Originally the summer home of industrialist and abolitionist Elisha Tyson in the early 1800s, 732 Pacific Street is a classic Federal style house built with native granite two feet thick. Among many other accomplishments, Tyson helped finance the very profitable Falls Road Turnpike in 1805 and reportedly established safe houses for runaway slaves along the route.
The building on Pacific Street was later owned by the Mount Vernon Mill Company and used as a superintendent鈥檚 house for the mill complex. Robyn Lyles and Mark Thistle (also a 糖心影视 board member) purchased the house in 2005 and finished renovations in 2009. The rehab project included archeology work by the University of Maryland, painstakingly saving windows including the original antique glass, and disassembling and reassembling the porch to save the original materials. 13,000 hours of work later, the finished product is a masterpiece of historic preservation.
From brewery to apartments, the reuse of the Gunther brewery complex is remarkable for its scope and quality. The building is in what鈥檚 now called, aptly, the Brewer鈥檚 Hill neighborhood east of Canton. This area started to populate with German brewers in the early nineteenth century and by the Civil War, it was awash with beer. After a brief respite during Prohibition, brewing was back and the original Gunther building, built around 1900, was in full swing. But breweries gradually closed in Baltimore and the Gunther was shuttered and left abandoned for many years.
The work, which earned state and federal historic tax credits, included restoring the facade of the Romanesque Revival-style brewhouse with its decorative arches, pilasters and an elaborate corbelled cornice. The 1949 Stock House and another smaller brewhouse dating to 1950 were also restored. The complex now encompasses five buildings with 162 apartments and retail space.
Beginning in 1928 when it was built and for 84 years afterwards, the Monumental Life Insurance Company occupied what was ubiquitously known as the Monumental Life Building. In 2012, however, Monumental Life consolidated offices downtown and moved out of Mt. Vernon. The current owner, Chase Brexton Health Services, bought the building and in short order launched an extensive rehab project.
The 6-story building at Charles and Chase Streets had undergone numerous renovations to suit evolving needs, with major additions built in 1938, 1957, and 1968. Chase Brexton worked within the historic building envelope to create a health center for patients and staff.
The work included repairing the limestone exterior, even keeping and repairing the signature gold lettering spelling out 鈥淢ONUMENTAL LIFE.鈥 The ground floor, where the most extensive historic fabric remained, included marble walls and floors, which were restored, and imitation gold leaf ceiling, which was refinished using the original methods. An original wood-paneled 1928 Board Room was fully restored after having been subdivided into offices. The upper floors had been used as utilitarian office spaces and these were retained and transformed to meet the demands of serving as space for a health clinic. Within a short year, the iconic Mount Vernon Building had not only found a new owner, but also found a new life and promises to serve as a great asset for years to come.
The Arch Social Club at Pennsylvania and North Avenues started its life as Schanze's Theater, a movie house constructed in 1912. After serving time as a Wilson's Restaurant from the 1930s through the 1960s (when the lower facade was covered over), the club bought the building in 1972. Originally located on Arch Street, the club was part of the Victorian-era Reformist Movement that promoted working class men to better themselves through lectures and cerebral recreational pursuits. In 1912, a group of African American Baltimore men founded the Arch Social Club to promote charity, friendship and brotherly love. As many reformist Clubs did, the Arch Social Club grew and evolved into a public house and event hall, uses that continue to this day. In 2013, the club brought back the building's historic fa莽ade. The newly restored facade more than sparkles at this key intersection in West Baltimore and stands as a bright reminder of the area鈥檚 great heritage and promising future.
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The Superintendent鈥檚 House in Druid Hill Park dates to 1872 and was designed by architect George Frederick (who also designed City Hall). It was built using local 鈥淏utler Stone鈥 from Baltimore County and has wonderful Gothic decorations including decorative quoins and steep gables.
When the Parks and People Foundation acquired the building in 1995, it was in ruins. Multiple fires had destroyed the roof and almost all of the interior. Trees were even growing through the windows. The first step in the restoration process was to bring in a team of goats to chew through the Amazon-like vegetation so that human beings could actually get to the building.
The restoration was challenged by the decrepit state of the structure and lack of historic plans or records. Nonetheless, the project team did a remarkable job. They replaced stones; created a new roof and supporting structure; and, added back gutters, downspouts, chimneys, and the front porch. They even gave it an historically compatible set of paint colors.
The restored building is part of a new campus for Parks and People. It is helping revive the surrounding Auchentoroly Terrace neighborhood and tie this part of West Baltimore to Druid Hill Park.
The Hotel Brexton was built in 1881 for Samuel Wyman, a wealthy Baltimore merchant. The six-story Brexton was built as a residential hotel in the Queen Anne Style, with Baltimore pressed brick and Scotch sandstone. Noted architect Charles Cassell designed the building. Cassell was a founding member of the Baltimore Chapter of the American Institute of Architects and the designer of the Stafford Hotel on Mount Vernon Place, Stewart's Department Store on Howard Street, and the First Church of Christ Scientist on University Parkway.
This beautiful building sat vacant for over two decades before RWN Development (and local architect Donald Kann) completed a top-to-bottom restoration in 2010. The work included replacement of over two hundred windows that had rotted or disappeared and the restoration of the original spiral stair.
The Hotel now has twenty-nine rooms (including a "Wallis Warfield Simpson" suite, named after the hotel's most famous occupant) and is part of the Historic Hotels of America network.
The American Brewery Building at 1701 North Gay Street might be the most 鈥淏altimore鈥 of all buildings in the city. It is in the style of High Victorian architecture, as so much of our city was built, and is just plain quirky. Since 1973, the 1887 J.F. Weisner and Sons brewery building (later known as the American Brewery) stood as a hulking shell lording over a distressed neighborhood. Its restoration is a noteworthy symbol of optimism for the historic structure and the surrounding community. The conversion of the brewery into a health care and community center for Humanim more than fits the organization鈥檚 motto: 鈥淭o identify those in greatest need and provide uncompromising human services.鈥 The project won a 2010 糖心影视 Preservation Award for Adaptive Reuse and Compatible Design recognizing Humanim, Inc., architects Cho Benn Holback + Associates, and contractor Struever Bros. Eccles & Rouse.
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Mount Vernon鈥檚 elegant and historic Ivy Hotel has a rich lineage: its roots are as a Gilded Age mansion and its uses have included city offices, a city owned and operated inn, and now a private boutique hotel.
The historic Ivy Hotel got its start in the late nineteenth century when a prominent Baltimore banker named John Gilman commissioned a mansion in Mount Vernon for the princely sum of $40,000. Gilman died before the building's completion in 1889, but his widow lived there for several years before selling it to William and Harriet Painter. William Painter was the head of Crown Cork and Seal company and his invention of the bottle cap made him one of the city鈥檚 leading businessmen.
After the deaths of Mr. and Mrs. Painter, the mansion went through several other owners, including Robert Garrett, grandson of the president of the Baltimore & Ohio Railroad and the gold medalist in both discus and shot put at the first modern Olympics in Athens in 1896. Mr. Garrett eventually donated the building to the Playground Athletic League, which he chaired, and in 1939 the PAL donated it to Baltimore City for use as offices for the Department of Recreation and Parks. In 1985, Mayor William Donald Schaefer had the city purchase two adjacent rowhouses, undertook a complete historic renovation project, and turned the building into a city owned hotel: the Inn at Government House.
In 2015, the Azola Companies, Ziger/Snead Architects completed a restoration turning the building into a boutique historic hotel, complete with parquet floors, pocket doors, stained glass, and a grand staircase.
Alfred G. Vanderbilt once said of Pimlico that it is 鈥渕ore than a dirt track bounded by four streets. It is an accepted American institution, devoted to the best interests of a great sport, graced by time, respected for its honorable past.鈥
Opened in 1870, Pimlico Racetrack is also Baltimore through and through. Engineered by General John Ellicott for the Maryland Jockey Club, the track was built after Governor Oden Bowie out-bid the rival Saratoga, New York racing club to host a special race by pledging to build a model track in Baltimore.
The track has been going strong ever since, even surviving an anti-gambling movement in 1910 when Congress carved out Maryland and Kentucky from a national prohibition on horse racing.
Although a devastating fire destroyed the old clubhouse in 1966, the seven furlong track, stables for a thousand horses, and even the new grandstands at Pimlico today still hold loads of Baltimore history and stories.
The Munsey Building was erected by and named after the publisher, Frank Munsey, who had purchased the Baltimore News to add to his publishing empire. Though he wanted the paper, he did not like the five-year old building that housed it. So, he had a new one erected more to his liking. Completed in 1911, the newspaper's new offices were designed by the local architectural firm of Baldwin & Pennington, together with McKim, Mead & White of New York. The Munsey Trust Company, which eventually became the Equitable Trust Company, opened on the ground floor in 1913. The paper was eventually bought by William Randolph Hearst, became the Baltimore News-American, and moved a few blocks away. The building鈥檚 most recent purpose is to serve as loft apartments that are helping revitalize downtown Baltimore. The renovation of the Munsey included keeping the grand entrance way, with its marble floor, elevators, and grand front door, as well as cleaning and repairing the exterior. 糖心影视 recognized the conversion with a preservation award in 2004.
Built in 1914 for Eastwick Motors, Baltimore鈥檚 first Ford dealership, 120 West North Avenue has been home to a surprising array of owners and occupants. After its days with Eastwick (a proud supporter of Amoco gasoline and its American Oil Company Baltimore roots), the building changed hands several times. Subsequent dealers sold cars from mostly forgotten manufacturers including Graham Page, Desoto, and Plymouth. By the mid 1930s, Kernan Motors owned the building and sold Nash, Willys, and Jeep vehicles. As North Avenue transitioned from a corridor for car dealerships, the building became vacant several times before finally becoming home to the Lombard Office Furniture company in the late 1970s. The business sold well-used metal office furniture. In 2005, the building became an arts center that included the Single Carrot theatre, a gallery, and studios. The name of the space came about by creatively deleting letters from the existing signage. So, 鈥淟ombard Office Furniture鈥 became 鈥淟oad of Fun鈥 Gallery. Unfortunately, 120 West North Avenue required major renovations to meet the necessary building codes. BARCO, an arts-based development group, acquired the building in 2013 and began making the necessary changes in order to reopen as a hub for the arts. In 2014, the Baltimore Sun quoted project director Amy Bonitz on the unique historic elements of the building:
"The beauty is nobody has messed up the interior. Some of the wonderful features we've uncovered include the original [auto] showroom with a mezzanine where the managers could oversee the work happening throughout the first floor, including the rooms where the sales agreements were finalized.The front facade also contains beautiful leaded-glass windows with large, pivot windows that will be fully restored. The third floor is also a wide-open space with large skylights where mechanics used to work on cars. We will be saving and preserving the old freight elevator that brought the cars up to the upper floors for servicing as well."The Motor House held a grand reopening in January 2016 with space for performances, artists, a cafe, and gallery.
The first true brownstone building in Baltimore, today鈥檚 Grace & St. Peter鈥檚 Church opened its doors in 1852 as Grace Church on Park Avenue in Mount Vernon. Architecturally, it was the first church built of stone in the city and with stained glass and floor tiles imported from England, the majestic interior of this Gothic Episcopal church, designed by architect J. Crawford Neilson, harkens directly back to its Anglican origins.
In 1912, Grace Church combined with St. Peter鈥檚, then on the edge of today鈥檚 Bolton Hill neighborhood, merging high-church and low-church traditions in a single congregation. By the 1920s, what once was a place of worship mainly for prominent Baltimore families, including the nearby Garrett family of B&O Railroad fortune, had begun to change. The church at that time created a church school for Chinese immigrants who worshiped alongside many African American families who had moved to the neighborhood.
Today, the church embraces both Anglican and Western Catholic traditions and its Park Avenue complex includes a magnificent rectory and houses the Wilkes School for children per-kindergarten through fifth grade. Please
As you drive up Charles Street through Old Goucher, you might notice some odd details on the facade of the neighborhood Safeway. A carved sentinel eagle keeps watch, and the word 鈥淐ADILLAC鈥 is etched onto a stone arch over the market鈥檚 main entrance.
These curiosities were preserved from what once occupied this site. In the early years of the Great Depression, the Chesapeake Cadillac Company constructed an Art Deco showroom building at 2400 N Charles Street. Art Deco is a design movement popularized in the 1920s, its architecture characterized by elegant, streamlined surfaces and patterns. This uniform style evokes the man-made, and reflects a faith in modern technology and machinery.
The story goes that the showroom鈥檚 site was selected by the famous World War I flying ace Eddie Rickenbacker. Before winning 26 aerial combat duels in Europe and earning a Medal of Honor, Rickenbacker had already established himself in the States as a prodigious racecar driver and automobile designer. When Rickenbacker returned home as a war hero, he had boundless access to entrepreneurial ventures and employment. In the late 鈥20s, as a general manager of sales for General Motors鈥 Cadillac division, Rickenbacker went up in a plane to scout sites that would 鈥渢ap Baltimore鈥檚 affluent neighborhoods.鈥 As he approached the intersection of Charles Street and University Parkway, he said 鈥測ou want to be as close to this area as possible.鈥
Chesapeake Cadillac, which counted Frank Robinson, Glenn L. Martin, Dorothy Lamour, and T. Rowe Price among its clients, remained on Charles Street until 1995. This made it one of the last dealerships in Baltimore to haul out to the suburbs of Baltimore County. This exodus of businesses from the city had begun in the mid-20th century, in response to a strong, new customer base of white families who had moved en masse to the suburbs. The company鈥檚 plans to move to Cockeysville鈥檚 car dealership corridor were in the works before Safeway proposed building there in 1994鈥攊t was known that suburban locations were more lucrative. The company exists today in Cockeysville as Frankel & Chesapeake Cadillac.
When Safeway proposed building a store here in 1994, public opinion was split. Advocates for historical preservation, including Donna Beth Joy Shapiro, vice president of 糖心影视 at the time, argued that a supermarket and its parking lot would break up the traditional streetscape, worsen traffic, and waste architecturally significant buildings. Safeway鈥檚 arrival 鈥減ulled the rug out from under鈥 a local development team鈥檚 plans to bring a supermarket to a location just blocks away.
However, most residents welcomed the idea of a Safeway for its convenience and low prices. At the time Old Goucher did not have a full-service supermarket, and weekly shopping trips at the small, family-owned Crown Market were too expensive for most. The Design Advisory Panel, responsible for maintaining a high standard of architecture and urban design in the city, rejected Safeway鈥檚 first two design proposals鈥攂ut Safeway satisfied the Panel after presenting the design incorporating elements from the showroom, and obtained approval to build soon after. Buildings in the way, including the showroom, were demolished, and the store was completed in 1997. A Sun article from 1998 lauded the project as a community asset, adding, 鈥渋t鈥檚 ironic that many activists fought the store, fearing it would bring new problems.鈥
When Safeway was awarded the building contract, some criticized this piecemeal approach to historical preservation as lazy. The architectural historian Phoebe Stanton argued that 鈥渋f you want to preserve the building, preserve the building. I don鈥檛 approve of this business of breaking dishes up and saving three little chips.鈥 However, decades removed from this heated debate, it is clear that historical preservation鈥攅ven on the smallest scale鈥攑rovides us a window to the past.
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At the Upton Metro Station at Pennsylvania Avenue and Laurens Street, an explosion of color greets transit patrons at the conclusion of their escalator journey. 鈥淏altimore Uproar,鈥 a monumental mosaic by the renowned African-American artist Romare Bearden, depicts a jazz band fronted by a singer of ambiguous identity鈥攑erhaps Baltimore鈥檚 own Billie Holiday. It is no coincidence that Pennsylvania Avenue, which runs directly above ground and recently became a state-designated Arts & Entertainment District, is Baltimore鈥檚 historical center for jazz. How did Baltimore attract such a prestigious commission as Bearden?
Born in North Carolina in 1911, Romare Bearden was one of the most influential American artists of the 20th century. He explored numerous forms of art throughout his career, including painting, stage design, and songwriting鈥攂ut Bearden is best known for his rich collages. His subject matter often dealt with African-American life and the American South, and had a humanistic bent inspired by his experiences serving in World War II. Bearden was also a founding member of The Spiral, a Harlem collective dedicated to debating the role of the African-American artist in the civil rights movement.
A strong baseball player as a young man, Bearden was offered鈥攂ut declined鈥攁 spot on the Philadelphia Athletics fifteen years before Jackie Robinson broke the color barrier in 1947. In 1932 while playing for the all-Black, semi-pro Boston Tigers, Bearden pitched against the legendary Satchel Paige, who had played for the Baltimore Black Sox just two years earlier.
Shortly after Bearden graduated from New York University in 1935, Carl Murphy, the publisher of Baltimore鈥檚 Afro-American newspaper, offered him a job as a weekly editorial cartoonist. Bearden鈥檚 cartoons, which featured prominently on the opinions page, reflected on the realities of America in the time of Jim Crow and the Great Depression.
Bearden鈥檚 masterpiece is located on a metro line which, while functional, is just a sample of what a comprehensive metro system could have been for Baltimore. A 1968 planning report envisioned a rapid transit system with six lines emanating from downtown and extending out to the greater Baltimore region鈥攂ut today, only a northwestern line to Owings Mills and a spur to Johns Hopkins Hospital has been completed. Each metro station was designed by a different architect and received a public artwork by artists of varying renown. Bearden, whose $114,000 mosaic cost the MTA about $30,000 more than the second-most expensive artwork, stood out as the most famous artist of the nine selected. The mosaic, made of fine yet fragile Venetian glass and ceramic and measuring 14 by 46 feet, was assembled in Italy.
鈥淏altimore Uproar鈥 was unveiled on December 15, 1982. In a 1983 Sun article evaluating public art in the fledgling metro system, art critic John Dorsey acknowledged the mosaic鈥檚 grandeur and fitting subject matter, but concluded that the reaction of the public would be the only authentic evaluation. Since its unveiling, Baltimore has indeed embraced and appreciated Bearden鈥檚 token to the city that helped shape him.
Two Art Deco columns, flanking the entrance of the 25th Street Safeway parking lot, serve as the only concrete evidence of the central decision-making site during Baltimore鈥檚 era of school desegregation. From 1931 to 1987, a complex of two skywalk-linked buildings at 3 and 33 E 25th Street served as BCPSS headquarters: a 1931 Art Deco administration building, and a repurposed brick schoolhouse dating to the 1890s.
When the headquarters moved to North Avenue in 1987, the 25th Street complex began to deteriorate, quickly becoming a blight on the Old Goucher neighborhood. Some saw potential for redevelopment, and proposals for a bookstore and small business incubator emerged. A plan to renovate the complex as senior apartments, called 鈥淟ovegrove Court,鈥 gained the most traction. This was on track until the spring of 1994, when Safeway proposed building a store on the block, putting six adjacent rowhouses, the neighboring Chesapeake Cadillac Company showroom, and the 25th Street school complex under threat of demolition. Some people鈥攊ncluding rowhouse owners, the developers of Lovegrove Court, and a local group that had long planned to open a supermarket just blocks away鈥攚ere not thrilled by what they saw as sneaky dealings between Safeway and the city.
Advocates for historical preservation including Donna Beth Joy Shapiro, vice president of 糖心影视 at the time, attempted to save the historical buildings, or at least their facades. However, Old Goucher鈥檚 legitimate need for a full-service supermarket won out, the buildings were demolished, and the two Art Deco columns were the only elements preserved from the 25th Street school complex. The Safeway was completed in 1997.
These two preserved columns from 鈥25th Street,鈥 as the school administration complex was commonly referred to, give us a chance to re-examine some defining themes of Baltimore鈥檚 fraught era of school desegregation. In 1954, Thurgood Marshall successfully argued Brown v. Board of Education in the US Supreme Court, outlawing racially segregated public schools. Shortly after, Baltimore鈥檚 school board, convening at 25th Street, instituted a 鈥渇ree choice鈥 enrollment policy, lifting all formal racial barriers to school choice but making no effort to actively integrate. As a result of this unusual policy, which had widespread support from both Black and white people, Baltimore did not initially experience the unrest that marked the school desegregation processes of other cities.
By the late 鈥60s Baltimore鈥檚 schools were still heavily segregated, and the federal government demanded that a robust integration plan be drafted and implemented. Dr. Roland N. Patterson, Baltimore鈥檚 first Black permanent superintendent, was hired in 1971 to take on this monumental task using tactics like districting and busing. Baltimore, accustomed to free choice and racially polarized after the 鈥68 riots, was fully unprepared for such a challenge.
Patterson tried to preserve as much free choice as possible, but the integration measures he did institute were met with furious opposition. In May of 1974, students from the historically white Patterson High picketed 25th St, demanding that no changes be made to their school. When a plan was implemented for the 1975-76 school year, redistributing students all across the city in accordance with federal standards, students quickly transferred away from their assigned schools in droves and fed-up parents dropped their kids off at whichever school they preferred. Patterson, his support swiftly declining, was ousted in 1975 by a coalition of school board members led by Mayor William Donald Schaefer.
In 1987, the same year the headquarters moved from 25th Street to North Avenue, the federal government informed BCPSS that no evidence of the de jure segregation system could be found in schools鈥攖he system鈥檚 existing segregation was a result of demographics rather than policy.
Founded in 1799, Oldtown鈥檚 Independent Fire Company maintained their Independent No. 6 engine house at Gay and Ensor Streets for over fifty years. In 1853, the company tore down their original engine house and replaced it with the present home of the Baltimore City Fire Museum with its distinctive six story bell and clock tower. Designed by Baltimore architects Reasin and Weatherald, the firehouse is unique in Baltimore鈥檚 architecture. The 103-foot Italianate-Gothic tower was copied from Giotto鈥檚 campanile in Florence, Italy and features a cast iron 鈥渟keleton鈥濃攁n early example of this material in use for structural purposes. The newly formed Baltimore City Fire Department purchased the building in 1859 for $8,000, when it became known as Engine House No. 6. The firehouse鈥檚 apparatus was a steam engine weighing 8,600 pounds named, appropriately, the 鈥淒eluge.鈥 In 1893, all members of the City鈥檚 fire department were paid, which ended the grade of 鈥渃allman.鈥 This silenced firehouse bells, which were used to summon the callmen. Many bells were given to churches, but Engine 6 hung on to its bell and it became a source of pride to Oldtown鈥檚 citizens. Oldtown, on the east side of the Jones Falls, did not see damage from the Great Fire of 1904. Firemen pumped water from the Jones Falls to quell the advance of the flames鈥攁 move which saved east side landmarks such as the Phoenix Shot Tower. Engine House No. 6 also served as emergency hospital as the Sun reported at the time, 鈥淭he upper floor of the engine house resembled an army field hospital in war time, with its scores of brawny men with seared and blackened faces and their tattered remnants of blue uniforms.鈥 In 1970, the tower was restored and the station remained in active service until 1976, when the Oldtown Memorial Fire Station (now the Thomas J. Burke Fire Station) became the home of Engine 6. In 1979, the old station became the home of the Baltimore Fire Museum and the Box 414 Association.
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Located on Hillen Street, the Null House is a rare eighteenth century home dating from around 1782. Once common throughout the city, only a handful of these small wood frame houses remain, largely in Fells Point. Named for the antique shop that occupied the property from 1929 through the 1970s, the Null House itself was nearly demolished to make way for a parking lot but, in 1980, the property was thankfully relocated and preserved.
Originally located at 1010 Hillen Street, the house was east of the Jones Falls on land belonging to John Moale, Jr. (1731-1798), who in 1752 sketched the earliest view of the Town of Baltimore. The house was built between 1782 and 1784 for Stephen Bahon, a blacksmith around the same time the area east of the Jones Falls was annexed into Baltimore City. In 1784, it was purchased by Wolfgang Etschburger, a veteran of the American Revolution who later also served during the War of 1812. From about 1850 to 1880, the building was used to sell flour and meal; the Italianate storefront may date from this period. In the early twentieth century, the building was the headquarters of the Excelsior Printing Company. From 1929, it served as an antique shop run by the Null family until the 1970s.
The building almost met its demise in 1980 when Baltimore Gas and Electric Company wanted to raze the building for a parking lot. On September 28, 1980, the building was moved 300 feet diagonally across the street to its current location. The contractor who undertook the job was Teddy Rouse, son of famous developer James Rouse. The Null House was listed in the National Register of Historic Places on January 27, 1983.
Once a bustling department store complex on North Gay Street, the Great House of Isaac Benesch and Sons has been vacant for over a decade as the Old Town Mall waits on the progress of long stalled revitalization efforts. Isaac Benesch started his business shortly after the Civil War with a furniture store operating out of a single rowhouse. In the 1880s, as dry goods dealers like Hutzler's built their 鈥済rand emporiums鈥 on the west side, Benesch acquired nearby rowhouses and began to rebuild them into a department store. By 1911, his business included three large 4-story buildings, dominating the 500 block of N. Gay Street. The store at 549-557 Old Town Mall, an Italianate brick building with large windows, still features an elegant copper sign band across the facade, proclaiming the 鈥淕reat House,鈥 perhaps added by Philadelphia architect Louis Levi in 1914. Next door at 565-571 North Gay Street is a four story, two bay Renaissance Revival building, of brick with terra cotta ornamentation designed by architect Charles E. Cassell and built in 1904 by William H. Porter. Cassell had a long list of major projects in Baltimore, including the grand Stewart鈥檚 Department Store at Howard and Lexington Streets, built in 1900. Benesch鈥檚 likely hoped Cassell could bring the same architectural magnificence to his work on the east side. More buildings went up in the 1920s with a warehouse at 600 Aisquith Street by the J.L. Robinson Construction Company, virtually unchanged from its 1925 construction. Unlike those westside department stores, however, Isaac Benesch established an early reputation for serving all customers鈥攂lack and white. One 1898 account from the聽Afro-American聽newspaper stated, 鈥淚saac Benesch & Sons very much appreciate the large volume of colored trade which they have, coming from all parts of the city.鈥 In 1926, when few department stores hired African Americans as salesmen, Benesch hired Josh Mitchell to sell automobile tires鈥攁nd featured him in advertisements. In the 1940s, the Afro-American gave Benesch an 鈥渙rchid鈥 for 鈥渟erving all alike.鈥 In the 1970s, several of the original buildings were demolished as the block was redeveloped for the pedestrian-only 鈥淥ld Town Mall.鈥 The Great House had closed a few years earlier, in the early 1960s, and was run as Kaufman鈥檚 Department Store until 1997.
Built in the 1830s, the 600 block of Stirling Street was home to free working people, both African-American and white, living in modest Federal style rowhouses. Some residents worked in the industrial and commercial businesses that grew up around the nearby Jones Falls鈥攕awyers, carters, cigarmakers, and tailors. Nearly 180 years later, these houses appear much as they did to their original inhabitants. By the 1960s, like much of Oldtown, the houses of Stirling Street had fallen into disrepair. As part of an urban renewal project to repurpose the Gay Street commercial corridor into a pedestrian mall, the Baltimore Urban Renewal Agency planned to raze Stirling Street, along with 97% of Oldtown鈥檚 housing. Local preservationists, led by state Senator Julian Lapides and Peale Museum director Wilbur Hunter, launched a campaign to preserve the buildings. Senator Lapides led a bus tour, bringing residents of Stirling Street to see well-preserved historic homes on Baltimore鈥檚 Tyson Street and Seton Hill. Hunter provided research to refute the claim that the rowhouses should be demolished because they were 鈥渟lave鈥檚 quarters鈥 and to prove their historic value. One afternoon in October 1972, over hamburgers at the office of Housing and Community Development Commissioner Robert Embry, Jr., Julian Lapides and his wife persuaded Embry to allow them to find a way to save the houses. Embry agreed, providing Lapides could show there was an economically feasible way to do so. After a consultant with a national reputation in historic preservation offered to buy and develop the entire block, Embry relented. The houses were offered for $1.00 to individuals who agreed to undertake the expense of restoring the houses. This 鈥渦rban homesteading" project was one of the first in the nation. The 24 owners were selected from over 400 applicants, mostly young professionals, both African-American and white and all true urban pioneers. The Old Town Mall project was dedicated in June 1976. Though Old Town Mall has suffered serious decline, Stirling Street, restored around the same time, remains pristine and well kept, a testament to the power of historic preservation. As Senator Lapides wrote in 1974:
鈥淭he Stirling Street narrative contains a valuable lesson for city administrators: people are willing to return to the city and invest in its future when given the opportunity of restoration.鈥
The Baltimore County Almshouse officially opened in 1874 as a public home for the county's indigent, elderly, and infirm residents. Since its closure, the Almshouse has housed the Historical Society of Baltimore County (founded in 1959), and a variety of County government offices and other nonprofits.
The Baltimore County Almshouse officially opened in 1874 as a public home for the county's indigent, elderly, and infirm residents. The Almshouse and its predecessors were the ancestors of today鈥檚 nursing homes, mental health hospitals, homeless shelters, and other social services and health care facilities. After Baltimore City and County separated in 1851, the County took over one of two original almshouses that had served Baltimore: Calverton, founded in 1819. The County sold the aging Calverton facility in the 1870s and built a new almshouse farther north. Originally called the Upland Home, the third and final almshouse is now known simply as "the Almshouse."
The project of building the Almshouse began in 1871 when County Commissioners purchased property in the village of Texas, Maryland, from Dr. John Galloway. Galloway also served as one of the Almshouse's early physicians. Builders Codling and Lishear, following designs by local architect James Harrison, used locally quarried limestone to erect the four-story edifice. In 1872, the Sun reported how the main home was "constructed of the best material and in the most substantial manner" and claimed the building would "be a credit to the county." After a total outlay of nearly $60,000, seventy-four "inmates," as residents were known, moved in on January 8, 1874.
Housing for inmates at the Almshouse was rigidly segregated by race and gender. The County built the "Pest House" (short for pestilence), a small structure down the hill from the main home, to quarantine residents with contagious diseases. Far more often, the Pest House served as segregated housing for African American men. In the main building, white men and women lived in the front wing (on separate floors) and African American women lived in the back wing. The Almshouse superintendent reserved the first floor for himself and his family, along with any resident physicians and other privileged employees.
The Almshouse property included a farm of well over 100 acres and able-bodied residents were expected to work as farmhands or within the home in cooking, sewing, laundry or childcare, to help provide for their own upkeep. While the farm was generally described as productive in various reports over the years, the County still spent thousands of dollars annually on items like coal, bread, beef, fertilizer, medicine and salaries. Records from the late nineteenth century show expenditures totaling $7,200 in 1869, $12,520 in 1883 and $11,345 in 1886, for example. Salary expenditures went mainly to the twelve superintendents who oversaw the Almshouse from 1874 to 1958, with varying degrees of success (at least according to accounts in the press, which sometimes carried a whiff of partisan bias). The last two superintendents, who served from 1907 to 1959, were father and son, John P. and William Chilcoat. On balance, the Chilcoats seemed to earn more praise than their predecessors for their care of residents and effective oversight of the farm. William Chilcoat, for instance, was credited with lobbying successfully to secure County funds in 1938 to add more meat and eggs and otherwise upgrade the residents' diet.
The vast majority of inmates are now only knowable through the basic details recorded in the Almshouse ledger books, held in the collections of the Historical Society of Baltimore County. The ledgers recorded residents' age, sex, race, and place of birth. Unsurprisingly, the impoverished Almshouse population included many African Americans and immigrants over the years. A 1946 census of the eighty-nine residents, for example, noted fifteen African Americans and fifteen foreign-born whites, mainly from Germany, Poland, Russia and Ireland. Most of the American-born residents in 1946 came from Maryland, but eighteen were natives of other US states. Some residents registered under partial or false names鈥攁 "Daniel Boone" entered on October 1, 1891, and the facility admitted a "Napolean Bonaparte" on June 12, 1899鈥攔eflecting the distressed circumstances that sent them to the Almshouse. Some unfortunates came to the Almshouse only in death, to be buried in unmarked graves in the potter鈥檚 field on the grounds. We do know a bit more about some individuals. In 1943, the Towson Jeffersonian profiled Fannie Williams, a 104-year-old African American woman and the oldest occupant of the Almshouse. Williams had lived there for forty-one years, "earning her keep" by helping the superintendent鈥檚 wife with cleaning and, after she became wheelchair-bound, mending clothes for other residents. Before entering the Almshouse, Williams had worked as a domestic servant in Baltimore County homes. Other residents occasionally landed in the newspapers under more unfortunate circumstances, like Anthony Rose, an elderly white resident who fell down the Almshouse鈥檚 elevator shaft and died in 1909.
In the early decades, the facility had a persistent problem with overcrowding, especially during the cold winter months. From 1874 to 1914, more than 10,000 people passed through the Almshouse鈥檚 doors as 鈥渋nmates,鈥 committed to public care for reasons ranging from disabilities to dementia to diseases like measles and tuberculosis. Over time, however, public and private alternatives emerged for those who did not have families able or willing to house and care for them. The founding of the State Lunacy Commission in the early 1890s marked growing concern over the treatment of the mentally ill and disabled. Those considered "insane," who in an earlier era might have lived in an almshouse, were increasingly placed in "asylums." As retirement communities and nursing homes became more common over the twentieth century, the need for almshouses declined further. In 1958, Baltimore County officials closed the historic facility, citing costs.
Since its closure, the Almshouse has housed the Historical Society of Baltimore County (founded in 1959), and a variety of County government offices and other nonprofits. In 1980, the Almshouse was added to the County Landmarks List. Today, the Historical Society maintains its collections and offices, runs a research center for the public, and holds events in this historic structure. The surrounding community of Cockeysville enjoys the open spaces and greenery of the sprawling former grounds, now County Home Park.
Lexington Market, originally known as Western or New Market, was started at the western edge of the city at the turn of the 19th century to take advantage of the trade with the recently opened Northwest Territory. The first market shed was built c. 1805 on land once belonging to John Eager Howard. It grew quickly along with the city, which was advantageously situated on the western most harbor along the East Coast. This access to transatlantic trade routes, then the railroads, were major factors to the growth of Baltimore through the 19th century. After a visit to the market, Ralph Waldo Emerson dubbed it the 鈥済astronomic capital of the world.鈥
The larger and more established public markets, like Centre, Hanover, and Broadway markets, were often used for court ordered auctions of enslaved people. Having been located at the edge of the city, there is not much evidence that such sales were common at Lexington Market. The only information found so far indicates that at least one such auction did take place here in 1838. A monument was recently erected here to memorialize the woman sold at that court-ordered auction and a runaway enslaved man who had worked at the market. Their names were Rosetta and Robert.
Hotels and taverns proliferated near public markets, including this area around Lexington Market. It was a common practice during this time to arrange business meetings in hotels and taverns, to such an extent that bartenders and inn keepers would take and relay messages for regular customers. The meetings could be business or social. Transactions discussed could be anything from starting a chapter of a fraternal organization to the selling and buying of real estate, farm animals, or enslaved people. Many slave traders got their start in this manner--Slatter, Woolfolk, and Purvis to name a few. An example of an ad from the early 19th century informed buyers of people 鈥渢o apply at Mr. Lilly鈥檚 Tavern, Howard Street鈥 and another directed buyers to 鈥淔owler鈥檚 Tavern near the New Market, Lexington Street.鈥 The latter of these might be William Fowler鈥檚 Sign of the Sunflower, which was located in this area.
Although the original intention of the market was to sell Maryland-grown produce, by the turn of the twentieth century, the market offered an international selection as thousands of immigrants moved to Baltimore, becoming both vendors and customers. The city kept the price to rent a stall at the market low to encourage aspiring business owners. This practice was particularly beneficial for immigrants who had few job opportunities upon entering the country. As a result, immigrant communities grew around Lexington Market and helped establish a diverse community in West Baltimore. The new products offered at the market contributed to the international fame it would attain at the turn of the century.
While the form of Lexington Market has changed dramatically over the decades 鈥 an early frame market shed was replaced in 1952 following a 1949 fire and the city significantly expanded the market in the 1980s 鈥 the community of vendors and locals continues to draw crowds of residents and tourists daily.
Mill No. 1 sits on the site of Laurel Mill, a late 18th-century flour mill originally owned by prominent businessman and abolitionist Elisha Tyson. In 1849, the newly chartered Mount Vernon Company built a textile mill on the site. Mill No. 1 stood at the threshold of a burgeoning textile empire that would control most of the world鈥檚 cotton duck production, a heavy canvas used primarily for ship sails.
The textile mill and neighboring village Stone Hill shared a close relationship well into the 20th century. Residents renting company-owned housing in Stone Hill were required to be employed in the mill to live there. The mill's bell called workers to the factory floor for their twelve hour shifts. Mill boss David Carroll lived in a mansion at the top of the hill overlooking the village and mill his wealth built. The extant mansion later became the Florence Crittenton Home.
In the mid-1800s, about 400 men, women and children鈥攕ome as young as eight years old鈥攚orked in and lived next to the mills. The company expanded in 1853 with the construction of Mill No. 3 across the street. In 1855, the Mt. Vernon Company controlled six mills in the Jones Falls Valley from Mt. Washington to Remington, and established adjoining villages that would grow into the neighborhoods of Hampden and Woodberry. When Mill No. 1 burned in 1873, it was replaced with the larger factory that stands on this site today. Inside the mills, the cotton looms made a lot of noise, and dust from the cotton was always in the air. Excess cotton had to be swept off the floor and cleaned off the looms to prevent fire. Workers heard the constant loud humming of the looms and breathed in the cotton dust. An entire paycheck could go to rent for the company houses and toward groceries purchased from the company store.
In 1899, area mills merged to form the Mount Vernon-Woodberry Cotton Duck Company, at the time the world鈥檚 foremost manufacturer of cotton duck, with mills from South Carolina to Connecticut, and a board of directors based out of New York City. By 1915, the Mt. Vernon-Woodberry Cotton Duck Company broke apart and was reformed as Mt. Vernon-Woodberry Mills, which controlled mills in Hampden and Woodberry, South Carolina, and Alabama, and employed about 2,200 workers locally. Production boomed during World War I and workers leveraged demand to gain a 10 percent wage increase, a reduced 55 hour work week, and cleaner facilities.
Demand for cotton duck dropped immediately after the war, and management cut wages by one-third and increased hours. Tensions within the company culminated in a 1923 strike, when 600 workers voted to reject the offer of a 54-hour work week and 7.5 percent pay increase and demanded a 48-hour work week with a 25 percent pay increase. Despite support from local clergy and the Textile Workers Union of America, the workers were forced by necessity to return to the mills. The company began to sell off its housing and move its operations to Alabama and South Carolina where labor was cheaper and less organized. During the Great Depression, many mill workers were laid off. Many went on welfare. Others, however, refused to go on welfare, and searched for additional jobs to support themselves. At this time most workers made between five and seven dollars per week and worked ten hours a day.
World War II created new demand for canvas. Tarps, rope, netting, mailbags, tents, and stuffing (made from cotton bits called 鈥榮hoddy鈥) were all in demand from the military. Synthetic fabrics, which required bricking up the mill's windows to control humidity levels, emerged as new products. Many people from the South came to work in the mills at this time. After the war, production declined, never to regain its earlier levels. The Mount Vernon Company finally closed its Baltimore mills and moved all operations to North Carolina in 1972.
Some industry persisted in the mill buildings. Life-Like Products, a maker of model train sets and styrofoam coolers, was one. The international textile firm Rockland Industries, with origins upstream, used Mill No. 3 to store its textile supply after the Mount Vernon Company left. In 2013, Mill No. 1 was redeveloped by developer Terra Nova Ventures and now includes apartments, office space, a restaurant, and an event venue. Although they no longer function as mills, these buildings continue to serve as places of housing, food, and work within Hampden.
When the University Center, known on campus as 鈥渢he UC,鈥 opened its doors in 1982 it definitively moved student life to the academic center of UMBC鈥檚 campus with a goal of cultivating a cohesive, unified community for students, faculty, and staff.
The UC, located between academic buildings Meyerhoff Hall and Sherman Hall, provided the campus community with a variety of amenities, including the campus bookstore, a dining room, a ballroom, and lounge space. Students who commuted and those who lived on campus enjoyed meals in the UC Pub or congregated outside on the patio. The UC provided office space for some student organizations, such as the Student Government Association and the Retriever, UMBC鈥檚 student newspaper, and storage space for others.
UMBC began to outgrow the UC within the first decade of its operation as the result of increased student enrollment and already limited student space. In 2002, the university completed construction of a new student center, the Commons, that took on many of the student centered functions of the old UC in a larger space, including housing the campus bookstore, dining amenities, and lounge space. The UC is still used by UMBC students. On a nice sunny day, visitors might see students congregating on the outdoor patio, drinking coffee, or eating lunch on the first floor of the building. The UC ballroom remains a popular venue for banquets and performances by student organizations. The Retriever Weekly newspaper and WMBC, UMBC鈥檚 radio station, have their offices in the UC.
Home to the College of Natural and Mathematical Sciences, the Psychology Center for Community Collaboration, and the English Language Institute, the UC is indeed changing its function over time. In 2009, campus administration announced plans for a full renovation of the UC intended to provide space for new traditional classrooms and active learning spaces, transforming into the aptly named University Learning Center.
By 1990, administrators at University of Maryland, Baltimore County faced a problem. The student body had outgrown the University Center within just a decade of its opening. They considered the solution of building a new activity space to make two campus centers, but students spoke up with a clear demand. In order to continue building the campus community, there could only be one campus center. No space remained on the campus鈥 鈥渁cademic row,鈥 an area of the campus consisting of academic buildings, to build an addition to the existing University Center so the university planned the construction of a brand-new student center called the Commons to open in 2002.
A collaboration between Perry Dean Rogers and Design Collective architectural firms, the Commons was designed to shift the center of campus life from 鈥渁cademic row鈥 to a new, emerging quad facing many of the residence halls to the north and east. The university planned to build the Commons on the foundation of Gym I, one of UMBC鈥檚 original campus buildings, which housed physical education space and the Commuter Cafeteria. After UMBC funded improvements for the Retriever Athletic Center, the amenities of Gym I were no longer needed, allowing the campus to build the Commons in its place.
While there was a consensus among students, faculty, and administrators that UMBC needed the Commons, there was conflict as to how to pay for it. Students and families worried about the increase in fees placed on students in order to finance the space. Business owners in Arbutus and Catonsville worried that the potential retail space in the new building would create competition between local businesses and isolate students from their surrounding communities. Despite these concerns, UMBC pushed ahead and built what President Freeman Hrabowski believed would be a 鈥渦niversity commons for the entire university.鈥
When the Commons opened on the first day of the spring semester in 2002, students appreciated expanded services and amenities previously located at the University Center, such as additional meeting space for all student organizations, a flexible performance space, retail space, and study areas. The innovative design of the Commons鈥攎arked by two larger corridors that intersect at the center and the use of glass walls to light up the space鈥攚on a design award from the Maryland Chapter of the American Institute of Architects. Most importantly, this functional and aesthetically pleasing space is student-centered with a majority of the spaces controlled by students themselves.
Originally built in the face of projected enrollment increases, the Commons remains a bustling center of campus activity. However, as UMBC continues to grow, a larger student space will need to be constructed to meet continuing population increases. A new Student Services and Student Life building is slated to be constructed in the future to address some of the strains currently placed on the Commons.
with research support from Baltimore City Commission for Historical and Architectural Preservation
Founded in 1847, the Canton Methodist Episcopal Church was the first church established in Canton. The Canton Company donated land for the congregation鈥檚 first and second church buildings, because the company strongly encouraged the establishment of religious institutions in their company town.
This church was important in the lives of the company鈥檚 employees, and the civic and social health of the community. The Gothic Revival style building is the congregation鈥檚 second church building, designed by renowned Baltimore architect Charles L. Carson and built by prominent Baltimore builder Benjamin F. Bennett in 1883/1884. The church was named the Canton Methodist Episcopal Church, and by the late twentieth century, it was known as the Canton United Methodist Church.
This 2 陆 story Gothic Revival building recently suffered from a fire but still retains arched stained glass windows, a slate roof, decorative brickwork, dormer windows, and buttresses.
with research support from Baltimore City Commission for Historical and Architectural Preservation
The site of this Franklintown Road church has been home to a church since 1835, when Colonel John Berry helped establish Summerfield Methodist Episcopal Church. Today, the Rehoboth Church of God in Christ Jesus Apostolic occupies a Gothic Revival landmark that replaced the original country church in 1920. The building was designed by Wyatt & Nolting and G.N. MacKenzie and has been the home of the Apostolic congregation since 1954.
A devout Methodist, Colonel John Berry purchased the site of this church in the early 1800s. Tired of traveling three miles from Calverton Heights to the closest Methodist Episcopal Church, Berry decided to establish a new chapel close to his Baltimore County home.聽A stone chapel was dedicated in the fall of 1836, the church expanded in 1878, and in the 1880s, a Sunday School building was constructed. By 1920,聽the congregation had outgrown the stone chapel. Even with several later additions since 1835, the building seated only聽275 people鈥攁 fraction聽of the over 450 Methodist families in the parish. The congregation decided to demolish the original chapel and construct a new church.
The present Gothic Revival structure was designed by G.N. MacKenzie and Wyatt & Nolting, a prominent local architectural firm. An article published in The Christian Advocate聽following the completion of the church stated that "A fine plant has been erected with adequate Sunday school rooms, an auditorium that will seat 900, a gymnasium, and other desired features." The cornerstone was laid on July 19, 1920, and the church was dedicated on April 25, 1921. By 1920, the congregation had outgrown the stone chapel. While the chapel had several additions since its construction in 1835, it only seated 275, and there were over 450 Methodist families in the parish. The decision was made to demolish the original chapel and construct a new church. The present church was designed by George Norbury聽MacKenzie and Wyatt & Nolting, a prominent Baltimore architectural firm. G.N. Mackenzie, III worked for James Bosley Noel Wyatt and William G. Nolting. Both Wyatt and Nolting were Fellows of the AIA.
On December 16, 1954, the Central-Summerfield Methodist Church sold their building to the Rehoboth Church of God in Christ Jesus (Apostolic). The latter congregation was founded twenty years earlier as a house church with five members, meeting in the Presstman Street home of Mother Mayfield. Mother Mayfield and Elder Randolph A. Carr soon began holding tent-meetings twice a summer on Gilmor Street.
Bishop Carr purchased the group's first church on N. Mount Street. The small congregation then left the Church of God in Christ for the doctrine of the Apostolic Doctrine in Jesus Name, and was renamed Rehoboth Church of God in Christ Jesus Apostolic. In 1945, the congregation branched off from the larger Apostolic organization, forming its own denomination. The same year, the congregation moved to another church on N. Fulton and Riggs Streets. In 1954, the congregation purchased the former Summerfield Church at 700 Poplar Grove Street, where they are still located today.
with research support from Historic American Building Survey
Built in the aftermath of the Great Baltimore Fire of 1904, the Gayety Theatre opened on February 5, 1906鈥攎aking this building the oldest remaining burlesque theater in Baltimore. While the theatre interior was subdivided into three separate spaces in 1985, the Gayety still boasts an elaborate, eye-catching, and fanciful fa莽ade (designed by architect John Bailey McElfatrick) that is a wonderful example of the exuberance of theater design in the period.
The Gayety is the venerable keystone of 鈥淭he Block鈥 on Baltimore Street long known as a destination for adult entertainment. 鈥淭he Block鈥 is somewhat of a misnomer, as the area of arcades, bars, burlesque houses and adult bookshops extended east along Baltimore Street from Calvert Street for approximately eight blocks in the middle third of the 20th century. Due to various cultural forces, and particularly to a concerted 鈥渁nti-smut鈥 campaign during the mayoral tenure of William Donald Schaefer in the early 1980s, most of this extensive commercial sub-cultural landscape no longer exists, and 鈥渢he Block鈥 is, in fact, a small representative of a once-thriving red-light district.
The Gayety began after the Great Baltimore Fire destroyed the offices of The German Correspondent. While some downtown theatres moved to Howard Street after the fire, The Gayety, Lubin鈥檚 Nickelodeon and Vaudeville 鈥渄uplex鈥 directly across the street, The Victoria (later known as The Embassy) and The Rivoli all remained in the area and defined this stretch of Baltimore Street as a 鈥減opular entertainment鈥 center, with an emphasis on burlesque and vaudeville. Despite the connotations acquired later, burlesque and vaudeville were mainstream forms of entertainment aimed at the working and middle classes.
By World War I, the Gayety鈥檚 neighbors had made the switch to showing movies. In the 1920s and 1930s, cinema began to supplant burlesque and, especially, vaudeville as the chief form of low-cost popular entertainment across the United States. Burlesque houses, such as The Gayety, promoted more risqu茅 acts in the effort to give the public something that they couldn鈥檛 get in movies, especially after the adoption of the Hayes production code in 1932, which not only banned nudity but placed Draconian restrictions on sexual content and references in film.
From its heyday in the 1910s and 1920s鈥攚hen The Gayety鈥檚 bill included nationally prominent comedians such as Abbott and Costello, Phil Silvers, Jackie Gleason and Red Skelton鈥攖he Gayety was a 鈥渢op-of-the-line鈥 burlesque house. In this period (just before and after World War II) iconic strippers such as Gypsy Rose Lee, Blaze Starr, Sally Rand, Valerie Parks and Ann Corio performed there. Following the Second World War, more arcades, as well as adult bookshops, peep shows and show bars cropped up to fill in the vacant spaces and gradually redefined East Baltimore Street as a 鈥渞ed light district,鈥 analogous to New York鈥檚 Times Square, Washington, DC鈥檚 14th Street and New Orleans鈥檚 legendary Bourbon Street. By the 1960s, The Gayety no longer hosted headline performers, and local news features surrounding the cataclysmic fire in 1969 tended to emphasize nostalgia for its decline. In this sense, The Gayety Theater Building encapsulates the history of burlesque as an entertainment form and its interaction with civic form in the 20th century United States.
Nostalgic descriptions of performances at The Gayety and its peers indicate that, by today鈥檚 standards, the performances were quite modest. However, the aura of taboo was a large part of what sustained burlesque in general, and The Gayety in particular, through the mid-twentieth century.
Built to house the Baltimore branch offices of the Pennsylvania Railroad Company following the Great Fire of 1904, this structure was an early commission of the architectural firm of Parker & Thomas (later Parker, Thomas & Rice), the preeminent architects of Baltimore鈥檚 Beaux Arts commercial & financial structures of the first quarter of the twentieth century.
Throughout the nineteenth century, the Pennsylvania Railroad vied with the locally owned Baltimore & Ohio Railroad for control of rights-of-way and development rights for lines in and out of the city. While the B&O was the older of the two competing railroads (founded in 1830), the Pennsylvania Railroad had surpassed the B&O in size, scope, and profitability by the 1870s.
Such was the nature of railroad competition in Baltimore that the two lines even maintained separate passenger terminals, with Mount Royal Station serving the B&O (and its dominance of lines running south) and the Pennsylvania maintaining a site between Charles and St. Paul Streets.
In 1900, under the leadership of Alexander Cassatt, brother of expatriate Impressionist painter Mary Cassatt, the Pennsylvania Railroad merged with the B&O, and the two companies shared a Board of Trustees. Partly in response to efforts in Washington to enact legislation prohibiting railroad monopolies, the Pennsylvania and B&O maintained separate corporate identities during this period, although the 鈥渦nion鈥 of the two companies was celebrated by Cassatt鈥檚 pet project, Washington, DC鈥檚 monumental Beaux-Arts style Union Station (1902).
When the 1904 Fire destroyed the Second-Empire style B&O headquarters on the northwest corner of Baltimore and Calvert Streets, the corporate officers elected to rebuild a grand, 13-story Beaux-arts tower on a new site, two blocks to the west. The Pennsylvania, by contrast, retained its site and elected the relatively small, restrained building seen today. The interrelationship of the two companies and the coordination of their post-Fire building schemes is attested to by the fact that both the Pennsylvania Railroad building and the B&O tower on Charles Street were designed by the same architectural firm, Parker & Thomas. The modesty of the Pennsylvania鈥檚 building (in spite of the company鈥檚 essential domination of the B&O) is part and parcel of the effort to maintain distinct identities for the two merged companies.
By 1906鈥攖he time of the Baltimore post-Fire rebuilding of both the Pennsylvania and B&O buildings鈥 Cassatt was dead, the Republicans had passed antitrust legislation and the two companies administratively pried themselves apart once again. Thus, what may have begun in 1905 as a somewhat disingenuous attempt to maintain the united railroad companies鈥 discrete corporate identities through the erection of two separate and stylistically and hierarchically distinct structures, became an accurate representation of corporate separation by the time the buildings were complete in 1906.
The Shot Tower, when it was built in 1828, was the tallest structure in the United States until 1846. Once there were three such towers in Baltimore; now there are only a few left in the entire world. The design of the 215-foot tall Phoenix Shot Tower and its estimated 1.1 million bricks is based on Englishman William Watt鈥檚 1782 patented process of making shot by pouring molten lead through colanders down the open shaft of a high tower. As the molten lead spun and cooled in the air, it became 鈥減erfectly globular in form and smooth鈥 as was reported at the time. The 鈥渄rops鈥 were collected in a large water barrel at the tower鈥檚 base, then sorted by size and bagged for distribution. The finished product was called drop shot and was used for small game hunting, among other things. The Shot Tower annually produced 2.5 million pounds of it until 1892 when new methods of shot production made the Tower obsolete. In 1921, permits were granted to tear down the Tower and clear the site to make way for an automobile garage. In one of the first acts of historic preservation in Baltimore, public reaction against the demolition plans was strong, and leading citizens were able to raise funds for its preservation. On October 11, 1924, a group of Baltimore citizens bought the Shot Tower for $17,000 and donated it to the city with the understanding that it would be preserved. More than fifty years passed before the Shot Tower was opened to the public as a museum. In 1973, it was placed on the National Register of Historic Places. Today it is managed by Carroll Museums, a non-profit organization that also manages the Carroll Mansion on nearby Pratt Street.
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Even before it opened, the anticipation around Baltimore鈥檚 World Trade Center was unmistakable. 鈥淚t promises to be the handsomest building built so far in the redevelopment area, a graceful symbol for Baltimore鈥檚 renewal and an emblem of the historic economic dependence of the state and the city on the sea,鈥 reported the Sun in December 1976.
The idea for a World Trade building for Baltimore began percolating in the mid-1960s. The center would be a grand symbol of the harbor鈥檚 renewal and a hub for maritime business. In 1966, the Maryland Port Authority sponsored Mayor Theodore McKeldin and five other port and city planning officials on a whirlwind trip to Houston and New Orleans to see other world trade centers in those cities. The mayor came back inspired, and Baltimore became one of the sixteen charter members of the World Trade Association.
Construction of the center began in 1973. The five-sided, thirty-story building was designed by the firm of architect I.M. Pei, who was responsible for the design of the glass pyramid of the Louvre in Paris, the East Wing of the National Gallery in Washington D.C., and the Rock and Roll Hall of Fame in Cleveland, among other projects. The building cost $22 million, double the cost of the original proposition. The apex of two of the walls facing the harbor meet at the shoreline and suggest the prow of a ship. It is the tallest five-sided building in the world.
One of the first tenants, The Canton Company, the parent firm of the Cottman Company, who was the operator of the Canton Marine Terminal, signed a five-year lease for 13,000 square feet of space. Over the years, the tower has also housed the headquarters of the Maryland Port Administration, the Maryland Department of Business and Economic Development, and the World Trade Center Institute, a member of the World Trade Centers Association that operates as a private, non-profit international business membership organization. For many years, the Top of the World Observation Level offered spectacular city and harbor views. This level was slated to close to the public in 2025.
After the September 11 attacks on the World Trade Center in New York City, security measures at the Baltimore World Trade Center changed accordingly so that boat access to the building is blocked to prevent acts of terrorism. Baltimore鈥檚 World Trade Center is also home to a 9/11 Memorial that includes three 22-foot long steel beams from the 94th to 96th floors of the north tower of the New York World Trade Center. Twisted and fused together, the steel beams and damaged limestone pieces from the Pentagon's west wall rest atop marble blocks bearing the names and birthdays of the 68 Marylanders who died in the 9/11 terrorist attacks.