian Center
on Broadway was founded in 1968. And, of course, all
up and down Broadway and Eastern are dozens of Mexican
and Central American businesses and restaurants.
</p>

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<h5 class="captionVideo thin"><center>Cocina Luchadoras,
Sophia’s Place, and
Cat’s Eye Pub.<i>—PHOTOGRAPHY BY J.M. GIORDANO</i></center></h5>
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<p>
It’s ironic perhaps, but ever since “the Road”
though the Fells “slums” was defeated for good in the
late ’70s, gentrification has been a sensitive subject.
</p>
<p>
By 1985, former warehouses and
factories were already being turned into
expensive apartments. “Speculators see
Fells Point as an opportunity,” Bunker,
the former owner of the China Sea Trading
Company, said in a <i>Sun</i> story.
</p>
<p>
“It’s just not the same,” Manuel Alvarez, a chief engineer for the
departed Baker-Whiteley tugboat company, told the same reporter,
adding he had little desire to visit Fells Point anymore. “It’s just too...trendy. It’s not just the way it used to be.”
</p>

<p>
In an oral history a generation later, Ed Kane, who founded the
Baltimore water taxi operation in the ’70s, said he thought Fells
Point “still doesn’t know what it wants to be when it grows up.” It’s
been in “state of transition,” he said, for “more than 200 years.”
</p>
<div class="picWrap">
<img decoding="async" class="singlePic" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2023/05/JUNE_FellsPoint_Ghost-sign.jpg"/>

<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
A ghost sign reading
“Vote Against Prohibition”
remains visible
today.<i>-PHOTOGRAPHY BY J.M. GIORDANO</i>
</h5>

</div>
<p>
Gentrification remains a concern for some of the older folks
who recall places like Leadbetters, which was <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/fooddrink/leadbetters-tavern-closing-by-the-end-of-june/">sold in 2016</a>, and the
Wharf Rat, which was one of the oldest buildings and bars in the
city when it was sold in 2021. They say the original English character
of its zigzagging streets and tiny pubs is all but gone.
</p>
<p>
Duda’s Tavern, in a storied Thames Street building that once
boarded sailors, is still a <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/fooddrink/dudas-tavern-celebrates-70-years-in-fells-point/">family-run operation after more than 70
years</a>. The Norrises, however, are in the process of <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/fooddrink/berthas-fells-point-closure-regulars-pay-respects-to-bar-that-changed-the-neighborhood/">selling Bertha’s</a>.
</p>
<p>
A Starbucks has opened, and the Atlas Restaurant Group continues
to buy up property and open bars and restaurants, raising
questions about Fells Point losing its idiosyncratic touches. Some
worry the H&S Bakery plant will leave and be replaced by a highrise
office or condo complex like those in Harbor East—where
height restrictions were lifted in the 1990s for the subsequent
development projects.
</p>
<p>
The numbers speak for themselves: The median home price in
Fells Point rose from $77,600 in 1990 to $349,650 in 2014. The
percentage of residents with a BA degree or higher was 33 percent in
1990 and 70 percent by 2014.
</p>
<div class="QuoteWrap2">

<img class="singlePic" 
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<p>
With gentrification what often comes is a loss of what sociologists
call “third places,” where people spend time between home
and work. First United Evangelical, an 1851 German church on Eastern
Avenue, for example, is now luxury apartments. The 96-yearold
Patterson duckpin alleys are currently under conversion to
condominiums—though some lanes may remain after a protest.
</p>
<p>
However, the 19th century St. Michael’s Church in Upper Fells is
now a brewpub and the former St. Stanislaus today hosts a yoga and
fitness studio—21st century “third places.” There are others, like the
cozy Greedy Reads bookstore, which opened in 2018.
</p>
<p>
Six years ago, the upscale Sagamore Pendry hotel on Thames
opened inside the long-vacant, recreation-pier building—once home
to the fictitious headquarters of the Baltimore Police Department in
the ’90s show <i>Homicide: Life on the Street</i>.
</p>
<p>
The question may be, does it matter whether Fells Point residents
know the Pendry was first constructed as a $1 million—a pricey
sum in 1914—dual-purpose maritime warehouse/state-of-the-art
ballroom and recreation center for the Fells immigrant community?
</p>
<p>
Is preservation still a rallying point and part of the
glue that binds the Fells Point community together, and
if so, for how long?
</p>

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<h5 class="captionVideo thin"><center>Society
for the Preservation of Federal Hill
and Fell’s Point president David
Gleason sits in front of the
1765-built Robert Long House.<i>-PHOTOGRAPHY BY J.M. GIORDANO</i></center></h5>
</div>
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<p>
“When I was a kid, it was a different world, we didn’t
have all these cars, these high-rises and yeah, a lot of
houses were vacant,” says 46-year-old Andy Norris, who
took over running Bertha’s from his parents and lives
in Upper Fells. “My parents would say, ‘Go outside and
play,’ and I’d take a ball and beat the ball against a vacant
house and then three other kids would be hanging
out with me and we’d play a game of some kind.
</p>
<p>
“I get the new business owners and the changes,”
Norris continues. “I don’t hate it, like a lot of the oldtimers.
They’re coming from a good place. In their
minds, they’re doing the best thing that they can do
for the neighborhood. I believe that. Now, is it the best
thing for the neighborhood? I don’t know. The thing
about Fells Point is that had so much character, and
characters, such charm. But people got older and sold
their places and the new people, who are buying them,
this is how they see their future.”
</p>
<p>
Norris acknowledges the water and rowhouses will
be always be here. As will reappointed warehouses and
Thames’ Belgian block streets. But what else?
“What I guess I mean, is that a neighborhood or is
that just brick and stone?”
</p>
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A Baltimore Water Taxi floats away from Fells Point pier. <i>—Video by J.M. Giordano.</i>
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<p><a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/fells-point-baltimore-250-year-history-grit-gentrification/" rel="nofollow">Source</a></p>]]></content:encoded>
					
		
		
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		<title>Art Space: MPT Documentaries Explore the Lives of Maryland’s Most Famous Abolitionists</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/art-space-mpt-documentaries-explore-the-lives-of-marylands-most-famous-abolitionists/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Grace Hebron]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Wed, 05 Oct 2022 15:45:10 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Arts & Culture]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[History & Politics]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Art Space]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Harriet Tubman]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[MPT]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/?post_type=article&#038;p=127266</guid>

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			<p><em>Art Space is a recurring element in the UpFront section of our print publication that spotlights a local artist or project making an impact in the city at large. Here’s what’s going on this month:</em></p>

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			<p>Their efforts to guide enslaved people to freedom would forever change our nation. And this month, the legacies of two Marylanders will be honored on film for all to stream. Airing on PBS on October 4 and 11, respectively, <em>Harriet Tubman: Visions of Freedom </em>and<em> Becoming Frederick Douglass</em> will provide in-depth looks at how these hometown heroes pursued equality for all. “There are so many figures hailing from our state who have impacted the world,” says Travis Mitchell, chief content officer at MPT, which produced the documentaries with Firelight Films. “This is the beginning of a series of new stories we’ll be able to bring forth.”</p>

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			<div class="vc_single_image-wrapper   vc_box_border_grey"><img decoding="async" width="1200" height="1590" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/thumbnail_PBS_Poster_Tubman_Douglass_CMYK.jpg" class="vc_single_image-img attachment-full" alt="" title="thumbnail_PBS_Poster_Tubman_Douglass_CMYK" srcset="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/thumbnail_PBS_Poster_Tubman_Douglass_CMYK.jpg 1200w, https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/thumbnail_PBS_Poster_Tubman_Douglass_CMYK-604x800.jpg 604w, https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/thumbnail_PBS_Poster_Tubman_Douglass_CMYK-768x1018.jpg 768w, https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/thumbnail_PBS_Poster_Tubman_Douglass_CMYK-1159x1536.jpg 1159w, https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/10/thumbnail_PBS_Poster_Tubman_Douglass_CMYK-480x636.jpg 480w" sizes="(max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px" /></div><figcaption class="vc_figure-caption">—Courtesy of Maryland Public Television</figcaption>
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<p><a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/art-space-mpt-documentaries-explore-the-lives-of-marylands-most-famous-abolitionists/" rel="nofollow">Source</a></p>]]></content:encoded>
					
		
		
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		<title>The City That Writes</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/the-city-that-writes-thirteen-baltimore-writers-on-citys-past-literary-stars/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Aaron Hope]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Thu, 13 Jan 2022 17:09:32 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Arts & Culture]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[History & Politics]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Adrienne Rich]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Baltimore writers]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Dashiell Hammett]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Edgar Allan Poe]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[F. Scott Fitzgerald]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frances Harper]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Gertrude Stein]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[H.L. Me]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[John Dos Passos]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[literary stars]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Lucille Clifton]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[The City That Writes]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Upton Sinclair]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[W.E.B. Du Bois]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Zora Neale Hurston]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/?post_type=article&#038;p=115694</guid>

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<img decoding="async" alt="The City that Writes: The mysterious death, general strangeness and undeniable genius of a certain macabre poet casts a large shadow over the city's literary legacy." src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/LiteraryBaltimore_hero.jpg"/>


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<h3>The mysterious death, general strangeness, and undeniable genius of a certain macabre poet casts a large shadow over the city’s literary legacy. But Baltimore’s writing tradition is as rich and diverse as the city itself.</h3>

<span class="clan editors">

<p style="font-size:2rem; padding-top:1rem; margin-bottom:0; color:#fffff;">Edited by Ron Cassie</p>
<p style="font-size:1.5rem; padding-top:1rem; color:#fffff;">Illustrations by Tonwen Jones</p>

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<h6 class="thin tealtext uppers text-center">Arts & Culture</h6>

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<h5 class="text-center">The mysterious death, general strangeness, and undeniable genius of a certain macabre poet casts a large shadow over the city’s literary legacy. But Baltimore’s writing tradition is as rich and diverse as the city itself.</h5>

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<h3>Edited by Ron Cassie</h3> 
<h5>Illustrations by Tonwen Jones</h5>

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<p>
<span class="firstcharacter plateau-five">B</span>
<b>BEHIND LOCKED GLASS DOORS</b> in the central
branch of the Enoch Pratt Free Library’s staff-only section
sits a bank-style vault. Inside, safely stored for posterity,
there’s a letter penned by F. Scott Fitzgerald—who was
living in Paris at the time—to H. L. Mencken, thanking the
Sage of Baltimore for reading his just-published novel,
<i>The Great Gatsby</i>. Mencken’s diaries, at his request, are
kept there, too, as well as Mencken’s limited edition copy
of James Joyce’s <i>Ulysses</i>. There’s also a handwritten copy
of an Enoch Pratt-contest-winning rap by a young Tupac
Shakur, plus a CD from “The Eastside Crew,” the group
that the rapper formed while he was a student three
blocks away at the Baltimore School for the Arts.
</p>
<div class="QuoteWrap">

<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
<i><b>Opening Spread</b></i><br/>
<i>from Left</i>, Zora Neale Hurston, W.E.B. Du Bois, Zelda and F. Scott Fitzgerald, H.L. Mencken, Lucille Clifton, Dashiell Hammett, Adrienne Rich, Upton Sinclair, Frances Harper, and Ogden Nash. <i>Sources: Getty Images, Library of Congress, Wikimedia Commons, New York Public Library.</i>

</h5>

</div>
<p>
Most memorably, if that’s the right word, are locks
of hair from Edgar Allan Poe and his teenage bride and
first cousin Virginia, framed under glass, and a piece of
his coffin.
</p>
<p>
It’s funny how long story ideas can take to germinate.
I am pretty sure the seed for this month’s cover
story, “The City That Writes,” was planted 11 years ago
when I got a behind-the-scenes tour of the Pratt—vault
included—for an assignment for this magazine entitled,
<a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/book-smart/" target="_Blank">“Book Smart.”</a>
</p>
<div class="picWrap4">
<img decoding="async" class="singlePic" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/LiteraryBaltimore_poe-tomb.jpg"/>

<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
An 1896 photograph of
Edgar Allan Poe's tomb. <i>Photo courtesy of Library of Congress.</i>

</h5>

</div>
<p>
Since that tour, there have been countless other inspirations.
A few years ago, I joined a Maryland Humanities
Literary Walking Tour of Mount Vernon one weekend
morning, and learned not just where Fitzgerald, Upton
Sinclair, and Gertrude Stein, among other iconic figures,
once lived in Baltimore, but the impact of the city on
their work. One often-forgotten example: Fitzgerald’s
famous short story about the man who ages in reverse,
“The Curious Case of Benjamin Button,” was set in Civil
War-era Baltimore. That walking tour—see our map below—is one of those things generally populated by
visitors to the city, but we Baltimoreans could benefit
even more from those kinds of tactile trips through the
city’s history, architecture, and artifacts. Also worth a
visit, for those who haven’t been, are the Edgar Allan
Poe House and Museum in West Baltimore, and the
recently restored H.L. Mencken home in Union Square.
Both are designated National Historic Landmarks.
Noteworthy as well: The poet Lucille Clifton’s former
Victorian home in Windsor Hills, where she wrote some
of her most acclaimed works, is <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/lucille-clifton-house-windsor-hill-preserves-spirit-of-maryland-poet-laureate/" target="_Blank">currently being transformed</a>
into an education center and writers retreat by
her children.
</p>
<p>
One more not-to-be missed literary experience
over the past decade has been the annual January 19
celebrations of Mr. Poe’s birthday at Westminster Hall.
One year, I met a woman who had been attending the
accompanying late afternoon readings at his burying
ground since the 1970s, when she came with her since-deceased
husband on their first date. Once the pandemic has relented, hopefully we can return to the annual Baltimore Book Festival and the CityLit Festival, a project of the indispensable CityLit Project, as well.
</p>
<div class="QuoteWrap">
<h3 class="plateau-five">
“BALTIMORE IS WARM BUT PLEASANT . . . I BELONG HERE, WHERE EVERYTHING IS CIVILIZED AND GAY AND ROTTED AND POLITE.”
</h3>
<h5>— F. SCOTT FITZGERALD</h5>
</div>
<p>
In terms of Baltimore’s literary contributions to
America, let’s also not forget the Pratt was the first
free, inclusive public library in this country, and that
the modern printing press, the linotype, was invented
here by an obsessive German immigrant named Otto
Mergenthaler. All that said, what is most exciting today
in The City That Reads—former Mayor Kurt Schmoke’s
aspirational nickname from his 1987 inaugural address—is the abundance of Baltimore writers who are
living up to the city’s storied literary past. And to be
clear, it’s a legacy that doesn’t just begin with Poe, but
also Frederick Douglass—whose acclaimed autobiography sold 5,000 copies in just the first few months after
its publication—and the poet, novelist, and abolitionist
Frances Ellen Watkins Harper, who was one of the first
Black women in this country to be published. In recent
years, work from Baltimore writers Laura Lippman, Anne
Tyler, Taylor Branch, Dan Fesperman, Danielle Evans,
Martha Jones, and D. Watkins—and Baltimore-born writer
Ta-Nehisi Coates and playwright Anna Deavere Smith—to name a few, has garnered national praise.
</p>
<p>
We’re also fortunate in Baltimore that our libraries
and bookstores—the number seems to be growing despite
the pandemic—continue to bring the finest writers
from around the country to the city. (The MFA writing
programs at Johns Hopkins, Goucher College, and the
University of Baltimore do, too.) And, of course, the Pratt
library and the city’s bookstores provide a platform for
local authors, who, like the Baltimore writers of the past,
inevitably are influenced by, and influence, the city’s
sense of itself.
</p>
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<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
The Enoch Pratt Free Library on Cathedral Street. <i>Photo courtesy of Library of Congress. </i>
</h5>
</div>
<p>
“I wasn’t exposed to writers as a kid growing up in
Baltimore, going to school here,” says Watkins, whose
new memoir, <i>Black Boy Smile</i>, is due out in May. “But I
was exposed to storytelling. That’s what you do in Baltimore.
Old guys making up stories on the porch. On the
stoop. Rolling up to the corner with a story. Guys telling
each other lies, and making stuff up. I didn’t know coming
up that being a writer was a job. I didn’t start writing
until I was 30, 31, but I was on the street doing those
same things and, in that sense, becoming a storyteller
and a writer all along.”
</p>
<p>
To say Baltimore is a place with a unique character,
and unique characters, literary and otherwise, could go
without saying. But who can resist quoting John Waters?
“I would never want to live anywhere but Baltimore,”
the renowned filmmaker and writer, whose stories
have helped define the city, once said. “You can look
far and wide, but you’ll never discover a stranger city
with such extreme style. It’s as if every eccentric in
the South decided to move north, ran out of gas in
Baltimore, and decided to stay.”
</p>
<p>
Whether Baltimore has served as particularly
fertile ground, or has produced an outsized number
of writers relative to its size, is difficult to say. What
is undeniable, however, is that Baltimore itself is the
literary bond between an incredibly rich and diverse
group of writers.
</p>
<div class="picWrap">
<img decoding="async" class="singlePic" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/LiteraryBaltimore_Frances_EW-Harper-Temperance.jpg"/>

<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
A portrait of Baltimore-born poet, author, abolitionist,
and suffragist Mary Ellen Francis Harper. <i>Photo courtesy of Library of Congress.</i>
</h5>
</div>
<p>
“Baltimore is the connective tissue, culturally and
socially [between these writers],” says Paul Coates,
the founder of Black American Press, and father
of National Book Award winner Ta-Nehisi Coates.
“The same way it was for Red Foxx [who launched
his stand-up comic career here] and Billie Holiday.
Baltimore has always had a strong cultural presence.
Frederick Douglass, who learned to read and write in
Baltimore, never forgot Baltimore. In the same way,
Ta-Nehisi’s development as a writer can’t be separated
from Baltimore. That’s the context from where they
start. Baltimore has shaped these writers, and I think
it’s fair to say these writers have shaped Baltimore.”
</p>
<p>
It’s with this “connective tissue” in mind that we
asked 13 of Baltimore’s current literary standouts to
write something brief about 13 of Baltimore’s past
literary stars. It’s our hope that readers will seek out
the work of both the Baltimore writers past and present
included below.
</p>
<p><i>by Ron Cassie</i></p>
</div>
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<h1 class="plateau-five" style="font-size:5rem;">
FREDERICK DOUGLASS
</h1>

<h5 class="clan uppers">By Lawrence Jackson</h5>

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Photo courtesy of Library of Congress.
</h5>

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<p>
<b>Frederick Douglass</b>, born in Talbot County, was fond of his adopted home city, Baltimore. He
left by train in 1838 and could only return in the midst of the Civil War, after the outlawing
of slavery in Maryland in 1864. On the evening of his return, he spoke at the Bethel AME
Church and said, “My life has been distinguished by two important events, dated about 26
years apart. One was my running away from Maryland, and the other is my returning to
Maryland.” Baltimore during Douglass’ time was an anomaly, the place where he witnessed
the coffles of enslaved people marching in chains to the wharf for sale “down the river,” but
where he also wrote that even as a slave, he was “almost a freeman.” In part, this curious
freedom stemmed from the models of liberty that the young Douglass could see firsthand as
he learned to read and then, starting with graffiti on the rough-hewn fences of Fells Point,
write. His lessons from Sophia Auld, a white woman who shared the alphabet with him, and
the anthology called the <i>Columbian Orator</i> he bought at his neighborhood bookshop, are the
best-known stories of his early, self-taught career. But there is a less well-known influence
shaping Douglass, the writer of three autobiographies, the editor of an important newspaper,
the author of revolutionary fiction, and the public speaker who ranks alongside Abraham
Lincoln and Daniel Webster as the 19th century’s most gifted orators.
</p>
<div class="QuoteWrap2">
<h3 class="plateau-five">
“GIVE US THE FACTS. WE WILL TAKE CARE OF THE PHILOSOPHY...'TIS NOT BEST THAT YOU SEEM TOO LEARNED.”
</h3>

</div>
<p>
The skills in writing and debating were developed in the shadows of “Sabbath school
exhibitions of the free negroes, which he attended by stealth, and where he was beginning
to shine as an orator,” as one biographer put it. His main church
was a Methodist sanctuary on Strawberry Alley (modern-day Dallas
Street) known as “Bethel on the Point.” At the Strawberry Alley
church and on the playgrounds he met other boys and “entered...the art of writing.” In <i>My Bondage and My Freedom</i>, his second
autobiography, Douglass signaled his break with white writers and
abolitionists of the period who had condescendingly told him “Give
us the facts...we will take care of the philosophy...'tis not best
that you seem too learned.” Nonetheless, learned he and other local
slaves who studied in secret were. Out from some 18,000 free Black
and enslaved Baltimoreans of the 1830s came the century’s most
prolific and impactful Black female and male writers: Frances Ellen
Watkins Harper and Frederick Douglass.
</p>

<div style="border: 2px solid; padding: 1rem 2rem; border-radius: 5px;">
<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Lawrence Jackson’s works include <i>Chester B. Himes: A Biography</i> and <i>Ralph Ellison: Emergence of Genius, 1913-1952</i>, and a memoir on family history, <i>My Father’s Name: A Black Virginia Family after the Civil War</i>. He is a Bloomberg Distinguished Professor of English and History at Johns Hopkins University and
founder of the Billie Holiday Project for Liberation Arts. His next book, <i>Shelter</i>, will be published this spring.
</h5>
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<h1 class="plateau-five text-center" style="font-size:5rem;">
EDGAR ALLAN POE
</h1>

<h5 class="clan uppers text-center">By Laura Lippman</h5>


<p>
<b>Edgar Allan Poe</b> casts a long shadow
over anyone who writes detective
fiction; there’s a reason that the
highest honor in the field is named
for him. Fittingly, his death in Baltimore
also has provided a sturdy
mystery—really, multiple mysteries.
Why was he in Baltimore on that
October day in 1849? What was the
actual cause of death? And what was
the story behind the Poe Toaster,
the unknown visitor to Poe’s original
gravesite, who left a bottle of
cognac and three red roses there on
Poe’s birthday? That tradition, which
began in the late 1940s, ended in
2009, but was resurrected by the
Maryland Historical Society in 2016.
</p>
<p>
In 1999, having decided I wanted
to write a book about the murder
of a “Faux Toaster”—a copycat visitor
to the site—I convinced curator
emeritus of Baltimore’s Edgar
Allan Poe House and Museum Jeff
Jerome to let me join the watch
party at Westminster. In my memory,
I was one of the first to spot a
tall, shadowy figure moving toward
the grave. Although I was covering
the visit for my employer at the
time, <i>The Baltimore Sun</i>, I had agreed
to be obscure about certain details
of what I saw that night, in order to
ensure that future visits not be disturbed
by those who would unmask
the Toaster. I still feel honor-bound
not to describe everything I saw.
</p>
<p>
But the reason that I feel close
to Poe isn’t because of genre or
Baltimoreor
even the fact that I
saw the Poe Toaster. I always keep
in mind that Poe yearned to make
a living from his writing, a difficult
proposition then and now.
</p>
<div style="border: 2px solid; padding: 1rem 2rem; border-radius: 5px;">
<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Laura Lippman is a former <i>Baltimore
Sun</i> reporter, a <i>New York Times</i> bestselling
author, and creator of the
award-winning, reporter-turned-private
investigator Tess Monaghan novels. Her
latest stand-alone novel, <i>Dream Girl</i>,
published this summer to rave reviews.
</h5>
</div>

</div>
</div>

</div>

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<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns" style="padding-top:2rem; padding-bottom:2rem;">


<h1 class="plateau-five text-center" style="font-size:5rem;">
H.L. MENCKEN
</h1>

<h5 class="clan uppers text-center">By Michael Downs</h5>

<img decoding="async" class="singlePic text-center"  style="display: block; margin: 0 auto; padding-bottom:2rem; max-width:50%;" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/LiteraryBaltimore_Sketch_Mencken_Tonwen.jpg"/>

<p>
<b>What are we to do</b> with Mencken? Admire the acrobatic
vocabulary, of course, the caustic wit, the heroic—even
epic—body of work. But then one must confront the ego,
the snobbery that presents as high standards, the misanthropy.
We’re still recovering some 30 years on from the
posthumous publication of his diaries, which revealed
him to be <i>Homo Deplorabus</i>.
</p>
<div class="QuoteWrap2">
<h3 class="plateau-five">
“PURITANISM—THE HAUNTING FEAR THAT SOMEONE, SOMEWHERE, MAY BE HAPPY.”
</h3>

</div>
<p>
Our mistake is to think of him as an icon. Which we do.
Consider his sobriquet: the Sage of Baltimore. How hoitytoity!
Another reason is that we find his aphorisms everywhere,
as if he were Abe Lincoln. Bombastic, brief, and
provocative, Mencken’s one-liners provide top-grade fertilizer
for memes and tweets. We know him by his proclamation about puritanism.
“Puritanism—the haunting fear that someone, somewhere, may be happy.” Or the
other about American democracy reaching its pinnacle when a moron becomes
president. His line about journalism being the “life of kings” graced the wall of the
old <i>Baltimore Sun</i> lobby as if writ by the hand of God.
</p>
<p>
But smash that Mencken statue you have in your imagining. See him not as icon
but as iconoclast. Remember that when he wrote, he came at readers with lighter
fluid and the match with which he fired his cigar, and he sought to inflame. That’s
how he won what might have been the largest readership in America, pre-World War
II. He pissed people off. But given that he argued everything, he may not have subscribed
to everything he argued. It’s a theory that frees us to read Mencken beyond
aphorisms—in essays such as the “Criticism of Criticism of Criticism” or “Newspaper
Morals”—and to expect he could be wrong as often as right. Thus, he becomes
even more worth our attention. One hundred years since Mencken’s best work challenged
readers, he’ll still elevate our thinking, if not by enlightening us then by
infuriating us, so that we argue with him even as he entertains.
</p>

<div style="border: 2px solid; padding: 1rem 2rem; border-radius: 5px;">
<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Michael Downs is a former newspaper journalist and now tenured creative writing professor at Towson University. He is the author of the 2018 novel, <i>The Strange and True Tale of Horace Wells</i>, <i>Surgeon Dentist</i>, and <i>House of Good Hope: A Promise for a Broken City</i>, which won the 2007 River Teeth Prize for literary nonfiction. A Fulbright scholar, he is currently on sabbatical in Kraków studying Polish legends—the number of which he says is legion—in order to turn several of them into contemporary short stories.
</h5>
</div>


</div>
</div>



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padding-bottom:4rem; background-color:#efede7; margin-top:2rem; margin-bottom:2rem;">



<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns">

<h1 class="plateau-five text-center" style="font-size:5rem;">
ADRIENNE RICH
</h1>

<h5 class="clan uppers text-center">By Jen Michalski</h5>

<p>
<b>“I came to explore the wreck,”</b> explains a
scuba diver in the titular poem of Adrienne
Rich’s <i>Diving Into the Wreck</i>. But she
isn’t your typical diver—“not like Cousteau,”
and, instead of treasure, she has
come to see “the damage that was done”
to women throughout history, as well as
herself. It’s a poem, groundbreakingly
feminist and introspective, that’s inspired
my own work (even making an appearance
in my latest novel, <i>You’ll Be Fine</i>).
</p>
<p>
What writers aren’t exploring below
the surface of things, seeing the damage
done? For Rich, who attended Roland Park
Country School, her rise to becoming one
of the most influential poets of the 20th
century began as a senior at Radcliffe
College, when her first collection, <i>A Change
of World</i> (1951), was selected by W. H.
Auden for the Yale Series of Younger Poets
Award. Twenty years and seven collections
later, in 1974, <i>Diving into the Wreck</i> won
the National Book Award for Poetry. The
country, in the midst of the Vietnam War
and the civil and women’s rights movements,
was experiencing seismic changes,
but Rich, whose father had been chairman
of pathology at The Johns Hopkins Medical
School and her mother, a concert pianist
and composer, had understood the bending
arc of history much sooner. As Rich writes
in the poem “A Clock in the Square” (from
<i>A Change of World</i>): “Time may be silenced
but will not be stilled/Nor we absolved by
any one’s withdrawing/From all the restless
ways we must be going.”
</p>

<div style="border: 2px solid; padding: 1rem 2rem; border-radius: 5px;">
<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Jen Michalski’s writing and short stories have
appeared in more than 100 publications, including
<i>The Washington Post</i>, <i>Poets & Writers</i>,
<i>Barrelhouse</i>, and <i>Gargoyle</i>. She is the founding
editor of the weekly literary journal <i>jmww</i>
and her award-winning debut novel, <i>The Tide
King</i>, was published in 2013. Her latest novel,
<i>You’ll Be Fine</i>, was published this year and
her collection of stories, <i>The Company of
Strangers</i>, is due to be published in 2022.
</h5>
</div>

</div>
</div>

</div>

<hr/>

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<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns" style="padding-top:2rem; padding-bottom:2rem;">

<h1 class="plateau-five text-center" style="font-size:5rem;">
UPTON SINCLAIR
</h1>

<h5 class="clan uppers text-center">By Baynard Woods</h5>

<img decoding="async" class="singlePic"  style="display: block; margin:0 auto; padding-bottom:2rem;  padding-top:2rem; max-width:50%;" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/LiteraryBaltimore_Upton_Sinclair.jpg"/>


</div>
</div>

<div class="row" >
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<div class="picWrap4">
<h2 class="plateau-five">
“SINCLAIR SAW CLEARLY THAT ALL JOURNALISM WAS ACTIVIST IN SOME WAY OR ANOTHER.”
</h2>
</div>

<p>
<b>Once, a former</b> <i>Sun</i> reporter who had lived in Baltimore all of three years before
moving on to more lucrative pastures, attempted to insult me as a reporter by
applying the word “activist” to my work, as if it was a fatal blow in our argument,
proving once and for all that what I did was not journalism. Over the years, other
disgruntled scribes hoping to cast a long shadow in the setting <i>Sun</i> have hurled the
same epithet across the ether and each time, I smile and think of Upton Sinclair, to
whom the term “muckraker” was applied, often with similar derision.
</p>

<p>
Sinclair’s activist journalism is best-known in the form of his 1906 Progressive-era meat-plant exposé, <i>The Jungle</i>. But throughout his long career, Sinclair
saw clearly that all journalism was activist in some way or another and that
strictly proscribed “objectivity” served the ruling class by making their views
seem neutral and universal. He wrote about the unfair trial of anarchist immigrants
Sacco and Vanzetti and about the rise of the Nazis. He wrote about incipient
fascists and how to cover unjust legal tactics, à la the reliance of holding
those charged with crimes without bail—issues, of
course, that writers continue to disagree about in this
city and around the country.
</p>
<p>
Sinclair attributed his social conscience and activist
writing to his early life in Baltimore, where
his parents lived in poverty on the 400 block of N.
Charles St. and his grandparents lived much more
lavishly at 2010 Maryland Ave. As inequality in the
city has dramatically increased in the last century,
Baltimore needs more socialist writers like Upton
Sinclair—but, in a cruel joke of history, we’re left with
the Sinclair Broadcast Group, the locally owned rightwing
media empire.
</p>

<div style="border: 2px solid; padding: 1rem 2rem; border-radius: 5px;">
<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Baynard Woods is a writer and “activist journalist.” His work has appeared in a wide variety of publications, including <i>The Guardian</i>, <i>The New York Times</i>, <i>The Washington Post</i>, and <i>Oxford American Magazine</i>. He is the co-author of <i>I Got a Monster: The Rise and Fall of America’s Most Corrupt Police Squad</i> and the author of <i>Inheritance: A Memoir of My Whiteness</i>, which will be published this summer.
</h5>
</div>

</div>
</div>

<hr/>

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<div class="medium-12 columns">

<img decoding="async" class="singlePic"  style="dislplay: block; padding-bottom:1rem;" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/LiteraryBaltimore_LITERARY-BALTIMORE_MAP.jpg"/>


</div>
</div>


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<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns">

<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Check the Maryland Humanities website
for information on its Literary Walking
Tours, which were canceled in 2020
due to the COVID-19 pandemic, but are
expected to begin again this spring.
</h5>

</div>
</div>


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<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns">

<h4>KEY</h4>

<div class="medium-4 columns">

<h5 class="mohr-black">1. Carl Sandburg: 1878-1967</h5>

<p>
Old St. Paul’s Rectory, 25 W. Saratoga St.
Sandburg was a frequent guest here.
</p>

</div>
<div class="medium-4 columns">
<h5 class="mohr-black">2. Upton Sinclair: 1878-1968</h5>

<p>
417 N. Charles Street
The location of the boardinghouse
where Sinclair was born.
</p>

</div>
<div class="medium-4 columns">

<h5 class="mohr-black">3. Edgar Allan Poe: 1809-1849</h5>

<p>
11 W. Mulberry Street
Here Poe visited J.H.B. Latrobe, who selected
Poe’s “Ms. in a Bottle” for a Baltimore Saturday
Visitor contest, launching his career.
</p>

</div>

</div>
</div>


<div class="row" style="padding-top:1rem; padding-bottom:1rem;">

<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns">
<div class="medium-4 columns">


<h5 class="mohr-black">4. Karl Shapiro: 1913-2000</h5>

<p>
Enoch Pratt Free Library,
400 Cathedral Street
Shapiro attended Enoch Pratt Free Library
School before WWII.
</p>

</div>
<div class="medium-4 columns">
<h5 class="mohr-black">5. John Murphy: 1840-1922</h5>

<p>
Eutaw and Centre Streets
Historic home of the Afro-American.
</p>

</div>
<div class="medium-4 columns">

<h5 class="mohr-black">6. John Dos Passos: 1896-1970</h5>

<p>
George Peabody Library,
17 E. Mount Vernon Place
Dos Passos wrote many of his works
at a carrel in this library’s reading room.
</p>

</div>

</div>
</div>

<div class="row" style="padding-top:1rem; padding-bottom:1rem;">

<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns">
<div class="medium-4 columns">

<h5 class="mohr-black">7. F. Scott Fitzgerald: 1896-1940</h5>

<p>
The Stafford Hotel, 718 Washington Place
Fitzgerald lived here while his wife Zelda
was undergoing treatment at Sheppard Pratt.
</p>

</div>
<div class="medium-4 columns">
<h5 class="mohr-black">8. H.L. Mencken: 1880-1956</h5>

<p>
704 Cathedral Street, now part of
Baltimore School for the Arts
Mencken lived in an apartment here
during his brief marriage to Sara Haardt.
</p>
</div>

<div class="medium-4 columns">
<h5 class="mohr-black">9. Tupac Shakur: 1971-1996</h5>

<p>
Baltimore School for the Arts, corner
of Madison and Cathedral Streets
Shakur attended the school for a short time.
</p>

</div>

</div>
</div>

<div class="row" style="padding-top:1rem; padding-bottom:1rem;">

<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns">

<div class="medium-4 columns">

<h5 class="mohr-black">10. Edna St. Vincent Millay: 1892-1950</h5>

<p>
Emmanuel Episcopal Church,
811 Cathedral Street
Millay frequently read her poetry here.
</p>

</div>

<div class="medium-4 columns">

<h5 class="mohr-black">11. Henry James: 1843-1916</h5>

<p>
Belvedere Hotel, 1 E. Chase Street
James stayed here in 1905.
</p>

</div>

<div class="medium-4 columns">

<h5 class="mohr-black">12. Emily Post: 1873-1960</h5>

<p>
14 E. Chase Street
Post was born in this house.
</p>

</div>

</div>
</div>

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<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns">

<div class="medium-4 columns">

<h5 class="mohr-black">13. Gertrude Stein: 1874-1946</h5>

<p>
215 E. Biddle Street
Stein lived here while attending nearby
Johns Hopkins Medical School.
</p>


</div>
</div>
</div>


<hr/>


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<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns text-center" style="padding-bottom: 2rem; padding-top:2rem;">


<h1 class="plateau-five text-center uppers" style="font-size:5rem;">
F. Scott Fitzgerald
</h1>

<h5 class="clan uppers">By Madison Smartt Bell</h5>

</div>
</div>


<div class="row" >
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns" style="padding-bottom: 1rem; padding-top:2rem;">


<p>
For a long time, the only Fitzgerald fiction I liked
was the story “Babylon Revisited,” which seemed to
me more honest and less overreaching than the two
novels I had read. As a freshman at Princeton, I tried
<i>This Side of Paradise</i> and found it sentimental in the
worst puerile way. I’d read <i>The Great Gatsby</i> once
in my middle teens because my parents had a copy,
and again when it was taught to us in a senior high
school course. No sale: Scott’s longing to belong did
not grab me. In college, I wrote a negative review
of <i>Gatsby</i> as a paper for an English course, concluding
that the soulful Jay was really no more than a
retired gangster covetous of his neighbor’s wife. I’m
now fairly astonished to see what a young fogey I
was then.
</p>
<p>
So, when asked to give a keynote speech for a
Baltimore Fitzgerald Conference, I tried to beg off,
unsuccessfully. On the hook for this gig, I thought I
would learn and talk about the Fitzgeralds' time in
Baltimore, which turns out to be a fairly straightforward
tragedy (alcoholism, financial troubles,
professional struggles). As the tragic heroine, Zelda
pretty well steals the show, though Scott remains a
contender.
</p>
<p>
Fitzgerald redirected the dark energies of that
domestic drama, which was also a bitter professional
competition, in <i>Tender Is the Night</i>, a novel written
during his nearly five-year sojourn in our fair city,
one in which his alter ego is reasonably honest
about the ways he’s dishonest with himself. For my
money, <i>Tender Is the Night</i> is Fitzgerald’s best work,
and enough to make me get what all the fuss was
about. Though maybe I should try the others again;
they say you never read the same book twice.
</p>

<div style="border: 2px solid; padding: 1rem 2rem; border-radius: 5px;">
<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Madison Smartt Bell is the author of 12 novels,
including <i>Waiting for the End of the World</i>,
<i>Straight Cut</i>, <i>The Year of Silence</i>, <i>Soldier’s Joy</i>,
<i>Save Me</i>, <i>Joe Louis</i>, <i>Ten Indians</i>, <i>Master of the
Crossroads</i>, and <i>The Stone that the Builder
Refused</i>. His most recent novel is <i>Behind the
Moon</i>. He is married to the poet Elizabeth
Spires and teaches at Goucher College.
</h5>
</div>


</div>
</div>

<hr/>

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<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns text-center" style="padding-bottom: 1rem; padding-top:2rem;">

<h1 class="plateau-five text-center" style="font-size:5rem;">
Zora Neale Hurston
</h1>

<h5 class="clan uppers">By Damaris Hill</h5>

<img decoding="async" class="singlePic"  style="dislplay: block; padding-bottom:1rem; " src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/LiteraryBaltimore_Hurston_Zola.jpg"/>

<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Photo courtesy of Library of Congress.
</h5>

</div>
</div>




<div class="row">
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns" style="padding-bottom: 2rem; padding-top:1rem;">

<p>
Born on January 7, 1891, Zora Neale
Hurston learned to walk shortly before
the age of two when a sow came snorting
toward her and her snack. Rather
than be robbed of her treats and dignity,
Toddler Hurston “had come to rectify her
reluctance” to walk, and took her first
steps. A few years later, she moved with
her family from Notasulga, Alabama,
to Eatonville, Florida, which was the
nation’s first incorporated Black township.
There, Schoolgirl Hurston was
never indoctrinated into the myth of
racial inferiority and white supremacy,
and her mama and the community
were heroes. In 1916, Hurston came
to Baltimore as a wardrobe girl with a
traveling Gilbert and Sullivan Theatre
troupe and then stayed to attend Morgan
Academy, the high school arm of then-Morgan College, graduating in 1918,
saying later she’d arrived with “only one
dress, a change of underwear and one
pair of tan oxfords.”
</p>
<p>
In <i>Dust Tracks on a Road</i> (1942),
Hurston tells readers about her mama’s determination not to “squinch”
her spirit too much, for fear that
she would turn out to be the type
of Black girl who would grow into a
“mealy-mouth rag doll by the time
[she] got grown.” Thus, Young Miz
Hurston’s mouth became a treasure
of words that mirrored her wit—each sharp like diamonds. Ask anyone
who went with her to Morgan
Academy, a place where writers take
root—or Howard or Barnard or Columbia,
where she also studied—she
was a genius laying the tracks on
her road. An anthropologist as well
as a writer, she was skilled at amathomancy,
reading the patterns of
dust, dirt, sand, and the ashes of the
deceased. This was an act of love.
</p>
<p>
<i>In Their Eyes Were Watching God</i>
(1937), Miz Hurston writes, “Love
makes your soul crawl out from
its hiding place.” A legacy of love
and nurturing bears many gifts;
imagination might be the greatest
of them.
</p>

<div style="border: 2px solid; padding: 1rem 2rem; border-radius: 5px;">
<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
DaMaris B. Hill is the author of <i>Breath Better Spent: Living Black Girlhood</i> (2022),
<i>A Bound Woman Is a Dangerous Thing: The Incarceration of African American Women
from Harriet Tubman to Sandra Bland</i> (2019), <i>The Fluid Boundaries of Suffrage and
Jim Crow: Staking Claims in the American Heartland</i> (2016), and <i>Visible Textures</i>
(2015). Similar to her creative process, Hill’s scholarly research is interdisciplinary.
Hill is an associate professor of creative writing at the University of Kentucky.
</h5>
</div>

</div>
</div>





<div class="row" style="padding-bottom:2rem; margin-top:2rem; margin-bottom:2rem;">
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns" style="padding:3rem; border: 4px solid #dec769; border-radius:2rem;">

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<h1 class="mohr-black text-center" style="font-size:3rem;">
BOOKISH BALTIMORE
</h1>

<h5 class="unit uppers">A ROUNDUP OF SOME OF BALTIMORE’S
BEST BOOKSHOPS</h5>



<div class="row">



<div class="medium-6 columns">

<h4 class="clan">Baltimore Architecture
Foundation</h4>

<p>
<i>100 N. Charles St., Suite P101</i>

The Baltimore Architecture
Foundation is home to a
small but excellent bookstore
specializing in the city’s architectural
heritage. By appointment
at the moment.
</p>
</div>

<div class="medium-6 columns">
<h4 class="clan">Atomic Books</h4>

<p>
<i>3620 Falls Rd.</i>

All you need to know is that
John Waters receives his
fan mail through the Hampden
bookstore and stops by
regularly to pick it up.
</p>

</div>

</div>


<div class="row" style="padding-top:1rem; padding-bottom:1rem;">


<div class="medium-6 columns">

<h4 class="clan">Barnes & Noble
Johns Hopkins</h4>

<p>
<i>3330 St. Paul St.</i>

The official bookstore for Johns
Hopkins University is also open
to the general public—with all
the coffee, snacks, and amenities
you’d expect from the
national bookseller.
</p>

</div>

<div class="medium-6 columns">

<h4 class="clan">Bird in Hand
Café & Bookstore</h4>

<p>
<i>11 E. 33rd St.</i>

This Charles Village café,
with a tea bar and an
espresso bar, is the perfect
stop for a bite and a book.
</p>
</div>

</div>


<div class="row" style="padding-top:1rem; padding-bottom:1rem;">


<div class="medium-6 columns">

<h4 class="clan">The Book Escape</h4>

<p>
<i>925 S. Charles St.</i>

The cozy storefront in Federal
Hill has the new titles that
you’re looking for and is
crammed with thousands of
used and unexpected finds.
</p>
</div>

<div class="medium-6 columns">

<h4 class="clan">The Book Thing of Baltimore</h4>

<p>
<i>3001 Vineyard Lane</i>

What's not to love about free
books? The beloved Baltimore
institution is currently open one
day a month, so check their
website for upcoming dates.
</p>

</div>

</div>


<div class="row" style="padding-top:1rem; padding-bottom:1rem;">


<div class="medium-6 columns">
<h4 class="clan">Busboys and Poets</h4>

<p>
<i>3224 St. Paul St.</i>

Founded in D.C. in 2005, the
restaurant, bar, small bookstore, and community gathering
place’s name is a homage
to Langston Hughes, who
worked as a busboy prior
to gaining fame as poet.
</p>
</div>

<div class="medium-6 columns">

<h4 class="clan">Charm City Books</h4>

<p>
<i>782 Washington Blvd.</i>

The historic Pigtown bookseller
has all the character and
charm that you’d hope for
from an independent, family-oriented
bookshop.
</p>
</div>

</div>


<div class="row" style="padding-top:1rem; padding-bottom:1rem;">


<div class="medium-6 columns">
<h4 class="clan">Co_Lab Books</h4>

<p>
<i>2209 Maryland Ave.</i>

Recently re-opened after closing
during the pandemic, the
bookstore offers an eclectic
selection of art, architecture,
and design titles.
</p>
</div>



<div class="medium-6 columns">
<h4 class="clan">Greedy Reads</h4>

<p>
<i>1744 Aliceanna St.|
320 W. 29th St.</i>

Opened in Fells Point in 2018,
and in Remington in 2019,
both shops are curated for
readers looking for books
from Baltimore writers and
national titles.
</p>
</div>

</div>


<div class="row" style="padding-top:1rem; padding-bottom:1rem;">


<div class="medium-6 columns">
<h4 class="clan">The Ivy Bookshop</h4>

<p>
<i>5928 Falls Rd.</i>

Long a Baltimore favorite, the
Ivy not too long ago moved
to a new home, a renovated
Mt. Washington house, with one
of the best backyards for reading—
and readings—in the city.
</p>
</div>



<div class="medium-6 columns">
<h4 class="clan">Normals Book & Records</h4>

<p>
<i>425 E. 31st St.</i>

For more than 30 years,
Normals has remained an
eclectic and essential wonderland
of used books and music.
</p>
</div>

</div>


<div class="row" style="padding-top:1rem; padding-bottom:1rem;">


<div class="medium-6 columns">
<h4 class="clan">Protean Books & Records</h4>

<p>
<i>836 Leadenhall St.</i>

A massive warehouse
space filled with a curated
collection of new and used
books, records, movies,
video games, nostalgia,
and curiosities.
</p>
</div>


<div class="medium-6 columns">
<h4 class="clan">Red Emma’s</h4>

<p>
<i>1225 Cathedral St. 
(Moving soon to
3128 Greenmount Ave.)</i>

The 17-year-old community
coffeehouse, bookstore,
event space, and worker
cooperative is moving later
this year to a big new
location in Waverly.
</p>
</div>

</div>


<div class="row" style="padding-top:1rem; padding-bottom:1rem;">


<div class="medium-6 columns">
<h4 class="clan">Snug Books</h4>

<p>
<i>4717 Harford Rd.</i>

Snug Books, which opened
in November, replaces The
Children’s Bookstore,
a beloved Northeast
Baltimore institution that
closed this past summer.
</p>
</div>



<div class="medium-6 columns">
<h4 class="clan">Station North Books</h4>

<p>
<i>34 E. Lanvale St.</i>

Open early afternoons,
the fun, quirky, shop is a
can’t-miss collection of art,
literature, fine binding, and
Marylandia artifacts.
</p>
</div>

</div>


<div class="row" style="padding-top:1rem; padding-bottom:1rem;">


<div class="medium-6 columns">
<h4 class="clan">Urban Reads</h4>

<p>
<i>3008 Greenmount Ave.</i>

A community bookstore,
café, and event space—
not far from Waverly’s
Saturday farmers' market—
dedicated to Black authors
and prison authors.
</p>
</div>



<div class="medium-6 columns">
<h4 class="clan">Viva Books</h4>

<p>
<i>326 N. Charles St.</i>

A small downtown storefront
with a low-key vibe offering
a range of used books, with a
specialization in the arts.
</p>
</div>

</div>
</div>
</div>


<hr/>

<div class="row">
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns" style="padding-bottom: 2rem; padding-top:2rem;">


<h1 class="plateau-five text-center" style="font-size:5rem;">
Lucille Clifton
</h1>

<h5 class="clan uppers text-center">By Kondwani Fidel</h5>


<p>
<i>A letter to Lucille Clifton:</i>
</p>
<p>
When I read your poem “1994” from <i>The
Terrible Stories</i>, I think about Fidel, my little
brother, and Davon, his older brother, who
I watched die in a house fire when I was 10,
and the many other children in Baltimore
who haven’t had their fair shot at life. The
ones who ask themselves, or whatever God
they believe in, during their final breaths,
“Have I not been a good child?”
</p>
<p>
You were a writer-in-residence at Coppin
State College, which is now Coppin
State University, and it’s where I currently
teach English and Creative Writing. You
were the poet laureate of Maryland and
lived most of your adult life in Baltimore,
the city where I was born and raised. You
were a poet, like myself.
</p>
<p>
I love that in your work you honor the
dead—you honor the things that shed. Whether
it’s feelings for an ex-lover, or the lies that
didn’t taste like lies during the time you told
them to yourself. I honor the dead, too. I have
a stack of obituaries living in my bedroom.
Death is something that has been consistent
in my life, but still something I could never
get used to. Death is strange. But, death is
the only thing that vouches for our reality. In
your poem “1994” you also wrote:
</p>
<blockquote>
you have your own story <br/>
you know about the fears the tears <br/>
the scar of disbelief
</blockquote>
<p>
When I read this, I think of the many stories
that you left us with. The many stories that
encourage the rest of us to use our voices.
</p>

<div style="border: 2px solid; padding: 1rem 2rem; border-radius: 5px;">
<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Kondwani Fidel is the author of <i>The Antiracist</i>,
<i>Hummingbirds in the Trenches</i>, and <i>Raw Wounds</i>.
He received his MFA in Creative Writing and Publishing
Arts from the University of Baltimore. NPR called Fidel
“one of the nation’s smartest young Black voices.”
</h5>
</div>

</div>
</div>

<hr/>

<div class="row">
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns text-center" style="padding-bottom: 2rem; padding-top:2rem;">


<h1 class="plateau-five text-center" style="font-size:5rem;">
W.E.B. DUBOIS
</h1>

<h5 class="clan uppers">By Lawrence Brown</h5>

<img decoding="async" class="singlePic"  style="display: block; padding-bottom:1rem; padding-top:1rem;" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/LiteraryBaltimore_master-pnp-ggbain.jpg"/>

<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Photo courtesy of Library of Congress.
</h5>
</div>
</div>




<div class="row">
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns" style="padding-bottom: 2rem; padding-top:1rem;">

<p>
<b>In 1903</b>, at the age of 35, Dr. W.E.B. Du Bois penned his classic book, <i>The Souls of Black Folk</i>,
to demolish the central tenet of America’s white supremacist theology: that Black people
had no souls and were subhuman. Such was the breadth of his groundbreaking career and
contributions to American sociology and history, that in 1935, just four years before moving
to Baltimore at 71, Du Bois published a staggering 746-page masterpiece entitled <i>Black
Reconstruction in America</i>. Here, Du Bois called for the building of an “abolition-democracy”
that meant not only the end of chattel slavery, but the “uplift of slaves and their eventual
incorporation into the body civil, politic, and social, of the United States.”
</p>
<div class="picWrap4">
<h3 class="plateau-five">
“DU BOIS, WHO
LIVED IN BALTIMORE
UNTIL 1957, MOVED
INTO A CITY THAT
WAS STILL RIGIDLY
SEGREGATED
BY RACE.”
</h3>

</div>
<p>
Upon moving to Baltimore with his wife, Nina, to be near their daughter, a city school
teacher, Du Bois hired renowned Black scholar, activist, and architect C.J. White to design
and build his home in 1939 in the Morgan Park community adjacent to what was then
known as Morgan College. Du Bois, who lived in Baltimore until 1957, moved into a city
that was still rigidly segregated by race. But undoubtedly, he saw the walls of rigid racial
segregation begin to crack, too. Morgan College students marched to Annapolis in 1947 to
protest inequitable funding for their school. In the early 1950s, more Morgan students
began pioneering and waging a sit-in movement to eventually desegregate establishments
such as Read’s Drug Stores and Northwood Shopping Center. Du
Bois himself was transitioning from domestic politics to international
affairs. He had deftly analyzed America’s racial problems
and crusaded as an organizer and activist for over 50 years. Firmly
in his 70s, he retired from his professorship at Atlanta University
in 1944 and resigned a second and final time from the
NAACP in 1948. While living in Baltimore, Du Bois remained active
and increasingly focused on issues of peace and African independence
from European colonizers, writing two books on the
topic in 1945 and 1946. After his wife Nina died in 1950, Du Bois
later married prolific author and activist Shirley Graham Du Bois.
Both remained tireless advocates for racial justice until their
deaths in 1963 (W.E.B.) and 1977 (Shirley)
</p>

<div style="border: 2px solid; padding: 1rem 2rem; border-radius: 5px;">
<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Lawrence T. Brown is an urban Afrofuturist and equity scientist. His first book <i>The Black Butterfly: The
Harmful Politics of Race and Space in America</i> was published in 2021. From 2013-2019, he served as
an assistant and associate professor at Morgan State University in the School of Community Health and
Policy. He is currently a research scientist at Morgan State in the Center for Urban Health Equity.
</h5>
</div>

</div>
</div>

<hr/>

<div class="row">
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns " style="padding-bottom: 1rem; padding-top:4rem;">


<h1 class="plateau-five text-center uppers" style="font-size:5rem;">
Gertrude Stein
</h1>

<h5 class="clan uppers text-center">By Phoebe Stein</h5>


<p>
<b>Growing up</b>, I heard stories about my
father’s “cousin Gertrude” and her love
for my family, her sense of humor, deep
laugh, and penchant for American popular
culture, including one particular
tale about her December 1934 visit to
Baltimore with life partner/Parisian
avant-garde cohort Alice B. Toklas. They
stayed with my grandparents at the
family farm in Pikesville while my father
was home from boarding school.
Dad’s central goal over the holiday
break was to get his driver’s license, but
he forgot to put out his arm to indicate
a turn and failed the test. As Dad told it,
he returned home from this “tragedy”
and stormed into the house, only to see
Gertrude with journalists from the <i>Associated
Press</i>. She asked my sulking
father to bring in my grandparents’
dogs and insisted he pose for the photo
with her, too. The result is a family
keepsake—a picture of my dad, stonyfaced,
with the family dogs, sitting at
Gertrude’s feet.
</p>
<p>
In college, I met a different version
of Gertrude Stein, one who rejected
America and moved to France.
</p>
<p>
Gertrude Stein has been both lambasted
and lauded for her experimental
style, and I cannot say I have read all of
her work or enjoyed all the reading I
have done. My favorite remains her
collection of novellas, <i>Three Lives</i>, set in
a port city of “Bridgepoint,” I believe
loosely based on Baltimore. (She lived
here while attending medical school at
Johns Hopkins for three years). In fact,
the novella in the collection, “Melanctha,”
is a rewriting of Stein’s manuscript
for her novel <i>Q.E.D.</i>—considered one
of the earliest coming-out stories—
about her failed romantic relationship
with May Bookstaver in turn-of-the-century
Baltimore.
</p>

<div style="border: 2px solid; padding: 1rem 2rem; border-radius: 5px;">
<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Phoebe Stein has been an advocate
for the humanities for more than 20
years. She is the former executive
director of Maryland Humanities.
She received her Ph.D. and M.A. in
English from Loyola University of
Chicago and since May 2020 has
served as the president of the Federation
of State Humanities Councils.
</h5>
</div>

</div>
</div>

<div class="row">
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns text-center" style="padding-bottom: 1rem; padding-top:4rem;">


<h1 class="mohr-black text-center" style="font-size:3rem;">
Literary Baltimore
</h1>

<h5 class="unit uppers">A PHOTO ALBUM
OF LITERARY RELICS.</h5>

</div>
</div>

<div class="row" >
<div class="medium-12 columns text-center" style="padding-top:2rem;">

<img decoding="async" class="singlePic"  style="display: block; padding-bottom:1rem;" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/LiteraryBaltimore_WebCollage.jpg"/>

</div>
</div>

<div class="row">
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns">
<h5 class="captionVideo thin">Row 1: The George Peabody
Library; linotype machines;
Frances Ellen Watkins Harper. <i>Courtesy of LIBRARY OF CONGRESS</i> <br/>
Row 2: Mencken's Happy
Days; Maryland Center
for History and Culture;
Sinclair's The Jungle; F. Scott
Fitzgerald; Clifton's How
To Carry Water. <i>Courtesy of WIKIMEDIA COMMONS</i> <br/>
Row 3: H.L.
Mencken; Fitzgerald’s <i>Tender
is the Night</i>; Zora Neale
Hurston. <i>Courtesy of CARL VAN VECHTEN
PHOTOGRAPHS COLLECTION AT THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS.</i> <br/>
Row 4: Hurston's
<i>Their Eyes Were Watching
God</i>; Gertrude Stein <i>Courtesy of CARL VAN VECHTEN PHOTOGRAPHS COLLECTION AT THE LIBRARY OF CONGRESS</i>;
Peabody Library interior. </h5>
</div>
</div>

<hr/>

<div class="row">
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns text-center" style="padding-bottom: 2rem; padding-top:2rem;">


<h1 class="plateau-five text-center uppers" style="font-size:5rem;">
Dashiell Hammett
</h1>

<h5 class="clan uppers">By Dan Fesperman</h5>

<img decoding="async" class="singlePic"  style="dislplay: block; padding-bottom:1rem; padding-top:1rem" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/LiteraryBaltimore_Dashiell-Hammett.jpg"/>


</div>
</div>




<div class="row">
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns" style="padding-bottom: 2rem; padding-top:1rem;">

<p>
<b>Before he was</b> ever called Dash, and long before he wrote a single word of hardboiled
fiction, Dashiell Hammett was simply Sam from Baltimore, a restless high
school dropout who, at age 20, finally found steady employment as a gumshoe
for the Pinkertons, working in their downtown office in the Continental Trust
Company Building, now known as One Calvert Plaza.
</p>
<p>
He probably had that building in mind when he later created his first notable
detective, the Continental Op, although I’ve never bought into the boosterish
local claim that the building’s decorative stone eagles helped inspire <i>The Maltese
Falcon</i>. They’re eagles, for chrissakes.
</p>
<p>
What has always been clear—to this writer, anyway—is that you could never
take the Sam from Baltimore out of Hammett’s writing. His prose, like his
boyhood city, beguiles by never putting on airs. His dialogue doesn’t speechify
or lecture. Hammett gives you only what you need, and keeps you enthralled
while doing so.
</p>
<div class="picWrap4">
<h3 class="plateau-five">
“BEFORE HE WROTE
A SINGLE WORD OF
HARD-BOILED FICTION,
DASHIELL HAMMETT
WAS SIMPLY SAM
FROM BALTIMORE.”
</h3>

</div>
<p>
His own habits sometimes crept into those of his detectives—first with the
Continental Op, then with Sam Spade, and, finally,
with the narrator of his last novel, <i>The Thin Man</i>. Nick
Charles, like Hammett at that point in his life, was a
somewhat idle man of means keeping company with a
sharp, sophisticated woman (writer Lillian Hellman,
in Hammett’s case). Nick also drank heavily—six tipples
in the first nine pages alone, four of them before
lunch. By then, so did Hammett, alas.
</p>
<p>
But even as his life took him to ever more glamorous
and exotic locales, we could still see and hear
plain old Sam from Baltimore in the stripped-down
beauty of his prose.
</p>

<div style="border: 2px solid; padding: 1rem 2rem; border-radius: 5px;">
<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Like Hammett, Dan Fesperman enjoys writing about dangerous and unseemly people and places,
a habit he formed as a foreign correspondent for <i>The Baltimore Sun</i>. Now traveling on his
own dime, his novels draw upon those experiences. The sixth of those books, <i>The Prisoner of
Guantanamo</i>, won the Dashiell Hammett Prize from the International Association of Crime
Writers. His thirteenth, <i>Winter Work</i>, will be published in July by Knopf.
</h5>
</div>

</div>
</div>

<hr/>


<div class="row" style="padding-bottom:2rem; margin-top:2rem; margin-bottom:2rem;">
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns" style="padding:3rem; border: 4px solid #317e90; border-radius:2rem;">


<img decoding="async" class="singlePic"  style="display: block; padding-bottom:1rem; max-width:150px; margin:0 auto;" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/LiteraryBaltimore_PenInk.png"/>



<h1 class="mohr-black text-center" style="font-size:3rem;">
THE CITY THAT READS
</h1>

<h5 class="unit uppers text-center">Baltimore writers on why books matter.</h5>



<p >
“I devoured the books because they
were the rays of light peeking out from
the doorframe, and perhaps past that
door there was another world.”

<br/>

<b><span style="color:#317e90;">— Ta-Nehisi Coates</span></b> 

</p>
<p >

“In reading some books we occupy
ourselves chiefly with the thoughts
of the author; in perusing others,
exclusively with our own.”

<br/>

<b><span style="color:#317e90;">— Edgar Allan Poe</span></b> 

</p>
<p >

“I know some who are constantly
drunk on books as other men
are drunk on whiskey.”

<br/>

<b><span style="color:#317e90;">— H.L. Mencken</span></b> 

</p>
<p >

“I read so I can live more than one
life in more than one place.”

<br/>

<b><span style="color:#317e90;">— Anne Tyler</span></b> 

</p>
<p >

“Once you learn to read, you
will be forever free.”

<br/>

<b><span style="color:#317e90;">— Frederick Douglass</span></b> 

</p>
<p >

“Each person has a literature
inside them.”

<br/>

<b><span style="color:#317e90;">— Anna Deavere Smith</span></b> 

</p>

<p >

“I always give books. And I always ask
for books. I think you should reward
people sexually for getting you books.”

<br/>

<b><span style="color:#317e90;">— John Waters</span></b> 

</p>



</div>
</div>


<div class="row">
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns text-center" style="padding-bottom: 1rem; padding-top:2rem;">


<h1 class="plateau-five text-center uppers" style="font-size:5rem;">
John Dos Passos
</h1>

<h5 class="clan uppers">By Rafael Alvarez</h5>

<img decoding="async" class="singlePic"  style="dislplay: block; padding-bottom:1rem; " src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2022/01/LiteraryBaltimore_JDPassos.jpg"/>


</div>
</div>




<div class="row">
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns" style="padding-bottom: 2rem; padding-top:1rem;">

<p>
<b>The desk</b> in the Peabody Library where John Dos
Passos worked in the last two decades of his life
and was often mistaken for a librarian has a small
plaque bearing his name: “Novelist and Social
Historian, 1896-1970, he spent many hours in
research at this desk.”
</p>
<p>
It was in an alcove high above Mount Vernon
that Dos Passos, as he moved from fiction toward
history upon settling in Baltimore in 1952, wrote
the bulk of a subjective biography titled, <i>The Head
and Heart of Thomas Jefferson</i>. I’ve not read the Jefferson
book nor sat at the desk where it was written.
But I have experienced World War I and the Great Depression through novels the
one-time Mount Washington resident published at the beginning of his career.
Back then, Dos Passos was mentioned in the same breath as Hemingway and
Steinbeck, was featured in the debut issue of <i>Esquire</i>, and, like Hemingway, was a
Chicago-born ambulance driver in World War I.
</p>
<div class="QuoteWrap2">
<h2 class="plateau-five">
“BOTH [BOOKS] WERE
QUITE DUSTY, LIKE THE
REPUTATION OF THEIR
AUTHOR. WHY HAS
HE LANGUISHED?”
</h2>
</div>
<p>
In the 1920s and ’30s, Dos Passos drove his stories with characters as familiar
as the working-class Baltimoreans who lived on the same block as my Highlandtown
grandparents. There were Citizen G.I.’s like Fuselli, an Italian-American grocery
clerk featured in <i>Three Soldiers</i>, celebrated as a masterpiece when published
in 1921. Fusilli could have been the good-looking kid slicing capicola at the original
DiPasquale’s when it opened on Gough Street at the beginning of World War I.
Would the neighborhood not have prayed for his soul at Our Lady of Pompei upon
news of his death in a trench?
</p>
<p>
Perhaps I am drawn to Dos Passos because his response to the tumult that accompanied
his coming of age as a writer, according to <i>The Guardian</i>, “was to become
a novelist with the instincts of a journalist.” I recently bought a vintage copy
of <i>Three Soldiers</i>—along with 1919, part two of Dos Passos’ once-celebrated and
now rarely discussed trilogy <i>U.S.A.</i>—from Station North Books near Penn Station.
Both were quite dusty, like the reputation of their author. Why has he languished?
Probably because of his support for conservative causes from about the 1950s on.
</p>

<div style="border: 2px solid; padding: 1rem 2rem; border-radius: 5px;">
<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
A lifelong habitué of libraries, Rafael Alvarez covered the Enoch Pratt Free Library in the 1980s for <i>The Sun</i>. The author of a dozen books, both fiction and non-fiction, all set in Baltimore, Alvarez is currently co-editing an anthology of Baltimore stories due out from Belt Publishing this spring.
</h5>
</div>

</div>
</div>

<hr/>

<div class="row">
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns text-center" style="padding-bottom: 1rem; padding-top:2rem;">


<h1 class="plateau-five text-center upper" style="font-size:5rem;">
Frances Harper
</h1>

<h5 class="clan uppers">By Martha Jones</h5>


</div>
</div>




<div class="row">
<div class="medium-8 push-2 columns" style="padding-bottom: 2rem; padding-top:1rem;">

<p>
<b>Frances Ellen Watkins Harper</b> is best remembered
as the African-American suffragist who
challenged Elizabeth Cady Stanton and Frederick
Douglass in 1866 at New York's National Women’s
Rights Convention, insisting that Black women
should win voting rights after the Civil War.
But that scene—one in which she memorably
urged that “we are all bound up together in one
great bundle of humanity”—occurred only after
Harper had established herself one of the era’s
most eloquent poets and anti-slavery lecturers.
</p>
<p>
Born in 1825 in Baltimore City, raised by
her uncle—the minister, educator, and founder
of Baltimore’s Legal Rights Association, William
Watkins—she published her first poem in 1839.
By 1850, she escaped the slavery and racism
that permeated Baltimore and took a teaching
post at Union Seminary in Columbus, Ohio.
Harper joined the anti-slavery lecture circuit
in 1853, dedicating her talents to the radical
extinguishment of human bondage and joining
luminaries such as Frederick Douglass and William
Lloyd Garrison, no easy feat for any woman
in mid-19th-century America, no less a Black
woman. By the time she faced off with Stanton
and Douglass in 1866, Harper was a committed
advocate of women’s rights.
</p>
<p>
Harper married briefly, becoming a widow in
1864, while remaining passionately committed to
her literary career throughout her life. Her critically
admired novel <i>Iola Leroy</i>, about the plight of
slaves and former slaves around the time of the
Civil War, was published in 1892 when Harper
was just a few years shy of her 70th birthday.
Still, her heart’s devotion lay in the future of her
only child, a daughter, Mary, who followed in
her mother’s path, becoming an accomplished
public speaker. Today, the two women are buried
together in Delaware County, Pennsylvania. A fitting
tribute to this woman of letters and daughter
of Baltimore in the city of her birth awaits.
</p>

<div style="border: 2px solid; padding: 1rem 2rem; border-radius: 5px;">
<h5 class="captionVideo thin">
Martha S. Jones is the Society of Black Alumni
Presidential Professor, professor of history
and of the SNF Agora Institute at The Johns
Hopkins University. She is most recently the
author of the award-winning <i>Vanguard: How
Black Women Broke Barriers, Won the Vote,
and Insisted on Equality for All</i> (Basic, 2020).
She tweets at @marthasjones_.
</h5>
</div>

</div>
</div>


</div>
</div>


		</div>
	</div>
</div></div></div></div>
</div>
<p><a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/the-city-that-writes-thirteen-baltimore-writers-on-citys-past-literary-stars/" rel="nofollow">Source</a></p>]]></content:encoded>
					
		
		
			</item>
		<item>
		<title>No Longer Underground</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/six-historical-sites-along-marylands-active-underground-railroad/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Lauren Cohen]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Mon, 12 Jul 2021 14:00:31 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[History & Politics]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Travel & Outdoors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Harriet Tubman]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[museums]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[slavery]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[The Underground Railroad]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[trails]]></category>
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			<p>According to the 1860 Census, more than one out of five people living in Howard County was an enslaved person. First brought to the county to work in the tobacco fields, slaves were later used in the mining and production of iron in and around Elkridge. Simply put, over the century and a half that slavery was institutionalized and legally enforced in Howard County, a significant part of the economy was built upon the backs of enslaved African Americans.</p>
<p>At the same time, it was home to abolitionists and an increasing number of free Blacks in the decades leading up to the Civil War. Geographically, the area was centrally situated—between railroads and the Potomac and Patuxent rivers—serving as a way station on the Underground Railroad to free country in the northern United States and Canada.</p>
<p>As a result, Howard County was also home to a jail, which remains standing, that incarcerated fugitive slaves. Additionally, it was home to a stone-built courthouse, which remains standing as well, that heard the cases of those charged with encouraging and assisting enslaved African Americans to flee their masters.</p>
<p>Built in 1851 and located at 1 Emory Street in the historic district of Ellicott City, the Howard County Jail held runaways, including Augusta Spriggs—who was detained while ads for her master in Prince George’s County to claim her went out—and Richard Martin, who was held as a fugitive without a pass. Augustus Collins was held here, too, while awaiting trial for inciting an insurrection among the Black population.</p>
<p>From its construction in 1843 to the end of slavery in Maryland on November 1, 1864, the Howard County Courthouse, also in the historic district of Ellicott City, held judicial proceedings related to legal cases involving those charged with encouraging enslaved persons to run away. Arguably, the most famous case here involved well-known Underground Railroad “general” William Chaplin of the American Anti-Slavery Society, who was arrested in August 1850 for having “abducted, stolen, taken, and carried out from the city of Washington” two fugitive slaves. But there were other cases, too, involving Howard County free Blacks such as Warner Cook, who was charged with enticing those enslaved to run away.</p>
<p>“These places and stories are important,” says Dr. Everlene Cunningham, chair of the Howard County Center of African American Culture, which curated the county’s The Simpsonville Freetown Legacy Trail. Named for the local community of early free Black landowners, the trail commemorates several places where oral history says Harriet Tubman led fugitives fleeing slavery, as well as the county’s historic jail and courthouse. “These are stories you didn’t get in school growing up.”</p>
<p>Maryland has the most documented successful escapes from slavery, and, in recent years, counties have been rediscovering—and highlighting—more historical sites in the state, considered the epicenter of the Underground Railroad.</p>
<p>Maryland has also been at the forefront of Underground Railroad research, documentations, and commemorations, which includes the now annual state recognition of September as International Underground Railroad month, signed by Gov. Larry Hogan two years ago.</p>
<p>That said, there’s no reason to wait until the fall to discover the indispensable role Maryland played in the Underground Railroad.</p>

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			<div class="vc_single_image-wrapper   vc_box_border_grey"><img loading="lazy" decoding="async" width="1200" height="339" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/07/Screen-Shot-2021-05-31.jpg" class="vc_single_image-img attachment-full" alt="" title="Screen Shot 2021-05-31" srcset="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/07/Screen-Shot-2021-05-31.jpg 1200w, https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/07/Screen-Shot-2021-05-31-768x217.jpg 768w, https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/07/Screen-Shot-2021-05-31-480x136.jpg 480w" sizes="auto, (max-width: 1200px) 100vw, 1200px" /></div><figcaption class="vc_figure-caption">From top: Wood-cut of runaway slaves on Maryland's Eastern Shore; lithograph of the Howard County Courthouse; newspaper reward notice for the capture of a runaway slave from Ellicott's Mills.</figcaption>
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			<h4><strong>Howard County&#8217;s Network to Freedom and Underground Railroad</strong></h4>
<p>The Visit Howard County website highlights several stops on <a href="https://www.visithowardcounty.com/blog/post/harriet-tubman-the-simpsonville-freetown-legacy-trail/">The Simpsonville Freetown Legacy Trail</a>, including Locust Cemetery, where oral history says Harriet Tubman and the fugitive slaves she was guiding rested on their journey north. The cemetery is situated at the intersection of Harriet Tubman Lane and Freetown Road.</p>
<p>More information on the complete list of sites, as well as Tubman artifacts and belongings, can be found at the <a href="https://hccaac.org/">Howard County Center of African American Culture Museum in Columbia</a>. The Center also sells <em>Seeking Freedom: A History of the Underground Railroad in Howard County, Maryland</em>, which was written by The Center’s since-deceased founder Wylene Burch, staff, and a team of researchers. The Center also hosts an exhibition on Maryland’s 4th United States Colored Infantry Regiment, which saw action in the Civil War in North Carolina and Virginia.</p>
<p>The Howard County Historical Society Museum on Frederick Road in Ellicott City also includes exhibits related to those who escaped from slavery in Howard County.</p>

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			<h4>Harriet Tubman Underground Railroad Visitor Center</h4>
<p>It’s estimated that Harriet Tubman helped free 70 people over 13 trips back and forth to the Eastern Shore. The new <a href="https://docs.google.com/forms/d/e/1FAIpQLSeyQDZJZpVL0ULTfczq0cRIg3kctrDJQwdDBWkfv6-mFemvlA/viewform#responses">Harriet Tubman Underground Railroad Visitor Center</a> in Dorchester County serves as a museum and gateway to the Harriet Tubman Underground Railroad Scenic Byway and provides visitors with the opportunity to walk in the abolitionist’s footsteps.</p>
<p>Among the destinations on the Byway are the Brodess Farm, where Tubman grew up in slavery; the Bucktown General Store, the site of her first act of defiance; the Tuckahoe Neck Meeting House, a gathering place for Quaker abolitionists—some of the most effective anti-slavery activists—and Tubman-Garrett Riverfront Park in Wilmington, Delaware, which honors Tubman and Thomas Garrett, who lived in nearby Quaker Hill.</p>

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			<h4>Following In His Footsteps—Maryland&#8217;s Frederick Douglass Driving Tour</h4>
<p>Organized online at the <a href="https://www.visitmaryland.org/driving-tours/following-his-footsteps-marylands-frederick-douglass-driving-tour">Visit Maryland website</a>, this wide-ranging tour features sites from the Eastern Shore—where the famed abolitionist, writer, orator, and diplomat’s life began—to Central Maryland and the Capitol Region. (Douglass’ historic Cedar Hill home, now a museum, in Anacostia is not to be missed.)</p>
<p>Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey was born close to Tuckahoe Creek near Holme Hill Farm. Outdoor exhibits chronicle his early life here, as well as his enslavement at Miles River Neck and St. Michaels. Sites in Easton on the tour include the former Talbot County Jail, where Douglass was locked up for a week after attempting to gain his freedom by paddling a log canoe to the upper head of the Chesapeake Bay.</p>
<p>The <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/eastern-shore-begins-to-reckon-with-difficult-history-racism-slavery/">Talbot County Courthouse</a> in Easton, the location of Douglass’ famous “Self-Made Men” speech in 1878, honors him with a statue. Also on the tour site list: Bethel A.M.E Church and Asbury United Methodist Church, where Douglass also spoke in 1878.</p>
<p>“I am an Eastern Shoreman, with all that name implies,” Douglass once said. “Eastern Shore corn and Eastern Shore pork gave me my muscle. I love Maryland and the Eastern Shore!”</p>
<p>Among the key sites in Baltimore related to Douglass’ escape to freedom are the Frederick Douglass-Isaac Myers Maritime Park, which documents his life and working experience in the city, and the President Street Station (now home to the Baltimore Civil War Museum), where at 20 years of age in 1838 he successfully disguised himself and boarded a train for Philadelphia.</p>

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			<h4>Hagerstown Underground Railroad Trail: Sites of Freedom and Resistance</h4>
<p>From the mid 1700s through the Civil War period, African Americans were enslaved in Washington County, with about 14 percent of the population, or 3,200 people, enslaved in 1820.</p>
<p>Among those who escaped slavery here was James W.C. Pennington. He made it to Pennsylvania in 1827 at age 19, changed his name, eventually attended Yale University, became a Presbyterian minister, and officiated at Frederick Douglass’ wedding. Although he never returned to Washington County before the Civil War, he helped several members of his family escape as well, sheltering them and raising funds to secure their freedom. Pennington penned a memoir, <em>The Fugitive Blacksmith</em> (1849), and one of the first history books of African Americans, <em>The Origin and History of the Colored People</em> (1841).</p>
<p>Otho Davis also escaped slavery in Washington County. Taylor fled Henry Fiery’s Farm on Easter Sunday, 1856, taking his wife, two children, two brothers, a sister-in-law, and nephew with him on Fiery’s horses and two buggies, eventually reaching Canada. The Fierys attempted many times to get the Davises back, but to no avail, according to Visit Hagerstown, which has a downloadable <a href="http://www.visithagerstown.com/files/FINAL%20UndergroundRailroad_Brochure_proof.pdf">local Underground Railroad map</a> and brochure on its website.</p>
<p>The urban Underground Railroad trail in Hagerstown can be walked or driven, and takes visitors to sites associated with escapes from slavery, highlighting the individuals who fled and those who assisted in their escapes. There are several original buildings still standing—including Ebenezer African Methodist Episcopal Church, chartered in 1820—and the home of Sheriff William FitzHugh, who held people in slavery and enforced the law against those hoping for freedom.</p>

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			<h4>Underground Railroad Experience Trail—Montgomery County</h4>
<p>The trail, created in 1998 by Montgomery Parks to preserve the county’s rural landscape, provides walking paths and commemorates a part of Sandy Spring and Montgomery County’s Underground Railroad history.</p>
<p>The town of Sandy Spring was settled by Quakers in the 1720s, and they later banned members of the church from holding slaves. Eventually, a group of former enslaved people and the local Quakers worked together to help fugitive slaves to freedom, and it is said that Dred Scott stayed in Sandy Spring while the U.S. Supreme Court decided his famous 1857 case.</p>
<p>Among Underground Railroad destinations in the area are the <a href="https://www.sandyspringslavemuseum.org/">Sandy Spring Slave Museum</a>, which holds an actual slave cabin; the Sandy Spring Friends’ Meetinghouse, whose congregants were active abolitionists; and the Sharp Street Church, established in 1822 by newly freed African Americans. One of the stops on the trail is the Woodlawn Manor &amp; Barn, built by a prominent family of local Quakers, who were banished from their congregation for refusing to free their enslaved workers.</p>
<p>Five years ago, the barn reopened as <a href="https://www.montgomeryparks.org/parks-and-trails/woodlawn-manor-cultural-park/woodlawn-museum/">Woodlawn Museum</a>, and today it hosts exhibits on the legacy of the Quaker community, the local African-American community, 19th-century farming, and Montgomery County’s Underground Railroad.</p>

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			<h4>History, Heritage, and the Underground Railroad—Prince George&#8217;s County</h4>
<p>African Americans have raised families and built communities for more than 300 years in Prince George’s County, which kept more slaves than any other county in Maryland. Of the more than 13,600 African Americans living in the county in 1860, some 91 percent were enslaved. Almost 10 percent of the fugitive slaves arrested in Baltimore were from Prince George’s County.</p>
<p>Among the historic sites here are the <a href="https://www.mncppc.org/3009/Northampton-Plantation-Slave-Quarters">Northampton Slave Quarters and Archaeological Park</a> in Bowie, which features the reconstructed foundations of slave quarters on the former Northampton Plantation. Excavations from the former plantation (1673-1860) have discovered artifacts from the lives of enslaved African Americans.</p>
<p>The <a href="https://www.pgparks.com/3007/Mount-Calvert-Historical-and-Archaeologi">Mount Calvert Historical and Archaeological Park</a> in Upper Marlboro interprets the history of local Native Americans, the colonial town of Charles Town (Prince George’s first county seat), and the lives of African Americans. Fifty-one enslaved African Americans worked at the Mount Calvert Plantation by the mid 1800s. St. Paul’s United Methodist Church in Oxon Hill, believed to be the oldest Black congregation in Prince George’s County, was built upon property acquired shortly after the Civil War in 1867.</p>
<p>Among those who successfully escaped slavery in Prince George’s County was Nace Shaw, who fled the Upper Marlboro estate and plantation owned by Sarah Ann Talburtt in September 1858. Nace, who was 45 when he escaped, was also an unlikely candidate to flee given his relative privileged position as a plantation foreman, according to Maryland State Archives. But Shaw also had family in Washington, D.C., where he initially went before heading to Philadelphia and ultimately, Canada. “I wanted a chance for my life,” Shaw later said. “I wanted to die a free man.”</p>

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		<title>Turning Tides</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/eastern-shore-begins-to-reckon-with-difficult-history-racism-slavery/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Aaron Hope]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Tue, 16 Feb 2021 05:00:56 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[History & Politics]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Black History]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Eastern Shore]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Harriet Tubman]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Salisbury]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[slavery]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Talbot County]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Wicomico]]></category>
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<i><h3 class="plateau-five">After decades of silence, the Eastern Shore begins to reckon with its difficult history.</h3></i>

<span class="clan editors uppers"><p style="font-size:1.75rem; padding-top:2rem; margin-bottom:0;">By Lydia Woolever</p><p style="font-size:1.25rem;">Photography by Greg Kahn</p></span>

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<h1 class="title">Turning Tides</h1>


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After decades of silence, the Eastern Shore begins to reckon with its difficult history.
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<p class="byline">By Lydia Woolever <br/> Photography by Greg Kahn</p>

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<span class="mohr-black" style="letter-spacing:2px;">AN ORDINARY WEEKEND</span> in downtown
Easton, the brick sidewalks are mostly empty,
save for the occasional local out for a stroll or a
handful of tourists taking in the iconic Colonial
architecture of Maryland’s Eastern Shore. With
only 16,000 residents, it’s the second-biggest town
on the peninsula, a quaint yet popular stopover
for folks from Baltimore and Washington, D.C., on
their way to Ocean City.
</p>
<p>
But on a Saturday afternoon this past August,
a commotion could easily be heard from several
blocks away as some hundred people gathered at
the Talbot County Courthouse. Wearing masks and
holding signs, their voices carried as they answered
a call of “Whose courthouse?” with a unified “Our
courthouse!” from a grassy lawn in front of the
looming government building, built in 1794.
</p>

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<h6 class="clan thin text-center">Talbot County Courthouse, circa 1920s. <i>Courtesy of Talbot Historical Society.</i></h6>
</div>

<p>
Four days earlier, the Talbot County Council had
convened inside the South Wing, sitting along a
dark wooden bench separated by plexiglass dividers
beneath the official seal of “Tempus Praeteritum Et
Futurum,” or “Times, Past and Future,” as they voted
on an issue that had grown increasingly urgent
as months wore on. Earlier in the summer, after a
thousand protestors rallied outside on Washington
Street following the police killing of George Floyd,
calls for Black Lives Matter quickly dovetailed with a
demand to remove the “Talbot Boys.”
</p>

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<img decoding="async" class="singlePic" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/EasternShore_Talbot.jpg"/>
<h6 class="clan thin text-center">The Talbot Boys statue in December 2020.</h6>
</div>

<p>
In front of the courthouse’s grand entrance, the
bronze statue, erected in 1916, depicts a young Confederate
soldier carrying a Confederate battle flag
atop a granite base that bears the names of 96 local
Confederate soldiers and the inscription “1861-1865 C.S.A.,” or Confederate
States of America.
</p>

<p>
“George Floyd’s death tugged at the conscience of this country,
and people began to connect it to Confederate monuments and
the messages that they send,” says Richard Potter, an Easton native
and head of the local NAACP, who as a boy was mesmerized
by the childlike soldier, sensing he must have done something
special to receive such a significant perch, only years later becoming rattled by its history. “The courthouse is meant to be a
place where we can go and get a fair and just trial. And yet to get
inside, Black people have to walk past a monument that says you
belong in bondage.”
</p>
<p>
Of course, this was not the first time that Easton residents had called for
the statue’s removal. In 2015, Potter made the request after a white
supremacist murdered nine people at the Emanuel African Methodist
Episcopal Church in Charleston, South Carolina. Following a closed-door
vote that violated Maryland’s open meetings law, the council
unanimously chose to keep the statue where it stood. In 2017, calls came
again after a white nationalist rally left one protestor dead in Charlottesville, Virginia. And again in 2020, when some 700 letters,
including one from this writer, flooded the inboxes of the county
councilmembers, as similar monuments came down all across the
United States.
</p>


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<h5 class="text-center" style="margin: 0.5rem;">
Protest at the Talbot County Courthouse, Easton, 8/15/2020
</h5>



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<p>
It was these events, and further conversations with community
members, that inspired Council President Corey Pack to propose the
removal of the Talbot Boys last summer, even after voting to keep it
in 2015, at the time reasoning that it was a piece of history. “A man who fails to change his mind will never change the world that’s around him,” said Pack—the council’s first and only Black member—as the conversation
grew contentious leading up to the vote that August evening.
</p>
<p>
Other council members—Chuck Callahan, Frank Divilio, and
Laura Price—expressed opposition to the resolution, pointing to
the COVID-19 pandemic, limited public input, and even the inability
of the deceased Confederate honorees to be present. Price, in a
previous meeting, also resisted the adoption of a diversity statement.
“We have a lot of other problems here—I don’t think that
this is one of them,” she said, referring to county government, though
for many, speaking directly to the larger failure of the town, state,
and country to reckon with its racial past and present.
</p>

<p>
In the end, the council voted 3-2 to keep the Talbot Boys—believed to be the last Confederate monument, outside battlefields
and cemeteries, on public property in Maryland.
</p>
<p>
“The removal of this monument would not change the history
of this county,” said councilmember Pete Lesher that
evening. The local historian co-sponsored the resolution
for removal, despite being a descendent of
men listed on the statue’s base. “But the number
who have expressed their feelings on this matter
have made it clear that this is indeed a powerful
symbol, and our actions on it tonight, I’m afraid,
sadly speak of who we are now as a county, and the
extent to which we have not yet changed.”
</p>
<p>
Within a matter of minutes, a protest emerged
outside of the council’s windows, with demonstrators
chanting, “Take it down,” “Vote them out,” and “Black
Lives Matter,” causing the meeting to end early.
</p>
</div>
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<h6 class="clan thin uppers text-center"><center>Council members Corey Pack, left, and Pete Lesher, right, inside the Easton courthouse.</center></h6>
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<h6 class="clan thin text-center">Frederick Douglass, circa 1855. <i>Courtesy of THS.</i></h6>
</div>

<p>
<span class="mohr-black" style="letter-spacing:2px;">A DECADE AGO</span>, a different monument sparked
debate in Easton—an increasingly sophisticated center
of art and dining on the Eastern Shore. In 2011,
a bronze statue of Frederick Douglass, arguably the
region’s most famous son, was also erected on the
courthouse lawn, but only after seven years of infighting,
including objections from local veterans,
and the margin of a single council vote, only under the
condition that it not exceed the size of other statues,
aka the Talbot Boys.
</p>

<p>
The famed abolitionist was long seen as a sort
of balance to the Confederate soldier, whose cause
sought to uphold slavery, as detailed in the C.S.A.’s
founding documents. But today, the Douglass statue
tells a broader story—his raised fist and defiant
stance serving as a potent reminder of the horrors
and hardships overcome by Black people in this
town, and across the Eastern Shore.
</p>

<p>
Douglass was born into slavery around 1818,
just 12 miles from where his monument now
stands, becoming one of hundreds of enslaved
African Americans on Wye Plantation, the
largest of its kind on the Shore. “It was in this
dull, flat, and unthrifty district . . . surrounded
by a white population of the lowest order . . . and
among slaves, who seemed to ask, ‘Oh! What’s the use?’ every
time they lifted a hoe, that I . . . was born, and spent the first years
of my childhood,” wrote Douglass in his memoir, <i>My Bondage and
My Freedom</i>.
</p>

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<img decoding="async" class="singlePic" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/EasternShore_WyeHouse.jpg"/>
<h6 class="clan thin text-center">Corn crib at the Wye House plantation in Talbot County. <i>Courtesy of THS.</i></h6>
</div>

<p>
In many ways, it can be said that the African-American experience
began in this place, this region—on the Chesapeake Bay—when the first
captured Africans arrived in Jamestown, Virginia, in 1619. But it
wasn’t until changes in the trans-Atlantic slave trade and the expansion
of tobacco plantations by the early 1700s that slavery took full
root in Maryland. Tens of thousands of men, women, and children of
African descent were brought by boat to tidewater ports that speckled
these shorelines, tangling race and economics in a brutal web for
centuries, particularly on the Eastern Shore—a 110-mile stretch of
low-lying hinterlands separated from the rest of the state by the continent’s
largest estuary.
</p>

<p>
By the time of Douglass’ birth, declining tobacco prices and
overworked soil caused local farmers to shift to less labor-intensive
grains, with many choosing to save money by hiring seasonal workers
over supporting enslaved people year-round. Coinciding with a
growing abolitionist movement that flourished in towns like Easton
thanks to congregations of Quakers and Methodists, some slaves
were released from bondage. But thousands of others were doomed to
be sold from the Chesapeake to the booming cotton plantations of the
Deep South as part of the Second Middle Passage, sometimes referred
to as slavery’s Trail of Tears.
</p>
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<img decoding="async" class="singlePic" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2021/02/EasternShore_hero3.jpg"/>
<h6 class="clan thin text-center">The Wye House plantation, circa 1892. <i>Courtesy of THS.</i></h6>
</div>
<p>
On the Eastern Shore, these changes created a unique scenario,
where the remaining enslaved people—some 35,000 in 1820—lived
alongside some of the state’s largest populations of free Black people,
and where some of the oldest African-American communities still
stand today.
</p>

<p>
By its very nature, says Patrick Nugent, deputy director of the
the Starr Center for the Study of the American Experience at Washington College in Chestertown, the Eastern Shore is in the middle of nowhere, but also in the
middle of everywhere, close to urban centers like Baltimore, D.C., and
Philadelphia, and yet isolated, geographically—with slavery in many
ways at its historical center. For that, he says, to this day, “It is a
crossroads of American politics, environments, and cultures that has
led to a really complex history.”
</p>
</div>
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<h5 class="uppers mohr-black" style="letter-spacing:8px;">In many ways, it can be said that the African-American experience began on the Chesapeake Bay, when the first captured africans arrived in Jamestown in 1619.</h5>
</div>
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<h6 class="clan thin uppers text-center"><center>Loblolly pines in the Blackwater
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<p>
<span class="mohr-black" style="letter-spacing:2px;">AND THAT INTERSECTION</span> reached its apex leading up to the Civil War. Maryland’s below-the-Mason-Dixon-Line, border-state identity led to stark divisions of sentiments
and sympathies, notably in rural communities like the
Eastern Shore, where the economy relied on a racial caste system,
with the local state legislature even considering secession in 1861. Ultimately,
Talbot County sent more than 300 soldiers to the Union
Army, but even after the Emancipation Proclamation, life changed
slowly here, if much at all. Postwar “Black codes” and eventually
Jim Crow laws kept wealth, resources, and power largely in the
hands of white landowners, influencing housing, education, and
employment for decades to come. Into the 20th century, African Americans often worked as low-wage
farmhands and laborers in seafood-packing houses. Then Shore
towns were hit hard by the Great Depression, still isolated from the rest of the state until
the first Bay Bridge span in 1952, with that economic plight
causing many to move away to industrialized cities throughout the Great
Migration. Next generations would never return.
</p>

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<h6 class="clan thin uppers text-center">Women picking crabs and an oyster tonger. <i>Courtesy of THS.</i></h6>
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<p>
“I grew up in a middle-class environment, but I saw what other
Blacks less fortunate than I had to deal with every day,” said Gloria
Richardson of her life there in the 1930s and 40s during an interview with <i>The Washington Post</i> last December. A <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/community/cambridge-riot-the-legacy-of-civil-rights-hero-gloria-richardson/" target="_Blank">photograph</a> of the young civil rights leader—pushing aside a National Guard
bayonet during a 1963 demonstration over equal access for Black
residents in Cambridge—remains an indelible image from that
period. “Even today, until everyone is on the same plane, then the
fight continues. This fight is still the same fight as before.”
</p>
<p>
Today, Dorchester County has a population of 32,000, more
than 26 percent of whom are Black. But only 500 of the 2,800
businesses are minority-owned, and Black people are nearly twice
as likely to be unemployed or living in poverty compared
to their white counterparts. Those numbers are
comparable, or worse, across the rest of the Eastern
Shore, where school systems feature few teachers or
principals of color, if any. Even after the <i>Brown v. Board of
Education</i> decision in 1954, some counties did not
integrate until 1969—the last in Maryland.
</p>

<p>
“We are concerned for our children,” says Adrian
Holmes, founder of the Alpha Genesis Community
Development Corporation in Cambridge, who is currently
working to incorporate more diverse programming
into the county’s public-school system. “We are
not addressing this community with respect to its
history. And so the ones who can find their way leave,
and the ones who remain continue to struggle. We
have to find more support for them, not just giving
them money or housing, but addressing that systemic
legacy.”
</p>

<p>
Politics also remain predominantly white—Somerset
County elected its first Black politician in
2010—as does the judicial system, with courthouse
ornaments like the Talbot Boys less symbolizing justice
than serving as an icon of the old guard.
</p>


<p>
But 30 miles south of Cambridge in Salisbury, one
historical marker dedicated to a Confederate general,
considered a war criminal by historians, was
removed last summer after more than 50 years. It had originally been installed in
1965—the same year that the Ku
Klux Klan reemerged in Maryland
after more than four decades, in Cecil
County no less—on the site of
a former historically Black neighborhood,
which had been razed to
make room for highways. In the
1980s, it was moved to the Wicomico
County Courthouse, where slaves were once held, and a white mob lynched 18-year-old Garfield King in 1898, then Matthew
Williams in 1931. In 2020, the metal plaque came down
quietly with a final call from county executive Bob Culver, who
succumbed to cancer a month later.
</p>



<p>
At least 40 of the more than 4,000 Black Americans lynched
during the Jim Crow era were murdered in Maryland, with 11 on
the Eastern Shore—a disproportionate share per capita. The state’s last recorded lynching took place in Princess Anne in 1933, when George Armwood’s gruesome killing was witnessed by as many as 2,000 white spectators, in part on the courthouse grounds, within sight of the region’s only historically Black college. Several lynchings took place in this most public square, as did one attempted lynching of Isaiah Fountain in 1920 at the courthouse jail in Easton, where he was ultimately hung. In each case, no suspects were ever found guilty.
</p>

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<h6 class="clan thin uppers text-center">STATE TROOPERS MEET AN ANGRY CROWD IN SALISBURY WHILE ATTEMPTING TO ARREST SUSPECTS IN THE 1933 LYNCHING OF GEORGE ARMWOOD. SEGREGATED SALISBURY CIRCA 1930S. <i>COURTESY OF LIBRARY OF CONGRESS AND NABB RESEARCH CENTER, SALISBURY UNIVERSITY, RESPECTIVELY.</i></h6>
</div>
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<p>
It was during this time, in the early 1900s, that the Talbot Boys statue was erected—
half a century after the Civil War, amidst the box-office success
of D.W. Griffith’s <i>The Birth of a Nation</i>, the revival of the Ku Klux
Klan, and the violent rise of Jim Crow. Like these lynchings, its
placement on the courthouse lawn—the epicenter of these small
communities—was by no coincidence.
</p>
<p>
“None of these towns bears in its public space tangible evidence
that it has acknowledged and come to terms with its racially
violent history,” wrote Sherrilyn Ifill, president of the NAACP Legal
Defense and Education Fund, in her book, <I>On the Courthouse Lawn</i>,
in 2007. “The assumption of most whites is that this history is
dead, unimportant, and irrelevant to the modern reality of life on
the Eastern Shore. But in fact a town’s reputation as a racially violent
one often lives on in the lore shared among Blacks.”
</p>
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<h6 class="clan thin uppers text-center"><center>Tidal marsh in Blackwater.</center></h6>
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<p>
<span class="mohr-black" style="letter-spacing:2px;">ON THE EASTERN SHORE</span>, the scales of history and heritage
have long been tipped in the white direction, from the weathered
complexion of the bay’s beloved watermen to its reputation as a
verdant vacationland rooted in abundant agriculture, rarely with reference
to the Black contribution to either. In fact, many outsiders (known as
“come heres”) and residents (known as “from heres”) alike still don’t know
that this region was once home to two Tuskegee Airmen, or a Buffalo
Soldier, or the second president of Liberia.</p>
<p> But Clara Small, a
retired Salisbury University history professor and Ph.D., is hoping
to change that. “Blacks have never done anything in this country,
and definitely not on the Eastern Shore,” a white
student once told her. She went home that night and
wrote 32 pages. Her third volume of <i>Compass Points</i>,
a collection of African-American biographies from
across the peninsula, is near release.
</p>

<p>
“I’ve always said that if you drop a compass here,
and expand it 60 to 90 degrees, you’ll find homesites
of the most important African Americans, not
just on Delmarva, but in the state, in the nation,
and sometimes internationally,” says Small, 74. “The
Eastern Shore is one of the richest areas in this country
in terms of African-American history. As a historian,
I must footnote everything. My goal is to get the
information out, so hopefully it gets passed on.”
</p>
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<h6 class="clan thin text-center">A
carte de visite of Tubman
seated, circa mid-1800s.</h6>
</div>
<p>
During the days of slavery, the region’s sheer geography established a sense of
isolation for African Americans—bookended
by the bay and Atlantic Ocean, carved with
a labyrinth of tributaries—but also channels
of information. While traveling along the
Chesapeake, visiting Black sailors helped spread news, as well as stories of freedom. And after one failed attempt landed him
in the Easton jail, Frederick Douglass eventually fled
north via train from Baltimore’s President Street Station—then hired out
as a ship’s caulker—while disguised as one of these very seafarers.
</p>

<p>
On land, another important network connected
them as well, including several key stops in Dorchester
County, where the long, flat roads fall into inky
black marsh, and the Eastern Shore’s most
famous daughter was born around 1822. Today,
numerous relics of Harriet Tubman appear between
dying stands of loblolly pine along the
Blackwater National Wildlife Refuge, from her
likely birth site to her place of employment at
the Bucktown General Store, plus other locations
said to have been involved in the Underground
Railroad, all now part of a 223-mile federal byway
in her honor. Tubman famously returned to the
Shore at least 13 times after her own escape to
free more than 70 friends and family members.
And these days, community
members in nearby Cambridge plan to memorialize
those heroic efforts by
erecting her statue at the local
courthouse—one block from
the “Black Lives Matter” mural
recently painted on Race
Street, which was once the town’s unofficial
dividing line.
</p>

</div>
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<h5 class="uppers mohr-black" style="letter-spacing:8px;">The peninsula’s geography, bookended by the bay and atlantic ocean, established a sense of isolation for african americans, but also channels of information.</h5>
</div>
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<h6 class="clan thin text-center">Bucktown
General Store, where
Harriet Tubman worked
in Dorchester County.</h6>
</div>
<p>
Small was initially drawn to the
Eastern Shore by a fascination with Tubman and Douglass, and
her work has only become more relevant in recent years. The
North Carolina native sees the racist mindsets of her former
students persisting in towns like Salisbury, if not on the rise
since the 2016 presidential election. She compares the Shore to Southern
states like Mississippi, though the latter did willingly remove the
Confederate symbol from its state flag last year. And yet it is not uncommon
to still see that emblem here, flying outside of backwoods
homes or brandished across the belt buckles and bumper stickers of
certain white residents.
</p>

<p>
In this summer’s protests over the Talbot Boys, some
young men protectively encircled the statue’s base, with one carrying just
the red-and-white portion of the Maryland state flag—a symbol of the
Confederacy. It wasn’t that many years ago, either, when in 1987, the Ku Klux Klan rallied on that same courthouse lawn in Easton,
showing support for Tilghman Island residents who burned a
cross into the yard of the town’s only Black family. Today, there
are whispers of local Proud Boys.
</p>

<p>
“People might think it’s a thing of the past, but it still informs
the present,” says Small. “The only place I’ve ever been called
the N-word to my face is on the Eastern Shore—two times. I said
preface it with ‘doctor.’”
</p>

<p>
Meanwhile, Salisbury’s Lynching Memorial Task Force is
also working closely with city government to bring the region’s
dark past into the light. This month, the group will install a plaque at the courthouse for the local victims, also honoring an unidentified Black man, whose burned
body was discovered the morning after white residents dragged
the deceased Matthew Williams behind a car through the streets
of Black neighborhoods. And similar initiatives are underway all across the Shore and state via the Maryland Lynching Truth and
Reconciliation Commission, established by the General Assembly
in 2019.
</p>
<p>
“It took years to convince our local Black community to have
this conversation because the wounds were still fresh,” says
task force co-chair Amber Green, also noting that many lifelong residents had never
even heard of the lynchings, which were largely ignored by the local press. (Damning coverage in national media, including the <I>Baltimore Sun</i>, inspired newspaper boycotts that cut off outside views well into the 1970s.) “There was a lot of hesitancy,” she continues. “There
are still living relatives of Matthew Williams, and of the man who
he was accused of murdering. But we continued to push the message
that domestic terrorism has a direct result in our country’s,
and county’s, disparities. A lot of people just assume that the
past is the past, get over it. But all of it is connected.”
</p>

<p>
As the founder of the nonprofit Fenix Youth Project, Green
helped lead the four-year effort to remove the town’s Confederate
marker last summer, and is now spearheading a racial justice essay contest
for local students. Following George Floyd’s death, she was also
part of numerous marches that filled the streets of Salisbury.
Within weeks, Broad Street, chosen for its proximity to the
courthouse, was renamed Black Lives Matter Boulevard.
</p>
<p>
“We are in 2021, and we have been talking about the same issues
since the 1930s, the 1960s,” says Green, 30, who nonetheless sees
a course correction coming. “I don’t hope for change, I expect it.”
</p>
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<h6 class="clan thin text-center">View through the trees
of a mural painted on
the side of the Harriet
Tubman Museum in
Cambridge.</h6>
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<p>
<span class="mohr-black" style="letter-spacing:2px;">ON THE SURFACE</span>, at least, the prospect of change seems
especially apparent in Chestertown, where in 1882, Gordon
Wallace’s great-great grandfather was one of the men who
founded Sumner Hall, a veteran’s post for Black Union soldiers.
More than 400 Black Kent Countians fought for the Union, as
documented in a granite monument downtown, much like the
founders of Unionville, located on the way to the Wye Plantation
in Easton, who are laid to rest in the cemetery behind St.
Stephens A.M.E. Church.
</p>

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<h6 class="clan thin text-center">Marker declaring Unionville a
“historic African-American community settled by ex-slaves and free Blacks.”</h6>
</div>
<p>
Wallace now works at Sumner Hall, which reopened as a museum
and education space in 2014 after decades of disrepair, and
through relationships made there, he helped design two street
murals in support of racial justice this summer, just around the
corner on the town’s main thoroughfare.
</p>

<p>
“At the time, murals were popping up in other
states, and I thought it was pretty cool that we were
going down that path,” says Wallace, 23. “It was
a good way of starting the conversation. Everyone
can interpret art on their own time. Though I was
a little surprised by the initial pushback.”
</p>

<p>
He’s referring to the three-hour meeting in August,
where members of Chestertown’s majority-white council were hesitant to adopt the murals—
one in the heart of the historic downtown to read
“Black Lives Matter,” and a second, four blocks
north in the Black neighborhood of Uptown, stating
“We Can’t Breathe.”
</p>

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<h6 class="clan thin text-center">Cemetery behind St. Stephens A.M.E. Church in Unionville.</h6>
</div>

<p>
The mayor cited concerns such as potential legal
exposure, long-term maintenance, and the possibility
of vandalism. (Threats did roll in from a Facebook
group called the Kent Island Patriots in nearby Queen
Anne’s County. “I’ve got some big fat tires I’ve been
waiting to burn off,” said one member.) Meanwhile,
some residents felt the effort was little more than
white guilt from the town’s many liberal retirees. But in
the end, after a slew of public comments, both were
unanimously approved, adding the tagline “Chestertown
Unites Against Racism” to each.
</p>

<p>
Where the downtown mural is now painted,
High Street follows leafy brick sidewalks past Georgian-
style homes with historic bronze plaques before
ending at the Chester River, a bustling slave
port until as late as 1770. Over the next nearly two
centuries, like elsewhere on the Shore, the legacy
of slavery would take on new forms, like segregated
restaurants, theaters, schools, and hospitals,
with Blacks and whites still living in separate silos
across the county today.
</p>

<p>
At the same time, these African-American communities
became sources of great pride, with a vibrant
Black business district downtown on Cannon
Street through the first half of the 20th century.
Here, a Black entrepreneur sold square-foot lots to his
neighbors, ultimately affording them the right to vote.
Meanwhile, in Uptown, a Black school was named
after Henry Highland Garnet, an internationally
known abolitionist born into slavery in Kent County,
while Charlie Graves’ Uptown Club became a
destination on the “Chitlin’ Circuit,” drawing acts
such as James Brown and Ray Charles.
</p>
<p>
Much of the old African-American neighborhoods
have succumbed to gentrification or been replaced
by affordable housing, but the Bethel A.M.E.
and Janes United Methodist churches, past which
Freedom Riders marched in 1962, are still anchors,
with roots to the 1800s.
</p>
<p>
“This is a place where, in the face of all of this
systemic oppression, African-American communities
were able to build churches, businesses, schools—and those
legacies still exist to this day,” says Nugent of Washington College,
where he is also director of <a href="https://chesapeakeheartland.org" target="_blank">Chesapeake Heartland</a>, an African-American humanities project in collaboration with the Smithsonian’s National Museum of African American History and Culture.
“One is hard-pressed to find that type of deep-rooted legacy, dating
back to the 1600s, elsewhere across the United States.”
</p>
<p>
A grassroots-style initiative, Chesapeake Heartland is working to document local Black life here, centering the often untold stories of African-American resilience, achievement, and excellence over the adversity. The program’s
recently acquired “humanities truck” will serve as a mobile
museum at events around the Shore, while their digital archive,
launching this month, will feature a collage of oral histories and
archival materials.
</p>
<p>
“African-American history on the Eastern Shore has been channeled
through a few singular heroes, but that larger, complex, more
nuanced story has not been fully recognized,” says Nugent. “Douglass
and Tubman were geniuses, but they were also members of
communities, and their success in so many ways came out of the other
men and women who grew those networks, which brings out a notion that’s
much more interesting. Not just that these two incredible
people rose, but the shoulders of giants that they stood on.”
</p>

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<h6 class="clan thin text-center">Images from the Chesapeake Heartland digital archive. </br><i>Courtesy of Chesapeake Heartland.</i></h6>
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<p>
In September, Chestertown released a 16-month anti-racism plan
that includes an apology for slavery, the establishment of an equity
advisory committee, and offical support for existing community efforts.
Those include Sumner Hall’s Legacy Day celebration of African-American culture, the Black Union of Kent County’s Juneteenth
festival, which launched last year around the town fountain, and
the James Taylor Lynching Remembrance Coalition, which seeks to
memorialize a 23-year-old Black man lynched by a white mob near
the Kent County Courthouse in 1892.
</p>
<p>
“When everything happened [last] summer, my uncle was telling
me about the civil rights movement,” says Wallace. “It made me look
back for comparisons between what happened then and what’s happening
now. And in a Malcolm X speech, he mentioned Gloria Richardson.
He said it would be these small communities, these rural areas,
that would step up and make change when they say, ‘we’re here.’
Knowing everything that happened on the Eastern Shore makes this
different. That is what makes this real.”
</p>
<p>
Notably, the police department has also revised its “use-of-force”
policy to include a duty to intervene. The Eastern Shore has not escaped
the plague of police-related deaths of Black people in modern-day
America. </p>
<p>
In 2018, 19-year-old Anton Black, who was born in
Chestertown, was killed under the weight of three law enforcement
officers outside of his mother’s home in nearby Caroline County. This past December, Black’s family filed a federal lawsuit alleging excessive
force by officers and ensuing efforts to cover up those actions
by public officials, as it would take an entire year for the cop,
Thomas Webster IV, to lose his certification, only after it was revealed
that he failed to disclose dozens of use-of-force reports from
his previous post in Delaware. And this year, after failing to advance
last session due to COVID-19, lawmakers also plan to reintroduce Anton’s Law, which would require more transparency and accountability
from Maryland police departments.
</p>
<p>
Black’s death, brutally captured on body-camera footage and
so similar to that of George Floyd’s, is what sparked Wanda Boyer, a
Chestertown native, to lead the effort to install those local murals, along
with fellow town activists Arlene Lee and Maria Wood. “Being so
close to home, the illusion was over, it was time for us to do something,”
says Boyer, 57, who grew up in the Uptown neighborhood. “From the beginning,
I knew that even if the murals didn’t get passed, they would
at least start some conversations. But it’s also about bringing action
. . . I am cautiously keeping hope alive. All we’ve had is hope.”
</p>
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<h5 class="uppers mohr-black" style="letter-spacing:8px;">“He said it would be these small communities, these rural areas, that would step up and make change when they say, ‘we’re here.’”</h5>
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<h6 class="clan thin text-center">Mural painting in Chestertown. Courtesy of Shore Studios.</h6>
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<p>
<span class="mohr-black" style="letter-spacing:2px;">“BACKWARDS” HAS LONG BEEN</span> a term used to describe
this landscape of backroads and backwaters—in many ways, justly
so, as many of these small towns still feel stuck in something closer
to the middle of the 20th century than 21 years into the 21st. On the
Eastern Shore, past remains prologue, and decades of silence leave
old wounds unhealed.
</p>
<p>
“No racial reconciliation process can succeed without providing
[the] opportunity for truth-telling,” wrote Ifill in <i>On the Courthouse
Lawn</i>. “But merely providing victims and their descendants the
opportunity to tell their stories is not enough. The stories must be
heard. It is in the telling <i>and hearing</i> of formerly silenced stories
that communities can recreate themselves.”
</p>

<p>
In the weeks following the Talbot Boys vote, a group of concerned
citizens formed in Easton to hold regular rallies on the
courthouse lawn during the county council’s Tuesday night meetings.
Its members sought financial pledges from community members
to fund the statue’s removal—they’ve raised at least $40,000
thus far—as well as a site for its relocation, though the local cemeteries
and historical society are not interested.
</p>
<div class="picWrap2">
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<h6 class="clan thin text-center">Fredrick Douglass statue in Easton.</h6>
</div>
<p>
During the winter months, they circulated bright yellow yard
signs that read “Move Talbot’s Confederate Monument” in capital
letters (which were quickly countered by pro-statue placards declaring “Preserve Talbot History”), and began efforts to engage political
leaders on state and national levels. A separate,
community-led Racial Equity Task Force of Talbot
County also plans to release a report on inequities
across a variety of local sectors.
</p>
<p>
As of early January, the Talbot Boys statue still
stands, with the council members who voted to
keep the Confederate monument suggesting that
the issue be pushed to an unlikely ballot measure
in 2022. Both Corey Pack and Pete Lesher feel that
the decision should ultimately be left to them as
elected officials, and hold out hope for a change of
heart among their colleagues, who did not return
requests for comment.
</p>
<p>
“Those statues cannot speak words, but they
do speak volumes,” says Pack. “If the elected body
ever reaches a point that it can say, ‘This statue no
longer represents what we believe in as citizens
of this county,’ it still doesn’t remove the stain.
You never remove that history. But what a strong
symbol to the community, that we are moving collectively
in the right direction, in an area where
so much history has taken place. That’s a great
American story to be told.”
</p>
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<p><a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/eastern-shore-begins-to-reckon-with-difficult-history-racism-slavery/" rel="nofollow">Source</a></p>]]></content:encoded>
					
		
		
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		<title>Inside the Creation of the Tubman and Douglass Statues at the Maryland State House</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/community/inside-the-creation-of-the-tubman-and-douglass-statues-at-the-maryland-state-house/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Evan Greenberg]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Wed, 26 Feb 2020 15:46:00 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[History & Politics]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[News & Community]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Harriet Tubman]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Maryland State Archives]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Maryland State House]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[StudioEIS]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/?p=71287</guid>

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			<p>A few weeks ago, at the dedication ceremony for the new statues of Harriet Tubman and Frederick Douglass at the Old House Chambers of the Maryland State House in Annapolis, one of Tubman’s descendants walked up to sculptor Ivan Schwartz, president and founder of StudioEIS in Brooklyn, New York. </p>
<p>Schwartz, whose studio had been tasked with crafting the pieces, started to get nervous. As he saw it, the descendant’s judgment would be a litmus test for how successful the years-long process had been. Thankfully, the reception was positive. </p>
<p>“She told me that the way the statue shows Harriet holding her hands is the way that all the women in her family stand when they have their photograph taken,” Schwartz says. “How amazing is that?”</p>
<p>The statues of acclaimed writer and abolitionist Frederick Douglass, and Harriet Tubman, a fearless conductor of the Underground Railroad, arrive as the national conversation around historical symbols continues to evolve. Their commissioning by then-House Speaker Michael E. Busch and then-Senate President Thomas V. Mike Miller came in the wake of the 2017 removal of a statue outside the Capitol of Roger B. Taney, a staunch defender of slavery who, as a chief justice, wrote the <em>Dred Scott </em>decision that denied citizenship to African Americans.</p>
<p>“Where the void was created, there clearly was a new impetus to fill it,” says Schwartz, whose studio has made hundreds of historical sculptures, including a depiction of George Washington resigning his military commission that sits at the State House. “We are living in a time of changing symbols. What more appropriate symbol of changing times than to install sculptures of two of the most famous Marylanders in the history of the state in the very room slavery was abolished [in the state of Maryland]?”</p>
<p>Catherine Arthur, the senior curator and director of the Maryland Commission on Artistic Property at the Maryland Archives, which collaborated with StudioEIS on the project, calls the two pieces of artwork “forensic sculptures,” referring to a process in which the final product is generated by studying myriad photos and gathering historical research. Schwartz and StudioEIS first met with Arthur and other stakeholders in the project to discuss where the statues would be placed and exactly which photos would be used as reference points.</p>
<p>Douglass is one of the most photographed figures of the 19th century, so they had plenty to choose from. But when it came to Tubman, the group decided to take a chance and use a newly discovered photo of her at a young age as her statue&#8217;s framework.</p>
<p>“It’s a new view of Harriet,” Arthur says of the photo, which was a joint acquisition by the Library of Congress and the Smithsonian Museum of African American History and Culture. “Most photos of her are of when she&#8217;s very old. This showed her at a younger age in a different costume.”</p>
<p>After that meeting, Schwartz and his team got to work. They hired actors to dress up in costumes relative to the time Tubman and Douglass lived, and took countless photographs to use as visual aids. Those photos were then the focal point of an all-hands-on-deck meeting at the state capitol where the final blueprint was designed.</p>
<p>In the midst of a months-long creation process that Schwartz estimates included 20 to 25 people, they even molded the hands of Ken Morris, Jr., Douglass’s third great-grandson, to obtain the closest approximation of what his hands might look like. Interestingly, there is both recent and historical precedent for this practice. Arthur notes that, in creating the first-ever Douglass statue in Rochester, New York, Douglass’s son’s hands were used as a model. Morris has also lent his hands to <a href="https://orleanshub.com/rochester-unveils-many-statues-of-frederick-douglass-in-honor-of-his-200th-birthday/">additional Douglass statues</a>. </p>

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			<p>“This is a very orchestrated process,” Schwartz says. “The communication is scrupulous. We are not historians, but it’s very important that people working on our projects are not just coming in to do their jobs, but that they know something about the people that we’re working to create. You cannot afford missteps.”</p>
<p>There is, of course, the conversation surrounding exactly what historical symbols can and should mean in 2020. </p>
<p>For the state of Maryland, honoring Douglass and Tubman in a very public and outward way is an effort to highlight their struggle and remarkable achievements. Arthur says she has been blown away by the reception to the statues, noticing more foot traffic than in the past at the Old House Chambers.</p>
<p>“I’ve been down in the State House, and guards that I’ve walked by and said hello to five million times have literally come over and hugged me and thanked me for my role in making this kind of recognition possible,” Arthur says. “There&#8217;s a real sense of a more balanced story being told. To see the joy with which visitors—particularly African American visitors—feel like this is an important part of their story being told and acknowledged so many years after the heroism of these two individuals—it allows the conversation to deepen.” </p>

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<p><a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/community/inside-the-creation-of-the-tubman-and-douglass-statues-at-the-maryland-state-house/" rel="nofollow">Source</a></p>]]></content:encoded>
					
		
		
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		<title>The Moment Was Now</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/the-moment-was-now-musical-american-legends-commitment-equality/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Lauren Cohen]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Wed, 26 Feb 2020 11:23:00 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Arts & Culture]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Emmanuel Episcopal Church]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frances Harper]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Mt. Vernon]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Susan B. Anthony]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[The Moment Was Now]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/?post_type=article&#038;p=70502</guid>

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			<p>The day that actress Jenna Rose Stein landed the role of Susan B. Anthony in the race-and labor-themed musical <em>The Moment Was Now, </em>her daughter, Annabel, was watching a historical TV show called <em>The Who Was? Show</em>. That episode’s biography? Susan B. Anthony. 						</p>
<p>That was back in June, when the play was casting for its September premiere at the Emmanuel Episcopal Church in Mount Vernon. Back by popular demand, the musical will be reprised this month—Women’s History Month—with <a href="https://www.themomentwasnow.com/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">seven performances</a> between February 28 and March 8. The show is set in post-Civil War Baltimore in 1869; a year before African-American males were given the right to vote. 						</p>
<p>Playwright and retired labor organizer Gene Bruskin says, “The play reveals the impassioned search for unity” by now-legendary Americans committed to equality, including Anthony, the black feminist Frances Harper, the immortal Frederick Douglass, and his partner in the black labor movement, Isaac Meyers. The question of who should receive equality under the law—and more vexingly, when—creates the conflict (argued in full-throated song) at a meeting convened by Douglass. 						</p>
<p>This year marks the 150th anniversary of the 15th Amendment to the Constitution, which gave African-American males the right to vote, and the 100th anniversary of the 19th Amendment, providing the same rights to women. The long gap between the granting of those rights ate away at Anthony, prompting deep resentment. </p>
<p>“Most people only know the work [Anthony] did as an old woman,” said Stein, who portrays Anthony in her mid-40s. “Early on she fought for abolition, women’s labor rights, the right for women to own property, and the right to divorce.” 						</p>
<p>As a Quaker teenager in New York, Anthony collected anti-slavery petitions. Later, she helped to create an all-female temperance movement. Once men were allowed to join, says Stein, the women were silenced. Her political break with Douglass (which their friendship survived) was the result of black male suffrage, which excluded women of all colors. 						</p>
<p>In perhaps her most powerful line in the play, Anthony tells Frances Harper: “I will cut my right arm off to stop the Negro male from getting the ballot” before women. They did and she did not, and the struggle continued until women got the vote in 1920, roughly a decade- and-a-half after Anthony’s death. </p>
<p>“Only by knowing the truth about our great leaders and the conflicts that they struggled with, can we learn from the past,” Bruskin says. Which is Stein’s hope for Annabel, who will watch her mother portray the suffragette again on the Emmanuel Episcopal Church stage. </p>

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<p><a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/the-moment-was-now-musical-american-legends-commitment-equality/" rel="nofollow">Source</a></p>]]></content:encoded>
					
		
		
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		<title>Trump&#8217;s Continued Attacks on Baltimore Addressed in Democratic Presidential Debate</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/community/trumps-continued-attacks-on-baltimore-addressed-in-democratic-presidential-debate/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Ron Cassie]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Wed, 31 Jul 2019 11:25:00 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[History & Politics]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[News & Community]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Amy Klobuchar]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Bernie Sanders]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Devin Allen]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Donald Trump]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Elijah Cummings]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Michael Steele]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Rev. Al Sharpton]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Thurgood Marshall]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Visit Baltimore]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/?p=17969</guid>

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			<p>For the fourth straight day, Donald Trump continued his assault on the city of Baltimore, describing it “like living in hell” while addressing reporters on the south lawn of the White House Tuesday morning. Further, the president claimed, without offering evidence, “that billions and billions given to Baltimore” in federal funding “had been stolen.”</p>
<p>Trump also continued his personal attacks on <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/2014/10/13/up-hill-climb" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Rep. Elijah Cummings</a>, who represents Maryland’s 7th District, suggesting Cummings is “in charge” of Baltimore, which the president had called “a disgusting, rat and rodent infested mess” over the weekend.</p>
<p>&#8220;They&#8217;re largely African American,&#8221; <a href="https://www.cnn.com/videos/politics/2019/07/30/president-trump-baltimore-least-racist-person-comments-sot-nr-vpx.cnn" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Trump said</a> of Baltimore’s residents. &#8220;You have a large African-American population, and they really appreciate what I&#8217;m doing and they&#8217;ve let me know it.&#8221; Again, the president offered no information about who specifically from Baltimore had reached out to him. He tweeted that the city&#8217;s economic and crime numbers are &#8220;the worst in the United States,&#8221; neither of which is true.</p>
<p>In Tuesday evening’s Democratic presidential debate, Minnesota Senator Amy Klobuchar, whose husband teaches at the University of Baltimore School of Law, decried Trump’s assault on majority-black Baltimore. “Little kids literally woke up this week and turned on the TV and saw the president call their city, the town of Baltimore, nothing more than a home for rats,” Klobuchar said.</p>
<p>To a question about how the candidates would change course and help heal from Trump’s tactic of racial division, Vermont Senator Bernie Sanders <a href="https://berniesanders.com/a-thurgood-marshall-plan-for-public-education/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">highlighted</a> his Thurgood Marshall Plan for Public Education, which aims at ending the growth of segregated schools, increasing support for Title I schools, and raising teacher pay, among other initiatives. Marshall, a Baltimore native, founded the NAACP’s Legal Defense Fund and won the Brown v. Board of Education case that overturned legal segregation in 1954.</p>
<p>On Saturday morning, a <a href="https://www.mediaite.com/tv/this-fox-friends-segment-that-preceded-trumps-rant-at-cummings-showed-piles-of-trash-in-baltimore/">“Fox &amp; Friends” segment</a> that was critical of Baltimore prompted the president’s initial verbal assaults on the city and Cummings. Trump apparently viewed the segment as an opening to go after Cummings, who serves as chair of the House Oversight and Reform Committee. Previously, Cummings had offered tough questioning of Homeland Security Secretary Kevin McAleenan during a hearing on child separations and conditions at U.S. border facilities.</p>
<p>On Sunday, Trump referred to Cummings, the son of sharecroppers who <a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/2014/10/13/up-hill-climb">grew up</a> defending himself against bullies who tried to stop the integration of a South Baltimore public pool, as &#8220;racist Elijah Cummings.&#8221; On Monday, after Rev. Al Sharpton and former Maryland Lt. Gov. Michael Steele, a Republican, visited Cummings’ West Baltimore church, Trump called Sharpton a racist, too. Meanwhile, <a href="https://www.washingtonpost.com/local/md-politics/sharpton-steele-to-speak-about-baltimore-in-wake-of-trumps-attacks-on-the-city/2019/07/29/2ecb1f6e-b186-11e9-951e-de024209545d_story.html?utm_term=.67495ccae86d" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Steele said</a> Trump &#8220;has a particular venom for blacks and people of color.&#8221;</p>
<p><img decoding="async" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/screen-shot-2019-07-30-at-10-47-50-pm.png" alt="Screen-Shot-2019-07-30-at-10.47.50-PM.png#asset:119218" /></p>
<p>During his remarks to reporters Tuesday morning, Trump referred to himself as “the least racist person there is anywhere in the world.”</p>
<p>Whether American voters believe him is another question. Later Tuesday, Quinnipiac University <a href="https://poll.qu.edu/national/release-detail?ReleaseID=3636" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">released a poll</a> that found 51 percent of American voters think the president of the Unites States is a racist. Forty-five percent of voters said they do not think Trump is a racist.</p>
<p>Wednesday morning, U.S. Department of Housing and Urban Development Secretary Ben Carson, the renowned former Johns Hopkins neurosurgeon, came to Baltimore to defend the president and tout the Trump Administration&#8217;s &#8220;Opportunity Zone&#8221; initiative. According <a href="https://www.baltimoresun.com/politics/bs-md-pol-ben-carson-visit-20190731-20190731-zk22qwmp4fhvjklv3wxlbvxfkm-story.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">to reporting</a> by <em>The Sun</em>, HUD officials planned to stage their press conference on a vacant lot in Southwest Baltimore, but never asked permission from the owners of the property, Morning Star Baptist Church of Christ.</p>
<p>Meanwhile, Baltimoreans have continued their defense of their beloved city, which launched a trending social media hashtag #WeAreBaltimore over the weekend.</p>
<p>Visit Baltimore, the city’s official tourism arm, noted, for example, that the city ranked fifth on the both <em>Forbes</em>’ list of rising cities for startups and <em>Entrepreneur </em>magazine’s list of top cities for minority entrepreneurs, as well as one of the top three U.S. cities for recent college grads by the <em>Wall Street Journal</em>.</p>
<p><img decoding="async" src="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/wp-content/uploads/2019/11/screen-shot-2019-07-30-at-10-55-27-pm.png" alt="Screen-Shot-2019-07-30-at-10.55.27-PM.png#asset:119219" /></p>
<p>In an <a href="https://www.baltimoresun.com/opinion/op-ed/bs-ed-op-0730-baltimore-proud-20190729-vbpcop2pnbhm3cdkerifzyma2m-story.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">op-ed</a> to the <em>Baltimore Sun</em>, Under Armour founder Kevin Plank and Johns Hopkins University president Ron Daniel—joined by more than a half-dozen other business, academic, and nonprofit leaders—wrote how they were “proud and privileged&#8221; to call Baltimore home. They described Baltimore as “home of creativity, optimism, and determination.”</p>
<p>Others, including Baltimore photographer <a href="https://www.instagram.com/bydvnlln/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Devin Allen</a>, continued to show their love for the city in heartfelt tweets, Facebook and Instagram posts and pictures.</p>
<p>By coincidence, Baltimore <a href="https://twitter.com/baltcityhall?lang=en" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">celebrated</a> its 290th birthday Tuesday. </p>
<p>Trump, of course, most likely didn&#8217;t know that. A couple of years ago, he described one of Baltimore&#8217;s and the country’s greatest former citizens, former slave turned abolitionist, orator, and author Frederick Douglass, as “an example of somebody’s who’s done an amazing job and is being recognized more and more.”</p>

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<p><a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/community/trumps-continued-attacks-on-baltimore-addressed-in-democratic-presidential-debate/" rel="nofollow">Source</a></p>]]></content:encoded>
					
		
		
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		<title>Frederick Douglass Bicentennial Celebrated in New Exhibit</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/frederick-douglass-bicentennial-celebrated-in-new-exhibit/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Angela N. Carroll]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Wed, 17 Oct 2018 16:19:00 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Arts & Culture]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[History & Politics]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Ed Towles]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[exhibits]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass-Isaac Myers Maritime Park]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/?p=26171</guid>

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			<p>This year marks the <a href="{entry:56821:url}">200th anniversary of the birth of Frederick Douglass</a>, a pioneer whose tireless efforts to abolish American chattel slavery and demand equal voting rights for women and black men laid the foundation for longstanding legislative reforms. Douglass, a renowned orator, abolitionist and author was born a slave in Talbot County Maryland in 1818. Though the exact date of his birth remains unknown, Douglass adopted February 14 as his birthday.</p>
<p>On Thursday, October 18, the <a href="https://livingclassrooms.org/ourp_fdimmp.php" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Frederick Douglass-Isaac Myers Maritime Museum</a> will celebrate the opening of Frederick Douglass Bicentennial, an intimate art exhibition that honors his life and legacy. Curated by Kibibi Ajanku, the exhibition features a broad selection of imaginative portraits rendered by accomplished illustrator Ed Towles. </p>
<p>“[Douglass] walked the streets of Baltimore and did light-hearted things with a serious intent,” Ajanku noted. “I wanted to speak to that and was looking for an opportunity to celebrate his bicentennial through the art of an African-American artist who also has some legacy and connection to the city.” </p>
<p><a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/1319335741567036/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Frederick Douglass Bicentennial</a> prominently exhibits revised portraits of Douglass from key moments in his personal life and career with an aesthetic that highlights Towles’ broad design expertise: illustration, letterpress, offset poster, digital print, linoleum cut print, typography, and ceramic tile painting. The Pennsylvania-born, Baltimore-based artist emphasizes the artisanship of printmaking and what he calls “ad-libbing illustration” to realize rarely seen portrayals of black icons like Douglass, his family, and abolitionist allies. </p>
<p>“Part of the process is around self-exploration,” Towles shared. “I am a designer. I have to keep working at my craft and exploring. Sometimes a show forces your hand. [Douglass] was an early subject for me. I did a print in 1975. As a black man, he represented what we should be or strive towards. Harriet Tubman was a major influence, too. Their efforts were the same in trying to liberate black folks.” </p>
<p>By highlighting lesser known moments in Douglass’ life, Towles transcends familiar representations of Douglass as a stoic, solitary figure. In <em>Lincoln and Douglass</em> (2018), a digital print, Towles superimposes an image of the white house overtop red and blue stylized pop art portraits of President Abraham Lincoln and Douglass to depict their 1864 discussion to abolish slavery. <em>Planting the Seeds of Freedom</em> (2018), a large colored pencil portrait, features an interesting three-quarter image of a young Douglass lost in thought. Scenes of his harrowing escape from slavery emerge from his recognizable afro. In another portrait, <em>Anna Murray Douglass and Family</em>, (2018) Towles renders a distinguished likeness of Douglass’ wife and extended family in colored pencil. </p>
<p>Towles has extensive experience working as a professional designer for major publications including <em>Black Enterprise</em>, <em>EBONY</em>, <em>Record World</em>, and the now-defunct <em>Crisis Magazine</em>, as well as collaborating with prominent contemporary artists like Romare Bearden. </p>
<p>“There is a thread to the work that underlies all these themes,” Towles said. “Social issues [have] always been a part of the work. I wanted to imagine Frederick Douglass in a different way. His history is so profound you can’t cover it all in 20 pieces.” </p>

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<p><a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/frederick-douglass-bicentennial-celebrated-in-new-exhibit/" rel="nofollow">Source</a></p>]]></content:encoded>
					
		
		
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		<title>Weekend Lineup: Feb. 16-18</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/events/weekend-lineup-feb-16-18/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kaitlyn Pacheco]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Thu, 15 Feb 2018 18:55:00 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Events]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Chinese New Year]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Classical Revolution Baltimore]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Davon Fleming]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Dominic Shodekeh Talifero]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass-Isaac Myers Maritime Park]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frozen Harbor Music Festival]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Outcalls]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Pique Collective]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[The Elephant]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Union Craft Brewery]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[WTMD]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/?p=27887</guid>

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			<p>Five things to eat, drink, see, hear, and do with your Charm City weekend.</p>
<h2><img decoding="async" src="https://52f073a67e89885d8c20-b113946b17b55222ad1df26d6703a42e.ssl.cf2.rackcdn.com/lydia_eat_1.png" alt="lydia_eat_1.png" style="border-style:none;vertical-align:middle;height:auto;" /> <strong>EAT</strong></h2>
<h4>Feb. 16-18: <a href="http://theelephantbaltimore.com/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Chinese New Year</a></h4>
<p><em><em>The Elephant, 924 N. Charles St. 5 p.m.-12 a.m. 443-447-7878. </em></em></p>
<p>If you’re ready to hit the refresh button after the first 44 days of 2018, start the year over with a Chinese New Year-inspired main course at The Elephant. This weekend at the historic mansion in Mount Vernon, executive chef Orlando Amaro is serving up peking duck, a famously celebratory dish with Beijing roots. Prepared five days in advance with a perfectly crisp crust, this dish guarantees a positive start to the year of the dog.</p>
<p><em><br /></em></p>
<h2><strong><img decoding="async" src="https://52f073a67e89885d8c20-b113946b17b55222ad1df26d6703a42e.ssl.cf2.rackcdn.com/lydia_drink_1.png" alt="lydia_drink_1.png" style="border-style:none;vertical-align:middle;height:auto;" /> </strong><strong>DRINK</strong></h2>
<h4>To Feb. 18: <a href="https://www.unioncraftbrewing.com/pinewoodderby/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Union Pinewood Derby</a><a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/1877937529092171/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"></a></h4>
<p><em><em>Union Craft Brewing, 1700 Union Ave. 12-5 p.m. $5-10. 410-467-0290.</em></em></p>
<p>This Sunday, put your cub, boy, and Eagle scout merit badges to the test and head to Union Craft Brewing to compete in an old-fashioned pinewood derby. Yes, we’re talking about the wooden toy race cars that prevailed in the ’50s, so ride this wave of nostalgia and grab a build kit, make a racer, and run it down their 40-foot derby track. Racers can design their cars however they want—shaped like a beer bottle, sporting the Maryland flag, or mirroring the Batman mobile—and compete to win a trophy and a can of every 2018 special release beer. If you’d rather watch the four-wheeled waggery from the sidelines, grab a few Duckpins and soak up the suds with signature wood-fired pies by Well Crafted Pizza.</p>
<h2><strong><img decoding="async" src="https://52f073a67e89885d8c20-b113946b17b55222ad1df26d6703a42e.ssl.cf2.rackcdn.com/lydia_see_1.png" alt="lydia_see_1.png" style="border-style:none;vertical-align:middle;height:auto;" /> SEE</strong></h2>
<h4><strong>Feb. 17: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/1711278928924018/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Baltimore&#8217;s Legends &amp; Legacies Jubilee</a><a href="http://www.cgrimaldisgallery.com/2016/12/09/grace-hartigan-the-late-paintings/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"></a></strong></h4>
<p><em><em>Frederick Douglass-Isaac Myers Maritime Park and Museum, 1417 Thames St. 12-4 p.m. Free. 410-685-0295.</em></em></p>
<p>This week, Governor Larry Hogan officially proclaimed 2018 as the “Year of Frederick Douglass,” a fitting move since the father of the civil rights movement turned 200 this year. His birthday celebration continues this Saturday at Baltimore’s Legends &amp; Legacies Jubilee, where visitors can check out interactive exhibits from local museums, sample eats from Popsations and Connie’s Chicken and Waffles, and get an up-close look at the new Frederick Douglass wax figure. Another local legend, Baltimore’s own Davon Fleming, who stole our hearts during his time on NBC’s <em>The Voice</em>, will host a singing competition for any brave challengers.</p>
<h2><strong><img decoding="async" src="https://52f073a67e89885d8c20-b113946b17b55222ad1df26d6703a42e.ssl.cf2.rackcdn.com/lydia_hear_1.png" alt="lydia_hear_1.png" style="border-style:none;vertical-align:middle;height:auto;" /> HEAR</strong></h2>
<h4>Feb. 16: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/129504721166637/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Classical Music for People with Short Attention Spans</a><a href="https://www.eventbrite.com/e/antigone-in-ferguson-tickets-30859988055?aff=efbnreg" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"></a></h4>
<p><em><em>WTMD, 1 Olympic Pl., Towson. 8-10:30 p.m. $12-15. 410-704-8938.</em></em></p>
<p>If you get antsy and bored during a 2-hour classical music program, don’t worry, you’re not alone. Classical Revolution Baltimore, a collective of musicians that performs classical music in non-traditional spaces, is pairing up with WTMD to present a program that’s perfect for people with short attention spans. In this “Cliffs Notes of Classical Music,” hear the most notable parts of well-known classical pieces (think Mozart’s “Lacrimosa” and Beethoven’s “Symphony No. 7”) featuring performances from local artists Pique Collective, Outcalls, and Dominic Shodekeh Talifero. If you can’t make the performance, tune into the live broadcast on 89.7 to hear this one-of-a-kind mix of classical and contemporary ensembles.</p>
<h2><img decoding="async" src="https://52f073a67e89885d8c20-b113946b17b55222ad1df26d6703a42e.ssl.cf2.rackcdn.com/lydia_do_1.png" alt="lydia_do_1.png" style="border-style:none;vertical-align:middle;height:auto;" /> DO</h2>
<h4>Feb. 16-17: <a href="http://frozenharbor.com/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Frozen Harbor Music Festival</a><a href="http://www.creativealliance.org/events/2017/nasty-women-and-bad-hombres" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"></a></h4>
<p><em><em>Locations &amp; times vary. $20-120. 443-579-7766.</em></em></p>
<p>We might be weeks away from warm weather and music festival season, but we can always count on the Frozen Harbor Music Festival to start the party early. With a forecast of cloudy skies, rain, and snow on Saturday, the harbor will indeed be frozen while this 2-day festival hosts 160 acts across 10 stages downtown. Build an itinerary, map out your weekend, and hop from venue to venue to catch local and national artists, including big names like Keller Williams and George Clinton and Maryland favorites like Jimmie’s Chicken Shack and Sam Grow. </p>

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		<title>Weekend Lineup: Feb. 9-11</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/events/weekend-lineup-feb-9-11/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Kaitlyn Pacheco]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Thu, 08 Feb 2018 18:08:03 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Events]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Al Rogers Jr.]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[American Visionary Art Museum]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Arena Players]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Baltimore Bully Crew]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Baltimore Rock Opera Society]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Blue Pit BBQ & Whiskey Bar]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Bobbi Rush]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Joy Postell]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Micah E. Wood]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reginald F. Lewis Museum]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Showroom Cafe & Bar]]></category>
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			<p>Five things to eat, drink, see, hear, and do with your Charm City weekend.</p>
<h2><img decoding="async" src="https://52f073a67e89885d8c20-b113946b17b55222ad1df26d6703a42e.ssl.cf2.rackcdn.com/lydia_eat_1.png" alt="lydia_eat_1.png" style="border-style:none;vertical-align:middle;height:auto;" /> <strong>EAT</strong></h2>
<h4>Feb. 10: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/139823083382331/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Clues, Brews and BBQs</a></h4>
<p><em>Blue Pit BBQ &amp; Whiskey Bar, 1601 Union Ave. 5-8 p.m. Free. 443-948-5590. </em></p>
<p>It might be the dead of winter, but nothing will warm your heart like downing a plate of Blue Pit’s coffee-rubbed brisket or bourbon-glazed ribs to support local rescue pups. This Saturday, Hampden’s dog-friendly bar will donate 10 percent of your final bill to Baltimore Bully Crew, a grassroots organization that helps rescued pit bulls. Come for the melt-in-your-mouth barbecue and local brews and stay for the themed escape game from Charm City Clue Room, where participants will solve a short series of puzzles to “save” a stuffed blue pit bull.</p>
<h2><strong><img decoding="async" src="https://52f073a67e89885d8c20-b113946b17b55222ad1df26d6703a42e.ssl.cf2.rackcdn.com/lydia_drink_1.png" alt="lydia_drink_1.png" style="border-style:none;vertical-align:middle;height:auto;" /> </strong><strong>DRINK</strong></h2>
<h4>To Feb. 9: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/526578727718121/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Sip &amp; Shine</a><a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/1877937529092171/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"></a></h4>
<p><em><em>American Visionary Art Museum, 800 Key Hwy. 6-9 p.m. $30-35. 410-244-1900.</em></em></p>
<p>Valentine’s Day is right around the corner, and what’s more romantic than a night filled with wine, a scavenger hunt, and mosaic magnets? Nothing, really. The American Visionary Art Museum’s twist on a sip-and-paint night lets guests compete in an after-hours scavenger hunt through The Great Mystery Show, their current exhibit on mystical investigations and curious subjects. Grab another glass of wine or beer and dive into the museum’s treasure chest of craft supplies to make a take-home mosaic magnet for you and your valentine.</p>
<h2><strong><img decoding="async" src="https://52f073a67e89885d8c20-b113946b17b55222ad1df26d6703a42e.ssl.cf2.rackcdn.com/lydia_see_1.png" alt="lydia_see_1.png" style="border-style:none;vertical-align:middle;height:auto;" /> SEE</strong></h2>
<h4><strong>Feb. 9-11: <a href="http://baltimorerockopera.org/?post_type=production&amp;p=4395" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Constellations &amp; Crossroads</a><a href="http://www.cgrimaldisgallery.com/2016/12/09/grace-hartigan-the-late-paintings/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"></a></strong></h4>
<p><em>Arena Players, 801 McCulloh St. Fri.-Sat. 8 p.m., Sun. 5 p.m. $20. 410-728-6500. </em></p>
<p>In a theatrical collaboration like no other, Arena Players, Baltimore’s historic African-American community theatre, and Baltimore Rock Opera Society, the city’s rock theater powerhouse, present <em>Constellations &amp; Crossroads</em>, a double-feature production filled with American history and live rock music. “Determination of Azimuth” follows the story of Katherine Johnson, a black NASA mathematician who performed calculations that made space flight possible. The second musical, “The Battle of Blue Apple Crossing,” depicts a fictionalized account of the legendary blues guitarist Robert Johnson. If you miss the first three shows, don’t worry, they’ll be back on the West Baltimore stage again next weekend.</p>
<h2><strong><img decoding="async" src="https://52f073a67e89885d8c20-b113946b17b55222ad1df26d6703a42e.ssl.cf2.rackcdn.com/lydia_hear_1.png" alt="lydia_hear_1.png" style="border-style:none;vertical-align:middle;height:auto;" /> HEAR</strong></h2>
<h4>Feb. 10: <a href="https://www.facebook.com/events/176158392991115/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Roses</a><a href="https://www.eventbrite.com/e/antigone-in-ferguson-tickets-30859988055?aff=efbnreg" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"></a></h4>
<p><em><em>Showroom Café &amp; Bar, 120 W. North Ave. 9 p.m. $8-10. 410-862-0930. </em></em></p>
<p>We’ve watched them grow and rise in the local music scene over the past few years, and this weekend some of Baltimore’s up-and-coming artists are giving a little love back to their city. Micah E. Wood, Joy Postell, Al Rogers Jr., and Bobbi Rush will serenade the Saturday night crowd at Station North’s Showroom with their heartfelt energies and a performance that is sure to sweep you off your feet. Lose yourself in Wood’s trademark talk-sing, fall for Postell’s neo-soul rhythms, admire Rogers Jr.’s honest rap, and relish in Rush’s dreamy melodies. If you need a preview, follow The Big Baltimore Playlist on Spotify where we’ve featured our favorite songs by these talented artists.</p>
<h2><img decoding="async" src="https://52f073a67e89885d8c20-b113946b17b55222ad1df26d6703a42e.ssl.cf2.rackcdn.com/lydia_do_1.png" alt="lydia_do_1.png" style="border-style:none;vertical-align:middle;height:auto;" /> DO</h2>
<h4>Feb. 10: <a href="http://www.lewismuseum.org/event/2017/200th-anniversary-celebration-frederick-douglass-day-the-lewis" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Frederick Douglass Day</a><a href="http://www.creativealliance.org/events/2017/nasty-women-and-bad-hombres" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"></a></h4>
<p><em>Reginald F. Lewis Museum, 830 E. Pratt St. 12-4 p.m. Free. 443-263-1800.</em></p>
<p>Among the many legends born in the Baltimore region, few are more revered than Frederick Douglass. Raised on a plantation on the Eastern Shore, the freed slave turned iconic abolitionist became one of the country’s most widely-read authors and famed orators. Throughout his lifetime, he preached about universal human rights, educated other slaves, and became the first African American to receive a nominating vote for president. Celebrate his 200th birthday and honor his historic legacy at the Reginald F. Lewis Museum this Saturday with lectures by historians Dr. John Stauffer and Dr. Lawrence Jackson, readings of Douglass’s speeches by history re-enactors, and a children’s art and story hour with illustrator London Ladd.</p>

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<p><a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/events/weekend-lineup-feb-9-11/" rel="nofollow">Source</a></p>]]></content:encoded>
					
		
		
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		<title>From Fells to Free: A Frederick Douglass Walking Tour</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/frederick-douglass-historic-fells-point-walking-tour/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Aaron Hope]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Wed, 07 Feb 2018 12:00:00 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[History & Politics]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[News & Community]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[200th birthday]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Fells Point]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[history]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[walking tour]]></category>
		<guid isPermaLink="false">http://server2.local/BIT-SPRING/baltimoremagazine.com/html/?post_type=article&#038;p=2060</guid>

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  <span class="clan editors uppers"><p style="font-size:1.25rem;"><strong>By Ron Cassie</strong></p></span>
<p style="font-size:1.25rem;"><strong><a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/issue/february-2018/">February 2018</a></strong></p></span>

  
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  <h6 class="thin tealtext uppers text-center">History & Politics</h6>
  <h1 class="title">From Fells to Free</h1>
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  Celebrating Frederick Douglass’ 206th Birthday.
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  <p class="byline">By Ron Cassie</p>
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  <b>Frederick Augustus Washington Bailey</b> did not know the year or date he was born. He said in the <i>Narrative of the Life of Frederick Douglass</i> that he did not remember ever meeting a slave “who could tell of his birthday.”
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  Born on a Talbot County plantation, he was 7 or 8 years old when he was sent to live in Fells Point and work for Hugh Auld, brother to his master’s son-in-law. He later chose Valentine’s Day to celebrate his birthday, recalling his mother had referred to him as her “Little Valentine.” The year of his birth had been recorded as 1818, marking February 14 this month as his 206th birthday.
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  The future writer and abolitionist also selected (for his safety) his own surname as a young man, following his escape from slavery in Baltimore. At the suggestion of a Black couple who had helped him and his wife make their way to Massachusetts, he choose Douglass after an exiled knight in Sir Walter Scott’s poem Lady of the Lake. Despite his newly won freedom, new surname, and new birthday, Douglass nevertheless refused to forget the vicious apartheid system he had been born into. He had not parted with his first name, he said, “to preserve a sense of my identity.”
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  For decades after his death in 1895, “Douglass Day” birthday events were celebrated in Black communities. One of the last national events honoring Douglass was the release of a U.S. Postal Service stamp bearing his fiercely dignified visage in 1967, the year before the sesquicentennial of his birth. In Baltimore, local historian Lou Fields has almost singlehandedly kept Douglass’ spirit alive, hosting “Path to Freedom” walking tours in Fells Point for the past 18 years.
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   “He was born into slavery, grew up watching slave ships dock all around Fells Point, and witnessed slaves being marched in shackles to auction in the market square,” says Fields. “We are still talking about his legacy two centuries later because he became one of the great freedom fighters.”
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  <p>
   In Baltimore, the young Frederick secretly learned to read after an introduction to the alphabet by his new master’s wife. He later worked in servitude as a ship’s caulker in Fells Point, and then, as a 20 year old, he escaped on a train to Philadelphia, posing as a free Black sailor and carrying fake documents.
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  <p>
   Once free, Douglass became one of the great prophets of universal human rights. In his 1845 memoir (the 5,000-copy first run sold out in four months and became one of the most important works of anti-slavery literature), he recounted the extreme cold and hunger he had suffered as a child on the Eastern Shore, where he was kept nearly naked with no shoes or bed. He also recalled witnessing his aunt getting whipped until blood poured from her back, and his own whippings. Two years later, Douglass launched <i>The North Star</i>, an influential Rochester, New York, newspaper whose rallying cry was “Right is of no Sex—Truth is of no Color—God is the Father of us all, and we are all Brethren.” Finding inspiration and a reason to love his country in the Declaration of Independence, he agitated for abolition, desegregation, public education, and women’s suffrage. 
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  <p>
   During the Civil War, Douglass met with President Abraham Lincoln in Washington to protest the disparate treatment of Black soldiers in the Union Army. After initially considering Lincoln not a militant enough abolitionist, the two became friends. Following the Civil War, Douglass was named to several political posts himself, serving as president of the Freedman’s Savings Bank, chief of affairs to the Dominican Republic, and later ambassador to Haiti. He was also named the second president of the Colored National Labor Union and was the first African American nominated for vice president, selected—albeit without his approval—for the Equal Rights Party ticket.
  </p>
  <p>
  Douglass returned to Baltimore many times, serving on the board of the Black-owned Chesapeake Marine Railway & Dry Dock Company in Fells Point and building five rental homes for Blacks on South Dallas Street. (In 2003, those homes, which still stand today, were listed in the National Registry of Historic Places.) At the old Frederick Douglass High School, Baltimore’s original “colored” high school, he gave the commencement address in 1894.
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  “I am a Marylander and love Maryland and her people,” Douglass was quoted in <i>The Sun</i> in 1891. “I feel much. . . . affection for this old spot around Fells Point where I first felt that I might be useful in advancing and elevating my race.”
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  <h1 class="unit uppers">STORIED sTREETS</h1>
  <h3 class="thin clan">Follow Frederick Douglass’ footsteps across eight area sites related to the iconic abolitionist’s Fells Point past.</h3>
  <p class="uppers"><b>BY LYDIA WOOLEVER</b></p>
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        <h4 class="uppers"><a href="https://goo.gl/maps/wqpVhPBzZ2A2">FELLS POINT WATERFRONT</a></h4>
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        <p>The Fells Point wharves stood in the center of the Baltimore slave trade, with ships waiting along the neighborhood’s harbor to carry slaves to auction in southern ports. </p>
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        <h4 class="uppers"><a href="https://goo.gl/maps/cvSJm3vaTKm">aliceanna & s. durham sts.</a></h4>
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        <p>As a child, Douglass was sent to this block, then known as “Happy Alley,” to serve the family of Hugh Auld, where his wife, Sophia, taught the young boy the alphabet.</p>
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        <h4 class="uppers"><a href="https://goo.gl/maps/af5NfUWNJgF2">THAMES ST.</a></h4>
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        <p>At a shop at 28 Thames, now the Thames Street Oyster House, Douglass acquired <i>The Columbian Orator</i>, a collection of poems and essays—and the first book he ever owned. </p>
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        <h4 class="uppers"><a href="https://goo.gl/maps/P3yQcianMTP2">LANCASTER ST.</a></h4>
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        <p>As a young man, Douglass worked at the local shipyards, where he became a skilled caulker and builder. </p>
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        <p>When Douglass escaped slavery in 1838, he was thought to have passed through this then-train station, now the Baltimore Civil War Museum, on his path along the Underground Railroad. </p>
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        <h4 class="uppers"><a href="https://goo.gl/maps/xvKqVoow37T2">DALLAS ST.</a></h4>
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        <p>Toward the end of his life, in 1892, Douglass purchased land on Dallas Street and built five homes to be used as rental properties for African Americans. He also attended church nearby on what was then known as “Strawberry Alley.” </p>
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        <h4 class="uppers"><a href="https://goo.gl/maps/zG6a2DAJDLp">FREDERICK DOUGLASS-ISAAC MYERS MARITIME PARK & MUSEUM</a></h4>
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        <p>On the western edge of Thames Street, this national heritage site celebrates Douglass’ time as a young man in Baltimore shipyards, as well as Isaac Myers, who there co-founded America’s first Black-owned shipyard, the Chesapeake Marine Railway and Dry Dock Company.</p>
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        <h4 class="uppers"><a href="https://goo.gl/maps/zG6a2DAJDLp">FREDERICK DOUGLASS MONUMENT</a></h4>
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        <p>At the entrance to the maritime park, there sits a six-foot-tall bronze sculpture of Douglass, created by Maryland Institute College of Art graduate Marc Andre Robinson. </p>
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<p><a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/frederick-douglass-historic-fells-point-walking-tour/" rel="nofollow">Source</a></p>]]></content:encoded>
					
		
		
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		<title>Black History Month Events, Exhibits, and Tours</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/events/black-history-month-events-exhibits-and-tours/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Jess Mayhugh]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Wed, 31 Jan 2018 08:30:00 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Events]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[History & Politics]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[American Visionary Art Museum]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[B&O Railroad Museum]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Black History Month]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Creative Alliance]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Enoch Pratt Free Library]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[exhibits]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[goucher college]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reginald F. Lewis Museum]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Tours]]></category>
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			<p><strong><a href="http://www.borail.org/February.aspx" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">BLACK HISTORY MONTH AT THE B&amp;O</a></strong><br /><strong>2/1-28</strong>. <em>B&amp;O Railroad Museum, 901 W. Pratt St. Mon.-Sat. 10 a.m.-4 p.m., Sun. 11 a.m.-4 p.m. Free-$20</em>. Learn about the historic contributions of African Americans to the United States railroad industry.</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://lewismuseum.org/special-exhibition/freedom-emancipation-quilted-stitched" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">FREEDOM: EMANCIPATION QUILTED &amp; STITCHED</a></strong><br /><strong>TO 2/28</strong>. <em>Reginald F. Lewis Museum, 830 E. Pratt St. Wed.-Sat. 10 a.m.-5 p.m., Sun. 12-5 p.m. Free-$8</em>. This new exhibit features documentary-style story quilts that honor the lives and legacies of people of color in Maryland.</p>
<p><strong><a href="https://friendsofbenjaminbanneker.com/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">AFRICAN AMERICANS WHO SERVED DURING WARTIME</a></strong><br /><strong>2/10</strong>. <em>Benjamin Banneker Historical Park &amp; Museum, 300 Oella Ave., Catonsville. 1:30-3 p.m. Free</em>. Celebrate two decades of the park and commemorate Banneker relatives who served during times of war.</p>
<p><a href="http://www.creativealliance.org/events/2017/johns-hopkins-black-history-month-student-competion-and-exhibition" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"><strong>JOHNS HOPKINS BLACK HISTORY MONTH STUDENT COMPETITION &amp; EXHIBITION</strong></a><br /><strong>2/24-3/4</strong>. <em>Creative Alliance, 3134 Eastern Ave. Tues.-Sat. 11 a.m.-7 p.m. Free</em>. Southeast Baltimore students showcase artworks inspired by and featuring historical black figures.</p>
<p><a href="http://www.avam.org/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"><strong>VISIONARY ARTISTS OF COLOR</strong></a><br /><strong>2/14</strong>. <em>American Visionary Art Museum, 800 Key Hwy. 10 a.m.-6 p.m. Free-$15.95</em>. In honor of Frederick Douglass’ 200th birthday, enjoy a self-guided tour through the art museum’s collection to view works by African Americans and other artists of color.</p>
<p><a href="http://calendar.prattlibrary.org/event/teen_listening_party_black_history_month_edition#.WnDgJYJG1xg" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener"><strong>BLACK HISTORY MONTH TEEN LISTENING PARTY</strong></a><br /><strong>2/6-27</strong>. <em>Enoch Pratt Free Library, 3601 Eastern Ave. Tues. 3-4 p.m. Free</em>. Throughout the month, young adults can listen to the works of celebrated black authors.</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://events.goucher.edu/event/arts_on_stage_cirque_zuma_zuma#.WnDhBIJG1xg" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">CIRQUE ZUMA ZUMA WITH TRADITIONAL AFRICAN DANCE</a></strong><br /><strong>2/15</strong>. <em>Goucher College, 1021 Dulaney Valley Rd., Towson. 10:15 a.m. &amp; 12 p.m. $9</em>. This lively performance includes music, dance, and acrobatics to create an African-style Cirque du Soleil. </p>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.lewismuseum.org/event/2017/sunday-2-films-tell-them-we-are-rising-the-story-of-black-colleges-and-universities" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">TELL THEM WE ARE RISING</a></strong><br /><strong>2/18</strong>. <em>Reginald F. Lewis Museum, 830 E. Pratt St. 2 p.m. Free</em>. During this documentary film screening, learn about the pivotal role historically black colleges and universities have played in American history.</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.artsonstage.org/show.asp?show_id=313" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">I HAVE A DREAM: THE LIFE &amp; TIMES OF DR. MARTIN LUTHER KING JR.</a></strong><br /><strong>2/22</strong>. <em>Goucher College, 1021 Dulaney Valley Rd., Towson. 10:15 a.m. &amp; 12 p.m. $9</em>. Performance artists present this biographical dramatization about the legendary civil rights leader.</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://annapolistours.com/our-tours/african-american-heritage/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">ANNAPOLIS AFRICAN-AMERICAN HERITAGE TOUR</a></strong><br /><strong>2/17</strong>. <em>City Dock, Annapolis. 1-3 p.m. Free-$20</em>. Explore the history and culture of Maryland’s African-American community through this guided walking tour.</p>
<p><strong><a href="http://www.bdx443.com/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">FREDERICK DOUGLASS PATH TO FREEDOM WALKING TOURS</a></strong><br /><strong>TO 9/3</strong>. <em>800 S. Broadway. Times vary. $7-15</em>. These guided walking tours take history buffs through the iconic abolitionist’s life in Fells Point.</p>

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<p><a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/events/black-history-month-events-exhibits-and-tours/" rel="nofollow">Source</a></p>]]></content:encoded>
					
		
		
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		<title>The Launch: February 2018</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/events/the-launch-best-events-baltimore-february-2018/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Aaron Hope]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Mon, 29 Jan 2018 08:30:00 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Events]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[American Craft Show]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Baltimore Convention Center]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Baltimore Museum of Art]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Baltimore Museum of Industry]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Creative Alliance]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[exhibits]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Februray 2018]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[jazz]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Max's Taphouse]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reginald F. Lewis Museum]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[The Lyric]]></category>
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			<p><strong><a href="https://artbma.org/exhibitions/finch" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Spencer Finch: Moon Dust</a> <br /></strong><strong>Feb. 21-Oct. 2024. </strong><em>The Baltimore Museum of Art, 10 Art Museum Dr. Wed.-Sun. 10 a.m &#8211; 5 p.m. Free. <a href="tel:+14435731700">443-573-1700</a>. </em>The Baltimore Museum of Art adds a light installation inspired by lunar dust. Mankind’s eternal fascination with the moon has inspired generations to marvel at the orb’s bright, serene presence in our nighttime sky. Now Brooklyn-based artist Spencer Finch is using the moon’s alluring luster as inspiration for the BMA’s new installation, Moon Dust, on view February 21 through October 13, 2024. For the next six years, Finch will dangle some 150 chandeliers (each one boasting 417 bulbs) from the museum’s ceiling, using a variety of lights to mimic the chemical composition of the moon’s surface as collected during the 1972 lunar landing mission of Apollo 17. But much like the real celestial body, you don’t need to know a lot about chemistry or science to let it light up your imagination.</p>
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			<p><strong><a href="https://modell-lyric.com/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Jason Isbell &amp; The 400 Unit</a></p>
<p></strong><strong>Feb. 6.</strong> <em>Modell Performing Arts Center at The Lyric, 140 W. Mt. Royal Ave.</em> <em>8 p.m. $29-56.</em> <a href="tel:+14109001150">410-900-1150</a>. In the 11 years since this Alabama native ditched the Drive-By Truckers to go it alone, his widely successful solo career has proved he made the right decision. With two Grammys under his belt, the Americana songwriter returns to Baltimore with his all-star band for a night of pared-down folk songs you won’t forget.</p>
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			<p><strong><a href="http://www.lewismuseum.org/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Frederick Douglass Day</a> <br />
</strong><br /><strong>Feb. 10.</strong> <em>Reginald F. Lewis Museum, 830 E. Pratt St. 12-4 p.m. Free-$8.</em> <a href="tel:+14432631800">443-263-1800</a>. Among the many legends born in the Baltimore region, few are more revered than Frederick Douglass. Raised on the Eastern Shore, the freed slave turned iconic abolitionist, author, and orator spent many years in and around Charm City. This year, celebrate his 200th birthday and honor his historic legacy with readings and a children’s storytime at the Reginald F. Lewis Museum.</p>
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			<p><strong><a href="https://modell-lyric.com/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Steve Martin and Martin Short</a> <br />
</strong><br /><strong>Feb. 16.</strong> <em>Modell Performing Arts Center at The Lyric, 140 W. Mt. Royal Ave. 8 p.m. $85-235.</em> <a href="tel:+14109001150">410-900-1150</a>. Steve Martin and Martin Short have earned their reputations as comedic titans through their decades-long careers that included such memorable collaborations as Father of the Bride, Three Amigos, and, of course, Saturday Night Live. These funny men are teaming up again for a rare night of double-billed comedy full of off-kilter humor at The Lyric.</p>
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			<p><strong><a href="http://maxs.com/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Max&#8217;s Belgian Beer Fest</a> </p>
<p></strong><strong>Feb. 16-19.</strong> <em>Max’s Taphouse, 737 S. Broadway.</em> <em>11 a.m.-2 a.m. Free.</em> <a href="tel:+14106756297">410-675-6297</a>. Take shelter from the cold weather this February at one of Baltimore’s most hallowed haunts, Max’s Taphouse, during its annual Belgian Beer Fest in the heart of Fells Point. With more than 200 bottles and beers on tap, you can sip on your favorite local brews or go bold with European rarities not commonly found in the U.S. The pub will also be offering Belgium-inspired grub such as cheese platters and frites to help soak up the suds.</p>
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			<p><strong><a href="https://thewalters.org/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Lunar New Year Celebration</a> <br />
</strong><br /><strong>Feb. 18.</strong> <em>The Walters Art Museum, 600 N. Charles St. 11 a.m.-4 p.m. Free.</em> <a href="tel:+14105479000">410-547-9000</a>. In these uncertain times, we may all feel like we could use a little more luck. On cue, The Walters is bringing together Chinese and Korean dance troupes to perform a traditional Lunar New Year celebration meant to ward off bad luck and usher in good fortune. The museum’s Year of the Dog festivities also feature live music and fun arts activities for the kids.</p>
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			<p><strong><a href="http://www.thebmi.org/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Fueling the Automobile Age</a> <br />
</strong><strong> <br /></strong><strong>Feb. 23.</strong> <em>Baltimore Museum of Industry, 1415 Key Hwy. Tues.-Sun. 10 a.m.-4 p.m. Free-$12.</em> <a href="tel:+14107174808">410-717-4808</a>. When people think of oil, they usually think of big-time tycoons in Texas, not little old Baltimore City. But the BMI’s newest permanent exhibition explores all the ways our town contributed to the booming age of automobiles, thanks in large part to former oil heavyweights like Amoco and Crown. Visitors can learn about America’s love of cars by piling into a real 1962 Chrysler Newport station wagon, pumping fuel at a mock gas station, and viewing advertisements from the car heydays of the mid-20th century.</p>
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			<p><strong><a href="https://craftcouncil.org/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">American Craft Show</a> <br />
</strong><br /><strong>Feb. 23-25.</strong> <em>Baltimore Convention Center, 1 W. Pratt St. Fri. 10 a.m.-8 p.m., Sat. 10 a.m.-6 p.m., Sun. 11 a.m.-5 p.m. $14-34.</em> <a href="tel:+16122063100">612-206-3100</a>. Whether you’re looking for a bold piece of furniture to complete your living room or a fabulous piece of statement jewelry, the American Craft Council’s annual show has you covered. With more than 650 artists hailing from Baltimore and beyond, there are thousands of one-of-a-kind finds, ranging from handmade clothing to fine art and even whiskey.</p>
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			<p><strong><a href="http://www.creativealliance.org/" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">Django Jazz Fest</a> <br />
</strong><br /><strong>Feb. 23-25.</strong> <em>Creative Alliance, 3134 Eastern Ave. Fri.-Sat. 8 p.m., Sun. 7 p.m. $23-72.</em> <a href="tel:+14102761651">410-276-1651</a>. When Belgian jazz guitarist Django Reinhardt lost movement in two of his fingers after a fire, he taught himself to play with the other three, and in the process birthed an entire genre that is now called Gypsy Jazz, an energetic, swinging style that swept the early 20th century. Revel in the form during this weekend celebration featuring music by the likes of Baltimore’s beloved jazz group Ultrafaux and international guitar star Samson Schmitt.</p>

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<p><a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/events/the-launch-best-events-baltimore-february-2018/" rel="nofollow">Source</a></p>]]></content:encoded>
					
		
		
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		<title>Baltimore is No. 15 on New York Times List of Places to Visit in 2018</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/baltimore-is-no-15-on-new-york-times-list-of-places-to-visit-in-2018/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Jess Mayhugh]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Thu, 11 Jan 2018 10:39:00 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[Arts & Culture]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[News & Community]]></category>
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		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Hotel Revival]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Light City]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Media]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[The New York Times]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Travel]]></category>
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			<p>This week, <em>The New York Times</em> released <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2018/travel/places-to-visit.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">an interactive feature</a> describing 52 cities its readers should visit in 2018. And, wouldn&#8217;t you know, our very own Baltimore made the cut at no. 15. Each writeup is short and sweet with a map, some links, and a small sentence describing why the city landed on the list. In our case, it&#8217;s because Baltimore &#8220;honors an abolitionist and lights up with art.&#8221;</p>
<p>&#8220;Charm City&#8217;s packed cultural calendar is showcasing commemorative events for the 200th birthday of the Maryland-born abolitionist leader Frederick Douglass,&#8221; writes Nora Walsh. &#8220;Meanwhile, an expanded Light City festival in April will feature light-based art installations and performances in 14 neighborhoods.&#8221;</p>
<p>We were particularly heartened that the <em>Times</em> chose to highlight our celebration of Douglass, a figure that we chronicled in our cover story <a href="http://www.baltimoremagazine.com/2017/1/23/how-baltimore-invented-the-modern-world" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">&#8220;How Baltimore Invented The Modern World.&#8221;</a> (We&#8217;ll also be detailing the events surrounding the 200th anniversary in our upcoming February issue.)</p>
<p>The writeup also mentions the eventual opening of Hotel Revival, <a href="http://www.baltimoremagazine.com/2017/12/7/open-shut-cross-street-market-opentable-top-100-list-hotel-revival" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">which we&#8217;ve reported</a> is going to cut the ribbon in Mt. Vernon this spring. The swanky new spot will have 107 guest rooms, a street-level restaurant, three karaoke rooms, and a rooftop bar headed by by Chelsea Gregoire.</p>
<p>Baltimore joins an elite list of regions, cities, and entire countries around the world in what the publication calls &#8220;a starter kit for escaping.&#8221; Rounding out the top three are New Orleans, the country of Colombia, and a southern region of Italy.</p>
<p>To get locals involved, the feature linked to <a href="https://www.facebook.com/nytimestravel/posts/1671879082869189" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">a Facebook thread</a> asking followers to post about their favorite things to do in each region. For Baltimore, the suggestions vary—from tours at  Ft. McHenry to visits at local breweries—and it&#8217;s a nice nod to the expertise of local residents.</p>
<p>This isn&#8217;t the first time the newspaper has lauded Baltimore and, most recently, in its famed <a href="https://www.nytimes.com/interactive/2017/04/13/travel/what-to-do-36-hours-in-baltimore-maryland.html" target="_blank" rel="noreferrer noopener">&#8220;36 Hours&#8221; series</a>, we think writer Nell McShane Wulfhart struck the right chord when she wrote, &#8220;The traditional things, like the old-school sheet cake at Lexington Market, remain unchanged, while neighborhoods like Charles Village seem to be opening new bars and restaurants daily.&#8221;</p>
<p>She continued: &#8220;Charm City has raised the charm quotient considerably in the past few years, managing to retain its quirky appeal as it develops stylish, more upmarket restaurants and hotels.&#8221;</p>

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<p><a href="https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/artsentertainment/baltimore-is-no-15-on-new-york-times-list-of-places-to-visit-in-2018/" rel="nofollow">Source</a></p>]]></content:encoded>
					
		
		
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		<title>Beach Music</title>
		<link>https://www.baltimoremagazine.com/section/historypolitics/you-are-here-scenes-reginald-f-lewis-museum-maryland-science-center-white-marlin-open/</link>
		
		<dc:creator><![CDATA[Jess Mayhugh]]></dc:creator>
		<pubDate>Wed, 18 Oct 2017 08:30:00 +0000</pubDate>
				<category><![CDATA[History & Politics]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[News & Community]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Travel & Outdoors]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[eclipse]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Frederick Douglass]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Maryland Science Center]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Ocean City]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[Reginald F. Lewis Museum]]></category>
		<category><![CDATA[White Marlin Open]]></category>
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			<h4>Beach Music</h4>
<p><em>Pratt Street<br />August 5, 2017</em></p>
<p>In 1892, Charles Douglass and his wife, Laura, were refused service at the Bay Ridge resort just south of Annapolis. “As they walked away, eventually crossing a channel bridge, they encountered a black farmer named Brashears,” historian Patsy Mose Fletcher, author of <em>African American Destinations Around Washington, D.C.</em>, recounts before a packed audience at the Reginald F. Lewis Museum. Turns out, that farmer owned a small tract of bayfront land between Black Walnut Creek and Oyster Creek.</p>
<p>A conversation ensued and, soon enough, a deal was struck between the farmer and Douglass, whose family purchased the breathtaking, beach-accessible property—leading to the creation of a hassle-free vacation destination for African-Americans.   </p>
<p>“Charles Douglass happened to be the son of Frederick Douglass, who later built a house there so he could look across the water and reflect upon his Eastern Shore origins.”</p>
<p>By the following August, Highland Beach had been formally established and Charles Douglass’ young son was writing his famous grandfather, telling him he was “going out fishing and crabbing every day” and that he “can swim over 100 yards without stopping to rest.”</p>
<p>Residents and guests would eventually include Paul Robeson, Booker T. Washington, W.E.B. DuBois, Langston Hughes, and Paul Laurence Dunbar.</p>
<p>Highland Beach did not remain the only beach for Maryland, D.C., and southern Pennsylvania African-Americans during segregation, however. In 1909, Frederick Carr, who had been born into slavery and spent decades working as a waiter and cook at the U.S. Naval Academy, purchased 180 acres of farmland, also on the Annapolis Neck peninsula, that his family later turned into Carr’s Beach. Over time, Carr’s Beach and nearby Sparrow’s Beach evolved into huge summer attractions, with Carr’s Beach becoming a major stop on Chitlin’ Circuit, attracting the likes of Little Richard, Sarah Vaughn, Billie Holiday, the Shirelles, James Brown, Otis Redding, and the Drifters.</p>
<p>Fletcher notes with a wry smile that while Highland Beach remains active today, the Bay Ridge resort is long gone. On the downside, after the civil rights victories of the mid-1960s, many black-owned businesses and destinations such as Carr’s Beach suffered as white businesses finally opened their doors to everyone.</p>
<p>“The last big crowd at Carr’s Beach was 1973. New owners were trying to make it a more integrated place and booked Frank Zappa, who was from Baltimore. The cover was $5 and he drew 7,000 people,” Fletcher says. “But that was it.  All those years, it wasn’t like black people said white people couldn’t come.”</p>
<hr />
<h4>Sun Block</h4>
<p><em>Inner Harbor<br />August 21, 2017</em></p>
<p>Rider Fulks, 7, wearing a T-shirt that reads “Big Dreamer,” patiently awaits a break in the afternoon cloud cover from atop the Maryland Science Center, where he’s hoping to glimpse the first eclipse in nearly a century to sweep across the U.S.</p>
<p>Suddenly, at 1:15 p.m., the sky breaks.</p>
<p>The awestruck Parkton resident, donning safety glasses, tries to describe the rare celestial occurrence to his mother and 5-year-old brother: “It looks like the moon is taking a bite out of the sun.”</p>
<p>The line outside the science center began forming a couple of hours before the Inner Harbor institution opened in anticipation of the eclipse, which turned night into day across a stretch of the U.S. from Oregon to South Carolina over the course of 90 minutes. In Baltimore, the eclipse wasn’t total, but estimated at 80 percent—though that hardly dimmed enthusiasm for the historic alignment.</p>
<p>“We sold out all 300 tickets for each of our five rooftop viewing slots,” says science center staffer Samantha Blau.</p>
<p>The day included an exhibition on the sun at the science center, which also had safety glasses and unused pizza boxes on hand to assist visitors in making their own pinhole viewing devices. Many families came equipped with their own pinhole devices as well, made from Corn Flakes and Cheerios boxes—which worked better for some than others.</p>
<p>“The tin foil got wrinkled on the drive over here,” says one mother, smiling as she shares safety glasses with her 5-year-old daughter. “Apparently, I needed to keep a better eye on the cereal box in the car.”</p>
<hr />
<h4>Lucky Catch</h4>
<p><em>14th Street, Ocean City<br />August 11, 2017</em></p>
<p>“You’ve seen <em>Jaws</em>, right?” Frank Massa asks a pair of crewmates with a mischievous smile, as he cranks a big reel in super-slow motion, imitating the foreboding click-click-click from the grizzled fictional fisherman Quint’s first encounter with the infamous movie shark. In the film, of course, that click-click-click, is the ever-so-subtle indication the killer fish has taken the bait and is readying for an epic run.</p>
<p>Around Massa’s boat, however, all is still. “That’s fishing: hours of boredom, interrupted by moments of chaos,” one of his crewmates says with a laugh.</p>
<p>Massa and his buddies are one of 353 teams, here this week for the 44th annual White Marlin Open, hoping to win a cut of the $5 million in prize money from the largest billfish tournament in the world.</p>
<p>Massa had hooked a thick, 64-inch white marlin this morning, but the ocean quickly turned quiet again—which it would remain for most of the tourney. On Wednesday, when a Delaware fisherman delivered an 86-pound white marlin to the dock—one of the biggest ever landed in White Marlin Open history—the competition for first place was believed over. If no one brought in a bigger white marlin, he stood to go home with $2.6 million.</p>
<p>“I had coffee with about 12 guys and offered a $100 bet no would top that fish over the next two days,” one local journalist commented later. “No one took me up.”</p>
<p>But on Friday, 40 minutes after the daily evening weigh-in begins at the Harbor Marina, Glen Frost, a Stevensville tax attorney, unloads the third largest white marlin—a 95.5-pounder—ever caught in the tournament. “Hooked it at 12:50 p.m.,” Frost says of his million-dollar-plus catch, noting it bit less than four hours before the official end of the tournament.  “First white marlin I ever caught.”</p>

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