These people were having more fun than you are right now.
(click to enlarge)
Beach Scene, Ocean City, Md, Robert Kniesche, not dated, PP79.754, MdHS

How does the small underbelly editorial team cope with colleagues traveling to the beach, mountains, and parts unknown while we’re stuck here running the blog and tending to our many other duties? We travel vicariously through photographs and post cards! While real beach-goers are dealing with staggering crowds, the oppressive sun, crawling traffic, and marching through a sea of sticky popsicle wrappers on the way to the boardwalk, we’ll stay here in the air-conditioned library and take a little trip back in time…we really need a vacation.

For this week’s post we’ve decided to write the definitive history of Maryland’s favorite vacation spot, Ocean City. Not really…but please enjoy the slideshow of postcards below and a brief tale of the storm that altered the course of the city that, during the summer months, becomes Maryland’s second most populated town. (For those interested in Ocean City’s rich history,  please visit here or here. For further research, readers can check out Ocean City (volumes 1 and 2) by Nan Devincent-Hayes and John E. Jacob or City on the Sand by Mary Corddry.)

Greetings from Ocean City, Md, 1943, Postcard Collection, MdHS.

The Atlantic Hotel. The first Atlantic Hotel opened on July 4, 1875, regarded as the founding day of Ocean City. Located on Wicomico Street, it was destroyed by fire in 1925. The hotel was rebuilt in 1927 and still stands today. The New Atlantic Hotel, ca 1940s, Postcard Collection, MdHS.

Board Walk showing Atlantic Hotel and Pier, Ocean City, Md., ca 1940s, Postcard Collection, MdHS.

Boardwalk and Beach and Cottage Line, Ocean City, Md, ca 1940s, Postcard Collection, MdHS.

Ocean City Pier and Boardwalk, Ocean City, Md, ca 1940s, Postcard Collection, MdHS.

Bathing hour on the beach, Ocean City, Md, ca 1940s, Postcard Collection, MdHS.

Originally called the Ocean City Life-Saving Station, the United States Coast Guard Station was built in 1891 by the U.S. Treasury Department for “the saving of vessels in distress and lives in peril upon the water.” In 1915 the U.S. Coast Guard took over the operations of the building until moving to a new facility in 1964. The building was relocated to its present location at 813 South Boardwalk in 1978 and converted to a museum. United States Coast Guard Station, ca 1940s, Ocean City, MD. Postcard Collection, MdHS.

Air View of Ocean City, Md., looking north from Inlet, 1947, Postcard Collection, MdHS.

Greetings from Ocean City, Md, 1947, Postcard Collection, MdHS.

Greetings from Ocean City, Maryland, 1944, Postcard Collection, MdHS.

One of the defining events in the history of the self-proclaimed “White Marlin Capital of the World” is the great storm of 1933, captured by A. Aubrey Bodine in the images below. On August 22 after four days of saturating rain, heavy winds picked up, battering the boardwalk, pummeling the city with large waves, and destroying the town’s railroad bridge and fishing camps. The storm’s greatest and most lasting impact was a 50-foot wide, 8-foot deep  inlet, that was carved through the barrier island by a  continuous four day ebb tide, flowing from the bay out to the ocean. Three entire streets were submerged at the south end of the town.

Ironically, the resulting scar connecting the ocean to the sheltered bay was exactly what turned Ocean City into the ideal port for fisherman and caused it to flourish as a vacation spot. In fact, for several years prior to the storm, Senator Millard E. Tydings had been fighting to get funding for a man-made canal five miles south of Ocean City. His hope was that the bay side would provide a calm harbor for up to 1,000 fishing boats which could easily access the Atlantic, and from there the markets of Baltimore, Philadelphia, and Washington, D.C. Though the storm caused approximately $850,000 of damage, the main discussion in the immediate aftermath revolved around appropriations for constructing seawalls to make the canal permanent. Within two years $781,000 was spent on concrete to stabilize the inlet. Not only did these seawalls keep sand from the channel, but they diverted it towards the beaches, greatly expanding their size and making the boardwalk even with ground level.

This inlet made Ocean City the state’s only Atlantic port. The resulting commercial and sport fishing boom greatly shaped the character of the Ocean City we know today, as vacationers content with more modest accommodations flocked in large numbers to crab and fish, and dozens of hotels and restaurants sprang up to meet their needs. (Eben Dennis and Damon Talbot)

Ocean City, MD. View of the damage after the hurricane of 1933, A. Aubrey Bodine, 1933, MC8230-A, MdHS.

Ocean City, MD. View of the damage after the hurricane of 1933, A Aubrey Bodine, 1933, MC8230-E, MdHS.

Ocean City, Md. View of the damage after the hurricane of 1933, A. Aubrey Bodine, 1933, MC8230-C, MdHS.

Ocean City, Md. View of the damage after the hurricane of 1933, A. Aubrey Bodine, 1933, MC8230-D, MdHS.

Sources and further reading:

Corddry, Mary, City on the Sand: Ocean City Maryland and the People Who Built It (Centerville, MD: Tidewater, 1991)

DeVincent-Hayes, Nan & Jacob, John E., Ocean City- Volumes 1 and 2  (Charleston: Arcadia, 1999)

Ocean City Life-Saving Museum

An image of the remaining batches of Soper Papers from the sub-basement, and the caption reading “Don’t catalog until 3/88.” The 48E number was added during my preliminary survey.

After conducting a quick search of our website I figured out where I had seen the name before. Judge Morris Soper was identified by Baltimore lawyer, author, and professor Larry Gibson when he was helping us identify individuals from photographs of Morgan State University found in the Paul Henderson Collection in 2011. Soper had served as Chairman of Morgan’s Board of Directors for many years, so it was not surprising to find him captured in the photo below.(1) This got me even more curious. Who exactly was Soper? Why was this collection here? Why had it been gathering dust for so many years?

Morgan State’s Board of Trustees meeting with Governor McKeldin ca. 1950. Morris Soper is standing to the right of McKeldin next to Carl Murphy, the owner/editor of The Afro newspaper. Paul Henderson Photo Collection, MdHS, HEN.00.B1-073.

Who Was Morris A. Soper?

Morris Ames Soper’s (1873-1963) judicial service spanned more than a half-century. After being educated in the city schools of Baltimore in the late 19th century, he attended Johns Hopkins University and then went on to law school at the University of Maryland. He was admitted to the Maryland State Bar in 1895 and began practicing law in Baltimore. In 1898 Soper was appointed Assistant State’s Attorney for Baltimore City and was promoted to Assistant United States Attorney for the State of Maryland in 1900.

In 1912 Soper briefly served as president of the Baltimore City Police Board before leaving in an unsuccessful  election bid as a GOP candidate for Attorney General of Maryland. He quickly rebounded from his defeat and was appointed Chief Judge of the Supreme Bench of Baltimore City. In 1923 President Harding appointed Soper to the Federal bench where he served as a District Judge, and by 1931 President Hoover had elevated him to the United States Circuit Court of Appeals representing Virginia, West Virginia, North Carolina, South Carolina, and Maryland in the Fourth Circuit. Though he was based in Richmond, Soper kept an office  in Baltimore. Judge Soper held this position for 24 years until he entered pseudo-retirement in 1955.(2)

In his many years as a judge, Soper dealt with an enormous number of cases involving the Eighteenth Amendment, which established prohibition. During the Prohibition Era he padlocked over 165 Maryland buildings for violations of the Volstead Act. This came as little surprise as Soper had previously served as attorney for the Baltimore Reform League and was counsel for the Society for the Suppression of Vice earlier in the decade.(3) While serving on the Fourth Circuit, Soper made many rulings on tax cases, labor relations disputes, interstate commerce cases, and cases originating from the Federal Trade Commission and the Security Exchange Commission.

A pencil sketch of Morris A. Soper (1873-1963) by Stirling Hill. Morris A. Soper Papers (MS3121),Box 93E, Maryland Historical Society.

Most notably, Soper worked towards full equality for African-Americans. He viewed equality as “not only a matter of law, but a matter of conscience.” As early as 1937, Soper—from his position as Chairman of the State Commission on Higher Education for Negroes—was urging the Maryland legislature to admit African-Americans to the University of Maryland graduate departments. National attention was focused on Soper when he decided many of the early school desegregation cases that reached the Federal Courts in the wake of Brown vs the Board of Education in 1954. In 1955 Soper handed down the decision that required the University of North Carolina to admit three African-American students into its undergraduate college. The following year he wrote majority opinions on racial integration in Virginia public schools. Judge Soper served for over 30 years on the Board of Trustees at Morgan State College, and was chairman for much of the latter half of his tenure. He is credited as being instrumental in transforming the institution from a private college to a state supported institution.

His last act from the bench was striking down the barriers preventing a young African-American named Henry Gantt from attending the school of architecture at Clemson University. Less than two months later, two days after his 90th birthday, Judge Soper passed away after undergoing minor surgery at Union Memorial Hospital. Among the group of distinguished honorary pallbearers were Governor McKeldin and Attorney General Robert F. Kennedy.

Where did this Collection Come From?

As Judge Soper’s prominence became apparent to me, I quickly made the decision to put this collection at the top of the processing queue. I found some answers about the collections provenance in A Guide to the Preservation of Federal Judges’ Papers published by the Federal Judicial History Office at the Federal Judicial Center in 2009. I was surprised to read that:

“Neither federal statute nor the policies of the Judicial Conference of the United States make any provision for the preservation of federal judges’ papers. Judges’ staffs or the clerks of court cannot determine where the papers go, and the National Archives cannot accept the collections as part of the records of the courts. Nor are court funds available for the preservation of judges’ papers, and the federal records centers do not provide temporary storage of judges’ chambers papers…”

Basically, as is the case with the Soper Papers, the judge’s heirs often end up with the collection of papers, and if the collection isn’t thrown out (yes, this often happens), they often come to local libraries or historical societies.

When the Soper Papers were deeded to MdHS, they came with a 25-year restriction (from the date of his passing), hence the “do not catalog until 1988.” A quarter of a century is a long time for a collection to be forgotten about in a basement. Once it had already sat around for 25 years (1963-1988), it made it easy for it to sit another 25 years on top of that.  A combination of the restriction, the location where it was stored, the enormous physical size of the collection, and staff turnover, most likely dissuaded previous archivists from placing the task of processing the papers high on their queues. Being attracted to the bigger, dirtier jobs, and seeing the obvious importance of the subject matter, I was thrilled.

The Pre-processing Survey

The first step was literally schlepping the collection up a treacherous flight of stairs from the basement, and then to the library workroom on the second floor. Because sweaty librarians tend to gross patrons out, I was lucky to have volunteer Tom Pineo to help with the task.

MdHS volunteer Tom Pineo taking a breather in front of the Soper Papers. Photo by Damon Talbot

Due to the enormity of the collection and limited workroom space, we’re forced to work in batches, bringing up a few dozen boxes at a time. The next step in getting a handle on a collection of this magnitude is to conduct a pre-processing survey. This is an essential step in establishing the physical and intellectual scope of the collection before you can begin the processing, or arrangement of the papers. The more thorough and complete this survey is, the easier the collection is to process.

Because staff hours are precious (we have 6,000 patron requests a year!), and we have competing responsibilities, I needed to come up with the most efficient way to make this collection available to the public. In archival lingo, the method I have applied is “More Product, Less Process,” or MPLP for short. Though I would love to disappear with this collection into the library’s underbelly for ten years, and emerge triumphantly with an item-level description of 300 perfectly preserved boxes, it isn’t reality. I needed a common sense approach and a little bit of help. So my plan is to go through the collection somewhat quickly, box by box, resisting temptation to process, while I inventory. This inventory consists of detailed notes about subjects, date ranges, notable individuals, and court case files in each box. At the same time it includes  preservation notes for the processors, supply estimates, and the intellectual arrangement as  each box gets grouped into its appropriate  series.(4)

Once I get the approximately 300 boxes described, the processing plan can be implemented. At that point, the help of three graduate interns (pursuing library, archive, or history careers) will be enlisted. These interns will then use the survey and some guidance to give the collection some TLC. They will rehouse the papers in acid free folders, consistently label all the folders and boxes, and comb through the collection in finer detail than my initial survey. In the meantime, I will use my survey as a box level inventory which will  be placed in our catalog and made accessible to researchers. Though they may not be able to easily request the exact document they want, they can probably narrow it down to three or four boxes. This way the collection will be quickly accessible, while being processed to the folder level in the meantime. The main logistical problem with this method is that overstuffed boxes may expand into several boxes. Though physical rearrangement of the papers will be kept to a minimum, there are already several instances where material from one box needs to be separated.(5)

At this point I have surveyed the first 120 boxes and many interesting threads and subjects have already emerged. Below I have listed some of the people and subjects that have already made appearances in the collection. (Quick teaser- notable correspondence with Thurgood Marshall, H.L. Mencken, and my favorite Charles Ponzi!) In the coming months stay tuned for more intriguing stories brought to life by this collection. A box level inventory  to the Morris Ames Soper Papers (MS 3121), should be available to the public by late summer. (Eben Dennis)

Subjects

People -W. Calvin Chestnutt, August Chissell, Harry S. Cummings, Samuel K. Dennis, Der Doo, Armistead M. Dobie, Leroy Benjamin Frasier Jr, Phillips Lee Goldsborough, Clement Haynesworth, Louise Kerr Hines, Dwight Oliver Wendell Holmes, Howard Jackson, Robert F. Kennedy, Linwood Koger, William Preston Lane, Theodore McKeldin, Thurgood Marshall, H.L. Mencken, Clarence W. Miles, Carl Murphy, Donald Gaines Murray, Harry W. Nice, Emory Niles, Elliott Northcott, Sidney Nyburg, Herbert R. O’Conor, John J. Parker, Orie L. Phillips, Charles Ponzi, James H. Preston, George L. Radcliffe, Albert Ritchie, Simon E. Sobeloff, John O. Spencer, Roszel Thomsen, Millard E. Tydings, Arthur T. Vanderbilt.

Corporate names- American Bar Association, American Sugar Refining Corporation, Baltimore Bar Association, Baltimore and Ohio Railroad, Baltimore Police Department, Baltimore Trust Company, Commission on Higher Education of Negroes in the State of Maryland, Druid Ridge Cemetery Company, Goucher College, Loudon Park Cemetary, Maryland State Bar Association, Morgan State University, Pennsylvania Railroad, Provident Hospital, State Commission on Higher Education for Negroes, United States Court of Appeals for the Fourth Circuit, Wheeling Steel Corporation.

Topics- Civil Rights, Criminal Law, Criminal justice, Interstate Commerce, NAACP vs Harrison, Prohibition, School Desegregation, Steamship accidents, Volstead Act.

Footnotes:

(1) Morgan State even named their library in his honor in 1939.

(2) President Eisenhower allowed Soper to remain serving the courts “from time to time,” which he did until two months from his death at the age of 90 in 1963.

(3) Stay tuned for a future post about this very subject centering around some fascinating correspondence between Soper and H.L. Mencken

(4) A series basically divides the collection into large chunks or groups, similar to the chapters in a book. In the case of the Soper collection there will probably be 3 or 4 series including correspondence (chronological), chamber papers or case files, and subject files (A-Z).

(5) An important principle of archival theory is original order. The collection should reflect the order it was kept in before it came to an archive. In the case of the Soper papers, the material within boxes will be kept in order, but boxes next to each other on the shelf had no rhyme or reason. Occassionally boxes appear to have been arbitrarily combined, in which case effort will be made to place them back in their original context.

]]> http://www.mdhs.org/underbelly/2013/06/06/morris-a-soper-papers-coming-soon-or-25-years-late/feed/ 1 http://www.mdhs.org/underbelly/2013/03/21/a-whale-of-a-tale-the-mysterious-case-of-the-tolchester-whale/ http://www.mdhs.org/underbelly/2013/03/21/a-whale-of-a-tale-the-mysterious-case-of-the-tolchester-whale/#comments Thu, 21 Mar 2013 16:02:29 +0000 mdhslibrary http://mdhslibrary.wordpress.com/?p=1125  

“Go See the Whale at Tolchester”, lithograph by R.H. Eichner & Company, 1889, Large Prints, Maryland Historical Society.

It’s hard to work at the Maryland Historical Society and not be familiar with the R.H. Eichner & Company color lithograph entitled “Go See the Whale at Tolchester, 1889.” An original of this iconic print lives in our library, and posters depicting it grace the halls of the Education Department and the offices on the building’s third floor. It is also prominently featured in Maryland in Prints, 1743-1900 by Laura Rice, a book we often reference when assisting researchers. It is one of our favorite prints.

Despite the print’s depiction of a large dead whale, it is surprisingly charming. The behemoth lies on the beach almost playfully, seemingly in his prime, and looking far from dead. Its jaw appears to have been braced open in a permanent smile,  and on its tongue a table, a few chairs, and a Persian rug. Its beckoning smile draws in tourists, allowing them entrance for a small fee. Several well-dressed men and women are enjoying this quiet past-time, feasting in their very best clothes, as families surround the huge curiosity.  It literally looks like a healthy whale just splashed up on the beach at Tolchester.

This same pier at Tolchester Beach can be seen in the background of “Go See the Whale at Tolchester.” Tolchester Park, ca. 1915, MdHS, PP128-24

What kind of person would take advantage of this once-in-a-lifetime opportunity to sit in a dead whale’s mouth? Would this be an enjoyable experience?  What would it have been like? The more we discussed the image the more questions we had. What was the truth of that summer day at Tolchester Beach? We began our journey into the belly of the beast…..

According to an article in the May 30, 1899 issue of the Baltimore American newspaper, a seventy-five ton (species unspecified) whale was captured off the coast of Cape Cod on June 5, 1888. The Egyptian Balm Company in Boston then embalmed the beast for the not-so-small sum of $3,000. When the process was complete, the whale, having dried out and shed some blubber, was down to fifty tons.  Why would someone do that you might ask? Well, the gentle giant was to be a star attraction during the opening week of a new season at the Tolchester Beach resort on Maryland’s  Eastern Shore. The whale was placed on a barge, the Thomas J. Campbell of Philadelphia, while it was prepped to sail to Tolchester. Though the resort was unveiling a wide assortment of new facilities for the 1889 season, the most important was a new iron steamship called the Tolchester, that would bring people to the resort from Pier 16 on Light Street in Baltimore twice a day throughout the season. The idea was to drum up some publicity for the new ferry service.

The Steamship Tolchester. Tolchester Photograph Collection, Maryland Historical Society, PP128-70a, no date.

The presumably monumental task of embalming a whale creates some logistical problems. How does one go about preserving a creature that is large enough to accommodate lunch guests in its mouth? Does someone have to make like Jonah and travel inside its belly to hose it down? Do you hold it by the tail and dip it in a large tub? How many gallons of embalming fluid were used? How bad was the stench? It would seem that in the best case scenario,  the final product would more closely resemble  the Montauk Monster than the Great White Whale of our iconic print.

After conducting fairly exhaustive searches of Maryland newspapers we still weren’t able to uncover any evidence verifying that the event actually happened. The only items we turned up were a few articles mentioning that the whale was being prepped for the event. More proof was needed – a document or eyewitness account confirming the story, or even better, a photograph of someone inside the whale would be our (cough) white whale…

Luckily the Tolchester Beach Revisited Museum exists and when contacted, curator Mr. William Betts, kindly added some clues.. He was indeed quite familiar with this image as well as the article from the Baltimore American. He even offered a story of one visitor’s mother or grandmother who did see the whale – but again nothing but hearsay. Mr. Betts also sent us a clipping of an article from the Kent County News dated June 1, 1989, commemorating the 100th anniversary of the whale’s visit. But alas, no concrete evidence of people actually entering the whale’s mouth at Tolchester turned up. We remained unsatisfied.

Since options were running thin, there was only one place left to turn. We entered the unverifiable, out of context, anything goes, dark hole of a research machine, known as Google – and struck pay dirt. Apparently, embalmed whale curiosities, much like hanged elephants, were quite an attraction in the late 19th and early 20th centuries.. These dried monstrosities traveled across the country, attracting flocks of spectators while bringing in a modest fee. An online article called “Memory Dredges up a Whale of a Tale”, produced by the Onondoga Historical Association, references a whale that traveled to Seneca Falls, NY in 1891. The story sounded quite familiar. Like our Tolchester leviathan, it too was 65 feet in length and weighed 75 tons when it was caught near Cape Cod in 1888. The article goes even further, naming a Captain Nickerson as the man who landed the behemoth with a boom lance. Interestingly enough this article also contains the following line: “the poster claims the whale was so big twelve gentlemen sat in its mouth and enjoyed an oyster supper.” Is it a coincidence such similar copy was included in the poster referenced here and the R.H. Eichner & Co. lithograph of our investigation? More importantly, both of these were posters – anyone can draw a whale, right? The claim of people sitting inside the whale’s mouth was beginning to sound more and more like sensational advertising of the time.

Then we found some photos on this web site.

This photo is probably a bit closer to what the whale at Tolchester looked like. Non-MdHS image taken from ‘Spectacular Attractions,” no citation.

This wasn’t the exact evidence we were looking for, but it seemed to confirm our suspicions. Though the photograph shows a couple of people in the mouth of a whale, it definitely does not resemble the scene from our Tolchester print. The men certainly do not look like they could be enjoying an oyster dinner. One can see how this shriveled, crusty, sun-baked monstrosity  would not make for a handsome print.

Though there is a lack of evidence about the whale at Tolchester, its existence isn’t really called into question. We aren’t calling the print completely fraudulent, just misleading. It is an advertisement – why would we expect the truth? The mythology of the event surely has developed a life of its own. The fact that the only remaining existing document is a misleading advertisement plays no small role in our collective cultural memory. Did men and women put on their finest clothes and gaily feast, while sitting on top of a whale’s putrid tongue on a hot summer day in Maryland? We doubt it. So until our loyal readers can point to evidence that proves otherwise (backed up by primary documents) we will continue to be quite skeptical  about the truth of that June day at Tolchester Beach.

It should be noted that by June 9, 1889, less than one week after the whale was displayed as an attraction, it was quickly forgotten. Our fishy friend was soon replaced by cannonball catcher Charles P. Blatt. Known as “The Great, The Only,” Blatt drew large crowds as he caught 35 pound balls shot out of a cannon with his bare hands. **

“Fish, you are going to have to die anyway. Do you have to kill me too? - Ernest Hemingway, The Old Man and the Sea

(Debbie Harner and Eben Dennis)

Footnotes

*The authors were overwhelmed with all the possible titles for this post.

** Family members joined Blatt in Tolchester that summer. Their gig was to submerge themselves in a large tank of water…their record was four minutes. They should have invited the whale to join them…

Sources
“Excursions,” The Baltimore American, May 30, 1889

“The Improvements at Tolchester,” The Baltimore Sun, May 30, 1889

http://cnyhistory.org/press/2012-02-23-PS-DC.pdf

http://www.diomedia.eu/public/;jsessionid=F97CA05C2D24DEEF57B1E6AEB6FF049F.worker1en/8143545/imageDetails.html

http://www.britishpathe.com/video/jonah

http://www.cnyhistory.org/

Hubert Latham (1883-1912), photographer unknown, ca. 1910, MdHS, MC1985-1.

Hubert Latham was almost the first person to fly an airplane over the British Channel. If the French aviator and adventurer was discouraged when his first attempt came up short, he never showed it. As he bobbed in the waves waiting to be retrieved by a passing vessel, Latham casually smoked a cigarette in the cockpit of his wrecked Antoinette.* Adventure was his business, and keeping a cool head was a prerequisite in the daredevil profession. Although he failed to be the first to reach the White Cliffs of Dover his flight proved to be historic in another way. He had completed the world’s first landing of an aircraft in the sea.

Fate worked against him once again in July, 1909, when gusty conditions delayed his next Channel crossing attempt. Latham and his crew went to sleep in the wee hours of July 25, 1909 at their camp near Sangatte, France, hoping to try and make history the next morning. Little did they know that rival aviator  Louis Bleriot (1872-1936) and his team had been closely monitoring the weather as well as the activity at Latham’s camp. Around 2 am, Bleriot’s crew found a break in the wind, and decided it was now or never. They hastily prepared their man and ship (bearing his namesake The Bleriot XI) for takeoff, and at daybreak Bleriot took flight.** Thirty-six minutes and thirty seconds later Bleriot made a hard landing above the White Cliffs near Dover Castle in England and received the £1,000 purse. He became the first man to fly over the Channel, and Latham was left sharing a forgotten corner of history with Buzz Aldrin and Antonio Salieri as just another famous almost.***

Hubert Latham in the cockpit of his Antoinette monoplane. Taken from The [Baltimore] Star. Jesse Cassard Scrapbook, 1883-1946, MdHS, MS 223

In 1910, a variety of record setting opportunities presented themselves, including an extremely enticing (not to mention lucrative) offer in Baltimore. To coincide with the airshow in nearby Halethorpe, the A.S. Abell Company, owners of The Baltimore Sun, offered a $5,000 prize for any aviator who would “give all the people of [Baltimore] an opportunity to witness the most remarkable scientific triumph of the present age.” The chosen aviator would dazzle the crowds by flying high above the city. If this feat was accomplished, according to a November 2 Sun article, Baltimore would be “[the] first city serving as the setting for a charted aerial voyage over [its] housetops.” A November 23 article further described the event as “[the] first time a bird-man has traversed the air over a course laid out for him beforehand, with turns and curves and changes in direction, so that the entire population can see the exhibition.”  Later, the clarification was added concerning the type of flight—it was the first “heavier than air machine” to fly over a large American city. Besides the scientific breakthroughs of the time, it was also a remarkable age for advertising. The opportunity for the Sun to educate and entertain the public, while at the same time promoting their paper, made the $5,000 purse seem rather small under the circumstances.

Latham’s historic flight shares pages in this scrapbook with clippings about the Great Baltimore Fire of 1904 and the sinking of the Titanic in 1912. Jesse Cassard Scrapbook, 1883-1946, MdHS, MS223

Though these superlative statements are obviously a bit vague, they certainly raise some questions. The significance of the event in terms of potential danger and shared communal experience cannot be overlooked. A crash over water or into an open field was one thing, but an engine failure or crash over a large population center meant certain death. At the same time, more than a half million Baltimoreans would be able to witness the flight—the air show would come to them without travel or the cost of a ticket. For most spectators, this would be their first look at an airplane; they would share this collective glimpse into the future. 

Even though Latham had a history of crash landings (and wrecked in two of his next three flights), the reward outweighed the risk and he accepted. The advertising opportunity for the Antoinette engine, the prize money, recognition, and of course, the thrill of the flight were all too much for the daredevil to pass up. In addition, a $500 reward would be tacked on by Ross Revillon Winans (1850-1912) if Latham would complete one small side mission.

Ross Revillon Winans (1850-1912)  Ross R. Winans, 1886, MdHS, PVF.

Ross R. Winans was grandson to the Baltimore railroad pioneer, mechanic, inventor, and benefactor, Ross Winans (1796-1877).  Unlike his grandfather, Ross R. Winans was more  gentleman of leisure. He lived much of his luxurious life in a French chateau far away from his home town.**** Tragedy struck Ross R. Winans in 1907 when his wife Mary, son William, and daughter Beatrice, all died in the span of six months. He and his son, Thomas, arranged to accompany the bodies on a cargo ship from Europe and make a permanent return to Baltimore. At the last minute, Thomas disembarked and disappeared with a Spanish dancer; the father-son relationship was never salvaged. Ross R. returned to his hometown a recluse. He was rarely seen or heard from until 1910 when he placed a letter to the Sun offering Latham an additional $500 to alter his flight path so that he would circumnavigate his house at 1217 St. Paul Street. Winans was bed-ridden and didn’t appear to have much time left in life. He would only have the opportunity to catch a glimpse of the monoplane if Latham plotted a course low over the skyline on the rear, or east-facing, side of his house, where he could look out the window from his bed. Latham graciously accepted the prize money, and agreed to loop around 1217 St. Paul as part of the exhibition.

Hubert Latham taking off from the Halethorpe air show in his Antoinette monoplane. Halethorpe Aviation Meet, 1910, BCLM, MdHS, MC1985-2

So at 12:16:45 pm on November 7, 1910, Latham and his fifty-horsepower Antoinette took off from Halethorpe and began his plotted path over the city. Bells rang out across the city as workers were released from Wise Brothers, R.M. Sutton & Co., Torsch packing, and other businesses and industries, for a long lunch to watch the exhibition. People converged to the rooftops of The Sun Building, the B& O building , the Courthouse, and the balcony around the City-Hall dome. Even patients at Johns Hopkins pressed their faces to the window in anticipation of the low swoop-by promised by the bird-man.***** Latham flew over Fort McHenry, northwest to the American building on Baltimore Street, back east to Patterson Park, north to North Avenue, west to Eutaw Place, back east to Mount Royal Ave before turning northeast to circle Druid Hill Park, south to St. Paul street where he maneuvered into view of Winans’ bedroom window- circling the property, and southwest to the Sun Building before heading back to Halethorpe. Twenty-five miles and forty-two minutes later Hubert Latham landed safely back at Halethorpe. Latham sat in the cockpit with the propellor running while he smoked a cigarette, before finally being hauled by mechanics into the hangar. With flair for dramatic, Latham said, “Not a word until I have eaten lunch,” to the throngs of reporters anxiously waiting to speak to the hero.

Latham’s flight path over Baltimore on November 7, 1910. The yellow arrow represents the photo at the bottom of the post, and the blue arrow indicates where he circled around Ross R. Winan’s mansion. The Indiana Jones effect was photoshopped on top of a Commisioners for Opening Roads, General Map of Baltimore, 1911 from our map collection.

Latham and his flight were fondly remembered in Baltimore for many years. According to a Sun article from June 4, 1911, bellboys, chambermaids, and clerks working at the Belvedere refused to spend the autographed $1 tips that he passed out to all the help during a tour of the building. To many Baltimoreans, the historic flight held a place in their memory on par with the sinking of the Titanic and the Great Baltimore Fire of 1904. They would never forget where they were when Latham made his historic flight over the city.

Latham continued to fly, participating in air shows in San Francisco, Los Angeles, and in Europe before resuming his world travels. Having studied indigenous cultures in Indochina and Abyssinia (Ethiopia), hunted game in Somaliland (Somalia), and travelled throughout East Asia, it was not surprising when he returned to his wanderlust habits in late 1911. It came as tragic news to Baltimoreans and the French people alike when they learned he had been gored to death by a water buffalo while hunting in the French Congo, though vague reports of a more suspicious death circulated. (Eben Dennis)

The impetus for this post was the photograph below, which was recently donated to our library by the Ross County Historical Society in Ohio after it was deemed outside the scope of their collection.  In cataloging this new acquisition we are given the chance to highlight both an interesting side note of Baltimore history, while at the same time showing the cooperation that often exists behind the scenes in libraries as they not only actively collect items within the scope of their mission, but seek homes for orphaned items which are more suited elsewhere. 

Hubert Latham flying over the corner of Broadway and Bank Streets as he headed northwest towards the American Building (see yellow arrow on map) Baltimore-Airplanes-Hubert Latham, 1910, MdHS SVF – Medium Photos

*The Antoinette engine was originally developed by Léon Levavasseur whom supplied Latham with engines during his stint as a speedboat racer.  Later, after Latham was inspired by performances by Wilbur Wright (who was trying to sell an engine of his own) he sought out a company that would train him as a pilot to promote their product. In the meantime, Levavasseur had formally established the Antoinette Company (based off the precursor engine from the speedboats) and happily obliged Latham’s request. He quickly mastered the engine and became the company’s top pilot.

**Latham and his crew tried to get up quickly after Bleriot, hoping to pass him, but by the time they were ready the weather had turned for the worse once again.

***Latham made a second attempt to cross the British Channel and failed once again, this time coming up just a few miles short after his Antoinette suffered from engine failure.

****A large chunk of his inheritance came from a Winans Locomotive contract that his father and grandfather made with the Czar of Russia to equip the new Moscow – St. Petersburg line in 1842.

*****Evidently Latham’s flight, which fluctuated in up to 3,000 feet, reached its lowest point of 400 feet near the hospital, where the patients claimed to be able to see his face.

Newspapers

“Hubert Latham’s Tips Sacred.” Baltimore Sun, June 4, 1911.

“Latham sees Mr. Winans:…….Looks for Landing in River, Carroll or Patterson Parks or Open Ground.” Baltimore Sun, November 5, 1910.

“Hubert Latham the Man, Daredevil of the Air….” Baltimore Sun, November 8, 1910.

“Latham Hunts Ducks in Airship.” New York Times, December 23, 1910.

“Latham in Antoinette Wreck: Frenchman has Remarkable Escape from Death at Frisco.” Baltimore Sun, January 11, 1911.

“Flying Over Baltimore: Latham’s Remarkable Feat as it Appeared to a Texas Newspaper.” Baltimore Sun, November 23, 1910.

Pioneer Chartered Trip: Aerial Voyage of Latham….” Baltimore Sun, November 2, 1910.

“Mr. Ross Winans Offers $500: Sick in His Home, He wants to See the Great Flight.” Baltimore Sun, November 1, 1910.

“Ross R. Winans Dead.” Baltimore Sun, April 26, 1912

See Also

Dielman-Hayward File, Maryland Historical Society

Howard Cruett Wilcox/Halethorpe Air Meet Collection, 1910, PP139, Maryland Historical Society

Jesse L. Cassard Scrapbook, 1883-1946, MS 223, Maryland Historical Society

BBC News. http://news.bbc.co.uk/2/hi/uk_news/magazine/8080077.stm

Forgotten aviator: Hubert Latham by Barbara Walsh http://www.hubertlatham.com/

A lithograph of Druid Lake made by A. Hoen and Company as part of their Baltimore City Water Works series. Druid Lake, A. Hoen, ca. 1880, MdHS, H264.4

A map of Druid Hill Park showing Mount Royal Reservoir is located in the top right, Druid Lake in the center, and the High Service Reservoir on the bottom left. The map is rotated facing northeast. Druid Hill Park, Board of Park Commissioners, 1875, MdHS, M79

After responding to an advertisement placed in local papers by the Park Commission seeking to buy a large plot of land for a public open space, Lloyd Nicholas Rogers (1787- 1860) sold the Druid Hill estate for $121,000 in cash and $363,027 in city stock. Though the cantankerous Rogers tried to back out of the deal late, claiming the city lacked the authority to issue bonds outside the official city limits for the purchase, Mayor Swann, in one of his many questionable abuses of power, got the deal pushed through.

Perhaps Mayor Swann saw the writing on the wall concerning the city’s water supply issues, when during the Druid Hill Park inauguration ceremonies he stated that:

“…In addition to numerous springs heading in all the principal ravines, and furnishing a liberal supply of water for ordinary wants, the close proximity to the Jones’ Falls, and the great receiving reservoir of the city, gives assurance that the most extensive arrangements may be safely made for the lakes and fountains at a comparatively trifling expenditure. A resort to artificial supply is always to be preferred in a park, where the volume of water cannot be relied upon from natural flow….[Then upping his flowery poetic waxings, continued]…the soft and trembling shadows of the surrounding trees and hills as they fall upon a placid sheet of water, and the brilliant light which the crystal surface reflects in pure sunshine, mirroring too, at times, in its resplendent bosom, all the cerulean depth and sunny whiteness of the overhanging sky, give it almost a magical effect in a beautiful landscape.”

In 1864 the city began to utilize the natural geography of Druid Park as they made their “cerulean” vision a reality. A deep ravine formed by a stream that traveled southeast from the boat lake toward the Jones Falls was selected as the site for the new reservoir. Civil engineer Robert Martin developed plans and  constructed a giant wall of mud that became the largest earthen dam in America (at that time). Steam excavators were used for the first time in the city to move 500,000 cubic yards of earth. The dam itself consisted of a water tight clay core, or puddle wall,  surrounded by steep banks of soil, and was supported by a stone wall laid in cement running the entire length of the dam. Earthen banks were laid in thin layers and pressed by horse drawn rollers. When completed in 1871, the dam supported a reservoir that covered 55 acres, reached a depth of 94 feet (averaging 30 feet), and sat at an elevation 217 feet above mid-tide. Towering over the surrounding park at a height of 119 feet, the dam was 750 feet long, with a width of 600 feet at the base tapering up to 60 feet at the top.

The embankment and gate house at Druid Park from the Baltimore Water Works series. Baltimore – Reservoirs – Druid Lake – 1880 – MdHS, SVF (medium photo)

The year work on the dam began in Baltimore, the whole world read about the horror of the Dale Dyke reservoir in Sheffield England, where flooding from the spring thaw caused the dam to fail. Eight hundred and fifty-five million gallons of water rushed through the valley at 18 mph, killing 244 people. The public saw eerie similarities between the earthen dam in England and the new dam in Druid Park. Though Dale Dyke was at a higher elevation, the new reservoir in Baltimore was in much closer proximity to the population center and held a greater amount of water. In addition, when water was drawn off from the reservoir in 1866, it was confirmed that the seven pipes traveling through the base of the earthen dam had buckled and collapsed under its weight. The broken pipes at the bottom of the dam posed the risk of significant leakage that would compromise the integrity of the earthen structure. It appeared that a complete overhaul of the dam was necessary.

A. Hoen and Co. lithograph of the earthen dam and gate house, most likely modeled after the photograph above. Embankment and Gate House, Druid Lake, A. Hoen, ca. 1880, MdHS, H264.8

Ultimately $1,000,000 was spent to repair the cracked pipes, and the reservoir was reduced to holding only 429 million gallons of water (as opposed to the initial goal of one billion). By 1871 Druid Lake was complete.** Over the next four years a west high service reservoir was added at a height of 320 feet above mean tide to service areas at higher elevations in the northwest part of town. By 1872, faced with more serious droughts, the city once again realized its supply of water was not sufficient, and finally turned its eyes towards the Gunpowder. Ironically, the $700,000 difference between the projected cost and the cost after the repairs was almost identical to that saved by selecting the waterworks on Jones Falls over the much higher volume project on the Gunpowder River. (Eben Dennis)

Gunpowder Water Supply, no date, MdHS Ephemera – Series E – City Government

* The “park tax,” as it was known, would dwindle to 12 percent in 1874, 9 percent in 1882, 3 percent in 1932, then disappear completely.

**The resulting body of water had been known during the first half of its construction as Lake Chapman, after Unionist Mayor and head of the Water Board at the time, John Lee Chapman (1811-1880). Since much of Chapman’s tenure as mayor was characterized by the bitter partisan feuding of the Civil War period, it came as little surprise when his Democratic successor, Robert T. Banks (1822-1901), and the City Council voted unanimously to change the name to Druid Lake just four months after he left office in early 1868.

Sources

Bowditch, Eden and Draddy, Anne. Druid Hill Park : the Heart of Baltimore (Charleston, SC: History Press, 2008.)

Cox, J. Journal Proceedings of the First Branch City Council of Baltimore (Baltimore, 1866.)

Coyle, Wilbur F. The Mayors of Baltimore (Baltimore, MD : reprinted from the Baltimore Municpal Journal, 1919.)

Hall, Clayton Coleman. Baltimore: Its History and Its Peoples (New York:  Lewis Historical Publishing Co., 1912.)

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

Inauguration Ceremonies and Address of Hon. Thomas Swann on the Opening of Druid Hill Park, October 19, 1860 (Baltimore, Md: Bull and Tuttle, 1860.)

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

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

Weishampel, Jr., J.F.. The Stranger in Baltimore: A New Hand Book, Containing Sketches of the Early History and Present Condition of Baltimore, with a Description of Its Notable Localities, and Other Information (Baltimore, 1866.)

“The Park.” Baltimore Sun, June 16, 1860.

“Mayor’s Message.” Baltimore Sun, January 5, 1865.

“Local Matters.” Baltimore Sun, January 18, 1865.

“Local Matters.” Baltimore Sun, March 4, 1865.

“Local Matters.” Baltimore Sun, November 5, 1867.

“Committe on Water Investigate the Circumstances….” Baltimore Sun, November 12, 1867.

“Local Matters.” Baltimore Sun, March 18, 1868.

“Baltimore Water Supply.” Baltimore Sun, August 25, 1869.

Baltimore City Services History http://cityservices.baltimorecity.gov/dpw/waterwastewater02/waterquality3.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.

An image of the Washington Monument from Mayor William Donald Schaefer’s 1973 holiday card. Original pen and ink drawn by Baltimore artist Betty Wells. Ephemera, Series I, MdHS.

Like so much of the City of Baltimore, the annual monument lighting bears the stamp of Mayor William Donald Schaefer. Schaefer, mayor from 1971 to 1987, got the inspiration for the idea following a trip to Indianapolis in 1972, when the beauty of the city’s monuments and statues aglow in holiday lights left him in awe.* Before the annual tradition began here in Baltimore, local garden clubs had been decorating Mount Vernon Square and the Washington Monument with greenery, as can be seen below.

This photograph by A. Aubrey Bodine shows the greenery that the garden club decorated the base of the monument with in 1962, ten years before the first lighting. BCLM, B391-F, MdHS.

The Maryland Historical Society will be having an open house tonight to coincide with the 41st monument lighting here in Mount Vernon. Come join us for food, decorations, and a performance by the Notre Dame Institute’s choir. There’s even a rumor that Santa Claus himself may be showing up. The museum will be free and open to the public- see you there!

*At this point I see absolutely no evidence that they stole our football in team in retaliation for our appropriation of their decorating ideas.

The library is pleased to announce that Kory Lemmert of Mount Washington is the winner of our Movember contest. Congrats, Kory! The rest of you can check out our mustache key below.

Who’s who in Maryland Historical Mustaches: 1) Leonard Calvert – Proprietary governor, 1634-1647; 2) 78-18-109 – Unknown walrus mustache (MC9484); 3) Ron Barbagallo – MdHS IT Guy; 4) Eubie Blake (Z24.1350)- jazz musician & composer; 5) Noble Sissle (Z24.1350) – jazz musician & composer; 6) Francois Dubas (MC9482) – father of photographer John Dubas; 7) George William Brown (PFV) – Mayor of Baltimore 1860-61; 8) Thomas D’Alesandro Jr. (B679-B) – Mayor of Baltimore; 9) Arunah Shepherdson Abell (MC1262) – founder Baltimore Sun; 10) Gov. Edwin Warfield – Gov. of Md 1904-08; 11) Raphael Semmes – former MdHS librarian; 12) Ms. Alex Beiter – MdHS Annual Fund Manager; 13) Thurgood Marshall – U.S. Supreme Court Justice; 14) Severn Teakle Wallis (1896-4-1); 15) David Belew – MdHS Development Coordinator; 16) Herbert Baxter Adams – first professor of history at JHU.

Sources

“Washington Monument Gets Holiday Look at Mayor’s Bidding,” Baltimore Sun, December 14, 1972.

“Deck the Streets,” Baltimore Sun, December 18, 1963.

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.

The Hampden Reservoir as it appeared in 1880 (note the pump house right of center in this photo). Subject Vertical File Medium Photographs (Baltimore Reservoirs) Hampden Reservoir [SVF].

The City Needs a Water Supply

In the early days of Baltimore an abundance of natural springs provided clean and pure water for its inhabitants; but alas, good things never last. As the population grew, springs became stressed, contaminated, and even dried up. There was a need for pumps, wells, and general infrastructure to be created, so after a decade of attempts to establish a water company, a 1797 ordinance passed that appropriated $1,000 to erect pumps in the city’s streets. It seems this ordinance passed because people had concerns about putting out fires; they were complacent about the cruddy water they drank. The linear causation likely had fewer steps. Fire burning skin is easier to comprehend than water gets dirty, we drink water, we get sick. Boy it’s a good thing we don’t make reactionary environmental decisions like that anymore….

By 1800 the idea of bringing water from Gwynns Falls, Jones Falls, and/or Herring Run was being kicked around, and the City Council began plans to divert water into the city. In 1804 water from Carroll’s Run ( a source of springs on the west side) was in the process of being piped to the city, when land owners whose property the pipe encroached upon issued an injunction stopping the efforts. Unable to accomplish its goal, the city was forced to rely on its civic minded citizens. Gen. Samuel Smith, Alexander McKim, Elias Ellicott, Robert Goodloe Harper, Thomas McElderry, and John Eager Howard, formed the committee which laid the groundwork for the creation of the Baltimore Water Company on April 20, 1804. This company was funded through subscriptions by citizens, insurance companies, and corporations.

On the suggestion of civil engineer Jonathan Ellicott, the company set its sights on the Jones Falls. The elevation and dry season volume made the waterway quite suitable. Though they couldn’t purchase the water rights as far north as they desired in Woodberry, John Eager Howard sold the rights to the water around  the present day site of the Preston Street bridge. A storage reservoir to hold the water delivered by a millrace from this site was built on the corner of Calvert and Centre Streets, which was also the site of the Baltimore Water Company’s offices.

By 1830 there was yet another need to increase the supply of water to the growing city. Wooden pipes were replaced with cast iron pipes, new plans were made, and surveys were drawn up to determine how to supply Baltimore with “a never failing supply of pure, fresh, and wholesome water.”*  Due to their elevation above sea level, Gwynns Falls and the part of Jones Falls near Tyson’s mill (in present day Hampden) seemed to be the most suitable sources. Unlike the landowners along the Gwynns Falls, however, many of the landowners on the Jones Falls made outright refusals to sell their property, and the committee recommended the Gwynns Falls as the best choice.

Fast forward twenty-eight years. New iron pipes had been laid, new water sources were exploited, and a new reservoir had been built to supply water for the east side of the city. But it still wasn’t enough. The city continued to expand and grow. After an ordinance was approved by the City Council on July 11, 1857 to provide an increased water supply from the Jones Falls, the water board authorized the money to buy the water rights from Rock Mills north of Woodberry for $150,598, and Swann Lake (now known as Lake Roland) for $289,539.

The map from last week’s post, made by Chief Engineer of the City Water Board J. Morris Wampler, was drawn for the purposes of purchasing and condemning land for the conduit from Lake Roland to the new city reservoir in Hampden on the present day south side of Roosevelt Park. The Hampden reservoir was completed in 1861 three years after it began at a cost of $206,643.50 by John W. Maxwell and Company. Maxwell, along with Joseph H. Hoblitzell and F.C. Crowley, constructed the dam at Lake Roland, the conduit, and the new reservoirs at a total cost of 1.3 million dollars. The conduits construction consisted of the excavation of three separate tunnels totaling over 5,000 feet, and over 6 million bricks. All of the pipes used in the project were manufactured in the Poole and Hunt foundry and presumably rolled up the hill. The work was done by mechanics and day laborers.

The Hampden Reservoir in 1906. Taken from the Bromley Atlas of Baltimore City and Vicinity, plate 17.

The Hampden Reservoir remained in operation until 1915, when the municipal water supply was reconstructed once again, and the polluted 40,000,000 gallon reservoir was reduced to a neighborhood ornament. In 1930 it was drained and cleaned, and the pipes were cut off entirely from the city water system to prevent any contamination through seepage. Though the city threatened to drain it for years, Hampden residents managed to block all proposals for more than forty years.

A Murky Murder and a Heliport

In 1957 the Hampden reservoir was drained as investigators searched for a .32 caliber automatic weapon they believed was used in the murder of sandwich-shop proprietor Vincent DiPietro. A few weeks before it was drained, a youth laborer named Donald Coleman was charged in the killing of DiPietro after making “certain admissions” following four days of interrogation. Though DiPietro was a known hot-head, and had stabbed a man in his shop a year earlier, for some reason revenge was discounted as a motivation by the investigators; nor was a robbery mentioned in any report.

Only minutes after the investigators pulled the gun out of the mud of the drained reservoir, DiPietro’s widow (who he had also stabbed in a separate incident several months prior) married John C. Lloyd in the Hampden Methodist Church (now known as the United Methodist Church) directly across the street from the muddy pit. When the Rev. Leslie Werner, who was conducting the ceremony on short notice—unaware of the woman’s connection to the victim—told the couple that the gun was discovered, there wasn’t much of a response. Only after reading their names on the marriage certificate and directly questioning her relationship to the slain man did Rev. Werner realize it was her deceased husband. A week after the marriage the reservoir was once again filled back in with water to the delight of Hampden residents.

In 1960 the Bureau of Water Supply began draining the reservoir without announcement. The city then revealed plans to fill the muddy pit and turn it into a Department of Aviation heliport. The residents, led by Rev. Werner,  responded with an immediate outcry. The irate citizens protested that helicopters would be a major disturbance to the school, recreation center, and churches in the immediate proximity. Werner called the ordeal “an infringement on our territorial rights without due recourse to a public hearing.”** Eventually the city recanted on the heliport. The draining did continue, however, as the city conveniently had an arrangement with the contractors excavating the new Jones Falls Expressway nearby. In exchange for a local site to dump the excavated soil, the city would receive a discount on the cost of that stretch of highway.

So it was settled, the mud from the Jones Falls Expressway filled the giant hole, and the reservoir has been largely forgotten.

(Eben Dennis)

This is a photograph of Roosevelt Park, the former site of the Hampden Reservoir, from roughly the same angle. The pump house from the previous photograph is behind the line of trees. Photograph of Roosevelt Park taken in 2012 by Anna Dennis.

An aerial view of Roosevelt Park taken from Googlemaps.

Sources:

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

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

“Water Bureau Draining Reservoir at Hampden,” Baltimore Sun, October 5, 1930.

“Police Probe ‘Wide Open’: No Definite Suspects Held In DiPietro Slaying,” Baltimore Sun, March 2,1957.

“DiPietro Slaying Laid to Laborer: Man, 21, Held Without Bail On Murder Charge,” Baltimore Sun, March 28, 1957.

“Reservoir Plug May Be Pulled,” Baltimore Sun, April 7, 1957.

“Police To Drain Reservoir For DiPietro Murder Gun,” Baltimore Sun, April 9, 1957

“Youth Presented in DiPietro Case: Jury Acts Though Murder Weapon Is Not Found,” Baltimore Sun, April 24, 1957.

“Gun Found by Police in Reservoir,” Baltimore Sun, April 28, 1957.

“Water Refilling Reservoir Again,” Baltimore Sun, May 7, 1957.

**”Residents Fight Heliport Plans: Would Ban Move To Use Reservoir Site Near School,” Baltimore Sun, May 2, 1960.

“Views Given on Heliport: Chilcote Sees False Fear; Draining Halt Held Unlikely,” Baltimore Sun, May 5, 1960.

Bromley Atlas of Baltimore City and Vicinity, 1907, plate 17.

[title] Hampden Improvement Association map, J. Morris Wampler, 1857.

I’m of the opinion that historical material needs two of three factors in order to survive for future generations: luck, money, and someone caring. Most of our collections have benefited from all three. Because of this there is less material representing working class people that survives than the wealthy; in other words, without money the material’s survival relies heavily on luck. Since Hampden was a traditionally a working class community, less stuff has survived, making the manuscripts, artifacts, and photographs that much more valuable.

So what can I learn from this swiss-cheese piece of map that somehow made its way to our library years ago? For one, I learned that the history of the area represented in the map is equally full of gaps—not a coincidence. Second, I learned that the best way to fill these historical gaps is by using the resources the map lives amongst in our library. A healthy library (and the help of Francis O’Neill) can make each crumb exponentially more valuable.

There are three very striking features on this map. (1) The ornate title reading “Hampden Improvement Association; Property Baltimore County, 1857, J. Morris Wampler;” (2)  it is subdivided into 250 numbered, mostly undeveloped plots; and (3) the name H. Mankin, the man responsible for giving the village known as “Slabtown” its modern name “Hampden,” on a couple of the larger plots with two houses.*

The Mankin plot can be seen here as #270. The street directly north of the lot, 3rd avenue, is present day 36th street, or “The Avenue.”

Using The Baltimore Sun and the Dielman-Hayward file, we found that J. Morris Wampler was appointed Chief Engineer of the City Water Board in 1857; he most likely designed the Hampden reservoir. It appears this map was commissioned by the Hampden Improvement Association, perhaps to create the path for a pipe from the reservoir at Roland Park to another reservoir at the present day site of Roosevelt Park in Hampden.

We found references to the Hampden Improvement Association in The Baltimore Sun, but couldn’t figure out exactly what it was. We did find reference to the incorporation of a similar group calling themselves “the trustees of Hampden Hall,” in Chapter 222 of Laws of Maryland, 1856. This group evidently had the joint goal of forming a girls school. In the process of incorporating, they established themselves as a land company. Whether this was coincidence, an accident, or for economic reasons is unclear, and though two lots are called “College Lots” on the map, no school was ever established. The names associated with Hampden Hall are John N. McJilton, David Stewart, Samuel Wyman, Isaiah Martin, and Henry Martin. After looking up H. Mankin in the Dielman-Hayward file, I noticed that his father was named Isaiah. I am guessing this is a typo and these two “Martins” are actually the “Mankins.”

General Henry Mankin (1804-1876) made his fortune in shipping, taking over the firm Clark and Kellog,  when its founders retired. He was responsible for establishing the first regular lines between the major ports of Baltimore and Liverpool; his fleets became famous for the large quantity of freight that was sent overseas, and the hundreds of immigrants who arrived on his boats returning to harbor. In 1838 Mankin married Sarah Anne Foard, and they bought a country place north of Baltimore between Falls Turnpike and Stoney Run called Mount Pleasant. They planted many trees and flowers, and soon the area that is now known as Hampden “became noted for its beauty and fragrance.”

Predicting that Baltimore would be forced to expand northward, Mankin left the shipping business and formed the Hampden Improvement Association (possibly through the Hampden Hall maneuver) as a business venture with the Mount Pleasant tract at its heart. Unfortunately for Mankin the expansion did not happen at the rapid rate he anticipated—it  was slowed by the Civil War. Mankin passed away In 1876 a much poorer man than he had been in the 1850s, his investment never really panning out. Though the village had greatly increased in size due to an influx of mill hands and foundry workers, it  never turned into the prosperous business venture he envisioned. In 1887 Hampden was incorporated into the city when Baltimore expanded northward.

(Eben Dennis)

*Outsiders originally called the village “Slabtown” after the architecture of its small houses. This name was greatly disliked by the majority Irish population of the tiny village, and they pushed to name the town Kellyville, after Martin kelly, the inn keep and man responsible for building many of these houses. Evidently he was a modest man and declined. The largest landowner in the community was General Henry Mankin (1804-1876), and thinking the name Hampden (after 17^th century British statesmen John Hampden) sounded distinguished, he got it to stick.

The plot owned by the Clarke family was part of the Mount Pleasant tract (not to be confused with Mankin’s mansion of the same name), presumedly purchased from Henry Mankin. The Clarke family built the buildings shown in the map above called the “Beaumont Estate.” The property next changed hands to the Dulin Family who eventually sold it to the Maryland Casualty Company. Shortly after the first World War the Maryland Casualty Company built the structure we know of today as the Rotunda.

Sources

“Man in the Street: Martin Kelly,” The Baltimore Sun, Feb 11, 1951.

“Classified Ad #23,” The Baltimore Sun, May 1, 1868.

“Classified Ad #15,” The Baltimore Sun, January 9, 1861.

“Classified Ad #35,” The Baltimore Sun, June 29, 1859.

“Local Matters,” The Baltimore Sun, July 25, 1857.

“Local Matters,” The Baltimore Sun, May 28, 1856.

Passano Historic Structures Index, Maryland Historical Society.

Dielman–Hayward File, Maryland Historical Society.

“Sketch of the Life of Henry Mankin,” Dielman–Hayward File, Maryland Historical Society.

Baltimore County. Map of Hampden. 1857, M271, Maryland Historical Society.

Laws Made and Passed by the General Assembly of the State of Maryland, 1856.

Chalkley, Mark. “Hampden Woodberry.” Arcadia Publishing, Charleston, South Carolina, 2006.