My wife, Mary, arrived in Brooklyn by jet several hours after I got there. We are both visiting Ryan for a long enough time that we decide to take the Amtrak Northeast Regional to Baltimore for a couple of nights. The train is newer and in better condition than The Empire Builder. It might be my imagination, but the seats seem slightly smaller. It’s not designed for long multi-day runs. The trip takes less than three hours. It would be a 45-minute walk to our bed and breakfast, so we opt for an Uber. Rachel’s Dowry is a beautiful and stately home. It is believed to have hosted George and Martha Washington back in the 1790s. We unpack and head out for a walk, discovering that we are a baseball’s throw away from Oriole Park at Camden Yards and a game is about to start. We are not huge baseball fans, but this looks like fun! The weather is perfect, the stadium is beautiful and most everyone is in a good mood. I can’t remember who the Orioles played or even if they won or lost, but I got the impression this was true for some of the other folks there as well. The people in front of us were deep in happy conversation regardless of the plays on the field, only stopping long enough to do their part to keep “The Wave” alive.
After a good night’s sleep, we have breakfast and pleasant conversation with other guests in the Rachel’s Dowry dining room. The sky is blue and the temperature is warm, so we plan a full day of walking to local museums. First on the list and very nearby is the Babe Ruth Birthplace and Museum. Not being baseball fans our jaws don’t drop as low as some of the other patrons, but we appreciate the historical videos, memorabilia and reverence of the place. After a 10-minute walk we arrive at the B & O Railroad Museum. It covers several acres of open land, but many of the trains are situated inside a working roundhouse, including some that date back to the railroad industry’s infancy. The museum also does restoration of old passenger rail cars that have seen better days. Out in the yard we saw several that were in desperate need of resuscitation.
The city of Baltimore is in love with Edgar Allen Poe. Their football team, the Ravens, is named after his most famous poem. He only lived in Baltimore for three years but died there under mysterious circumstances, and my guess is that this is what cemented the city’s relationship with him . Poe was discovered crumpled on the street, bloody and bruised and near death. He was taken to a hospital, but it did not improve his situation. One theory as to Poe’s demise is that he died of a combination of untreated Tuberculosis and voter fraud. That is not a typo! It is believed by some biographers that he was a victim of “Cooping Gangs” that would kidnap people, beat them up and drug them, and then hold them in cells against their will. They would then be removed periodically and taken to polling stations, forcing them to vote for the candidate of the Cooper’s choice. Disguises made it possible to have each victim vote numerous times. If this is what happened to Poe, it was a macabre death for a writer of the macabre. We walked to the Poe Museum located in the house where he lived but it was closed. As a consolation prize, we took a 15-minute walk to see his gravestone.
Mary and I love old houses, and I especially love the smaller, working-class homes. We heard that Fell’s Point would be a good place to see these. It would be a 45-minute walk through neighborhoods we weren’t familiar with, so we opted for an Uber. We told the driver how much we enjoyed his city. Instead of bursting with pride, he said “Yeah, but you don’t want to be out when it gets dark.” I’m sure it was a statement of truth, but I think it would wear on my mental and physical health if I needed that level of awareness. (Update: The Baltimore Police Department announced that in 2024, gun violence in the city dropped by approximately one-quarter) Fell’s Point does not disappoint. Some of the oldest houses in the city are here, and many of them are very humble structures. The newer ones aren’t. This is a very trendy, high-rent district today. The two eras seem to coexist without too much conflict. We visit a boutique woolen garment shop called Sheep’s Clothing. I buy a waxed cotton Peaky Blinders cap and Mary buys several bars of lanolin soap. Outside the shop, an older gentleman correctly pegs us as history buffs and says “If you go down this street two blocks, look up and to your left. There’s an old advertising sign painted on the brick wall that says “Vote Against Prohibition”. I’m glad he pointed it out. This sign is so far back in history that it is barely a memory.
