Little 1900 had a high old time of it yesterday," the front page of the Jan. 2, 1900 edition of Baltimore's Morning Herald reported. "There was nothing in the land too good for him and he made his mark in big, indelible figures."

And so was announced to Baltimore the arrival of the bouncing baby 20th century. "The new year has been ushered in under the most favorable conditions," the Herald asserted. "A light snowfall during the early hours of the morning was followed by clearing skies, and the population awoke to witness as fair a winter day as has ever dawned." Later, the paper reported, thousands celebrated by ice skating on Druid Hill Park Lake. Nowhere in its story does the Herald aver that 1900 was significant for being anything but the year after 1899 and before 1901.

What a difference a century makes. For one thing, there's no more Morning Herald. For another, we're a little more conscious these days of the great wave of time washing over us. We're not just bombarded daily with reminders that a new century and millennium are nigh; we even argue over whether that's in fact the case. (Yeah, we know, the millennium doesn't actually arrive until 2001.) When, that is, we're not wondering if the new year will bring plane crashes, bank runs, urban unrest, and, just maybe, armageddon.

Here at Baltimore's Most Retrospective Alternative Weekly, we figure you'll have plenty of opportunities, courtesy of the mass media, to mull the sweeping historical, sociological, and technological changes that brought us to this point of electronic interdependence. We figure you don't need yet another roster of the 50 greatest this or the 100 most important that. When it came time to determine how to mark the coming of the triple zeros, we decided, why not tell the story of 20th-century Baltimore -- at least, a big part of it -- through the eyes and ears of those who lived it?

Hence this chronology. Rather than try to write that sprawling history, we decided to let the history speak for itself. This is not a list of the most momentous happenings of the century, but rather an accounting -- selective, admittedly imperfect, necessarily incomplete -- of events that helped shape, in ways both obvious and, perhaps, unheralded at the time, the city and region we live in today. Each is accompanied by a contemporaneous or recollected account -- reported by a reporter; revealed to an author; in a few cases, told to us in an interview -- that we hope will shed some little light on how Baltimore reacted and responded in its present to the people and events that were determining its future. We've also included a timeline to note the myriad people, places, and things we didn't have room to include in the main article.

To the extent that we've succeeded in our goal, we're indebted to the Maryland Historical Society, the Enoch Pratt Free Library's Maryland Room, and, among other sources, the books Maryland: A Middle Temperament by Robert Brugger and The Baltimore Book, edited by Elizabeth Fee, Linda Shopes, and Linda Zeidman. We welcome any additional recollections, corrections, and complaints, provided the power's on and the computers and phones still work.

January 1902: Strong Medicine

Considered by some to be the greatest doctor of his era, Dr. William Osler (1849-1919) is associated with Johns Hopkins Hospital from 1889 to 1905. In January 1902 he helps organize a public forum on tuberculosis in Baltimore, during which he delivers a scathing, impromptu speech on the city's high rate of what is commonly called "consumption." While TB will be a chronic problem in Baltimore for decades to come (especially for African-Americans), Osler's angry words lead to the first organized municipal efforts to combat the disease.

Now, what is our condition in this city, and what are we doing for the 10,000 consumptives who are living today in our midst? We are doing, Mr. Mayor and fellow citizens, not one solitary thing that a modern civilized community should do. Through the kindness of a couple of ladies -- God bless them! -- I have been enabled in the past three or four years to have two medical students of the Johns Hopkins University visit every case of pulmonary consumption that has applied for admissions to the dispensary of our hospital, and I tell you now that the story those students brought back is a disgrace to us as a city of 500,000 inhabitants. It is a story of dire desolation, want, and helplessness, and of hopeless imbecility in everything that should be in our civic relation to the care of this disease. (The Life of Sir William Osler, by Harvey Cushing)

Feb. 7, 1904: Great Balls of Fire

"Heart of baltimore wrecked by greatest fire in city's history," announces the Morning Herald on Feb. 8, 1904. The headline was composed by the Herald's 24-year-old editor, H.L. Mencken, in the offices of The Washington Post, where the four-page edition was produced -- the Herald's own building having succumbed to the blaze. The fire destroys 140 acres and causes $100 million in damage.

Baltimore was visited yesterday by the greatest fire in its history. Never before has so much destruction been done in so little time. The business center of the city is now completely gutted. The fire is still burning. Baltimore may not recover from the blow for years to come.

Automatic box 845 informed the local fire department at 10:50 A.M. that a blaze had started in the large wholesale dry goods house of John E. Hurst & Co., at 20 Hopkins Place. About 10 or 15 minutes later a terrific explosion warned every person in the city that a fire out of the ordinary had begun. The report was heard for miles around and people flocked to the center of the city by thousands. (Morning Herald, Feb. 8, 1904)

Nov. 23, 1914: Hip-Hip-Hooray

One of the city's most storied theaters, the Hippodrome, begins life as a vaudeville house during Thanksgiving week of 1914. The Hippodrome, which closes in 1990 after functioning for 30 years as a movie theater, is now slated to be renovated into a performing-arts center.

Mayor Preston and more than 3,000 other persons attended the opening of the new Hippodrome Theater, on Eutaw Street last night, and tendered a rousing reception to the proprietors, Messrs. Pearce and Scheck. The beautiful playhouse, which stands on part of the site of the old Eutaw House [Hotel], was packed to the doors long before the time set for the curtain to rise. . . .

The vaudeville bill presented for the opening week is excellent. Roland West's Dairy Maids, a miniature musical comedy by a company of eight girls . . . heads the list in clean bright comedy, fine songs, and a lot of special scenery in unique effects. . . .

A special act which is well received is Robinson and his troupe of four trained elephants. These educated animals perform all manner of tricks in an astonishing way. The Hippodrome motion pictures and pipe organ close the performance. (Baltimore News, Nov. 24, 1914)

1918: Clean-Water Acts

Abel Wolman, an engineer with the Maryland State Health Department's Bureau of Sanitary Engineering, and Linn Enslow, a Health Department chemist, perfect a technique for large-scale chlorination of water. Four years later, Wolman becomes the bureau's chief engineer; in the 1930s, he oversees the modernization of Baltimore's water system.

During Wolman's administration the number of typhoid deaths in Maryland, which had been decreasing gradually from a high mark of 40 per 100,000 population in 1915, was brought down to its present low figure of less than 3 per 100,000, and Maryland established a record for the highest percentage of domestic and industrial waste treatment of any State in the country. (The Sun, April 26, 1936)

Jan. 1, 1919: Size Matters

Legislation approved the previous year by the General Assembly takes effect, expanding Baltimore City to its present boundaries. The proposal had generated debate for years between city officials and boosters, who contended the city needed more land to control its own destiny, and their counterparts in the surrounding counties, who feared further urban encroachment. In his book Baltimore Unbound, urbanologist David Rusk posits that the long-frozen boundary has allowed the counties to capture most development growth, facilitating the city's decline.

Every county man in the state is more interested in the development of Baltimore City than in any other spot of Maryland outside of his own county. It means more to him; more to his children; more to his fellow Marylanders than any other single factor. . . .

It can be well understood how any progressive city watches with apprehension those developments which are proceeding along its outer edges. . . . . A bad fringe around a city is certain to do the city harm. . . . How can a city maintain its good health, its good morals, its beauty or its safety, if all the rules and regulations governing outlying districts are less rigid than those rules enforced by the city itself? (Baltimore magazine editorial, October 1917)

July 1, 1924: Crosstown Traffic

Long before the term "rush hour" enters the vernacular, Baltimore enacts some of its first traffic regulations, aimed specifically at easing automobile congestion and parking problems.The effort to reduce traffic headaches continues today.

Vehicular and trolley traffic in the downtown section was expedited materially yesterday when the new traffic regulations drawn by Charles D. Gaither, police Commissioner, became effective. . . .

"Traffic generally between 7:30 and 9:30 A.M. and between 4:45 and 6 P.M. was expedited beyond our expectations," Mr. Gaither said. "When the two-hour parking time [limit] began at 9:30 A.M. there was not a car parked in the central business district. A few minutes later, every curb was filled."

"Freedom of operating [street]cars through the congested district, due to no-parking regulations, was noted," Mr. Emmons said. [C.D. Emmons was president of United Railways, which operated the city's streetcars.] "This reflects the comfort and convenience of the fully 85 percent of the public who are using the [street]cars." (The Sun, July 2, 1924)

1928: Welcome to the Machine

Ex-prize fighter and street thug James H. "Jack" Pollack founds the Trenton Democratic Club. With the club as his base, Pollack becomes an irresistible force in Northwest Baltimore politics for almost five decades -- but always as kingmaker, never as candidate. The Trenton club, which employed a wide range of unethical political tactics, was instrumental in the careers of many city politicians, including future governor Marvin Mandel, who eventually severed ties with the Pollack machine. At the time of his death in 1977, Pollack was still trying to rig elections.

Even as cancer ravaged his once powerful frame, Pollack engaged in a final struggle to place his grandson, James Dorf, in the House of Delegates. He lost that one because his granddaughter, Jayme Dorf, was declared ineligible to sit on the Democratic State Central Committee and presumably vote her brother into office. (The News American, March 14, 1977)

Aug. 6, 1928: Net Gains and Losses

Johns Hopkins University's lacrosse program is so synonymous with the sport that for the 1928 Olympic lacrosse competitions the United States simply sends the JHU team. Hopkins even sets the rules, insisting on playing with a crease, a rule unfamiliar to its Canadian and British opponents. It ends up working against them; even so, the Hopkins squad again represents the nation at the '32 games and, in subsequent decades, leads the way as Baltimore becomes a nationally renowned hotbed of high school and college lacrosse.

Shot after shot was poured at the English goal, and it just seemed as though none would go in. They were bouncing off the goal-keeper, the posts, and everywhere but they wouldn't go in. . . . Finally I took a close shot at the goal. Again he stopped it between his arm and body. But George was right there for the rebound and managed to scoop it in. At last we had tied the score; but no! the English goal-referee declared that George had been in the crease. . . . The game ended a minute later. (From the diary of Hopkins player Louis S. Nixdorff)

Dec. 6, 1929: High Society

The Baltimore Trust Co. cuts the ribbon on its 34-story office tower at 10 Light Street, the city's tallest building for the next 44 years, symbolizing downtown's recovery from the 1904 fire and helping usher in the modern business district. The Depression caused the bank to fall into receivership in 1931 and the tower was a money loser through the '30s. Today it's the Bank of America Building.

Its skyward reach to a lofty tower 500 feet above the street suggest that smoldering fires of Baltimore enterprise were fanned by an inspired vision into this very definite expression of confidence in the city's future. The building, Baltimore's largest and most impressive structure, houses the Baltimore Trust Company, which on December 9, 1929 established its head banking office on the main floor and the three mezzanine floors immediately above. The main banking room is one of the largest undivided banking rooms in the world. (Baltimore Trust Co. brochure, 1929)

Fall 1930: Marshall Law

Baltimorean Thurgood Marshall is dissuaded from applying to the all-white University of Maryland Law School. In 1935, after graduating from Howard University Law School, Marshall won the Murray v. University of Maryland case, which ended UM's racist policies. In 1954 he successfully argued Brown v. Board of Education, the U.S. Supreme Court case that made school segregation illegal nationwide. Thirteen years later, he became the first African-American appointed to the high court.

Thurgood talked to Uncle Fearless about the school and called on several of the black lawyers around town, but the answer was always the same. Only two black students had ever graduated from the law school, and no black student had been admitted since the 1890s. . . . [T]here was no sign that the school planned to change its policy. . . . He was trapped, and he was bitter about it. He never even bothered to apply to the University of Maryland Law School. (Thurgood Marshall: American Revolutionary, by Juan Williams)

Circa 1930s: Lady Finds the Blues

Eleanora "Billie" Holiday grew up in Baltimore before taking the train to Harlem and musical fame. In her autobiography, she describes her earliest exposure to jazz in a Fells Point brothel, an encounter that changed popular music.

I guess I'm not the only one who heard their first good jazz in a whorehouse. But I never tried to make anything of it. If I'd heard Louis [Armstrong] and Bessie [Smith] at a Girl Scout jamboree, I'd have loved it just the same. But a lot of white people have heard jazz in places like Alice Dean's, and they helped label jazz "whorehouse music."

They forget what it was like in those days. A whorehouse was about the only place where black and white folks could meet in any natural way. They damn well couldn't rub elbows in the churches. And in Baltimore, places like Alice Dean's were the only joints fancy enough to have a Victrola and for real enough to pick up on the best records. (Lady Sings the Blues, by Billie Holiday)

Circa 1930s: The Numbers Game

William "Little Willie" Adams starts up the numbers operation that puts him on the path to becoming one of Baltimore's richest African-Americans. Adams says he gave up the numbers in the 1950s and moved into legitimate businesses. (He is an early investor in Parks Sausage, among other ventures.) Even as he becomes a leading power broker in the business and political communities, accusations of illegal activity continue to dog Adams for decades.

Back then playing the numbers may have been technically against the law, but it was all done in the black community right out in the open. The big operations like the Six and Eight Company had signs over their office doors and the runners carried books. You'd write down the name of the customer, the amount of the bet, and the number.

When the bicycle shop [where I was working] failed, I decided to get a book and start writing numbers. But I was only 16, so the company wouldn't trust me. I asked my boss at the shop, and he agreed to sponsor me, to be responsible for me. And the company gave me a book. . . .

They say I'm a political boss, that I'm mixed up with dope and organized crime, but none of it's true. I'm convinced most of my legal problems started because I was the first black man in this city who could afford to move into a well-off white suburban community. No one has ever made criminal charges stick against me, and no one ever will. I'm just a little black boy who was determined above all to keep some of the money white folks were draining out of the black community in the black community where it was needed most." (Willie Adams, quoted in Baltimore magazine, January 1979)

January 1937: Boys' Club No More

Ella Bailey becomes Baltimore's first female City Council member after being named to fill the 6th District seat of her late husband William Bailey. She loses the seat in the 1939 election, is subsequently re-appointed to the council following the death of another member, and finally wins the seat outright in 1943, serving one full term.

The last chair on the right in the City Council chamber looks like any of the other 17 seats for Baltimore Council members. But it has a distinction all its own. It is the only Council seat in that room that was ever filled by a woman. And the only woman who ever officially sat there is a small, rather fluffy redhead, Mrs. Ella A. Bailey of 1600 Johnson Street. (The Sun, Jan. 12, 1937)

1937: "Rock" of Ages

L. Albert Knight patents Formstone. The mock-rock siding proves especially popular in East and South Baltimore.

It looked like shantytown when it was red brick. The man came and Formstoned it . . . made it look like Hollywood. That's . . . the God's truth. (East Baltimore resident quoted in The Baltimore Rowhouse, by Mary Ellen Hayward and Charles Belfoure)

Sept. 30, 1940: Poe Folks

The first families move into Edgar Allan Poe Homes, the first of six public-housing projects constructed by the Housing Authority of Baltimore City. Poe Homes was built explicitly as "Negro" housing, as were McCulloh and Douglass Homes; the other three projects were for low-income whites. All were built on lots from which existing slums were cleared, a controversial policy Baltimore would follow well into the 1950s. The city is now in the final stages of clearing most of those projects to make way for new housing.

We do not feel that the housing problem is so vast, so complex, that there is nothing that can be done about it. (Frances H. Morton, president of the Citizens' Housing Council, in a letter to The Evening Sun, Feb. 28, 1941)

March 6, 1941: Talking Trash

Mayor Howard W. Jackson signs into law "An Ordinance on the Hygiene of Housing" that puts sanitation standards into the city's housing code. At the time, an estimated 50,000 houses in the city don't meet the new standards. Despite the later creation of a special court dedicated to housing issues, code enforcement remains an uphill battle for city inspectors and prosecutors.

And all around this block are other blocks that look just as this one did: interior courts choked with the uncleared detritus of generations, a putrid no-man's-land of juvenile delinquency; roofless, doorless yard privies. Most of the latter are unutterably foul; where one is workable, it may be the sole recourse of as many as five or six families. (R.P. Harriss, The Evening Sun, on conditions in the Sharp-Leadenhall area, Oct. 7, 1946)

Sept. 25, 1941: Labor Force

After years of often clandestine organizing, steel workers unionize the giant Bethlehem Steel plant at Sparrow's Point. The workers vote overwhelmingly to be represented by the Steel Workers Organizing Committee, precursor to the United Steel Workers of America. Unionization results in higher wages and better working conditions for thousands of Baltimoreans.

[President Franklin Delano] Roosevelt had told the working man it was okay to organize. . . . I been around since the '20s when you couldn't say the word 'union.' I knew damn few men who wanted to go back to them days. (Steelworker Frank Amman, quoted in Sparrows Point: Making Steel -- The Rise and Ruin of American Industrial Might, by Mark Reutter)

1941-45: The War Comes Home

World War II swelled Baltimore's population as thousands came to seeking employment in the city's factories and shipyards. New homes were built, and rowhouses across the city were converted into apartment buildings to ease the crunch. When the employment boom ended, many of these houses ended up largely vacant, a factor in the neighborhood-level decay that ensued.

There are several ways of dealing with the housing shortage in Baltimore. Until recently, the favorite method has been to build a lot of new dwellings that will be ready for occupancy at some time in the sweet by and by, sometimes building these on unimproved ground, and sometimes tearing down old slums to make way for them.

The other method is to create more housing units by the more efficient use of what we have already -- to create them by remodeling and converting huge old rowhouses, many of which have seen the end of their usefulness as single-family dwellings, into apartments. . . . The housing shortage in Baltimore is so acute that the conversions of many of Baltimore's typical, big old rowhouses represents a safe and profitable investment. (The Evening Sun, Jan. 12, 1942)

April 12, 1947: Sam and Jackie

In the 1940s, Baltimore Afro-American sportswriter Sam Lacy took the lead in lobbying Major League Baseball to admit black players: writing letters, meeting with executives, and, above all, crusading in print. When Jackie Robinson joined the Brooklyn Dodgers on April 12, 1947, Lacy was in New York to witness his arrival and share with Baltimore readers every detail of Robinson's first game, including his interaction with his white teammates. Lacy was inducted in 1998 into the Baseball Hall of Fame and, at 95, remains the Afro's sports editor was inducted into the Baseball Hall of Fame.

FIRST INNING -- Flanked by Acting Manager Clyde Sukeforth and Pitcher Rex Barney.

SECOND INNING -- Sat on end near steps leading to clubhouse, Sukeforth next to him and Pete Reiser beside Sukeforth.

THIRD INNING -- Sat between Sukeforth and Bruce Edwards, after latter pushed him from end of bench to take the place, returned from batting, took seat beside Tom Tatum, 1946 Montreal teammate.

FOURTH INNING -- Tatum joined him on bench, Stan Rojek sat on steps facing Jackie.

FIFTH INNING -- Jackie sat on steps, Carl Furillo nearest him; returned from batting and took seat beside Sukeforth, who had called him.

SIXTH INNING -- First to bench, was joined by Boris Woyt, rookie outfielder. Vic Lombardi, pitcher, started to take next seat, changed his mind and wedged in between two other players. Later Ed Stanky dropped on bench beside Jackie.

SEVENTH INNING -- Sat on end of bench near steps. Sukeforth on his right.

EIGHTH INNING -- After taking drink of water, crouched on dugout steps, then sat down, Tatum and Woyt nearest him. (Sam Lacy, The Baltimore Afro-American, April 15, 1947)

June 22, 1947: A Streetcar Named History

In 1945, controlling interest in the Baltimore Transit Co. is sold to Chicago-based National City Lines, a firm with connections to General Motors -- which had a vested interest in buses, not trolleys. In mid-1947 the first major trolley-to-bus conversions signals a sea change in Baltimore's commuting habits.

Veteran trolley riders early today were holding a "death watch" for the passing of three streetcar lines.

Some wearing serious looks, small groups of "mourners" climbed aboard for the last trips of streetcars on the 1, 17, and 29 lines. Most of the riders opposed the conversion which today will substitute buses for the trolleys.

The No. 1 line was the first to begins its "last trip." The riders boarded the last car at the Park Terminal at about 11 P.M. and went over the route for the final time. (The Sun, June 22, 1947)

1951: Hot Rod Revs Up Radio

Maurice "Hot Rod" Hulbert joins WITH (1230 AM), becoming the city's first full-time African-American DJ. Hulbert began to shake things up by playing previously unheard black artists and unleashing his outrageous personality on the air. Hulbert stays at WITH for nearly a decade, then bounds around several other radio stations until his death in 1996 at the age of 80.

It was station manager Jack Embry who first realized that, particularly at night, WITH's signal covered mainly inner-city Baltimore with its largely black population. "He asked me if I knew any good black DJ's," Deane recalls. [Buddy Deane was a Baltimore DJ who gained local fame hosting a TV dance show.] "I said one of the best DJ's I ever heard was Maurice 'Hot Rod' Hulbert at WDIA in Memphis, which as far as I know was the first black radio station. They found out he had the highest ratings in town and they flew him up to Baltimore." (City Paper, May 14, 1997)

February 1954: Starr Time

"The Block," as the strip-joint-cluttered strip of downtown's east end has been dubbed, is in full swing. Its menagerie of girlie shows -- and emerging queen Blaze Starr -- garners national attention with a 1954 Esquire article entitled "B-Belles of Burlesque: You Get Strip Tease With Your Beer in Baltimore." Starr later owns the Two O'Clock Club, and dallies famously with Louisiana Gov. Earl Long.

It's the family spirit at the Two O'Clock that gets you, see, something you'll never find at a regular burlesque show, with its barkers, poisonous soft drinks, and gyp merchandise. You get a good drink at the bar, there is plenty of elbow room, and when the lights dim all you have to do is lean on the well-polished mahogany and marvel at the beauties of nature.

The girls, mostly quite young, get into the spirit of the thing. A redhead, Blaze Starr, is one of the current sensations. She is as healthy and rounded as a peach just off the bough, and her sinuous and sophisticated writhings don't fool the boys a bit. They know that under that fresh and plump skin she is really the girl next door, putting on an act while the folks are away. And they're not far from being right, for Blaze is from West Virginia, and this is her first job as an artiste. She likes it, too: and the boys like her. . . . Such promise is what draws the scouts from the big-time circuits: Blaze is the prize of Baltimore. (Esquire, February 1954)

Oct. 1, 1955: Gay Street

With city police Lt. Joseph J. Byrne, head of the vice squad, railing against sin in Charm City, police conduct what is billed as "the largest nightclub raid ever made in Baltimore," arresting 162 patrons of Gay Street's Pepper Hill Club, suspected of harboring homosexual activity. Charges against virtually all suspects are dropped. The following year, the state legislature passes what becomes known as the "Pepper Hill Law," which outlaws mass-arrest bar raids, creating breathing room for a gay-bar scene to grow.

"We were met by a human wall," Sergeant Goldstein testified. "We found complete disorder, and in the rear of the place there was no light at all. Back there we found several couples."

Most of the persons arrested were from Washington, Goldstein said. "We have received word that Washington police are conducting a drive on homosexuals; apparently some of them are coming to Baltimore for their entertainment." (The Sun, Oct. 2, 1955)

Nov. 8, 1955: Follow the leader, Part I

Local attorney William Donald Schaefer is elected to the Baltimore City Council with the help of political boss Irv Kovens. For the next four decades, he will dominate city and state politics, as council president (1967-71), mayor (from 1971-85, during which he is credited with the downtown "renaissance" that produced Charles Center and the Inner Harbor), and governor (1986-94). He returns to public life in 1998, winning election as state comptroller.

Schaefer had thought of himself as a loser and knew he would never win, even with Kovens' help. He fretted, fumed, and paced to the point of nervous exhaustion. . . . "Look at Shaky," Kovens said to one of his other, more confident charges. "He thinks he can lose." Pre-Kovens, the big man was saying, Schaefer could have lost and did. In the general election several weeks later, Schaefer finished first. (William Donald Schaefer: A Political Biography, by C. Fraser Smith)

Mid-1950s: Blockbusting Begins

Around 1955, African-Americans began moving into the previously white Edmondson Village area in West Baltimore. The response was panicked white flight, sparked by real- estate agents who persuaded white residents to sell homes in "changing" neighborhoods cheaply, then reselling the same houses to blacks at inflated prices. Many all-white neighborhoods turned all-black within a few years' time. The practice continued into the late '60s and early '70s, slowed and finally stopped by federal and state legislation outlawing blockbusting. By then, Baltimore was still a de facto segregated city, but a black-majority one.

The only thing that people kept secret was whether they were going to be one of the first sellers -- everybody would say, "Well, if I move, I'm not going to sell to blacks, I'm only going to sell to whites" -- they would tell this to their neighbors, because they didn't want to be thought of as contributing to the problem. But, of course, there wasn't anybody but blacks who were going to buy the house, so everybody did sell to blacks in the end. (White West Baltimore resident quoted in The Baltimore Book, edited by Elizabeth Fee, Linda Shopes, and Linda Zeidman)

June 26, 1956: Roads to Somewhere

Congress passes the Federal Aid Highway Act, authorizing funds to build the interstate highway system. Work on the Baltimore Beltway and the Baltimore-Harrisburg

Expressway is already underway, in anticipation of the federal money. Over the next two decades the interstate system greatly accelerates suburban development -- and threatens urban communities as its tentacles extend toward downtown Baltimore.

[A] group of editors recently made these predictions for the year 2000: Expressways not only will multiply but will be double-decked with built-in heating devices to keep off ice and snow. Duplicate sets of such roads will appear -- one for pleasure cars and the other for business vehicles. Cities will be free of above-ground traffic. (A History of Road Building in Maryland, by the State Roads Commission, 1959)

Oct. 28, 1956: Forward Pass

An unheralded backup quarterback named Johnny Unitas makes his first NFL start to help the injury-plagued Baltimore Colts end a three-game losing streak, defeating Green Bay 28-21. Unitas, a Pittsburgh Steelers reject who had been stuck playing semi-pro ball just a year before, goes on to lead the Colts to the championship in 1958 and, during a 17-year career, changes the nature of professional football with his wide-open passing attack.

Sharing honors in what Coach Weeb Ewbank called a "team victory" was the offensive line. This group opened holes all afternoon and gave Rookie John Unitas, subbing for the injured George Shaw, plenty of time to throw.

Unitas, in his first starting assignment, conducted himself with professional poise, making good use of the Colt rushing strength, completing 8 out of 16 passes for an additional 100 yards and two touchdowns. . . .

For the first time Dr. Ervin Mayer, Colt physician, reported no serious injuries after a game. Maybe the Colts' luck is changing. (Cameron C. Snyder, The Sun, Oct. 29, 1956)

Oct. 2, 1957: The Iron Giant

Bethlehem Steel's Sparrows Point plant becomes the largest steel-making facility on the planet. With 27,000 employees, the plant is the backbone of Baltimore's smokestack economy, but hugeness brings complacency. From this high-water mark, Beth Steel declines; by the late '70s, foreign competitors are producing steel more efficiently, and thousands of local steel workers lose their jobs.

With 2,000,000 tons of additional ingot capacity added during 1957. . . . Bethlehem Steel Company's Sparrows Point mills last year produced a record-breaking 6,148,256 net tons. . . . [T]he local plant is capable of pouring 8,200,000 ingots tons of steel a year -- approximately 16 tons a minute. (The Sun, Feb. 26, 1958)

Oct. 1, 1958: Mall Aboard

Harundale Mall opens in Glen Burnie, bringing Baltimore-area shoppers their first suburban shopping Mecca and downtown department stores their first serious competition. As the malls proliferate, downtown stores such as Stewart's and Hutzler's wither and eventually close. Harundale Mall itself is soon eclipsed by its progeny; old-fashioned and undersized by current standards, it is torn down in 1998.

The chief aim of Community Research and Development, Inc., its developers, is to provide one-stop shopping in a compact structure, scientifically engineered for easy accessibility, comfort, and safety. The principal retail outlet is the fourth suburban branch of Hochschild, Kohn & Co. There are 44 other stores and specialty shops. Side by side in a conventional shopping district, these will stretch for nearly a half a mile. . . . Not only the stores but the sidewalks will be temperature controlled year-round. (The Sun, Sept. 7, 1958)

Aug. 9, 1959: Tower of Power

TV Hill gets its name as Baltimore's three stations began broadcasting from a massive new tower erected there. At the time, the three most popular television shows are Gunsmoke, Wagon Train, and Have Gun, Will Travel.

It was born of the desire of Baltimore's TV broadcasters to give the clearest possible pictures (as well as the best possible programs) to the greatest possible number of people. And in this desire to enlarge their coverage and improve reception Baltimore's broadcasters soon discovered they could accomplish their objective most effectively and most practically by combining efforts.

The result is a unique tower which supports more than 30 tons of antennas that lift their glittering tips 1,049 feet above the Chesapeake Bay. This structure, called a "candelabra" for obvious reasons, is the first to hold the broadcast equipment of three stations, and is only the second of its kind in the world. (TV Topics, a monthly publication of WMAR-TV, August 1959)

March 1960: Sit Down for Your Rights

The civil-rights movement takes root in Baltimore as Morgan State College students, inspired by anti-segregation actions in other states, begin a campaign of sit-ins and pickets at the Hecht Co.'s Rooftop Restaurant and other businesses at the Northwood Shopping Center. Similar protests continue through the year.

We feel they are doing what adults have not done. (The Rev. Marion Bascom, announcing local clergy's support for the Morgan students' protest, quoted in The Baltimore Afro-American, March 26, 1960)

Early 1960s: Northwest Diaspora

Baltimore's Jewish community, which first coalesced in East Baltimore then resettled in the Eutaw Place/Reservoir Hill area, begins migrating to the northwest. Towering 19th-century synagogues are sold off, often to African-American churches or groups. Several synagogues remain in the city's northwestern corridor, but the area is now largely black, much of the Jewish community having continued northwest into Pikesville and Owings Mills.

The same problem of population shift, which was met so magnificently by our fathers in 1888, confronts us today. The steady trend of Jewish residence has been, and is, toward the Park Heights and Forest Park areas. A recent community survey reveals this movement to be proceeding at an incredibly rapid pace, especially in the young married age range, where lie the potentialities for the future growth and leadership of the [Baltimore Hebrew] Congregation. . . . [I]t was resolved six years ago to move the Temple where it could render maximum service to its members. After careful consideration, the splendid property of some 25 acres at the corner of Park Heights and Slade Avenues was purchased. (1960 Baltimore Hebrew Congregation brochure)

Jan. 5, 1961: A New Downtown

Conceived in the '50s and completed in the '70s, Charles Center was an ambitious reshaping of 22 acres of downtown, built primarily to facilitate new office buildings. Demolition of existing structures to make way for the new downtown begins early in 1961.

An ornate cornice crumpled onto Lexington Street yesterday, marking the start of demolition for Charles Center.

Mayor Grady, top city officials, and more than 1,000 spectators watched as a huge 'clam-bucket' gnawed away the top of the old O'Neill's Department Store at Charles and Lexington streets.

The 76-year-old store, long one of the most fashionable in the city, is on the site of the first Charles Center building, a 23-story office tower to be constructed by Metropolitan Structures of Chicago. (The Sun, Jan. 5, 1961)

March 1961: Urban Flight

Release of the results of the 1960 Census shows that, for the first time since the city's founding, Baltimore's population is shrinking. Baltimore's official population as of 1960 is 939,024, down 1.1 percent from 1950. The population continues to shrink ever more rapidly thereafter; the most recent estimate, made in 1998, is 645,593.

The decrease in Baltimore City was limited to the white population. This decrease was especially pronounced in families with young children, who participated in a substantial migration to the suburban counties. (Maryland State Department of Health Monthly Bulletin, August 1961)

1962-63: A New Career in a New Town

The Rouse Corp. quietly buys up Howard County farmland to begin development of Columbia. The groundbreaking "planned community" becomes a national model of suburban development, a staple of sociology textbooks, and an attractive alternative to urban living.

Plans to develop more than 14,000 acres of land in central Howard County as a "balanced, planned community" were revealed yesterday by a Baltimore firm which had bought up the land in recent months through a "mystery" subsidiary firm.

James W. Rouse, financier, real-estate developer and mortgage banker, yesterday told the county commissioner that Howard Research and Development, Inc., which acquired the extensive area, is controlled by his own firm, James W. Rouse and Company, Inc. (The Sun, Oct. 30, 1963)

We didn't buy any land people didn't want to sell. (James W. Rouse, The Evening Sun, Dec. 6, 1963)

1963: Containment Policy

Sea-Land Service Inc. begins its first regular shipments of containerized cargo between Baltimore and Puerto Rico. Sea-Land's success prompts the company to develop Sea-Girt, Baltimore's first terminal designed to receive containerized cargo. Over the next 15 years, the Port of Baltimore is largely retooled to handle containers; older port areas such as Fells Point, Canton, and Port Covington fall into disuse -- requiring residents and officials to find different uses for those portions of the waterfront.

When I moved back to Fells Point in 1967, I found a decayed community. Roofs had collapsed. Empty warehouses were everywhere. All the marine industries were gone with the exception of Rukert Terminals and Vane Brothers, the ship chandlery. Everybody else wanted to be down the harbor in a big flat building with dockside access. The families were torn. Old Capt. Rukert was still alive then. He didn't want to leave Fells Point, but his son definitely wanted to move down the harbor, from Canton down to Dundalk Marine Terminal. (Interview with Baltimore historian Robert Eney)

July 1967:School Daze

The National Education Association, a national teachers union, issues a report blasting the Baltimore public-school system, saying students are failing to receive even "the minimum level of educational opportunity." This is the first high-profile criticism of city schools to appear publicly; it spurs Mayor D'Alesandro to commit funds to the construction of new school buildings. The criticisms continue to be leveled at city public schools, more than 80 of which face possible state takeover due to their failure to improve student performance.

[An NEA investigation] shows in clear fashion:

That the public school system is so extremely deficient that many of the children of the city are being denied the minimum level of educational opportunity to which every child is entitled. And, that the salaries and working conditions of teachers in Baltimore classrooms are so deficient that it is unreasonable to expect professional teachers to continue their struggle, against virtually impossible odds, to educate the children in the classrooms. Some classes are so large that effective instruction is impaired; and that many existing schools buildings are ancient and dilapidated and hence impair the effectiveness of instruction. (Excerpt from NEA statement, published by The Evening Sun, June 19, 1967)

April 6, 1968: There's a Riot Goin' On

Riots break out in Baltimore in the wake of the assassination of Martin Luther King Jr. Maryland Gov. Spiro Agnew accuses local black leaders of failing to prevent the violence; his much-publicized tirade catches the attention of presidential candidate Richard Nixon, who chooses Agnew as his running mate. Agnew serves as vice president until 1973, when he resigns in disgrace after pleading no contest to charges of tax evasion. Parts of downtown have yet to recover from the damage wrought by the riots.

Early in the afternoon Gov. Agnew . . . said: "I am indeed proud of the citizens of our state, black and white, who have shunned the provocation to racial violence that has swept so much of the country."

But even before the governor's statement was published, small bands of Negro youths started roaming northeast and east Baltimore, advising merchants to close . . . by nightfall, bands of youths marched up and down Gay St. and other areas of east Baltimore, and looting and fires broke out. (The News American, April 7, 1968)

You met in secret with that demagogue [Stokely Carmichael] and others like him. . . . You were beguiled by the rationalizations of unity; you were intimidated by veiled threats; you were stung by the insinuations that you were Charlie's boy, by epithets like "Uncle Tom." (From Agnew's statement to black leaders, quoted in the The News American, April 11, 1968)

1968-78: Roads to Nowhere

Neighborhood-based organizations wage a grass-roots campaign to stop crosstown freeways, including the Leakin Park Expressway and spurs connecting interstates 83 and 95, that would have required demolishing several east- and west-side neighborhoods. Their partial victory preserves Fells Point, Federal Hill, Leakin Park, and Rosemont -- and ignites the political career of a Highlandtown social worker, Barbara Mikulski.

We didn't think it was right to destroy healthy neighborhoods so that suburban commuters could get in and out of the city faster. . . . We talked to the planners, the architects, and the politicians. We organized the neighborhoods and we challenged the cost-benefit analysis. We ran bake sales so we could rent buses to take us to Annapolis, to City Hall, and to Washington to protest the very public policies that were going to happen to us. While we were doing the bake sales, that design concept team [for the highways] had $5,000 in audiovisual equipment alone -- to educate us. So with the mimeograph machine that we borrowed from the Holy Rosary Holy Name Society, we began a neighborhood movement. (Barbara Mikulski, in a 1979 speech to the American Planning Association, excerpted in The Baltimore Book)

July 21, 1970: The curtain falls

The Royal Theater, for decades one of the nation's most prominent venues for black entertainers, closes in 1970 (following a screening of I Spit on Your Grave) and is razed the following year.

[The Royal] seated 1,349 and had a beautiful velvet curtain, elaborate boxes overlooking the stage and uniformed ushers. People came in their best finery to see the stars and a variety of acts that included Hungarian acrobats, dancing bears, and singing dogs.

Pearl Bailey was just a dancer in the chorus line then. Her brother was Bill Bailey, a great dancer. Billie Holiday was troublesome. She took drugs and was always out of it. Dinah Washington was a bit difficult. Dionne Warwick was not very impressive when she sang a Nelson Riddle repertoire. Her performance was not up to the music. My prediction, wrong of course, was she would not ever make it. (Tracy McClearly, leader of the Royal's House Orchestra from 1948 to 1966, from The Evening Sun, Aug. 26, 1991)

March 17, 1972: Divine Intervention

In what Variety would call "the most nauseating capper in film history," a 300-pound transvestite named Divine picks up a dog turd in a Mount Vernon alley and chows it down. Largely on the strength of that scene, Pink Flamingos becomes an underground smash, which writer/director John Waters parlays later into mainstream success, putting Baltimore on the filmmaking map and spawning a local film scene that brings major-studio productions and a long-running TV series to town -- and does as much as anything to forge the city's national identity.

What you did in [Pink Flamingos] rather shocked me. . . . Couldn't you have refused to do it?

I'm not into being difficult or bitching or any of those things. I like to be easygoing.

But it's not being bitchy, refusing to eat dog shit!

Well, I thought about it and checked with doctors and things and they said it really wouldn't hurt me or do anything to me. It was strictly done for shock value. I threw up afterward, and then I used mouthwash and brushed my teeth. There was no aftertaste or anything. I just forgot about it as quickly as I could. (Divine, in a 1977 interview with film writer Lisa Hoffman excerpted in the book Cult Movies)

Sept. 17, 1973: Dollar Days

The city's "urban homesteading" dollar-house program, in which buyers could obtain rundown homes for $1 and a pledge to fix them up and occupy them, helps start Baltimore's urban "renaissance." The program works best when the dollar houses are grouped together, as in the now swanky Otterbein neighborhood, which began as a dollar-house area. The program is abandoned in 1983.

More than 1,000 inquiries have been received from across Maryland and the middle-Atlantic states. In addition, municipalities as far away as Wichita, Kan., have expressed interest in Mayor Schaefer's unusual home-sale program, says John R. Burns, director of the management unit for city-owned properties.

"We've been swamped by a tremendous cross section of people," says the housing director, who adds that all sorts of individuals, lawyers, doctors, and just members of John Q. Public have told the housing office, "I've got the cash to do it." (The Sun, Oct. 14, 1973)

Circa 1977: A Cellarful of Noise

The Marble Bar, located in the basement of the once-swanky Congress Hotel on Franklin Street, opens. It serves as Baltimore's musical glory hole for the better part of 10 years, home to the city's homegrown punk scene and local tour stop for many emerging national and international bands, including Talking Heads, Psychedelic Furs, R.E.M., and the Butthole Surfers. After a decade of ups and downs, the club closes for good in 1987.

"All I wanted was to be a musician and play in a club," says [Marble Bar co-founder Scott] Cunningham. "But it never turned into that. The place overwhelmed me."

Cunningham had been bringing jazz acts into the Marble during 1976, but, as he says now, "It didn't pay off." So he snagged TeeVee [Feldman], whose [band] Loose Shoes had grown out of art-school knockabouts the Fabulous Dog Tones. [Loose Shoes] played the Marble in early '78, assaulting listeners with their campy repertoire ("The S.L.A is Okay," "If I Knew You, I'd Screw You," and "Fuck-me Shoes"), as did another of the city's first punky groups, Scratch 'N Sniff, with future Go-Go Gina Schock on drums. And in June, U.K. Squeeze -- soon to be simply Squeeze -- from England.

Of course, there were problems. Like cash flow. Like the place was a wreck. "There was no air conditioning, and rats were walking across the bar," remembers Cunningham, "and there was no parking because of subway construction." (City Paper, June 19, 1987)

June 6, 1978 : The Iron Man Cometh

In Major League Baseball's 1978 draft, the Orioles pick two local players among their first nine selections, one of them a rangy prospect from Harford County with an orange-and-black pedigree. He's expected to be at third base for the O's on Opening Day 2000. He did some stuff in between.

Baltimore scouting director Tom Giordano picked pitcher-shortstop Cal Ripken, Jr., of Aberdeen High School in the second round, and right-hander Tim Norris of Baltimore's Archbishop Curley in the fourth round. . . .

Ripken, the son of the Oriole third base coach, is scheduled to pitch for Aberdeen today in the state Class A championship game against Thomas Stone High School of Charles County. . . .

"Ripken has a two-way shot of making it," said Giordano. "He's a good, aggressive hitter and an excellent pitcher. His delivery reminds me a lot of Jim Palmer, and he has a changeup like our old pitching coach, George Bamberger. In fact, I've never seen a high school kid throw a better changeup."

The choice of Ripken got the seal of approval from Joe Consoli, of the major-league scouting bureau. "He's got the finest baseball disposition and mind I've seen for some time," said Consoli. "He'll be in the big leagues in a few years." (Alan Goldstein, The Sun, June 7, 1978)

Feb. 19,1979: new world order

A major snowstorm leads, serendipitously, to the creation of the Korean Businessmen's League (KBL), helping create a foothold for the city's fast-growing Korean community in the local economy.

A lot of Korean people started very aggressively moving to the United States in the '70s. Some of the Koreans were professional people, but they had a language barrier, they couldn't get jobs, so they were looking into having their own businesses. In [1979] Baltimore had a big snow, and looting broke out. A lot of corner stores got torn up and burned, and a lot of Jewish corner-store owners abandoned their businesses. Many Koreans started buying a business or rebuilding a business. . . . Then, in dealing with wholesalers, they needed some protection. They needed someone to represent them. They're the ones that started the KBL. (Interview Jin Wook Kang, owner of the Charles Village restaurant Niwana and former vice president of the KBL)

February 1983: And there's still no cure . . .

AIDS is first diagnosed in Baltimore.

Despite the unseasonably warm February day, I was shivering. One thought kept turning over in my mind: The time bomb in Baltimore had stopped ticking. AIDS had arrived. During the next month, three more definite cases in young Gay men have turned up. Six other, very frightened men have sought advice about swollen lymph nodes. . . . The unexplained scourge that remains without a cure now works its way through my patients, through my friends. (Dr. Bernard M. Branson, quoted in the Baltimore Gay Paper, April 1983)

March 29, 1984: "Like a Thief in the Night"

What could be worse than one city stealing another's football team? Before dawn on March 29, 1984, Robert Irsay's Baltimore Colts load up Mayflower moving vans and skulk off to Indianapolis.

Now the stroke of final indecency. Stealing away under the cover of darkness, like a common thief in the night. The Baltimore Colts, a once-proud and precious tradition, have apparently been kidnapped from their home and loved ones. It was this city that gave them birth and nurtured a franchise to the pinnacle of fame and fortune.

A despicable injustice. An outrage. First torture, then rape. It could, if the dastardly deed is done, be referred to as the murder of a football team in the first degree. Yes, a foul blow, but Baltimore will be back to rise above the cut-throat tactics that have been inflicted upon it by the sheer madness of money. (John Steadman, The News American, March 29, 1984)

May 27, 1986: Final Edition

The News American folds, ending a 213-year publishing tradition, leaving the Sunpapers as Baltimore's only daily-newspaper player.

Baltimore may have one less large newspaper now. But in The Sun and The Evening Sun, it will continue to have two vigorously independent newspapers with separate, highly competitive news and editorial staffs. (Sun editorial, May 28, 1986)

May 28, 1986: Sign of the Times

The Sun, The Evening Sun, and WMAR-TV are sold to the Los Angeles-based media conglomerate Times-Mirror for $600 million in cash, ending 149 years of local ownership for the city's flagship newspapers.

That the sale of The Baltimore Sun came a day after the folding of the Baltimore News American was strictly a coincidence -- an uncomfortable coincidence. . . .

Yes, there is sadness in the loss of corporate independence. . . . But what matters to our readers is what they get in the way of news, features, attractive presentation and service. (Sun editorial, May 29, 1986)

Sept. 15, 1987: Follow the Leader, Part II

Kurt Schmoke wins the Democratic mayoral nomination. Two months later he becomes Baltimore's first elected African-American mayor.

Schmoke may surprise many people. He is highly intelligent, well-respected, even by foes who are amazed at his relentless march from one political victory to another, and he has a record of excelling wherever he has confronted a challenge. (Baltimore Afro-American editorial, Sept. 19, 1987)

May 2, 1988: Off to the Yards

One of the bleakest periods in Orioles history leads into one of the brightest moments as the '88 O's, fresh off a season-opening 21-game losing streak, come home May 2 to 50,402 adoring fans and to the announcement by Mayor William Donald Schaefer that owner Edward Bennett Williams has agreed to a 15-year lease on a proposed new ballpark to be built at Camden Yards. The Orioles mark the occasion by walloping Texas, 9-4.

Everything about the night was incredible, not the least of it the announcement of a new lease and the accompanying assurance that these are -- and will be -- your Baltimore Orioles. The fans won. Baltimore won. The forces of doom that had eaten away at this town's sports foundation were at last turned aside. . . .

When Schaefer first invoked Williams' name, the crowd responded as you might expect, with anger over Williams' reluctance to sign a lease for the beautiful stadium the taxpayers had offered to build for him. But the news brought cheers and more cheers, behind which you could detect a collective sigh of relief. And the night, which had begun so well, blossomed into what we used to call a full-scale love-in. Even the Orioles did their part. (Mike Littwin, The Evening Sun, May 3, 1988)

Dec. 31, 1993: Life on the Streets

Baltimore ends the year with 354 murders, setting a homicide record that still stands. It is the fourth straight year the city tops 300 murders; this year the streak stretches to 10 years.

Anthony Joseph Tanglia, 24 . . . died of a head wound at the Maryland Shock Trauma Center at 8:50 A.M. yesterday, a hospital spokeswoman said. He was shot shortly before 9:30 P.M. Wednesday after he and his brother . . . had gone to meet a man in the 1100 block of Ensor St. in East Baltimore. Police said Mr. Tenglia is the city's 354 homicide victim of 1993. (The Sun, Dec. 31, 1993)

The various statistics show that on a typical day in Baltimore, the following crimes are likely to occur: one homicide; 24 aggravated assaults; 49 burglaries; 114 larcenies; 28 car thefts. (The Sun, Jan. 1, 1994) Tom Scocca and Andy Markowitz contributed to this article.

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