THEN: Flag seamstresses circa 1964. PP5 Women making replica of Star-Spangled Banner for New York World’s Fair, Box 2, MdHS.

NOW: Flag seamstresses circa today. Star-Spangled Banner Project, July 2013.

For the past few weeks, the MdHS campus has been teaming with dedicated volunteers working diligently on the Star-Spangled Banner Project. The project seeks to recreate Mary Pickersgill’s efforts to sew the 30 x 42 foot flag for Fort McHenry in a mere six weeks–all by hand. The replica will be flown at Fort McHenry during the Defenders Day celebration before visiting various locations around the state.

Little did we in the library realize that a similar endeavor was undertaken 50 years ago. In February 1964, over 100 stitchers and seamstresses began work making a replica flag to be displayed at the Maryland Pavilion of the 1964 World’s Fair in New York.  The exposition was scheduled to run April through October in 1964 and ’65, respectively. This flag project, overseen by the Star-Spangled Banner Flag House Association, was plagued with difficulties and soon became a PR nightmare. First, it was discovered that the Maryland Pavilion at the fair had no room for such a large banner. Officials worried that there might be no place large enough to display it. The commission appealed to the United States Pavilion at the fair who, after learning of the embarrassing publicity, agreed to take it without knowing whether its space could accommodate the flag either. The Maryland seamstresses began to doubt their flag would ever make the trip to New York.

But, Maryland officials truly wanted to fly their own flag at their own pavilion. The decision was made to erect a 75-foot pole in front of their pavilion and move the flag indoors—folded and encased—in the event of bad weather. A June 6 piece in The Baltimore Sun explained how the commission decided to decline the federal bail out “with appreciation.” The following day, which happened to be Flag Day and Maryland Day the the fair, Governor Tawes dedicated the replica at a brief ceremony. The ’64 flag currently resides at the Star-Spangled Banner Flag House at 844 East Pratt Street.

The Hutzer Photograph Collection, as with many of our collections, is chock full of such strange or incongruent, but delightful, discoveries. We expected to find pictures of the Hutzler family, the department store’s many locations, window and product displays—of which there are many. We did not expect to find this little time warp. But it’s not completely surprising that Hutzler’s would be involved in this type of project given their history of fabric and textile offerings. We must admit we can’t quite connect Hutzler’s with the project, so any information would much appreciated.

What’s stranger still is that we made this find at this moment in time. We’re happy to announce that the 2013 Star-Spangled Banner Project has run far more smoothly and seamlessly than its predecessor, so far. The project completed it Kickstarter campaign yesterday, raising over $10,000 in four weeks. Underbelly congratulates the 2013 stitchers and everyone involved.

THEN: These ladies didn’t know from Kickstarter. PP5 Replica of Star-Spangled Banner for New York World’s Fair, M.E. Warren Photograpy, ca. 1964, MdHS.

Now: Placing the stars. Star-Spangled Banner Project, July 2013.

*The Hutzler Photograph Collection is currently being reprocessed. The finding aid currently online, created in 2000, reflects only a small portion of the collection. Please check back in the coming months for a more accurate inventory list.

Sources

The Baltimore Sun, February 18, 1964: 6; April 30, 1964: 48; and June 6, 1964: 13.

Since the film discovery came late, we didn’t have enough time to digitize it and add it to the previous post. This week it gets our full attention. The chilling footage captures the destruction and offers a view of the city most living Marylanders have never seen.

We initially suspected the footage was somehow affiliated with Stark Films, a bygone local production house. The addition of title cards to the homemade footage suggested a professional touch and, since MdHS holds a number of the company’s reels, it seemed a reasonable guess. We have since learned from newly found provenance records that the film was shot by S. Watts Smyth of St. Louis, Missouri, who may have had editing experience or at least access to a production house.

According to Bunny Connell, daughter of S. Watts Smyth, the family “spent each summer in Ocean City from 1926-’33.” Until 1933, the family made the more than 900-mile journey by train from St. Louis. However that August, they made the 15-hour drive in their new Cadillac LaSalle. This was the Smyth’s last summer spent in Ocean City before moving to Wyoming. Connell entrusted the film to MdHS in 1987.

This clip has been edited down to two minutes from the 11-minute original. To view the complete film or for more information about using or licensing it, please contact  specialcollections@mdhs.org

If you’d like to read some background about the storm check out the references in our previous post or read the following article from the Baltimore Sun. Enjoy! (Eben Dennis and Joe Tropea)

There are two stories behind the creation of John Moale’s drawing of Baltimore Town. One version is that sometime in the late eighteenth century, Moale (ca. 1731-1798) sat down and sketched from memory the Baltimore of his youth. The other account has the amateur artist sitting on the future Federal Hill and sketching the town from life in 1752.
Baltimore Town in 1752, by John Moale, MdHS museum collection, 1845.1.1.

Sitting down in a field or on a city bench, pulling out a sketch pad, and drawing a building or cityscape is today a lost practice, largely left to artists. In an era when you can access a digital map of the entire world, and then zoom in on practically any building on earth, a sketch of a house, or even a printed map of city, may seem almost primitive. The watercolor to the right, which could easily be mistaken for a child’s drawing, is actually the earliest existing depiction of Baltimore when it was still just a tiny backwater town. Merchant and land developer John Moale’s unfinished sketch is a document of 1752 Baltimore, then known as Baltimore Town, that although rendered in “shocking disregard…of the laws of perspective,” gives a sense of the architecture of eighteenth century Baltimore now almost entirely lost. While there are surviving examples of houses from the mid to late 1700s still standing in the city (and photographic examples of many now gone), none of the structures depicted in Moale’s “original and homely draft” remain.(1)

In 1752, Baltimore Town was a “small, straggling village,” of roughly 200 inhabitants who lived, worshiped, and drank in 25 houses, one church, two taverns, and a brewery.(2) The drawing captures the young town just prior to a boom period marking the beginning of 200 years of uninterrupted population growth that wouldn’t come to an end until 1950. In the 1750s the town’s commercial and residential possibilities began to attract a diverse group of immigrants. German and Scotch-Irish businessmen from Pennsylvania, French-Acadians exiled from Nova Scotia in 1755, and other immigrant groups traveled to the waterfront community in the hopes of starting a new life. By 1760 there were over 1200 inhabitants. Fourteen years later, on the eve of the Revolution, the population consisted of nearly 6,000 people living in some 560 residences.

Most of these dwellings were simple wooden structures, between one and two stories in height. The most common homes found in eighteenth century Baltimore were three or four bay-wide structures with gambrel roofs and dormers. Only four of the 25 houses pictured in John Moale’s original sketch were brick; in 1741, Irish immigrant Edwin Fottrell, using bricks imported from England, began construction on the first. The Fottrell house – the largest residence in 1752 Baltimore Town – was erected at what is today the northwest corner of Fayette and Calvert Streets.(3) Fottrell returned to his homeland sometime before 1755, leaving the residence unfinished and in a state of disrepair.

Edwin Fottrell house. Baltimore in 1752, 1817 engraving by William Strickland based on a 1752 sketch by John Moale, MdHS, H16.

St. Peter the Apostle Church, constructed 1843, 11-13 South Poppleton Street, June 2013

The deserted home lay vacant for only a short time as it was soon occupied by a group of newly arrived French-Acadian refugees whose ship had appeared unexpectedly in the harbor. The refugees – part of a larger group of 900 that had arrived in Annapolis following their expulsion from Nova Scotia by British authorities – were soon being called on by Reverend John Ashton, the resident Catholic priest of Carroll Manor. Ashton visited Baltimore Town once a month to provide church services for the few Catholics living there. The Reverend and his congregation, consisting of some 40 members -  including a few of the Acadians – took for their place of worship one of the lower rooms of the Fottrell house; one of their first tasks consisted of “expelling the hogs which had habitually nested there.”(4)

From these squalid beginnings emerged Baltimore’s first Catholic Church. In 1770 the congregation began construction on St. Peter’s Church, at the corner of Saratoga and Charles Streets. Although the original building was torn down in 1841, a new church was built two years later that still stands at the corner of Hollins and Poppleton Street in West Baltimore. Edward Fottrell’s house, on the other hand,  had a much shorter life span. In 1780 the State of Maryland seized the residence and property, which was then in the possession of Fottrell’s heirs, divided up the land into six lots and sold them off at auction.

John Moale’s sketch of Baltimore Town provided the basis for a number of prints in the first half of the nineteenth century that proved to be very popular. Moale provided no identifications of the structures that he sketched out – the later reproductions have filled in many of the details left out by the amateur artist. Probably the most widely known as well as the most artistically rendered is an 1817 engraving by architect William Strickland. Some notable additions are the two ships visible in the harbor. The larger vessel is the “Phillip and Charles,” owned by William Rogers who also operated of one of the town’s two taverns. Docked on the left side of the harbor is the Sloop “Baltimore,” built in 1746 and owned by Captain Darby Lux, a two-time commissioner of Baltimore Town. The ship was the first Baltimore owned vessel to be sailed from the port. Lux’s house on Light Street is also identified in the print. The main thoroughfare, visible in the center of the engraving, is Calvert Street. Baltimore in 1752, 1817 engraving by William Strickland based on a 1752 sketch by John Moale, MdHS, H16.

The first and fourth St. Paul’s Protestant Episcopal Church.
(top) The first, built 1739, razed in 1786; Baltimore in 1752, 1817 engraving by William Strickland based on a 1752 sketch by John Moale, MdHS, H16, (detail)
(bottom) The fourth, built in 1854, 233 N. Charles Street, June 2013.

The most prominent structure in Moales’ original sketch, although it appears unfinished, is St. Paul’s Protestant Episcopal Church, Baltimore’s first church of any denomination. Completed in 1739, it was built atop Saratoga Street Hill, the highest point in town. By 1780, the building had become too small to accommodate its rapidly growing congregation, and a new church was built on another section of the large parcel of land bound by Lexington, Saratoga, Charles and St. Paul Streets, purchased by the church when the town was first established in 1729. The original church was put to use as a school until being demolished in 1786.

One feature of the early town that does not appear in either Moale’s sketch or the later reproductions was a wooden fence erected around the town in 1750. According to historian Thomas Scharf, the fence was built to protect the town from hostile tribes of Native Americans. Many sources have repeated this tale, although it appears the townsfolk had a far more mundane reason for erecting the fence that encircled the town “as completely as the walls enclosed a medieval fortress.”(5) It was instead devised as a barrier against the herds of swine, flocks of sheep, and gaggles of geese that roamed freely throughout the town. The hogs did serve some purpose, acting as an early sanitation department, as well as providing a source of food for the poorer members of the community. But these benefits were apparently soon outweighed by their penchant for destroying property, creating ruts in the roads, endangering children and causing general mayhem.

The fence however had a brief existence – residents soon began removing sections of it for firewood. One of the persons accused of pilfering timber was Thomas Chase, the rector of St. Paul’s Church. By November of 1752 most of the fence was gone. Whether John Moale intended to add the fence to his unfinished drawing or whether he sought to keep the image of the dilapidated enclosure from the historical record when he sat down to put pen to paper will probably never be known.

In 1796, Baltimore Town – which in 1773 had merged with Jones Town and Fell’s Point – incorporated to form the City of Baltimore. Only a handful of the buildings that existed prior to the merger of the three neighboring communities survived into the late nineteenth century. The last building visible in John Moale’s sketch to fall by the wayside was apparently Kaminsky’s inn, located at 106-110 Mercer Street, at the northwest corner of Mercer and Grant Streets. An 1885 Baltimore Sun article described the tavern as being:

“built in 1750 of wood, two stories and an attic, with dormer windows. The first story was plastered outside and the upper part weather-boarded. A lone flight of stairs from the outside led up to the second story. The building presented the appearance of an old-fashioned German hostelry. It was the grand hotel of the city. Washington, Lafayette and other revolutionary heroes stopped there.”(6)

Baltimore Town’s last remaining building finally met its demise in the early 1870s when it was razed to make way for three iron-front buildings at 101-105 East Redwood Street. These buildings were in turn destroyed some 30 years later when the Great Fire of 1904 swept through downtown Baltimore. A dozen years passed before another edifice, the Sun Life Insurance Company Building, was erected.(7)

In 2000, the site of one of Baltimore’s first two inns made a return to its roots when the Sun Life Building and its companion on the block – the former headquarters of the Merchant and Miners Transportation Company – were demolished to make way for a Residence Inn Marriott. While it lacks the charms of its predecessor, with laundry dangling from its windows (see photo below), it does make up for it in girth, rooming capacity, and general unattractiveness. (Damon Talbot)

Progression of a city block.
(Top left) Kaminsky’s Inn. Baltimore in 1752, 1817 engraving by William Strickland based on a 1752 sketch by John Moale, MdHS, H16, (detail)
(Top right) Kaminsky’s Inn, ca 1875, MdHS, CC 2821. The Tavern was originally two stories; a third story was added at some point in the nineteenth century to adjust to alterations in the street level.
(Bottom right) Sun Life Insurance Building, 109 East Redwood Street, about to be demolished, ca 2000; the building next to it is the partially demolished former Headquarters of the Merchant and Miners Company.(photograph not from MdHS’s collection)
(Bottom left) Marriott Residence Inn, 17 Light Street, June 2013.

Footnotes:

(1) Scharf, J. Thomas, The Chronicles of Baltimore: Being a Complete History of “Baltimore Town” and Baltimore City (Baltimore: Turnbull Brothers, 1874), 48; Mayer, Brantz, Baltimore: Past and present with biographical sketches of its most prominent men (Baltimore: Richardson and Bennett: 1871)

(2) Scharf, Thomas J., History of Baltimore City and County (Baltimore: Regional Publishing Company, 1971), 58.

(3) Baltimore in 1752, 1817 engraving by William Strickland based on a 1752 sketch by John Moale, MdHS, H16.

(4) Scharf, J. Thomas, The Chronicles of Baltimore, 66.

(5) Stockett, Letitia, Baltimore: A Not Too Serious History (Baltimore: Grace Gore Norman, 1936), 45.

(6) “A Leaf from the Past,” The Baltimore Sun, December 5, 1885

(7) The Sun Life Insurance Company building was designed by Louis Levi, the first Jewish member of the Baltimore chapter of the American Institute of Architects.

Sources and further reading:

Beirne, Francis F., St. Paul’s Parish, Baltimore: A Chronicle of the MotherChurch (Baltimore: Horn-Shafer Company, 1967)

Clark, Dennis Rankin, Baltimore, 1729-1829: The Genesis of a Community (Washington D.C., 1976)

Griffith, Thomas W., Annals of Baltimore (Baltimore: Printed by William Wooddy, 1824)

Gunts, Edward “Residents may rise at Redwood and Light,” The Baltimore Sun, November 29, 2004.

Gunts, Edward “Turning Point for Downtown,” The Baltimore Sun, August 13, 2000.

Hall, Clayton Colman, ed., Baltimore: Its History and Its People (New York: Lewis Historical Publishing Company, 1912)

Hayward, Mary Ellen & Frank R. Shivers Jr., ed., The Architecture of Baltimore: An Illustrated History (Baltimore: JohnsHopkinsUniversity Press, 2004)

Jones, Carleton, Lost Baltimore: A Portfolio of Vanished Buildings (Baltimore: Maclay & Associates., 1982)

Kelly, Jacques, “Redwood Street preservation move grows”, The Baltimore Sun, September 30, 2000.

Kelly, Jacques, The Voice of this Calling: St. Paul’s Parish – Baltimore, Maryland, 1692-1992 (Baltimore: The Vestry of St. Paul’s Parish, 1993)

“A Leaf from the Past,” The Baltimore Sun, December 5, 1885

MarylandState Archives, Archives of Maryland (Biographical Series) John Moale

Mayer, Brantz, Baltimore: Past and present with biographical sketches of its most prominent men (Baltimore: Richardson and Bennett: 1871)

The Passano-O’Neill Files: Light Street (7-11); Mercer Street (106-110); Charles Street (231 North); Calvert Street (100-102 North)

Rice, Laura, Maryland History in Prints, 1743-1900 (Baltimore: The Press at the Maryland Historical Society, 2002)

Scharf, J. Thomas, The Chronicles of Baltimore: Being a Complete History of “Baltimore Town” and Baltimore City (Baltimore: Turnbull Brothers, 1874)

Scharf, J. Thomas, History of Baltimore City and County (Philadelphia: Louis H. Everts, 1881)

Stockett, Letitia, Baltimore: A Not Too Serious History (Baltimore: Grace Gore Norman, 1936)

David T. Abercrombie, undated, MdHS, MS 1.

Abercrombie & Fitch – the name brings up images of young, scantily clad men and women staring out from advertisements with smoldering eyes and pouty lips. But the store known today for its teen apparel as well as its controversial ideas about how to dress children was originally a much different enterprise, offering clothing and gear for the outdoor set a little over a century ago. One half of the dynamic style duo of founders Abercrombie and Fitch is a son of Baltimore and the innovator behind the company once known as the “Greatest Sporting Goods Store in the World.”

The future clothing magnate, David Thomas Abercrombie, was born in Baltimore in 1867 to John and Elizabeth Abercrombie. John Morrison Abercrombie immigrated to Baltimore as a boy in 1847 from Falkirk, Scotland. Prior to David’s birth, he attended Baltimore City College and eventually established himself as a newsman, working a managerial position at the Baltimore branch of the American News Company. Elizabeth Sarah Daniel, the daughter of a Scottish doctor practicing in Ottawa, met her future husband through family friends. The Abercrombies had a lot of children. First born, David was eventually joined by six siblings: John, Harry, Maud, Mary, Robert, and Ronald.

All but one of the Abercrombie sons followed in their father’s footsteps and attended City College (Robert attended Baltimore Polytechnic Institute). While at the school David developed a keen interest in both engineering and exploration.  After graduating in 1885 he enrolled at the Maryland Institute, School for Art and Design – now known as the Maryland Institute College of Art (MICA) – as an engineering student. While MICA might today appear an odd choice for a prospective engineer, the college was originally established as a trade school, and in 1885 still offered courses in fields like mechanical sciences and chemistry. According to school historian Douglas Frost, Abercrombie attended the college during its transition period when the curriculum began to shift from one offering a variety of mechanical, engineering, and artistic courses to a program increasingly focused on the visual arts. (1)

After graduating, Abercrombie left Baltimore to pursue his dreams of exploration. He worked as a surveyor and civil engineer for several railroad companies including the Baltimore & Ohio. Abercrombie mapped and surveyed previously undocumented regions of the Appalachians ranging from North Carolina to Kentucky. To withstand the rugged terrain and ever-changing weather of the Appalachians, he fashioned for himself and his surveying crew personalized camping gear using textiles of his own design. In an Abercrombie family history written in 1940, brother Ronald noted that,

“[David’s] inventive genius enabled him to make a practical solution to most every problem of the prospector, huntsman, camper and woodsman. He was one of the best woodsmen, in its broadest sense, of his time. When sheet aluminum was first made, he was the first to utilize it in manufacturing of camp utensils, nesting kits and other useful articles for the camper. This application was soon followed in general use in home kitchen ware.”(2)

David T. Abercrombie, undated, MdHS, MS 1.

Unfortunately, David developed farsightedness, cutting his field career short at the age of 25. However, Abercrombie’s ingenuity and innate talent for invention would eventually lead to greater successes in the clothing industry. After being forced into premature retirement from his chosen profession in 1892, Abercrombie’s fellow surveyors suggested he pursue a career as an inventor, manufacturing his creations for other outdoorsmen. He soon joined his uncle at the National Waterproof Fiber Company in New York City. Over the next six years Abercrombie worked for a series of companies manufacturing new products until 1898, when he opened his very own retail store on South Street in Manhattan. The David T. Abercrombie Company sold premium sporting products including fishing and camping gear, rifles, and specialized clothing. David’s own designs were often featured in the products.

The store was a hit among the Manhattan elite and gained enough success to warrant a move from South Street to the trendier shopping district on Park Avenue. His many clients included explorer Robert Peary and President Theodore Roosevelt  (Abercrombie also clothed the future president and his Rough Riders during the Spanish-American War). One particularly loyal customer was a lawyer by the name of Ezra Fitch. His interest in the store went beyond mere patronage, and in 1900 he left his practice to join Abercrombie as a business partner. In 1904, the store officially adopted the name Abercrombie & Fitch Company.

The relationship between the co-owners quickly soured however, and within a few years Abercrombie and Fitch were battling over the future direction of their enterprise. Abercrombie wanted the store to remain true to its origins as an outdoor outfitter, but Fitch’s ideas for a more generalized retail store, catering to a larger clientele, won out. In 1907, a mere three years after becoming official partners, David Abercrombie “disposed of all his interest” in Abercrombie & Fitch.*

Abercrombie Family Coat of Arms, MdHS, MS 1.

While A&F would go on to become a global brand, Abercrombie’s career in the clothing industry was far from over. With the help of his youngest brother Robert, David refashioned his old company, the David T. Abercrombie Company, into a textile manufacturer. Over the next decade, his success as a clothing outfitter only grew. As the United States prepared to enter World War I, Abercrombie’s reputation was such that the U.S. Army made him a Major of the Quarter Master Reserves, entrusting him with the management of the New York Packing Depot where his civilian employees “turned out an average of six thousand uniform-size packages a day.” His pioneering packing and folding processes, involving a stretchable, waterproof paper of his own invention, afforded the armed forces a new abundance of space. According to an article in the July, 1919 issue of Popular Science Monthly, in only a year’s time, Abercrombie’s innovations saved the government 85 million dollars. When he was discharged at the end of the war the government promoted him to the rank of Lt. Colonel. He continued to work in the manufacturing business until his death in 1931.

While David left Baltimore as a young man to find his fortune in New York, many of his siblings remained in Baltimore. Harry pursued a career in law, serving as a lawyer in the Legislature of Maryland and eventually becoming a judge on the bench of the People’s Court. (3) John became a physician and coroner. Ronald also went on to a successful career as a physician following his collegiate years at Johns Hopkins University where he was not only a gymnast, but also “the Best College Center at Lacrosse ever produced in this country,” which probably involves a bit of hyperbole as this quote was pulled from Ronald’s autobiography.(4) He later sat on several Hopkins boards and served as Director of Physical Education.** Ronald left a mixed legacy at Johns Hopkins as he later admitted in his autobiography that as the JHU “Director of Physical Education, [he was the] instigator or founder of the ‘Lily White’ practice in college athletics.”(5) As Hopkins did not admit its first African-American undergraduate student, Frederick Scott, until 1945, its delay in breaking down the segregation barrier may have had something to do with the influence of a certain alumnus. (6) Abercrombie & Fitch would later deal with its own charges of racism –  in 2005 the company brokered a $40 million dollar settlement in a class action suit charging the company with racial profiling in hiring practices at its retail stores.

Today, the Abercrombie and Fitch brand has become as far removed from the original vision of founder David Abercrombie as can be imagined. The company once renowned for its top of the line sports gear now markets exclusively to fashion trendy teeny boppers. In a 2006 interview A&F CEO Mike Jeffries laid out exactly who the store was in business for:

“…we hire good-looking people in our stores. Because good-looking people attract other good-looking people, and we want to market to cool, good-looking people. We don’t market to anyone other than that…In every school there are the cool and popular kids, and then there are the not-so-cool kids. Candidly, we go after the cool kids. We go after the attractive all-American kid with a great attitude and a lot of friends. A lot of people don’t belong [in our clothes], and they can’t belong. Are we exclusionary? Absolutely.”(7)

Ironically, the idea of enlarging the store’s market was what destroyed the partnership of David Abercrombie and Ezra Fitch a little over a century ago. But who knows, maybe Abercrombie would have approved the “good-looking” image if it promoted the fitness necessary for outdoor adventures. (Ben Koshland)

Years ago when I attended Baltimore City College, someone listed off some famous graduates of City and told me that Abercrombie of Abercrombie & Fitch was a fellow knight. I always thought this was cool but just another fun fact or statistic I could use when crushing some silly engineer in the so called debate of the greatest high school in all the land. However, while going through some of the Johns Hopkins school ephemera at MdHS, I stumbled upon a program for a JHU athletic event from 1894. Alongside the traditional gymnastics, the program listed some pretty exciting events like class tug of war, roman ladders, and chicken fighting (not to be confused with cockfighting); all things I think should be reintroduced into collegiate athletics. But while I was glancing over this program I noticed a name kept popping up, Abercrombie. He was listed as a participant in parallel bars, rings, vaulting horse, horizontal bar, and the roman ladder; not too shabby. I assumed this had to be Mr. Abercrombie and decided to do a little digging within the archives. It turns out this was not the Abercrombie of the clothing conglomerate; it was…his brother Ronald.

What a difference a century makes…
(left) Abercrombie & Fitch Catalog, 1913; (right) Abercrombie & Fitch Advertisement, accessed 2013.
(Images not from MdHS collection)

*Abercrombie didn’t cut all ties with his former partner – the David T. Abercrombie Company manufactured textiles for Abercrombie & Fitch for many years following his departure from the company.

** Ronald was also a contributing member to Maryland Historical Society – in 1943 he published an article in the MdHS Magazine on the Sweet Air Estate. This estate owned by the Carroll family is now a part of GunpowderFallsState Park. The Sweet Air loop begins in Sweet Air, a few miles east of Cockeysville and runs all the way to the Pennsylvania boarder.

Footnotes:

(1) Frost, Douglas L. MICA: Making History, Making Art. Baltimore: Maryland Institute College of Art, 2010). 

(2) Abercrombie, Ronald. The Abercrombie’s of Baltimore (Baltimore: Private Publisher,  1940), p 20.

(3) Ibid., p.27

(4) Ibid., p. 29

(5) Ibid., p. 29

(6) Wynhe, Dr. Barbara. “1945.” The History of African Americans @ JohnsHopkinsUniversity. May 9, 2013.

(7) Sole, Elise, “New Petition Urges Abercrombie & Fitch to Change Its Anti-Plus-Size Stance,” Yahoo! Shine, May 9, 2013.

Sources and Further Reading:

Abercrombie, Ronald. The Abercrombie’s of Baltimore. Baltimore: Private Publisher,  1940.

McBride, Dwight A. Why I Hate Abercrombie & Fitch. New York: NYU Press, 2005.

Business Insider, ABERCROMBIE: How A Hunting And Fishing Store Became A Sex-Infused Teenybop Legend, Accessed April 25, 2013.

Connors, Michael, “Save Money By Bailing Your Clothes, Apply This Lesson Learned in the War,” Popular Science Monthly, Vol. 95, No.1, July, 1919.

Sole, Elise, “New Petition Urges Abercrombie & Fitch to Change Its Anti-Plus-Size Stance,” Yahoo! Shine, May 9, 2013.

http://latimesblogs.latimes.com/lanow/2011/04/woman-protesting-push-up-bras-for-young-girls-at-abercrombie-fitch-cited-by-mall-security.html

http://www.minyanville.com/businessmarkets/articles/abercrombie-fitch-lawsuits-sued-racial-racist/10/26/2009/id/25015

The Regent Theater, circa 1948, MdHS, SVF.

The theaters, night clubs, and restaurants that once made Pennsylvania Avenue Baltimore’s center for African-American entertainment  are today a receding memory. In the segregated Baltimore of the early to mid twentieth century, the Avenue was where African-Americans went to see the latest films, have a drink at one of the many nightclubs and bars, and hear the jazz of Duke Ellington, Billie Holliday, and Cab Calloway, the comedy of Redd Fox and Slappy White, and the funk of James Brown. Most of the establishments were gone by the end of the 1970s, either occupied by new businesses, laying vacant, or demolished. A few soldiered on—the Sphinx Club, one of the last to go, closed its doors in 1992. The most famous venue on the Avenue, the Royal Theater, was one of the premier stops on the “chitlin’ circuit,” the chain of clubs and theaters running through the eastern and southern states featuring African-American entertainers. While the Royal may have been the best known theater on the Avenue, it wasn’t the largest—that designation would have to go to the Regent Theater.

The Regent Theater was from the start a family operation. On Jun 9, 1916, Louis Hornstein and his two sons, Simon and Isaac, opened the theater on the former site of a coal yard at 1629 Pennsylvania Avenue. Advertised as the “largest, coolest, best ventilated house in the city,” the theater was located in a one-story brick building designed by Baltimore architectural firm Sparklin & Childs. (1) For the next 50 years the Hornstein family owned and operated the Regent. The family later acquired the Lenox and the Diane theaters, also on Pennsylvania Avenue.

At the time of its opening, the Regent was the largest movie house in Baltimore, with a seating capacity of 500 and its own orchestra. The theater specialized in “high class-photo plays and Vaudeville.”(2) John W. Cooper, the first African-American ventriloquist on the largely white vaudeville circuit, was a bonus attraction on opening night. Billed as “the only colored ventriloquist in the world,” the “Black Napoleon of Ventriloquists,” and the “Polite Ventriloquist,” Cooper’s most famous routine, a barbershop skit, incorporated multiple dummies operated with the use of foot pedals and fishing line.

Auditorium, The Regent Theater, September 1948, Paul Henderson, MdHS, HEN.00.B1-033.

In 1920, the Hornsteins expanded the Regent’s auditorium with the purchase of lots south, extending the theater to 1619 Pennsylvania Avenue. The original building at 1629 was retained as the entrance. The theater now had a seating capacity of 2,250, with additional balcony seating.

Although the patrons of the establishments that lined Pennsylvania Avenue were predominantly African-American, the ownership of these businesses was almost entirely white. Within Baltimore’s African-American community, the Hornsteins were particularly well respected and the Regent was renowned for its “high class attractions and low prices.” Following the 1920 renovations, a reviewer for the Afro-American newspaper called the newly expanded theater a “legitimate playhouse where colored patrons would not be humiliated by the odious presence of … ’Mister James Crow.’”(3)

In 1925, Isaac Hornstein cancelled the planned exhibition of a series of films featuring heavyweight boxing champion Jack Dempsey, after the champ made disparaging remarks about African-American contenders for his title and “proposed to prevent any colored contender from having a ‘look see’ at the heavyweight diadem.” Hornstein told a reporter from the Afro that the Regent played “to colored patrons, and I would certainly be insulting them should I play a picture featuring a man having the sentiment as expressed by Dempsey in the press. I stand unalterably by my original refusal, and you may say for me that this picture or no other that in any way offends our patrons will ever be flashed from this screen.” Other theaters in the city soon followed the Regent’s example.(4)

The Hornsteins set high standards for their theater, and expected their patrons do the same. Louis Hornstein was known to send movie goers home to change their clothes if they were not suitably attired. They also kept up with the latest advancements in film technology. In 1928 the Regent made the transition from silent to sound film when it became the second movie house in Baltimore, and the only African-American theater, to be equipped with the new Vitaphone sound system. An article in the Afro-American enthused that the Regent was “the only local house open to race trade that has contracted for this last word in motion picture entertainment.”(5) In 1953 the theater was equipped with both 3-D and the recently invented Cinemascope.

While the more celebrated Royal Theater was often the first and only stop in Baltimore for many of the top African-American entertainers of the era, the Regent—although primarily a movie theater—attracted its share of live performers, including Ethel Waters, Lena Horne, and Sidney Poitier. Baltimore’s own Cab Calloway and Eubie Blake (along with his songwriting partner Noble Sissle) performed at the Regent. Jack Johnson, the first black heavyweight champion of the world, gave a boxing exhibition at the theater.

Lobby, The Regent Theater, 1948, Paul Henderson, MdHS, HEN.00.B1-030.

In 1964, Henry Hornstein, the grandson of the original owner, leased the Regent and the family’s other theatrical properties to Jack Fruchtman, a Washington D.C. film exhibitor. Fruchtman’s company, JF Theatres, would eventually control some 50 movie theaters in Baltimore and the surrounding suburbs. If you name a theater in Baltimore, chances are that at one time or another, it was operated by Fruchtman. From now-departed theaters the Royal, the Avalon, the Mayfair, and the Rex to still operating movie houses like the Charles (formerly The Times) and the Rotunda Theater (which Fruchtman opened in 1967), Fruchtman left a large fingerprint on the city’s theatrical history.

Through the remainder of the 1960s and the early 1970s Fruchtman continued the operation of the Regent to apparent success. Film historian Robert Headley, in his 1974 book, Exit: A History of Movies in Baltimore, wrote that the Regent “was still going strong, and hopefully will be with us for many years to come.” But with the end of segregation in the 1960s, the era of Pennsylvania Avenue as Baltimore’s African-American entertainment mecca was coming to a close. Citywide, the neighborhood theater industry that had been entertaining film goers for over 60 years was dying a slow death, the result of white flight, escalating overhead costs, and the proliferation of suburban theaters. The unrest that followed the assassination of Martin Luther King, Jr. in April of 1968 also kept many theater going patrons from the downtown area. According to Robert Headley, although actual physical damage to city theaters was minimal, the “psychic damage to the theater going public was terrible.” By the end of the 1970s, 114 Baltimore theaters had been closed down.(6)

Fruchtman began closing some of the least viable of his large fold of theaters earlier in the decade. In December of 1974 the Regent turned its lights on for the last time. At the time of its closing, the Regent was still the second largest movie theater in the city. For the remainder of the decade the property remained unoccupied, and in 1980 the theater was razed, joining the Royal, which had met the same fate three years earlier.

But the site at which one of Baltimore’s premier African-American theaters once stood remained tied to its entertainment past. In 1982, former Baltimore Colts wide receiver Glenn Doughty opened the Shake and Bake Family Fun Center on the former site of the Regent. Doughty—known in his playing days as “Shake and Bake,” based on his pregame mantra that the Colts were going to “shake up and cook” their opponents—purchased the vacant lot from the City for $1.00. With the backing of Mayor William Donald Shaefer, Doughty and his partners secured a nearly 5 million dollar loan from the city to build what the former Colt—who never reached the NFL championship game—called his “Super Bowl.”(7)

Shake & Bake Family Fun Center, 1601 Pennsylvania Avenue, former site of the Regent Theater, 2013. Photograph by Google.

When the center first opened in 1982, it was an immediate success. In the first year over 10,000 people a week were enjoying themselves at the 70,000 square foot complex which housed a 40 lane bowling alley, a 22,000 square foot roller rink, a video game room, and a sporting goods store. One patron said that the center “was a really big change for the community… it keeps people from hanging on the street corners.” The complex also housed an automated bank teller, an advertising firm, and two fast food restaurants. Almost entirely under African-American ownership—the Afro called it “the first major black owned and operated facility of its kind in the country”—the complex proved to be a model for other cities, with mayors visiting it for inspiration on inner city revitalization projects.(8)

Within two years though, the center was struggling financially, unable to attract people from outside the neighborhood.  In 1985, Doughty and his partners defaulted on their loan and the City took over the management of the center. Although the center has gone through tough times since then—in 1987, a former manager plead guilty to a charge that he stole nearly $80,000 while employed at the center—it is still in operation 30 years after first opening. The center continues to offer bowling, roller skating, and family fun. It also hosts practice sessions for the Harm City Homicides, Maryland’s first men’s Roller Derby team. The Shake and Bake Center was one of the earlier revitalization projects on Pennsylvania Avenue—more than three decades later, efforts to return the former cultural hub to at least a semblance of what it once was are still under way. (Damon Talbot)

Footnotes:

1. Advertisement, The Baltimore Afro-American, June 24, 1916. Sparklin & Childs were also responsible for other theaters in the city, including the Rialto Theater on North Avenue.

2. Headley Jr, Robert Kirk, Exit: A History of Movies in Baltimore, (University Park, Md, Robert Kirk Headley, Jr., 1974), p. 116.

3. “Regent’s Gradual Rise to Fame,” The Baltimore Afro-American, October 27, 1928; Headley, Jr, Robert Kirk, Motion Picture Exhibition in Baltimore: An Illustrated History and Directory of Theaters, 1895-2004 (London: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2006), p. 380.

4.  “Regent Theater Owner Cancels Jack Dempsey Film,” The Baltimore Afro-American, February 7, 1925.

5.  “Regent Theater gets Vitaphone: Local Playhouse on of Few in the Country,” The Baltimore Afro-American, April 7, 1928.

6. Headley Jr, Robert Kirk, Exit: A History of Movies in Baltimore, (University Park, Md, Robert Kirk Headley, Jr., 1974), p. 116; Headley, Jr, Robert Kirk, Motion Picture Exhibition in Baltimore: An Illustrated History and Directory of Theaters, 1895-2004 (London: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2006), p. 167.

7. Siegel, Eric, “Shake & Bake: Wide Receiver to entrepeneur, Doughty still meets challenges,” The Baltimore Sun, April 25, 1982.

8. Siegel, Eric, “Shake & Bake: Saturday Night street-corner rival,” The Baltimore Sun, November 4, 1982; Brown, Johanne, “Shake and Bake Grand Opening: The Realization of a Dream,” The Baltimore Afro-American, October 19, 1982; Gite, Lloyd, “Shaking and Baking in Baltimore,” Black Enterprise, February 1984.

Sources and Further Reading:

Advertisement, The Baltimore Afro-American, June 24, 1916

Cinematreasures.org

Headley Jr, Robert Kirk, Exit: A History of Movies in Baltimore, (University Park, Md, Robert Kirk Headley, Jr., 1974)

Headley, Jr, Robert Kirk, Motion Picture Exhibition in Baltimore: An Illustrated History and Directory of Theaters, 1895-2004 (London: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2006).

Gite, Lloyd, “Shaking and Baking in Baltimore,” Black Enterprise, February 1984.

Kilduffs.com

“Other Houses Cancel Dempsey Films: Movie Theatres Follow Regent’s Lead,” The Baltimore Afro-American, February 21, 1925.

The Passano – O’Neill Files, Pennsylvania Avenue (1619-1629)

Peterson, Bernard L., Profiles of African American Stage Performers and Theatre People, 1816-1960 (Westport, CT: Greenwood Press.)

Rasmussen, Frederick, “Jack Fruchtman, Sr., 86, Theater Owner, The Baltimore Sun, July 3, 2001.

“Regent’s Gradual Rise to Fame,” The Baltimore Afro-American, October 27, 1928.

“Regent Theater gets Vitaphone: Local Playhouse on of Few in the Country,” The Baltimore Afro-American, April 7, 1928.

“Regent Theater Owner Cancels Jack Dempsey Film,” The Baltimore Afro-American, February 7, 1925.

Siegel, Eric, “Shake & Bake: Saturday Night street-corner rival,” The Baltimore Sun, November 4, 1982.

Siegel, Eric, “Shake & Bake: Wide Receiver to entrepeneur, Doughty still meets challenges,” The Baltimore Sun, April 25, 1982.

“3-D Cinemascope to Bring Crowds to Movies,” The Baltimore Afro-American, April 18, 1953.

Ventriloquistcentralblog.com

Sulzebacher House, ca 1865, MdHS, CC956.

West Baltimore was once a densely packed, vibrant neighborhood full of theaters, local businesses, and industry. Drive down many of the streets today and you’re likely to see a vacant lot or a boarded up row house on nearly every other block. But even an empty field has a history. The tiny, off-kilter house pictured to the left is one of the oldest houses in West Baltimore. Or at least it was circa 1865 when the photograph was taken. Like many of Baltimore’s historic structures it has been lost to time and the march of progress. It is now the site of a vacant lot. Built in the mid-1700s, the two-story wood frame house was located at 930 West Baltimore Street, two doors west of Amity Street. The property is known as the Sulzebacher house. The name is most likely a corruption of Sulzbach; according to the Baltimore city directories, a currier named Peter Sulzbach occupied the residence for a few years in the 1840s.

The house is of typical design for a mid-eighteenth century home in Baltimore. The gable roof may point to the construction of the home in the 1760s or 1770s; by then “gambrel roofs had fallen out of favor and most frame houses were a full two stories in height, with gable roof, with or without dormers.”* The building’s obvious tilt was characteristic of structures “located on streets built to match a since-altered street grade.”** Visible on the second floor is a fire insurance seal. Also called a fire mark, these iron, copper, or lead emblems indicated that a specific insurance firm paid a volunteer fire department to protect it – Baltimore’s first paid fire department was established in 1859, but the fire seals often remained left on the buildings. The Sulzebacher house survived for over 150 years, no mean feat for a wood frame house from that period. Sometime before 1911 the house was razed – the structure is not visible on the 1911 edition of the Sanborn fire insurance atlas – and replaced by a three-story barber shop.

Baltimore Street, 900 block west, looking east, 1920, Hughes Company, MdHS, MC6284. A sign for the New Aladdin Theater is visible in the center of the photograph. (Click to enlarge)

The house at 932 West Baltimore Street, the edge of which can be seen in the photograph, may have been even older. Built in the same period, it had a much larger frontage than its neighbor at 930. The original structure was razed just a few years prior to the Sulzebacher house to make way for a motion picture theater. Both 932 and 930 West Baltimore Street appear to have caught the eye of rival theater owners. At around the same time that James W. Bowers was pursuing the properties at 932, A. Freedman had similar designs on 930. Freedman apparently lost the contest, because the only theater that debuted was Bower’s Aladdin Theater, which opened its doors to the public near the end of 1909. Advertising itself as “West Baltimore’s finest motion picture house,” the Aladdin theater seated about 400 patrons.

Between 1910 and 1938 the theater changed both ownership and names a number of times. In 1917 J. Louis Rome purchased it and renamed it the New Aladdin. The following year it came under the control of C.E. Nolte and his partner, Baltimore-born movie mogul Frank Durkee, whose Durkee Enterprises owned or controlled a large number of the movies houses in Baltimore, including the Ritz, the Palace, the Arcade, and the Senator. In 1930 the theater became the New Queen. It was open for less than a year, perhaps closing from the effects of the Great Depression. Then from 1933 to 1938 it operated as the segregated Booker T. Theater. This was the last of the property’s run as a host for cinematic productions – in 1942 it was converted into a plant for the New Gold Bottling Company, a soft drink manufacturer.

Sun Spot Advertisement, 1949, Hughes Company, MdHS, PP30.254-49.

The New Gold Bottling Company was founded in 1925 by Greek immigrant Dionicios Karavedas. The company went on to produce Sun Spot, a popular orange flavored soft drink, whose advertisements boasted that it was made with real orange juice. During the 1950s and 1960s, the beverage, which retailed for a nickel, could be found in neighborhood stores and confectionaries throughout the city. The riots of 1968, which hit West Baltimore particularly hard, led to a decline in business for the soft drink manufacturer. In an odd change of direction, Dionicios’s son Nicholas, who took over the company after his father retired in 1960, began producing a sugar detecting beverage alongside his sugar enhancing ones – in the 1970s, he was involved with developing a product known as GTTS (Glucose tolerance testing solution) that detected the presence of gestational diabetes in pregnant women. Through a new company, Custom Laboratories, Inc., Karavedas went on to become the “the largest supplier of glucose testing solutions in the country.”***

Baltimore Street, 900 block west, looking east, 2013, Photograph by Google.

By the 1980s, the beverage companies were still producing their dissimilar drinks on West Baltimore Street. But the city had its own plans for the site. In the mid-1980s it began purchasing properties on both the 900 and 800 blocks of West Baltimore Street for a proposed redevelopment project.

By 1992 the Karavedas owned companies were the remaining holdouts. According to a Baltimore Sun article from that year, the beverage companies were “the last tenants on a block the city has been clearing for as-yet unspecified housing or commercial redevelopment use.”**** By 1998, they had relocated across the city to Highlandtown. Twenty years later the 900 block of West Baltimore street, now owned by the University of Maryland, still remains undeveloped, a field of grass surrounded by a mixture of boarded up row homes, storefronts, University of Maryland medical buildings, and vacant lots. (Damon Talbot)

900 block, West Baltimore Street, corner of Amity Street, 2013, Photograph by Google.

Footnotes:

 *Hayward, Mary Ellen & Frank R. Shivers Jr., ed., The Architecture of Baltimore: An Illustrated History (Baltimore: JohnsHopkinsUniversity Press, 2004), p. 9.

**The Passano Files, Baltimore Street (928, West)

***Kelly, Jacques, “Nicholas D. Karavedas, beverage producer, dies,” The Baltimore Sun, October 19, 2010. 

****”Boondoggle on Baltimore Street,” The Baltimore Sun, March 16, 1992. 

Sources and further reading:

”Boondoggle on Baltimore Street,” The Baltimore Sun, March 16, 1992. 

The Dielman-Hayward File, Karavadas, Dionicios

Hayward, Mary Ellen & Frank R. Shivers Jr., ed., The Architecture of Baltimore: An Illustrated History (Baltimore: JohnsHopkinsUniversity Press, 2004)

Headley, Jr, Robert Kirk, Exit: A History of the Movies in Baltimore (University Park, Md: Robert Kirk Headley, Jr., 1974)

Headley, Jr, Robert Kirk, Motion Picture Exhibition in Baltimore: An Illustrated History and Directory of Theaters, 1895-2004 (London: McFarland & Company, Inc., Publishers, 2006)

Jones, Carleton, Lost Baltimore: A Portfolio of Vanished Buildings (Baltimore: Maclay & Associates., 1982)

Kelly, Jacques, “Nicholas D. Karavedas, beverage producer, dies,” The Baltimore Sun, October 19, 2010.

Life Magazine, December 24, 1965

The Passano Files, Baltimore Street (928, 930-932, West)

http://cinematreasures.org/theaters/9958

http://www.fireserviceinfo.com/history.html

http://mises.org/journals/jls/3_3/3_3_6.pdf

The Watson Monument created by sculptor Edward Berge is flanked by captured Mexican mortars. Corpus Christi Church can be seen in the background here at its original location at Lanvale Street and Mount Royal Avenue. In 1930, the monument was moved to Reservoir Hill—what was then the entrance to Druid Hill Park—because of a planned extension of Howard Street. This photo shows what is now an underpass that engineers felt would not have held the weight of the monument. William Watson Monument, ca. 1906, MdHS, MC2484.

On an auspicious afternoon in late September 1903, a crowd of Baltimoreans converged onto the intersection of Mount Royal Avenue and Lanvale Street to witness the symbolic-laced unveiling of the William H. Watson monument. The monument, erected by the Maryland Association of Veterans of the Mexican War, honored Marylanders who lost their lives during the U.S.-Mexican War.(1) Taking place on the fifty-seventh anniversary of Lieutenant Colonel Watson’s death during the Battle of Monterey, spectators watched as aged survivors of the war took their places on the grandstand. Meanwhile, they also laid eyes on the over ten-foot statue, draped in the flag that had shrouded Watson’s corpse as it left Mexico. The most symbolic moment came when Watson’s last surviving child, Monterey Watson Iglehart, walked towards her father’s likeness and unveiled the statue. The unveiling by Iglehart, born on the day her father died, was the highlight of a ceremony that included speeches from U.S.-Mexican War veterans, politicians, and other dignitaries.(2)

“[E]nduring object lessons”

The unveiling partly served as an opportunity to describe the bravery of Marylanders who fought in Mexico. At the same time, it also provided an opportunity for dignitaries to discuss the monument’s impact on public memory. In presenting the Watson Monument to the city of Baltimore, Louis F. Beeler, president of the Maryland Association of Veterans of the Mexican-American War, talked about the proud record of the state’s war veterans. He also talked about how the monument, finally realized after fifty years of planning, served to honor all the Marylanders who died fighting for their country.(3) Among all the speakers, Edwin Warfield, president of the Fidelity and Deposit Company of Maryland, spoke most clearly of the monument’s long-term role in shaping public memory. Warfield believed that “[m]onuments are enduring object lessons, pointing the rising generations to the services of their fathers, and pressing home to their minds great events and epochs in the history of our country.”(4)

Plumbeotype of Lieutenant Colonel William H. Watson, undated, MdHS, CC2873.

The Watson Monument recognized the importance surrounding the U.S.-Mexican War experience, while simultaneously interpreting the past in an effort to shape the present.(5) By highlighting the valor and honor of Baltimore’s U.S.-Mexican War heroes, like Watson and Brevet Major Samuel Ringgold, the Maryland Association of Veterans of the Mexican War allowed the public to view the veterans as heroes of a conflict which greatly benefited the United States, as opposed to participants in an unjustifiable land grab. Watson and Ringgold’s deeds illustrated the sacrifices that came with the United States’s mission of spreading democracy. The monument thus provided “enduring object lessons” that enabled Baltimoreans to shape contemporary circumstances. Given the theoretical similarities between the U.S.-Mexican War and the United States’s imperialist endeavors of the late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries, the monument offered implicit support to national endeavors in the Caribbean.

“The bands which unite our country…”

Today, the monument blends into the scenery of west Baltimore. The war that it commemorates has faded from memory, especially on the East Coast.

Tensions between Mexico and the United States, which had brewed for years, boiled over after James Polk was elected president in 1844, with a promise to annex Texas. Texas was then an independent republic, having broken away from Mexico in 1836. Mexico did not recognize Texas independence, considering it instead a rebel province, much like China considers Taiwan today. Worse, even if Mexico was willing to negotiate away its claim to Texas, a border dispute existed. Texas claimed the boundary at the Rio Grande. Mexico claimed the traditional boundary, the Nueces River, 100 miles north.

When it became clear that Texas would enter the United States, President Polk sent General Zachary Taylor with an army to the edge of the disputed zone. Then in early 1846, Taylor’s army advanced to the Rio Grande. Meanwhile, Mexican troops crossed the Rio Grande. Since both armies were in the disputed zone, both could claim that blood had been shed by the other in its own territory when hostilities broke out at Palo Alto and Resaca de la Palma on April 25, 1846. When word of the fighting reached Washington, President Polk immediately asked Congress for a declaration of war, stating that Mexico had “shed American blood on American soil.” Mexican president Mariano Paredes could make a similar claim. Congress complied, and declared war.(6)

“The Fall of Major Ringgold at the Battle of Palo Alto,” drawn by T.H. Matteson, engraved by H.S. Sadd, MdHS, Small Prints.

Brevet Major Samuel Ringgold became the first prominent Marylander to die during the war. During the Battle of Palo Alto, Ringgold became mortally wounded when he had both thighs “torn out” by a Mexican cannon ball. He died on May 11, 1846, in Port Isabel, Texas.(7) Ringgold’s death muted the joy Baltimoreans felt in the aftermath of General Taylor’s victories. Flags throughout the city flew at half-staff, as did all the flags that adorned the ships in the Baltimore Harbor. Buildings within the city were draped with black crepes. Poignantly, the Baltimore Sun noted that Ringgold’s “fate so sad, his fame so brilliant, has awakened a lively interest in all that relates to him, especially in this city, where it is now apparent that he was known only to be loved, and where his memory will continue to be affectionately revered.”(8)

For the next year and a half, Mexican and U.S. armies battled across Mexico. After Resaca de la Palma and Palo Alto, Taylor’s armies advanced through northern Mexico. The Battle of Monterey, fought on September 21-24, 1846, came at a cost of losing Lieutenant Colonel William H. Watson. During fierce street fighting, Watson had his horse shot out from under him. He rose, and, while trying to lead his troops in an attack against Mexican forces, he received a musket shot to the neck which killed him instantly. According to Charles J. Wells, Watson’s death represented “one of the great tragedies of the day for the Baltimoreans.”(9)

“Colonel William H. Watson” by R. H. Sheppard, c. 1848, MdHS Museum.

Watson died instantly, but his stature grew as stories surrounding his death emerged. According to historian Robert W. Johannsen, “[t]he dying moments of fallen soldiers were told and retold in the war’s literature, and their last words were offered as evidence of the patriotic ardor of the men in Mexico.”(10) Watson, already wounded, had been urged to retreat. He refused, stating that, “[n]ever will I yield an inch! I have too much Irish blood in me to give up!”(11)

The war was not without opposition. Senator James Pearce of Maryland, for example, questioned President Polk’s motives, and believed that the United States could not rule over such a large expanse of land: “[t]he bands which unite our country, if stretched so far, must inevitably snap.”(12)

But opposition to the war faded as General Winfield Scott’s army moved from Vera Cruz to Mexico City in 1847, occupying the “halls of the Montezumas” in September. The Treaty of Guadalupe Hidalgo, signed on February 2, 1848, ended the war, with Mexico ceding the northern portions of its territory to the United States for $15 million.(13)

The war had a significant impact on the United States. In addition to the United States gaining a quarter of its continental footprint—all or parts of the states of Texas, New Mexico, Arizona, California, Nevada, Utah, Wyoming, Oklahoma, and Kansas—that conflict provided the final tinders for an issue that would ignite into civil war scarcely a decade later: slavery.(14)

Over time, the memory of the war’s controversy faded, and Marylanders, like people in the rest of the United States, united to commemorate the conflict and its veterans.

“To die is gain”

Death catapulted Marylanders like Ringgold and Watson into the realm of American heroes. The U.S.-Mexican War, according to Johannsen, led to the appearance of a new group of individuals who would help the nation “celebrate deeds of courage, daring, and leadership.” For U.S. soldiers, one of the quickest ways to achieve hero status was through death on the battlefield.(15) Ringgold had already been considered a hero before Americans, and Marylanders, received word of his death. In death, Ringgold reached the highest stage on the scale of heroism. He became a “true Chevalier ‘sans peur, sans reproche,’—the Bayard of our army.”(16)

Similarly, death enabled Watson to achieve the status of an American hero. Reverend Henry V.D. Johns, D.D., stated that “[t]o die is gain.” As Reverend Johns declared in a sermon to honor Watson, G. A. Herring, and J. Wilker, Johns continued, “[n]o earthly honor, my brethren, can be placed upon the summit of that glory, which common consent of all ages and nations, is assigned to those who die in the lawful service of their country; and for this reason—that no arm of mortal can reach that elevated point.”(17) Ringgold and Watson’s heroism helped define the way Marylanders would remember the U.S.-Mexican War.

Maryland’s U.S.-Mexican War veterans returned home and formed the Association of Maryland Volunteers in the Mexican War by 1849. In forming the veterans’ association, the veterans were “desirous of perpetuating the recollection of their services and the memory of their deceased comrades.” The group imposed fines or recommended expulsion for members who failed to comply to the organization’s rules of acceptable behavior.(18) Furthermore, the association also relied on symbolic imagery to achieve the objective of preserving positive memories of the U.S.-Mexican War, relying on images that reminded people of the heroism of its members. For instance, during the eighth anniversary of the Battle of Monterey, John R. Kenly received “a gold ring enclosing a miniature of Col. Wm H. Watson, by the Servicemen of the Baltimore Battalion and DC and MD Regiment in war with Mexico.” Watson’s image probably did not need much explanation for people living in Baltimore in 1854.(19)

The association’s efforts received a boost from an important piece of poetry written during the Civil War. After the Sixth Massachusetts Regiment fired on a mob of Baltimoreans in April 1861, James Ryder Randall penned a poem that condemned the North, urging Marylanders to stand up and repel the invaders. Titled, “Maryland, My Maryland,” the poem referenced several of the state’s prominent historical figures, including Ringgold and Watson. Randall wrote, “With Ringgold’s spirit for the fray,/With Watson’s blood at Monterey . . ./Maryland!  My Maryland!” The poem spoke to Ringgold and Watson’s bravery, and, when set to the tune of “Lauriger Horatius,” the poem ultimately became the Maryland state song in 1939.

Brevet Major Samuel Ringgold was killed in the Battle of Palo Alto. Ringgold, Major Samuel, undated, MdHS, Small Prints.

Yet, the association sought to solidify the memory of the U.S-Mexican War through the construction of a monument. Monuments had gained increasing popularity in the United States prior to the Civil War. During the post-Civil War era, monuments became increasingly popular for commemorating the past as the nation struggled to create a new United States reunited after the Civil War.(20) Plans to erect a U.S.-Mexican War monument in Baltimore began in 1890. The association formed a twelve-man committee to raise funds. Led by Louis F. Beeler, Joshua Lynch, and James D. Iglehart, the committee lobbied city, state, and private contributors to cover the estimated $10,000 cost of the monument. The city appropriated $5,000 in July 1900. Meanwhile, the state appropriated an additional $3,000, which, with interest, rose to $3,600.(21)

The remaining balance for the monument came from private contributors. In seeking private donors, the association’s fundraising efforts sought to gloss over any dissent of the U.S.-Mexican War, focusing instead on the war’s overall benefits. One undated request informed potential subscribers that the successful completion of the U.S.-Mexican War “added so much valuable territory to the United States, wherein was found the gold and silver mines which [gave] our country its financial standing.” The request paid minor attention to the political dissent which surrounded the war, not even providing the reasons for political dissent.(22) As a result, the association received contributions from people like Edwin Warfield, president of the Fidelity and Deposit Company of Maryland. The association also received an additional $800 in private contributions, which covered the costs associated with changing the monument’s location from the triangular intersection of Liberty and Fayette Streets and Park Avenue to the intersection of Lanvale Street and Mount Royal Avenue.(23)

Another view of the monument. William H. Watson Monument. Mount Royal Avenue, John Dubas, MC9072.

The political undertones in the request for subscriptions connected the Watson Monument to U.S. foreign policy during late-nineteenth and early-twentieth centuries. Given U.S. activity in the Caribbean, and the monument’s connection to the U.S.-Mexican War, the memorial presented a counterpoint to the overall anti-imperialist sentiment that existed in Baltimore during the period. Prominent Baltimore politicians like Senator Arthur Gorman refused to support the peace treaty with Spain unless it included an anti-expansionist amendment. Moreover, the Baltimore American expressed opposition to U.S. policy in the Caribbean, describing U.S. fighting in the Philippines as “our violent departure from the doctrine of the ‘consent of the governed.’”(24) The Watson Monument, on the other hand, offered a symbol of the U.S. mission to spread democracy to distant lands in order to uplift inferior peoples.

The Watson Monument provided the crowning achievement in the association’s efforts to memorialize the U.S.-Mexican War. With Watson standing tall, his sword resting peacefully at his side, the monument attested to the valor of Maryland’s U.S.-Mexican War veterans. The monument also attested to the sacrifice, with plaques containing the names of the Marylanders who died during the war.

However, the Watson Monument represents a political statement in favor of U.S. actions in Mexico and the Caribbean, highlighting the controversies surrounding U.S. policy. So the next time you are in West Baltimore and drive past the Watson Monument, or start humming “Maryland, my Maryland,” remember Watson and Ringgold, but also remember the history of Maryland’s complicated relationship with its nation’s southern neighbors. (Richard Hardesty and David Patrick McKenzie)

The Watson Monument as it appears today in Reservoir Hill. Photo by Flickr user Littlesam.

Richard Hardesty is a doctoral student at George Mason University in Fairfax, Virginia. In the summer of 2009, his article, “‘[A] veil of voodoo’: George P. Mahoney, Open Housing, and the 1966 Governor’s Race” appeared in the Maryland Historical Magazine. Richard previously contributed “Maryland Ahead by (Clarence) Miles,” which appeared on this blog on November 15, 2012. He is currently examining the role the Orioles played in the urban redevelopment of Baltimore.

David Patrick McKenzie is a doctoral student at George Mason University in Fairfax, Virginia, and a working public historian. He is studying the relationship between the United States and Latin America, particularly in the early 19th century. The views expressed here are his own and do not reflect those of any organization with which he is affiliated.

Footnotes:

1. We use the term “U.S.-Mexican War” in this post instead of the common “Mexican-American War” because the term “American” can refer to a person from North or South America. The war was solely between the United States and Mexico.

2. To Mexican War Heroes,” The Baltimore Sun, September 22, 1903; The Baltimore American, September 22, 1903.

3. Ibid.; “To Mexican War Heroes,” Baltimore Sun, September 22, 1903.

4. Baltimore American, September 22, 1903.

5. Historian Jacques Le Goff noted, “[m]emory, on which history draws and which it nourishes in return, seeks to save the past in order to serve the present and future.” Michael Kammen agreed, noting that critics of public memory complain about how societies use memory to manipulate the past in order to mold the present. Jacques Le Goff, History and Memory, trans. Steven Rendall and Elizabeth Claman (New York: Columbia University Press, 1992), 99; Michael Kammen, Mystic Chords of Memory:  The Transformation of Tradition in American Culture (New York: Vintage Books, 1991), 3.

6. An excellent source on the complex chain of events leading to war is Richard Bruce Winders, Crisis in the Southwest (Wilmington, Del.: Scholarly Resources Books, 2002). Much of the context discussed in this section owes to Winders’s discussion of the war. Also, for background on Mexico’s perspective of the conflict, see Timothy J. Henderson, A Glorious Defeat: Mexico and Its War with the United States (New York: Hill and Wang, 2007).

7. J. Thomas Scharf, History of Maryland, vol. 3, 1812-1880 (Hatboro, Pennsylvania: Tradition Press, 1967), 221-2; John S. D. Eisenhower, So Far from God: The U.S. War with Mexico, 1846-1848 (Norman, Oklahoma: University of Oklahoma Press, 2000), 80.

8. Robert W. Johannsen, To the Halls of the Montezumas: The Mexican War in the American Imagination  (New York: Oxford University Press, 1985), 124; “The Late Major Ringgold,” Baltimore Sun, May 28, 1846.

9. Scharf, History of Maryland, vol. 3, 221-2, 227; John R. Kenly, Memoirs of a Maryland Volunteer (Philadelphia: J.B. Lippincott & Company, 1873), 115, Eisenhower, So Far from God, 77-80; Charles J. Wells, Maryland and District of Columbia Volunteers in the Mexican War (Westminster, Maryland: Family Line Publications, 1991),  6.

10. Johannsen, Halls of the Montezumas, 85.

11. Other Marylanders died during the Battle of Monterey. For instance, Sergeant George A. Herring, of Baltimore, also fell during the attack on the Tannery. When Sergeant John Axer tended to him, Herring gasped, “go on boys you can not do any thing for me & when you get to Baltimore tell them I Died game.” Captain Randolph Ridgely survived the battle, but died in the battle’s aftermath. In Monterey, the streets had been made with basaltic rocks, of which many made up barricades in hopes of slowing up the U.S. advance. During a horse ride, Ridgely’s horse stumbled upon a basaltic rock, throwing Ridgley off in the process. When he landed, his head struck a sharp corner of another basaltic rock. Kenly, who had been with Ridgely thirty minutes prior to his accident, stated with shock that he “had parted with him not an half-hour previously, in the full enjoyment of life, health, and strength, and now I could not realize that though living he was unconscious.” John Axer to an unidentified recipient, October 2, 1846, Special Collections (Baltimore:  Maryland Historical Society), MS 1507; Wells, Maryland and District of Columbia Volunteers in the Mexican War, 5; Kenly, Memoirs of a Maryland Volunteer, 160-3; Johannsen, Halls of the Montezumas, 85.

12. Senator James A. Pearce, Speech of Mr. Pearce, of Maryland, on the Ten Regiment Bill, delivered in the Senate of the United States [January 13, 1848] (Washington, D.C.: John T. Towers, 1848), 15, Special Collections (Baltimore: Maryland Historical Society), PAM 1814.

13. For a good summary of the treaty negotiations, see Daniel Walker Howe, What Hath God Wrought: The Transformation of the United States, 1815-1848 (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 800-811.

14. For more on the impact of the war on the United States, see Howe, 792-836.

15. Johannsen, Halls of the Montezumas, 108, 130.

16. Ibid.

17. The phrase came from Philippians 1:21-23 in the Bible, but the phrase also starts off Reverend Henry V. D. Johns’ sermon of Lieutenant Colonel Watson. Henry V. D. Johns, D. D., A Sermon Preached on Sunday, January 19, 1847 at the Request of Gratitude Lodge, No. 5, I.O.O.F as a Tribute of Respect to the Memory of Three of Their Members, W.H. Watson, G.A. Herring and J. Wilker Who Fell in the Mexican War (Baltimore: The Lodge, 1847), 7-8, Special Collections (Baltimore: Maryland Historical Society), MP 3.J46S 1847.

18. According to the Constitution’s fifth by-law, “The President shall have power to fine any member for misconduct during the meetings or parades of this Association, and command members misbehaving immediately to leave the room or ranks during parade or muster — such fine not to exceed one dollar for any one breach of conduct — and should any member of this Association misbehave himself, or be guilty of improper conduct, either in this Association or any other place, he shall be expelled from this Association upon a two-third vote of all the members present at any regular meeting hereof.” Constitution and By-Laws of the Association of Maryland Volunteers in the Mexican War, by-law 1st,  Special Collections, MdHS, Baltimore; Constitution and By-Laws of the Association of Maryland Volunteers in the Mexican War, by-law 5th,, Special Collections, MdHS.

19. John R. Kenly, Papers, Special Collections (Baltimore: MdHS), MS 507, Box 1.

20. During the early-nineteenth century, the Bunker Hill monument gained national popularity, prompting the Chief Justice of Rhode Island to comment, “O! let us build monuments to the past.” The Civil War further fueled the popularity of monuments. For instance, the popularity of monuments was closely associated with the Lost Cause ideology. The majority of Lost Cause monuments had been initially erected in cemeteries, following the belief that “‘a memorial of a lost cause’ should ‘not be a triumphal memorial.  Placed in the City of the Dead, and near the entrance, the sight of it cannot fail to call back the memory of the sad history which it commemorates.’” According to historian Gaines Foster, from 1865 to 1885, seventy percent of southern monuments had been erected in cemeteries. Public monuments also enjoyed popularity in the North after the Civil War. To illustrate, David McConaughy, head of the Gettysburg Battlefield Memorial Association (GBMC), understood that battlefield memories sacralized the landscape while also drawing visitors. By 1895, the GBMC had supervised the placement of 320 monuments. Kammen, Mystic Chords of Memory:  The Transformation of Tradition in American Culture, 69, 71; Gaines M. Foster, Ghosts of the Confederacy:  Defeat, the Lost Cause, and the Emergence of the New South (New York: Oxford University Press, 1987), 40-1; Jim Weeks, Gettysburg: Memory, Market, and an American Shrine (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2003), 20, 60-1.

21. The Baltimore American article noted that, if the City Council appropriated $5,000.00 for the monument, “it will not be difficult to increase the total to $10,000 or $12,000, with which a fitting monument could be erected.” “Request for Contribution,” James D. Iglehart Papers, Special Collections (Baltimore:  MdHS), MS 2384, Box 1; “Veterans of the Mexican War,” Baltimore American, July 1, 1900; “Lieut. Col. William H. Watson,” Baltimore Sun, 12 August 1902.

22. “Request subscriptions from the citizens of Baltimore,” James D. Iglehart Papers, Special Collections, MdHS, MS 2384, Box 1.

23. Edwin Warfield to James D. Iglehart, February 26, 1902, James D. Iglehart Papers, Special Collections, MS 2384, Box 1; “Request subscriptions from the citizens of Baltimore,” James D. Iglehart Papers, Special Collections, MdHS, MS 2384, Box 1.

24. “Still Fighting for Their Country,” Baltimore American, February 6, 1899; “The Vote on the Treaty,” Baltimore American, February 6, 1899.

Further reading:

Monument City Blog, “Col. William Watson Monument in Reservoir Hill.”

Cindy Kelly, Outdoor Sculpture in Baltimore: A Historical Guide to Public Art in the Monumental City, JHU Press, 2011.

MS 2674 Paine Mexican War Diary, 1846-47, Allen Paine, MdHS Special Collections.

Robert Long House, ca 1930, Hughes Company, MdHS, SVF.

Half a block north of where Fell, Thames, and Ann Streets intersect just east of the heart of Fell’s Point, stands a nondescript rowhouse that, at first glance, has little to distinguish it from the other brick rowhouses in the neighborhood. But a closer look at 812 South Ann Street reveals a front facade that is noticeably different from its neighbors. Named for its builder and first resident, the Robert Long House, completed circa 1765, is the oldest surviving residence in Baltimore.

But wait, less than three miles to the west stands another seemingly out of place structure and candidate for oldest residence in Baltimore, the Mount Clare House. An 18^th century colonial mansion perched incongruously on a hill overlooking Carroll Park and the modern city now surrounding it, the Mount Clare House was built by Charles Carroll, Barrister, a delegate to the Second Continental Congress and one of Maryland’s first state senators. Sources differ on the exact time frame of the building’s construction. Some claim construction began as early as 1756; others as late as 1763, but most place the completion date around 1767.

The two properties could not be more dissimilar—one a modest rowhouse, the other a Georgian-style mansion built on what was, at the time of construction, a sprawling plantation estate of some 1000 acres. Robert Long, a merchant who hailed from York, Pennsylvania, was one of the earliest settlers of Fell’s Point (originally known as Fell’s Prospect), founded in 1730 by William Fell, an English Quaker. In 1764, Long began construction on his property on Ann Street and then apparently abandoned the project within the year. According to the Annals of Baltimore, published in 1824, it was said that Long had “persuaded Mr. Fell to lay off that part of the town, commenced some improvements at the corner of Ann and Thames Streets, moved to the country and left his building unfinished.” Long and his family soon returned though, occupying the property from 1765 to 1781.

Robert Long House, 812 South Ann Street (right), December 2012, photograph by Damon Talbot.

Rather than adopting the architectural style of his newly adopted home, Long constructed the house in a style found in the southern regions of his native state, with the shed dormer and pent roof the most noticeable architectural features setting it apart from the typical Baltimore rowhouse. The house was originally built with only two floors—the third floor and attic that are seen in the circa 1930 photograph were added sometime in the mid to late 1800s. The home was set to be torn down by the City of Baltimore in 1969, until the Society for the Preservation of Federal Hill and Fell’s Point stepped in and acquired the property in 1975. The group then set about restoring the property to its original appearance. Today the group maintains its office in the residence and offers daily tours of the house and garden.

Mount Clare House, ca 1915, MdHS, SVF.

The Mount Clare House has more prosperous origins. In 1732, Dr. Charles Carroll, the father of Charles Carroll, Barrister, purchased 2,368 acres of land west of the recently established Baltimore Town. He called the property Georgia Plantation. Carroll eventually sold all but 800 acres of the original purchase to the Baltimore Iron Works, of which he was part owner. His son, Charles Carroll, Barrister, inherited the property in the late 1750s. Mount Clare was built as his summer residence, and was named in honor of his sister and grandmother.

Following Charles Carroll’s death in 1783, the estate remained in the possession of the Carroll family until 1840. Between the years 1840 to 1860 all of the original outbuildings on the plantation were destroyed, leaving only the main house remaining. During the Civil War, the house served as a quarters for Union soldiers. In 1865, a group of Germans leased the house and used it as a beer garden until 1890, when the City of Baltimore purchased the house and the remaining 70 acres of land. The city also purchased an adjoining tract of land and merged the properties into what is now Carroll Park. In 1917, the National Society of Colonial Dames in Maryland took over operations of Mount Clare and opened the site to the public as a museum. The group continues to offer tours of the home today.

Mount Clare House, December 2012, photograph by Damon Talbot.

So which dwelling is officially the oldest in Baltimore? Answering this question seems to be an ongoing debate, with both print and web sources yielding conflicting views. The Mount Clare House is variously described as: “the oldest colonial-era structure in Baltimore”; “the oldest extant colonial building in Baltimore”; “Baltimore’s oldest house”; “the oldest home in Baltimore City”; and “the oldest house in Baltimore City.”

The Robert Long House is billed as: “the oldest residential house in Baltimore city”; “the oldest surviving city house in Baltimore”; “the oldest existing residence in Baltimore”; “Baltimore’s oldest surviving residence”; “Baltimore’s oldest surviving urban residence”; and “the oldest standing residence in Baltimore City.” One publication goes so far as to state that the structure is the “oldest surviving urban residence within the boundaries of the original Baltimore Town,” though Baltimore Town, founded in 1729, did not amalgamate Fell’s Point until 1773. Mount Clare, on the other hand, did not become part of Baltimore City until at least 1822; a map from that year shows the western boundary of the city extending just over six blocks beyond the estate.

It seems that a distinction can be made. If the date that construction commences on a property is used as the basis for determining the age of a residence, then the Mount Clare House is the oldest. If date the house was completed is given more weight, than it’s the Robert Long House. Either way you choose to look at it, Baltimore has some pretty old houses. (Damon Talbot)

Sources and Further Reading:

Annals of Baltimore, Thomas Waters Griffith (Baltimore: W. Wooddy, 1824)

Historic Baltimore: Twelve Walking Tours of Downtown Fells Point, Locust Point, Federal Hill, and MountClare, Priscilla Miles, (Baltimore: Priscilla Miles, 1987)

Images of America: Fell’s Point, Jacqueline Greff (Charleston, SC: Arcadia Publishing, 2005)

MountClare: Being an Account of the Seat built by Charles Carroll, Barrister, upon his Lands at Patapsco, Michael F. Trostel (Baltimore: National Society of Colonial Dames of America in the State of  Maryland, 1981)

The Maryland House and Garden Pilgrimage, 60^th Anniversary, 1937 – 1997, Maryland House and Garden Pilgrimage, (Baltimore: Printed by Reese Press, Inc.,1997)

http://pdfhost.focus.nps.gov/docs/NHLS/Text/70000860.pdf

http://tps.cr.nps.gov/nhl/detail.cfm?ResourceId=1034&ResourceType=Building

http://www.baltimoremd.com/monuments/sea01.html

http://www.mountclare.org/index.html

http://www.nps.gov/nr//travel/baltimore/b2.htm

http://www.preservationsociety.com/PS2011robertlonghouse.html

This image of the Mount Royal Reservoir was one of several photographs of the Baltimore Waterworks in 1875 that were featured in a series of A. Hoen & Co. lithographic prints. SVF-Med Photograph- Baltimore Reservoirs, MdHS

Since last month’s Hampden Reservoir post, I have taken more delight in my commute as I pass by Roosevelt Park, going to and returning from work via the Falls Road exit of the JFX; I can almost see the half moon shape of the reservoir on my left as I climb the hill approaching 36th Street. The commute home every day also served as a reminder that I needed to finish the story of the waterworks. The Hampden Reservoir was actually one of of a chain of three bodies of water, beginning with Lake Roland, and ending at the Mount Royal reservoir, where  fresh water entered the city.  As I began this installment of the waterworks series, I was pleasantly surprised to learn that this second forgotten reservoir in the system is also an integral part of my daily routine. My commute literally bisects its old location.

The Lake Roland dam, eight miles north of downtown on the Jones Falls. Taken from the Bromley Atlas.

After an ordinance was passed by the City Council in 1857 to provide additional water to Baltimore City, there were two options for sources: (1) to increase the amount of water taken from the Jones Falls by damming further upstream, or (2) to introduce water from the Gunpowder Falls. The engineering costs of bringing water from the Gunpowder were estimated to cost over $2.1 million, compared to around $1.3 million for construction of new works on the Jones Falls.* The Gunpowder was estimated to produce 65 million gallons of water during the dry season, while the latter was believed to provide around 20 million gallons per day. The Council chose the cheaper option.

Construction of the new waterworks from the Jones Falls began in 1858, eight miles north of the city, at a narrow point near the North Central Railroad Station. What was formerly called Swann Lake was dammed up to become what we now know as Lake Roland. A massive conduit was concurrently built connecting it to the Hampden Reservoir. Shortly thereafter a conduit was also excavated going south to the Mount Royal Reservoir just north of the city boundary. The waterworks were completed and fully operational by 1862.

The site of the Mount Royal Reservoir lay just west of the Northern Central Railroad tracks on the former site of the Mount Royal Mill property (previously the tract had been owned by Charles Carroll of Carrollton who sold it to Solomon Birckhead in 1801). The most notable feature of the reservoir was a large central fountain (see image below), similar to the one in present day Druid Lake, ornamenting the center of the reservoir with a stream of water bubbling high into the air. By 1863 just over half of the city’s 38,881 buildings received water that was delivered from the Mount Royal Reservoir.

This print created by A. Hoen & Co was one of a series modeled after photographs of Baltimore Waterworks taken in 1875. Both the photographs and corresponding prints are housed in our library.
H 264.5, Hambleton Print Collection, MdHS

Even before the waterworks was fully operational it was discovered that this new source was once again insufficient for the growing population of the city. On top of the population boom during these decades, the Civil War resulted in a large number of Federal troops being stationed in, passing through, or being cared for in Baltimore hospitals. In addition to increasing the demand, sick soldiers carried typhoid, dysentery, and other diseases which were spread as a result of poor sanitation and sewage from cesspools leaching into city springs and neighborhood wells. During hot and dry periods of the summer the system would run short of supply. The Water Department’s response to the shortage was to cut down on demand by raising the price of water. The increase in cost resulted in contractors not connecting their working class tenements to the city mains, which forced tenants to rely on the same backyard pumps that had been poisoning them in the first place. As usual, the city’s low lying poor were hit hardest. Sewage from cesspools leached into neighborhood wells and polluted the springs of the city, increasing the demand for clean water from the mains.

Less than a year after the completion of the waterworks, the City Council passed an ordinance authorizing a $300,000 loan to purchase the land nearby at Lake Chapman to begin building what was to become Druid Lake. Even Druid Lake did not alleviate the supply problem when it was completed in 1865. It took severe droughts from 1869 through 1872 to finally get the city to seriously consider the Gunpowder as a permanent water source. The original price difference of $2.1 to $1.3 million payed a direct cost in human life and well-being.

In 1910 the Mount Royal Reservoir was abandoned by the City Water Department and transferred to the Parks Department. In 1924 the City Park Board demolished the reservoir and removed 50,000 cubic feet of earth, turning the site into park land. At various times proposals to turn the site into a stadium, a swimming pool, and an art museum were discussed, but due to overwhelming dissent the project never got underway. The site remained park land until 1959, when it was bisected by the northbound entrance to the new JFX highway off of North Avenue. Today you can still see the monumental entrance posts to Druid Park via Mount Royal Terrace that stand at the base of the reservoir’s original location as you drive past on North Avenue. The keen observer can glimpse the remains of the reservoir’s embankments as they pass by on the light rail. (Eben Dennis)

(L) Mt. Royal reservoir in 1877 from the Hopkins map of Baltimore. (R) Present day site taken from Googlemaps.

To be continued…next post – Conduit: Druid Park Lake, the Gunpowder, and Baltimore Waterworks 1860s- 1880s.

*This does not include the cost of purchasing real estate, water rights, or distribution of water mains inside the city.

** This system was upgraded to a steam pump system around the time of the annexation in 1886.

Sources

McCauley, Louis. Maryland Historical Prints. Baltimore, Md: Schneidereith and Sons, 1975.

Scharf, J. Thomas. History of Baltimore City and County. Baltimore, MD: Regional Publishing Company, 1971.

Passano File, H. Furlong Baldwin Library, Maryland Historical Society.

O’Neill, Francis. Index of Obituaries and Marriages in the Baltimore Sun, vol. 1, 1866-1870. Westminster, MD, 1996.

Mount Royal Reservoir and Its Surroundings From the Air. Baltimore Municipal Journal. Feb, 10, 1922.

Howard, William Travis. Public Health Administration and the Natural History of Disease in Baltimore, 1797-1920. Washington, DC: Carnegie Institution, 1924.

Bromley Atlas of Baltimore City and Vicinity, 1907.

Hopkins Atlas of Baltimore, 1877.

Aerial view looking northwest from the roof of Pratt Street Power Plant, ca. 1905, MdHS, MC4734.

Today’s “Then and Now” photograph was taken from the roof of the Pratt Street Power Plant, ca. 1905. The three-story buildings shown here on the 500 block of East Pratt were built to replace a row of four-story buildings, most likely involved in maritime supply or wholesale commodity trades, that were destroyed by the Baltimore Fire of 1904 (see photo below).

The devastation caused by the Baltimore Fire can be seen here on Pratt Street. This photo is looking southeast from the Continental Trust Building. The power plant can be recognized by its four smokestacks rising above the roof-line. “Looking Southeast from Continental Trust Building,” MDHS, PP179.174.

Amazingly, by the time the featured photograph was taken in 1905 much of the area had been rebuilt. The northeast corner of Pratt and Gay Streets became a waterfront lodging call the Marine Hotel, later demolished in 1973.

The Power Plant was designed by architect Henry Brauns of the firm Baldwin and Pennington,  to generate the electricity used to power Baltimore’s trolley cars. Though it endured the fire and several ownership changes over the 20th century,  it was finally closed 1973, when the Baltimore Gas and Electric Company concluded it had no further use for the plant. In the 1980s the power plant held both a short-lived amusement park and then a dance club. Since 1997 it’s been home to  chain stores such as Barnes and Noble, ESPN zone (now closed), and the Hard Rock Cafe (surprisingly not closed).  Today it is also the headquarters for the Cordish Company Developers, and the architecture and planning firm Design Collective. Were it not for the recognizable shell of the Power Plant,  this section of Pratt would be hardly recognizable today. (Eben Dennis)

Looking northwest along Pratt Street from the 3rd floor of the Power Plant. Photo by Anna Dennis

Sources:

The Passano File, Maryland Historical Society

Peterson, Peter B. The Great Baltimore Fire. Baltimore, MD: Maryland Historical Society Press, 2004.