If You Love Baltimore, It Will Love You Back. Ron Cassie
Miles of Charm
Nervously hitting nearby port-o-potties, re-lacing running shoes,
double-checking race belts and carb packets, 5,000 would-be marathoners squeeze onto Russell Street, behind Camden Yards’ leftfield wall.
On a crisp morning, thousands more line the sidewalks, shouting encouragement and wishing friends and loved ones well. Moments later, the national anthem blares, the Bromo Seltzer Tower clock strikes 8 a.m., and then suddenly a “BANG” releases the penned herd. Confetti pours down, and Gov. Martin and Katie O’Malley, enthusiastically wave to the now flowing mass of humanity.
It’s the 10th anniversary of the Baltimore marathon, a 26.2-mile jaunt up and down the city’s rocky pavement from the ballparks to Druid Hill, from Federal Hill to Patterson Park, Lake Montebello, and Mount Vernon.
“I’ve been training for this for the last three years,” says Baltimore City firefighter Robert Duckett Jr., 34, prior to the start up South Paca Street. “I missed the deadline two years ago. Last year my training got interrupted and I did the half-marathon.”
Filling out a mesh jersey, the 5-foot-10, 230-pound former Edmondson High football player looks like a mini version of Ravens’ fullback Le’Ron McClain. “Five years ago, I was right about 300 pounds,” he adds. “My goal is to finish.”
Behind Duckett, an Elvis-impersonator jogs in a white jumpsuit, offering, “Thank-you, thank-you very much,” to on-duty police officers. Ahead, there’s someone running in a tuxedo and couple of women running in tutus and tiaras. One very tall marathoner juggles three balls the whole way without ever breaking stride.
Along the route, runners pass students cheering outside their schools, wise guys hold up signs at mile 18 and19, asking runners, “Who Needs Toe Nails?” and reminding them, “No One Made You Do This.”
In East Side neighborhoods, families cheer from porch steps. In Charles Village, two fans in a full-body tiger suits dance to “Eye of the Tiger” from Rocky and high-five runners while another nearby couple hands out 400 pounds of gummy bears. Through Lexington Market, crowds high-five and fist-bump ragged runners. At the finish line: congratulatory kisses.
“You look at the city today, see all that history, too, and I mean, it’s beautiful, and it can be emotional,” Duckett says after finishing in just over six hours. “The best thing is that you see all these different people, all the diversity. And everybody is cheering for everybody,” he says. “We are not like that every day. We are not good to each other every day like this. But, you know, we could be. We could be.”
Mount Vernon
Cathedral Street
March 18, 2011
8. The Wheel
Surrounded by floor-to-ceiling bookshel ves and scattered six-inch thick tomes, four reference librarians sit at desks organized in a square configuration, facing each other. Plugged into computers and phones, the librarians answer questions from Baltimore, the state of Maryland, and, literally, the world—as they come in via telephone, e-mail, chat, and text message.
In the center of the desks, within arm’s reach of each librarian, spins what is affectionately referred to as “The Wheel.” Completed in 1969, The Wheel, is a welded, seven-foot-tall, circular bookshelf, stacked with 800 reference titles, including The Dictionary of Classical Mythology, Facts About the States, The Baseball Timeline, and Larousse Gastronomique, a leading culinary resource first published in 1938.
Queries come from students and academics, and most are part of some rigorous research endeavor, but people also regularly call for crossword puzzle help, last night’s winning lottery numbers, or yesterday’s Orioles score. Other queries are more eclectic.
“Someone once asked, ‘Where do people go when they’re dead?’ Another asked, ‘Am I my cat’s mother?’” recalls library professional assistant Maggie Murphy, explaining all questions are taken seriously and provided the most credible answer found. “With the person who asked if they were their cat’s mother, we quoted a biology textbook that stated a cat is the product of two cats, and therefore she couldn’t possibly be the cat’s mother.” Psychologically or philosophically, Murphy noted, there may be a different answer.
At the moment, a fresh query arrives asking if Gustav Holst’s orchestral suite, The Planets, included a movement for Pluto—de-planeted several years ago by the International Astronomical Union. Murphy shared with her client that Holst penned the suite between 1914 and 1916, before Pluto received planetary status.
Medical and legal queries are common: But Sonia Alcántara-Antoine, information services manager, cautions that those queries also point to the limited nature of the reference librarian’s role. “As librarians we can’t give medical or legal advice,” she says. “We can cite medical or legal text, but we can’t interpret. We can’t go there.”
Montebello
The Alameda
July 18, 2011
9. Old School
Baltimore City College graduated its first coed class the same year Cindy Harcum, the school’s new principal, started junior high. In love with literature and the humanities, she wanted to go to the school known as The Castle on the Hill. Not that it would be easy.
There were admission standards and, even worse, the commute from West Baltimore to Waverly.
“It took three buses and an hour and a half,” Harcum recalls. “If the No. 22 went by twice and it was full, I took the subway downtown and went up from there.
“I wasn’t going to let distance stop me, but that wasn’t new,” she adds. “After Gwynns Falls Elementary, I’d gone to Roland Park Junior High. I’d been doing it since I was 11.”
Founded in 1839, City College counts three current Maryland Congressmen as alumni: Rep. Elijah Cummings, Rep. Dutch Ruppersberger, and Sen. Ben Cardin. Mayors William Donald Schaefer and Kurt Schmoke, philanthropists Joseph Meyerhoff, Morris Mechanic, and Zanvyl Krieger, and two-time Pulitzer Prize winner Russell Baker are also City alumni, along with dozens of judges, state legislators, scientists, educators, and journalists.
Harcum’s grandparents immigrated to Baltimore from the West Indies. Her father finished high school in the city six years before desegregation and moved from job to job—until, at 40, he earned a degree from Morgan State, landing a position with the federal Department of Transportation.
“He always stressed education,” says Harcum, noting her sister and older brothers also earned college degrees. “It was understood that you would do well in school.”
With her English literature degree from the University of Maryland, Harcum returned to City College to teach in 1997. Eventually, she ran writing seminars at several city high schools, developed curricula, trained teachers, and oversaw SAT readiness preparation at City. In 2004, she began coordinating the International Baccalaureate and Advanced Placement programs. A year later, she was named an assistant principal.
Last August, amid declining test scores and national rankings and the arrest of a City College staffer on sexual abuse charges, Baltimore City schools CEO Andrés Alonso reassigned principal Tim Dawson and asked Harcum if she’d take the job on an interim basis.
As an alumna, she brings a natural connection with the students to her new position. Open and direct, she also brings the credibility of having walked in their shoes.
“If they tell me they’re late because of a bus, I tell them to get up earlier,” Harcum says. “Nothing will be given to you here.”
Upper Fells Point
South Broadway
Sept. 9, 2011
10. Bienvenidos
Nicolás Ramos came to the United States when he was 16, picking broccoli and cauliflower on a Texas farm, and loading boxes of cucumber, squash, cantaloupe and watermelon into refrigerated trucks.
With