CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY FIVE: NOT ANOTHER CIVIL WAR FORT!

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY FIVE: NOT ANOTHER CIVIL WAR FORT!

Just when I thought there were no more Civil War forts to visit in the Mid-Atlantic States, the Admiral drove me to Point Lookout, Maryland to visit Fort Lincoln, “the main Union fortification on the peninsula.” It is not nearly as impressive as Fort Mifflin in Philadelphia or Fort Monroe in Hampton, but it was built at the critical point where the Potomac River flows into the Chesapeake Bay. Location, location, location! All that remains of Fort Lincoln are some of the raised earthen walls that surrounded the buildings. The only buildings inside the walls are replicas of bunkhouses for enlisted men and officers and a guard house. I would venture a guess that this may be the least visited fort on the entire Atlantic coast. We were the only visitors this past Tuesday, September 23. While the fort was built extremely well to withstand any assaults, according to one of the narrative signs, “Fort Lincoln saw no action.” Still, there was plenty of action around Fort Lincoln, especially after the defeat of the Confederate Army at Gettysburg. The Union Army set up the Point Lookout Prisoner-of-War Camp on this peninsula bordered by the Potomac and the Chesapeake. This Prisoner-of- War Camp was also called “Camp Hoffman”. Its claim to fame (or infamy) is that it held the largest number of military and civilian prisoners during the Civil War. Historians have documented 52,264 Confederate prisoners (soldiers and civilians) at Camp Hoffman. By comparison, Andersonville housed 45,000 prisoners (Union soldiers) during this War. “Camp” is an interesting term for the Point Lookout prison, which housed the POWs in tents. Their detention was no picnic and this place was no camp. There are 3,384 documented prisoner deaths at Camp Hoffman, although most of the literature indicates that the death toll was considerably higher. These numbers dwarf the number of prisoners held at Fort Delaware throughout the Civil War. But Fort Delaware is in great physical shape and holds countless reenactments to attract the tourist population. By contrast, Point Lookout, or Camp Hoffman, is pretty desolate, marked primarily by an obelisk with the names of prisoners who died there and plaques for each of the states that “succeeded” from the Union. Yes, a typo on the monument – doesn’t anyone proofread these words before they’re engraved into stone?

Maryland had plenty of folks who wanted to secede along with their neighbor, Virginia. But the federal government could not protect itself in Washington, D.C., had Maryland been allowed to secede. Shortly after the Confederate troops fired on Fort Sumter, Massachusetts and Pennsylvania troops were passing through Baltimore heading South, when they were attacked by citizens of Baltimore. Four soldiers and twelve citizens were killed, nineteen secessionist legislators and the Mayor of Baltimore, also a secessionist, were imprisoned, along with other prominent secessionists. They were denied the right to trial and/or appeal. The U.S. Government essentially occupied Maryland during the Civil War with a large number of Union troops. In the 1860 election, there were 92,000 Maryland voters for President, and just 3000 of those votes were for Lincoln. Move over, Barack, you are not the least popular president of all time. And you have not yet had to impose martial law on any states. Even though Maryland was occupied by federal troops, this occupation did not stop thousands of young Maryland men from leaving the State to join the Confederate troops, or as the Point Lookout signpost says, “to join the fight for independence.” There is a distinctly Confederate “feel” to this area of Maryland, if only because there were so many Confederate soldiers buried here. Many of their bones have been disinterred and moved to their home states, but their spirits remain in the Confederate flags and other Confederate paraphernalia which decorate the memorial to them.

Competing with the Confederate ambience are the spirits of the residents of “Contraband Camp”, also located at Point Lookout during the Civil War. As you may have read in other blogs, the men, women and children who escaped from slavery in the Southern states were called “contraband of war”, and in that way they were still considered property by the Union Army, which had no legal duty to return this “property” to its “owners”. Be that as it may, many African-Americans who escaped from slavery in the South made it to Lookout Point, where they lived in freedom for the first time. Although their living conditions have been described as squalid (caves underground, with a hole for an entrance and a hole to allow smoke to escape), the African-Americans who made it to this part of Maryland were FREE. And some of them were lucky enough to have found jobs with the military, actually getting paid a wage for the first time in their lives. I’m sure conservative pundits will point to this transition from slavery to the government payroll as the beginning of the “Welfare State” – anything to put down the poor, hard-working African-Americans. But let’s face it – the Union military was hurting for support staff, and the newly free African-Americans brought many skills with them, not just as laborers, but also as plantation house managers and cooks and caretakers. I’m not even sure, given their legal status as contraband of war, that they would have been permitted to work for any other employer than the U.S. Government. Just another intrusion by Big Government into our lives – to level the playing field, or rather to provide a playing field for African-Americans – their first ever in this country. Please don’t try to draw comparisons between the history of African-Americans in this country and the history of immigrants from Europe or Asia or South America – there is simply nothing like being dragged into this country in chains and enslaved for hundreds of years.

Lookout Point played an earlier role in American history than its service as both a prisoner-of-war camp and a contraband camp during the Civil War. It was an observation post (“lookout” – get it?) for British ships by American soldiers during both the Revolutionary War and the War of 1812. But the British took control of it July 19 through 27, 1813, and they sent raiding parties into St. Mary’s County while they were in control of the Point. Of course, long before “Americans” settled here, 5000 years or so, Native Americans lived here. The first groups were hunters, but later the Conoy Piscataway (easy for you to say) took advantage of the rich soil to plant tobacco and corn. They were not only farmers on land, but also “farmed” the Chesapeake for oysters, clams, crabs and fish. The first Europeans known to venture to Lookout Point were Spanish sailors in the 1500s. After their forays around the Point, Captain John Smith and his buddies explored the peninsula. As we toured the peninsula last Tuesday, it was populated by people fishing on the Bay side and a few parks employees mowing the grass at what is left of Fort Lincoln – oh yes, and by one solitary jogger. For some reason the small Lookout Point Park Museum is closed on Tuesdays – that could explain the scarcity of people. But it just wears this shroud of neglect, in other words, it’s a great place to visit if you want to get away from crowds, yet still learn a little bit more about American history.

The Lookout Point lighthouse is still operative – also closed when we visited. It is opened for tours from time to time, and apparently there are a lot of ghostbusters who like to tour this particular lighthouse. Many specters have been detected by those in the business of specter detecting. Some very serious studies have been conducted into the presence or absence of ghosts at this location. There were so many stories of strange noises and sightings here that a parapsychologist studied the lighthouse for the presence of ghosts in 1980, and get this, the Maryland Committee for Psychical Research held a séance inside the lighthouse. It doesn’t get much weirder than that. For my part, I am more interested in the fact that many of the lightkeepers at this lighthouse were women. Women became lightkeepers because this was one of the few non-clerical government positions open to them. The first woman lightkeeper, Ann, inherited the job in 1830, when her father, James Davis, died. She held on to the job for 17 years. She probably didn’t earn the same wage as her father, but her 17 years of service clearly topped his 3 months in the position. Male lightkeepers followed Ann, but none of them lasted very long in the job. Then another woman, Martha Edwards, took over for 2 years. She was followed by her daughter, Pamelia, who kept the light at Point Lookout from 1855 through 1869. Go Pamelia! I enjoy writing down women’s names, whenever they are available – there have been far too many “anonymous” women in history. It’s way past time to give credit to all the pioneering women who preceded us.

Here ends the umpteenth blog on another Civil War fort, another haunted lighthouse, and another diatribe about the mistreatment of African-Americans and the failure to acknowledge women in history. Amen.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY FOUR: THE B AND R SHOW ARRIVES IN BALTIMORE

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY FOUR: THE B AND R SHOW ARRIVES IN BALTIMORE

It’s Tuesday, September 16, and we are in Delaware City for a few more days, then begin the long journey south to Key Largo for our third winter in the sun. The weather has finally become more like fall, temps in the 70’s in the day and the 50’s at night. The Admiral made beef and barley soup and chili the other night, clear signs that autumn is on our doorstep – or whatever you call the step on to Slow Motion. I probably sound like a broken record, but the Admiral makes incredibly tasty soups. Beef and barley is my favorite of all of them, but his chicken and rice (noodle, or barley) cures everything from the common cold to the blahs to a bad mood. He likes his clam chowder best, and he has planned to make conch chowder for months – he just needs some soup connoisseurs to appreciate the effort and enjoy the results. I’m not a big fan of clam or conch chowder – although the potatoes in the clam chowder are wonderful. It’s always easy to get off on a food tangent living with the Admiral, the Premier Chef of the High Seas and Inland Waterways. When Brenda and Royal visited last week, he made them his signature Philly Cheese Steaks, after first breaking them in with General Tso’s Chicken and stir fry. While in Delaware City, we have been getting the rolls for the steak sandwiches at WaWa – fresh every day. They make a huge difference. I can already see the look of concern in the Admiral’s eyes as we plan our trip south, where there are no WaWas. WaWa started as a big dairy farm in Pennsylvania, then diversified into retail stores, where they sold their dairy products, and now has the best hoagie making operation in the world. But it’s still only in a few states – Pennsylvania, New Jersey, Maryland, Delaware and Virginia. There may be a few outposts in Florida, but none near Key Largo. We will miss WaWa this winter.

We already miss our neighbors, Brenda and Royal, each of whom has a quirky sense of humor – understated, yet hilarious. For two days I walked all over the neighborhoods of Baltimore with them. When we tired of walking, we rode the free Charm City Circulator with every homeless person in the Charmed City – most of whom were either going to the hospital or returning from the hospital. Still, the bus got us to where we wanted to go. It stopped at a lot of places other than hospitals. It took us to the Mount Vernon neighborhood, where the Washington Monument (who knew?) was wrapped in scaffolding. Funny – the D.C. monument was damaged a few years back during an earthquake – do you think when D.C. Washington Monument sneezes, Baltimore Washington Monument gets a cold? While the Circulator was the right price, for the most part B and R and I walked everywhere. We went up and down every block in Little Italy and didn’t miss a cobble stone in the Fells Point neighborhood. Our first trek was to the Federal Hill district, which has the Cross Street Market, where Steve gives you a huge breakfast for less than five bucks. With all the walking, we had to get sustenance along the way – and believe me, we got plenty to sustain us. It was not just Steve’s hearty pancakes (and scrapple) which fueled our energetic pace, but also a few choice gelato shops and a Chinese restaurant which calls itself “Simply the Best” in Chinese. Oh, did I mention Coffeeland? We discovered this place as we hiked downtown from the Mount Vernon District. Good bathroom.

When you go to Baltimore, start your visit by going to the 27^th floor of the World Trade Center. There is a moving tribute to the 9/11 victims, with special focus on the Maryland residents killed by terrorists in Shanksville, New York and the Pentagon. Additionally, there is a 360 view of The City that Reads. You can really orient yourself to the various neighborhoods and the city’s landmarks like Camden Yards, the Dominos sugar refinery sign, the Shot Tower and the screw-pile lighthouse called Seven Foot Knoll Lighthouse.  And if you are fortunate enough to arrive by boat, you can look down at your traveling home tied up at the Inner Harbor Marina. That’s a thrill, especially when it’s dwarfed by the 130 foot yacht of the Ravens owner, Steve Bisciotti (no, not the pancakes Steve). It’s called Winning Drive, something that the Ravens did not have in their debacle with the Bengals. The team of former NFL running back Ray Rice (suspended indefinitely) did not run the ball well. And their defense gave up the “winning drive” to Cincinnati in the last two minutes. You could look it up. That didn’t stop Owner Steve from partying with his crew at the Rusty Scupper (50 yards from Slow Motion) after the game. What weird music – one minute, mariachi, the next minute, Middle Eastern wailing. Maybe that’s the sound of defeat.

B and R wanted to visit Philadelphia for a few days, so we took off on Slow Motion early Wednesday morning (6:30 a.m. – crack of dawn) and cruised past the tall ships which were arriving in the Inner Harbor for the weekend celebration of the 200^th anniversary of the writing of the Star Spangled Banner. The Chesapeake Bay was very calm, the weather was perfectly sunny and breezy, and we passed through the C and D Canal without encountering any car carriers or other behemoths of the ocean, arriving in Delaware City in about six hours. This gave us time to go to Crabby Dick’s for a late lunch/dinner. Royal took the restaurant’s name to heart and ordered a half dozen steamed crabs. The platter on which they arrived nearly took up our whole table. The crabs themselves were covered with Old Bay seasoning. We were the only folks in the restaurant at the time, so Brenda, the Admiral and I were Royal’s audience, as he fiercely tore off claws and bit into the bellies of the crabs. We got some good photos, but you really had to be there. This was not My Dinner with Andre. This was a crab feeding frenzy. It’s great when one person can get so much enjoyment out of a meal. If this wasn’t the highlight of Royal’s visit for him, it had to rank up there with the top five experiences he had while visiting. I got a lot of vicarious pleasure out of watching him plow through his crab tray.

Delaware City is a small town, very small indeed. However, this summer it added Cordelia’s Bakery on Clinton Street, and Cordelia’s provided us a breakfast to talk about on the way to Philadelphia. B and R had the baked French toast, and I had a warmed sticky bun with nuts. I could have had the sticky bun grilled in butter, but that would have been excessive. My sister Sue makes delicious sticky buns, and Cordelia’s rendition of this decidedly Pennsylvania/Delaware treat is every bit as sticky as Sue’s. But it’s the dough – you owe yourself a sticky bun, if you haven’t already indulged, just to fill your mouth with the most heavenly dough – a little chewy, but cloud puff soft and oh, so flavorful. You guessed right if, by this time in the B and R visit, you guessed that we needed to walk several miles every day just to keep unwanted pounds off.  I knew that B and R would find excellent eating emporia in Philadelphia as well, and I expected that they would be walking off the pounds visiting the Liberty Bell, Independence Hall, the Franklin Institute and the infamous South Street (where all the hippies meet).

The Admiral and I drove B and R to their hotel in Philly, then headed back to Slow Motion for a day of rest – for me anyway. We had been running and gunning for more than a week. I just wanted to sleep. Or read – something stationary for change of pace. Slow Motion got our attention while in Baltimore, when we noticed a smell of fuel. Sure enough, there was a very small drip from one of the fuel lines. The Admiral spent a day in the Inner Harbor getting the necessary repair done, so we could return to Delaware City. But when we got back to that marina, he lined up new fuel hoses and enlisted trusty marine repair person Greg to make sure we didn’t have any more drips, ever, from any fuel line. The Admiral fixed Slow Motion, while I read and slept and ate chocolate salt water taffy. This is why the Admiral is the Admiral and I am the aspiring navigator (who still can’t tie the clove hitch).

That is not to say that I am totally passive when it comes to boat repairs – that is not true. As a matter of fact, I drove all over Glen Burnie Maryland on Monday, September 8th, toting Brenda and Royal in the rental car, looking for the Cummins Service Center so I could pick up two hose elbows at 10:30 p.m., which were needed for the fuel line repair. What a trip that was! I pulled into the first huge warehouse at what I thought was the correct address and Royal and I banged on about a dozen doors and locked truck entrances. Finally, a guy let us in and we asked for the parts – he said we were at the wrong warehouse; the right one was next to this warehouse. At night, all huge warehouses look alike. But we persevered and drove to the next gigantic warehouse, where the guy was actually waiting for me. I had called the emergency number for Cummins, and the answering service had contacted the Cummins boss in Bristol, Pa. (10:30 at night), and he had called the parts manager asking him why he wasn’t opening the door to the woman who had been banging on it for 10 minutes. Never mind that I had been banging on the wrong doors at the wrong warehouse. Anyway, I appreciated the boss’s efforts to get the parts guy outside his building to look for me. It all worked out. I got the parts, and there would be an even happier ending if the hose elbows had not been too big. So now I get to handle the return and the refund. It’s the effort alone that has earned me the title “Aspiring Navigator”.

This whole misadventure in Glen Burnie to get two non-fitting elbow hoses late at night would have been a total disaster, except that I was still feeling the glow of the scintillating conversation from the members of the dinner party assembled by Royal at a restaurant in Silver Springs. We dined at the Urban Butcher, recommended by Felix the go-to guy at NPR for Latin music. Royal knew him when he was a news photographer for the Fresno Bee. Felix’s wife, Barbara, had worked for Brenda the Examiner in SF, but has since gone on to an indescribably delicious career in traveling the world – first class – and writing about it – for money! She offered to take Brenda with her to India for three weeks, staying at a four star hotel in Delhi. She lamented that she had asked years before to go on a backpacking trip in India, and she was turned down, so the four star hotel was somewhat of a disappointment compared to the excitement of backpacking. Having read “Half the Sky”, I don’t know if I would venture to any part of India, either backpacking or in luxury. India has so many young women coerced into sex slavery – there are some courageous indigenous women trying to free women from this “trade”, and I am in awe of their energy and tenacity. Still, I choose not to visit countries which treat women and girls badly. I’m stuck in the U.S., which does not have a stellar record on gender equality, but we’re making progress (ever so slowly). I do not want to pour tourist dollars into a country where girls are forced into arranged marriages or are kidnapped from their small villages and dragged to large cities to be exploited as prostitutes.

But I digress. The rest of the dinner party included Barbara and Felix’s 18 year old son, Alexandro, Jim and Penny Rison, and Brian ____. Jim writes about the CIA for the New York Times. He is facing contempt charges and jail time for not disclosing a source to the U.S. Government. Brian edits and writes for the International Herald Tribune, which was bought by the NY Times and apparently has lost its “brand” – so he is now a NY Times scribe too. For fifteen years he worked in Paris for the International Herald Tribune. In a former life, Brian and Jim both worked on the same daily newspaper in Fort Wayne, Indiana with Royal. There were two daily newspapers in Fort Wayne at the time, and theirs was the liberal one. They had some good stories to tell. Apparently, Jim was not a city crime beat kind of journalist, but excelled (excels) at uncovering widespread corruption or malfeasance on a regional and national level. In an article about a gang-style execution on Fort Wayne streets, Jim is reputed (source: Royal) to have started the article: “Foul play is suspected in the death of John Doe, whose body was found lying face down with 6 bullet holes in his head and back.” The NY Times must have seen some merit to this mastery of the understatement, because they plucked Jim from the CIA beat at the Los Angeles Times to cover any and all “foul play” at the CIA for their sophisticated readers. Seriously, jail time for not revealing your source? Attorney General Holder makes the decision whether Jim should be jailed. If you treasure the First Amendment, look into this sordid chapter of Big Government versus The Free Press, and write a letter to AG Holder and your representatives about keeping our press free and out of jail cells.

While the items on the menu at the Urban Butcher were tasty, the food for thought was even tastier. Thank you, Royal, for arranging this adult entertainment – a dinner party where every single guest is a great conversationalist, who can go from what the kids are doing now to global climate justice in 60 seconds.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY THREE: CHARMED BY BALTIMORE

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY THREE: CHARMED BY BALTIMORE

It’s called Charm City – Baltimore. We’re tied up at the Baltimore Marine Center, Inner Harbor. And today, Saturday, September 6, the dragon boat races are going on right under our noses. They’re for a good cause, Catholic Charities. There are about 35 different teams vying for the title of fastest dragon boat in the Inner Harbor. Dragon boats are sculls with dragon heads affixed to the front and about 12 pairs rowing as hard as they can to the beat of their drummer/coxswain at the front of the boat. At the other end is the person who has to try to steer the rowers to victory. The entire Inner Harbor is closed down from 7 a.m. to 5 p.m. to allow the races to proceed. People have come from as far away as Rock Hall, Maryland to watch the competition. Seriously. The Bank of America team came to the contest with an exaggerated swagger, insults slung at other teams and very loud B-O-A cheering – they came in 4^th, that’s last place, in their heat. Their taunting went down considerably after that. But, inexplicably, the B-O-A chant did not abate. Who knew BOA had anything to cheer about? Countrywide? I think not. Still in all, it’s been fun to watch the sculls glide gracefully and effortlessly across the harbor, in stark contrast with the straining muscles of the rowers.

Since our arrival Thursday afternoon, I’ve been exploring Charm City, while the Admiral has been doing “boat things”, like moving diesel fuel from the reserve tanks to the main tanks – four trips to the engine room and his troublesome knee finally had had it. But we have the fuel we need in the main tanks to get us back to Delaware City next week – and then some. Meanwhile, I went on foot patrol through the Federal Hill neighborhood and all around the Harbor yesterday. Today I trekked to Orioles Park at Camden Yards and toured the Sports Legend Museum. This museum is great! Of course, any museum with the voice of Jon Miller, formerly with the Orioles, now with the SF Giants, is going to be great. But there’s a lot more. There’s the history of the Negro League teams in Maryland – the Black Sox and the Elite Giants (what a name!) – which starred the likes of Roy Campanella and Junior Gilliam, among others who were finally allowed to join the white players in their inferior leagues. There is also a huge display on Babe Ruth, who was born in Baltimore and drafted by the Orioles, who saw fit to trade him to the Bosox. But he still belongs to Baltimore – the house where he was born is nearby and has become a museum itself. Okay, here’s where it gets sticky – the display touts Ruth as the best player in baseball – ever. Oh really? Did he ever have to face the great African-American pitchers of the Negro League? No. Was he better than Jackie Robinson or Satchel Paige or Roy Campanella? Debatable. Where would he have fit on an integrated team? He may or may not have “called his shot” in the World Series with the Cubs (George Will says he did.), but his showmanship was prodigious. So was his drinking, apparently. What makes him better than Hank Aaron? Or Barry Bonds? Did he steal bases? How good was he in the field? Gold Gloves were not awarded until 1957, so we don’t have that as a measure. Still, Brooks Robinson won 16 GGs and so did Greg Maddux. Are they the best players in baseball?

Please don’t come at me with the “Barry Bonds used steroids” mantra. Every ball player used whatever was available in his time to get an edge. That did not make them evil, and it should not detract from their abilities and their records. Whitey Ford and Mickey Mantle admitted to playing drunk – it apparently relaxed them and they played better. Johnny Damon says the World Series winning Red Sox team, on which he played, drank whiskey before every game to “get relaxed.” Most of them were probably using steroids and human growth hormones too – everyone was using some kind of performance enhancer when the Red Sox won the World Series after nearly a century of futility. So with the playing field “levelled”, namely, with everyone using whatever drugs of choice to get an edge, Barry Bonds still excelled. And talk about a thrill to watch. I saw him hit homer number 747, a towering shot to center field, and it was a moment to remember. Give Babe Ruth his due – he was the dominant ball player for years in the all-white major leagues. But the best baseball player ever? Don’t agree.

But I digress. This Blog is about Baltimore, the city of neighborhoods. I walked up Light Street through many of the Federal Hill businesses until I got to the Cross Street Market. That is a very cool place to visit. For my breakfast I had a delicious piece of lemon meringue pie with a tall cup of milk. At the fresh produce stand I bought two plump avocados and two juicy plums to share with the Admiral. There are several butchers on the premises; one has the chipped beef used to make steak sandwiches. There are two florists, a bakery or two, and several delis. There are some bars toward the back of the long aisle, but at least at 8 a.m., they don’t detract from the market atmosphere. However, this place does not carry staples. The Admiral called to ask me to get a bottle of ketchup – I looked all over for conventional grocery shelves – none. The bakery guy told me there was a 7-11 across the street, so I left the nifty market for the mundane 7-11 and found me a bottle of Heinz ketchup. Federal Hill is more than the market. There are all kinds of ethnic restaurants – Lebanese, Japanese, Thai, Italian. There is one nail salon per block. There is a used book store worth exploring. There is a hardware store. It’s got everything you really need if you’re a resident and don’t want to go to the burbs. You pay a little more, but you make it up on the gas savings. After tramping through the commercial district for blocks, I turned on to West Street and then Williams Street to walk past residences. This is Row House City. It was garbage day, maybe the biggest garbage day of the year what with whole bed mattresses out on the sidewalk, but you still knew you were in an upscale neighborhood where everyone tended their property with loving care. I walked to the Federal Hill park, then scaled a lot of steps to get to the top, where I was joined by a cavalcade of moms with baby carriages – all jogging. By this time it was at least 80 degrees in the sun, and humid. They were in great shape. Federal Hill is right above the marina where Slow Motion is docked. I got some great photos and let the history of the place sink in. From this hilltop, Baltimore soldiers fought in the War of 1812 and the Civil War to defend the City.

I returned to Slow Motion with the avos and plums, took a break of an hour, then headed out to explore the Inner Harbor neighborhood. The Admiral suggested I tour one or more of the four historic ships in the Harbor. The first one I came to was the “sloop of war” – that’s what it’s called – the Constellation. Five years after it was built in 1854, it was named the flagship of the US African Squadron and it sailed for the Congo in July 1859, two years before the Civil War started. Its purpose, along with the other members of the squadron, was to end the slave trade in Africa – so much easier than trying to end it in the United States – Not! The squadron, under the leadership of Flag Officer William Inman actually captured 14 ships carrying persons forced into slavery and liberated more than 3,900 before it was recalled to the United States in 1861. The Constellation, commanded by Captain John S. Nicholas, was responsible for capturing 3 of the 14 “slave” ships. The second such ship captured by the Constellation crew was the Cora, which had a full cargo of  705 persons held in slavery, and all were rescued. The third “slave” ship captured by the Constellation crew was the Triton, a Charleston, South Carolina based “slave” boat, and this occurred just weeks after Confederate troops fired on Fort Sumter in Charleston, S.C. This was the US Navy’s first capture during the Civil War. After the attack on Fort Sumter, the entire squadron was ordered back home to defend the Union. But the Constellation did not stay at home. It was refitted and sent to the Mediterranean in March, 1862, where it patrolled to protect the Union’s interests from Confederate raiders. It stayed in Europe until it was dispatched to the Gulf of Mexico in 1864. Then it was ordered to return to Norfolk. On the way to its destination, the Constellation chased a Confederate blockade runner, but that ship was a steamer and it had no difficulty outrunning the sails of the Constellation.

Not to worry – there was a life after the Civil War for sailing vessels, at least for the Constellation. In 1871 it was assigned to the US Naval Academy, where it was used for more than twenty years (until 1893) to train midshipmen practical seamanship and navigation. Midshipmen spend every summer on a “cruise”, where they learn these skills, and the Constellation was one of several training vessels for these yearly cruises. It became known as the “Cradle of Admirals”, as most of the future leaders of the Navy had learned their seamanship and navigation skills on their summer cruises on the Constellation. While training seamen to become admirals, the Constellation served double duty in 1880 by carrying more than 2500 barrels of potatoes and flour to Ireland, which was experiencing its worst famine ever. So was the Constellation finally “put out to pasture” after its mercy mission and training years at Annapolis? Not even. FDR saw a use for the Constellation in 1940, and it was recommissioned in that year and given the role of (relief) flagship for the Atlantic fleet. This title sounds ceremonial, but in fact in 1942 Vice Admiral Royal E. Ingersoll transferred his flag and staff to the Constellation and actually ran all the operations against the German U boats from the Constellation. The ship was moored at Newport, R.I., but the decisions on how to destroy the German naval threat were made on its decks. Pretty cool.

And now the Constellation has found a home at Baltimore’s Inner Harbor, where gawkers like me can board it and become part of a makeshift crew to simulate some of the work routinely done by a real crew on board. I helped lift a 45 pound keg from the deck, using a capstan near the stern of the ship. I was just holding the line for the keg, to keep it from hitting an unsuspecting tourist, while others did the grunt work of pushing the capstan around, as the line to the keg became tauter and shorter and hauled it off the deck. It must have been about 110% humidity, but we hoisted the keg and returned it to its position on deck. This was not an historical event for the Constellation, but a memorable one for me. That we even have a Constellation to visit is somewhat of a miracle, because it was mis-identified as a frigate (also with the name Constellation) for a decade or so, and efforts were made to restore it to “frigate-dom”. Fortunately, its true nature as a sloop of war was proven in 1991 by a US navy group which used computer modeling and new evidence. Now it floats proudly in the Inner Harbor, thanks to the leadership of former Baltimore Mayor Kurt L. Schmoke, who appointed a Blue Ribbon Commission to save the ship. And save it they did.

Did I mention that it was humid in Baltimore the day I served momentarily as crew on the Constellation? It was. And so, after completing my tour of this sailing giant, I headed for a somewhat cooler, dryer clime – the World Trade Center of Baltimore, which is nearby. The air conditioning greeted me coolly as I entered the pentagonal tower, and I flew up to the 27^th floor for a stunning 360 degree view of Baltimore. Before I took in the view, I was moved by the memorial to those killed in New York, at the Pentagon and in Shanksville, Pa on 9/11. The Baltimore World Trade Center planners did a great job on this tribute. Seeing photos of all the Maryland residents who were killed that day brought the tragedy back in human terms. And it was eerie looking out the huge plate glass windows at bright blue skies wondering what it would feel like to see a plane heading straight toward me. I didn’t dwell on that, as I started to identify Baltimore landmarks on each side of the 5-sided skyscraper. Then I saw Slow Motion across the way – what a sight! There she was in all her glory, tied up at the Inner Harbor Marina with some pretty fancy pants boats. The Admiral has really made her look good in the past months. Oh sure, the canvas over the front windows is dirty – needs to be replaced, but the tea-colored “moustache” is gone and Slo Mo is gleaming white, even without a wax job. Back to the view of Baltimore -- if you’re planning to visit Charm City, start your tour on the 27^th floor of the WTC so you can get yourself oriented to the location of all the neighborhoods and landmarks. That way you can decide what you want to walk to and where you might want to ride the Charm City Circulator (for free!).

When I returned to the ground and left the air-conditioned pentagon for the outside Inner Harbor, I headed straight to a frozen yogurt place and fought with the sun to get the cold stuff on my tongue before it melted into lukewarm sauce. But it was the next day, yesterday, where I learned the true meaning of “air conditioning”, when I visited the  Sports Legends Museum. Can you spell I C E B O X? Don’t worry, I’m not going on another Babe Ruth rant. Despite the frigid temps, the museum is worth a visit. And it’s right next to Camden Yards, which is cool even when the only thing to do there is watch the grass grow, as the sprinklers water it. Yes, I’m a baseball field groupie. An empty ball park carries so many memories, even when the home team is on the road. I can still picture Cal Ripken at shortstop – the first 6 foot, 5 inch short stop I ever saw. They should have renamed the position for the Iron Man, but “tall stop” doesn’t have the same cachet as shortstop. This coming Saturday I get to see Derek Jeter, provided the Yanks don’t put him on the shelf prematurely. Correction, I get to see the Orioles beat the Yankees, if all goes well. The Orioles – black and orange – are the East Coast version of my beloved San Francisco Giants. And they are in first place. It’s true they have lost consecutive games to the Tampa Bay Rays this weekend, but they’ll right the ship when they return home. Please.

Today the Admiral and I are making the boat neat and orderly for the arrival of Brenda and Royal from California. There’s a lot to do – we have clutter that has to be uncluttered. I made the bed in our guests’ cabin, but I still have to do a wash and then clean the isinglass, or vice versa. So it’s no time to blog. Tune in next week for the exciting adventures of Royal and Brenda and Ann and Art on Slo Mo.

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY TWO: SUMMER VISITORS AND BEACH BREAKS

CHAPTER ONE HUNDRED AND THIRTY TWO:  SUMMER VISITORS AND BEACH BREAKS

Everything that could possibly happen in the last two weeks of August happened – invasion of Ukraine by Russian troops without their IDs, beheading of journalists James Foley and Steven Sotloff by a British citizen working for ISIS, killing of gun instructor in Arizona by 9 year old “gun tourist” with UZI, Israel and Hamas killing innocents, and stock market going up and up despite all the killing. Oh yeah, and chemistry teacher turned meth dealer won the Emmy—again. During all this turmoil, the Admiral and I remained at Delaware City Marina. We were visited by sister Sue and husband, Doug, on their 12,000 mile RV trek from Tucson to Alaska to Michigan, Pennsylvania and Georgia, back to Tucson – in 100 days. It was a glorious, sunny, breezy day when we took them up the Delaware River in Slow Motion to the Delaware Memorial Bridge. The currents were favorable heading that way, so we had lots of company with big container ships plowing the channel next to us. The water was so calm that day we barely felt any wakes from the big ships. We celebrated our perfect day of cruising with crab balls and dinner at Crabby Dick’s. And I for one slept very well that night.

The next day Sue drove us to Christiana Mall – okay it’s not an historic site like a revolutionary fort, but it is one of the oldest, largest malls on the East Coast. And it has Macy’s and Nordstrom’s, not to mention a Legos store, a J. Jill clothing store and Urban Outfitters. We both boosted the local economy – no sales tax! Sue called grandson David Kyle from the Legos store and he picked out his birthday present from 3000 miles away in Tucson. Who needs online shopping, when you have a “with it” grandmother? We must have walked three or four miles, and Sue paid for it with hip and leg pain that night – and for the next few weeks. Or maybe it was the weeks of sitting in an RV traveling thousands of miles. I hate to think that shopping has any ill side effects. How can you ever get sick of Macy’s sales, even when they occur every day, particularly when you can buy a pair of shorts for seven bucks (marked down from 40)?  Or better yet, two pair for 14 bucks. Thank you, Barbara and Sondra, for weaning me off retail prices and teaching me to get at least 50% off everything I buy.

You could probably eat at Crabby Dick’s every night, but we tried a new place – which is actually a very old place – Cantwell’s Bridge Tavern in Odessa – for dinner. This hotel and tavern was built in 1822 by a businessman, William Polk, and named for the town founder, Sir Richard Cantwell, who built Cantwell’s Bridge in 1731. The Native Americans had lived here for centuries and the Dutch had settled in this area before the British took over. There are still many 18^th century homes in Odessa, which have been restored over the years by a DuPont executive (H. Rodney Sharp) and his DuPont heiress wife. The food at Cantwell’s Tavern was delicious, although Doug’s shrimp scampi was, well, shrimpy. I don’t get it – the chef makes this incredibly tasty entrée, but then only gives the diner enough to whet his appetite. Isn’t it supposed to be a meal? When it’s so good, why not serve more? As a chef, you don’t want to leave the diners unsatisfied, do you? We might have to go to a demi/small/tall/grande/venti system with entrees, like Starbucks. Same for the dessert – the blackberry cream puffs were amazing, until they were gone too soon. So if you go to Cantwell’s, be forewarned and ask for the grande sized entrée. The waitperson may look puzzled, for an instant, but since everyone has been to Starbucks, I bet you’ll get a “grande” portion. It’s worth a try.

I love visiting with my sister because she always has family history that I never knew or have forgotten. Same with my brother, who swears we all went to Virginia Beach one summer, with him riding in the back back of the Mercury station wagon. No memory of that whatsoever. I do remember a trip to Atlantic City with Mother and Jean and Sue, when we went to a huge move theater and saw “Gone with the Wind” – this was the early ‘60’s. I just remember that it was the coldest place on earth, this over-air conditioned theater, and it chilled my sunburned body to the bone. Back to Sue – she can trace all our allergy problems to Grandma Hill. I remember that she had asthma, but I wasn’t aware of a lot of allergies. There is still no explanation for three sisters having blood disorders – non-Hodgkin’s lymphoma (Jean), CLL (Sue) and LGL leukemia (me) – and no likely suspects on the family tree going back several generations. There’s a Nobel Prize waiting for the person who does the research and makes the connection – is it nature or nurture, the environment we were raised in or the genes we received? Inquiring minds want to know.

The Admiral treated us to one of his signature omelets, while Sue and Doug were here. Once you have that, with toast and bacon, you’re set for the day – except that maybe around 4 o clock there’s room for a coffee milkshake or an ice cream cone. The Admiral continues to excel in the galley. Last night we had General Tso’s chicken stir fry over rice, a dish fit for an emperor. And several days ago he made a huge pot of Manhattan style clam chowder. It’s still summer on the calendar, but the nights here recently have been in the 50’s and 60’s, soup weather. It’s hard to justify a night out at a restaurant when the talent at home is so consistently good. Even the humble grilled cheese and ham sandwich, when prepared by the Admiral, becomes a special meal which few restaurants can replicate. He made his grilled cheese for Robyn’s kids, Bryce and Myla, and for her husband, Dave, and for me, when Robyn’s family visited last Sunday. We went for a two hour cruise on Slow Motion – everyone in their life jackets – and then we returned for lunch aboard Slo Mo. Get this – Bryce’s favorite food in the whole world is edamame; Myla too. So we had plenty of edamame, as well as their second most favorite food, blueberries, and third most favorite, strawberries. This was an organic extravaganza.

Since Robyn’s visit, when the weather was extraordinarily beautiful – breeze, 70’s, low humidity, we have had one hot and humid day after another. We ran away to Atlantic City for a few days to get some ocean breezes. The most fun I have ever had in Atlantic City was pedaling a rented bike on the boardwalk between 7 and 8 in the morning. That was refreshing! That’s not to say that White House Subs has fallen into disfavor with me – oh no. The night before the bike ride we had cheese steak sandwiches at the White House – making the bike ride a lovely necessity. And what a find the night before – the Continental Restaurant, on the third floor of the building with shops across from Caesar’s. The Cobb salad was packed with great chicken (not Tyson or Perdue, I hope) and the Admiral’s pad thai noodle dish was made to perfection, according to him. (No testing on my part because of the peanut component). The Continental experience started out rocky – long wait before a waitperson came to the table, then another long wait after he left without taking our order. Finally, a new waitperson came to the table and actually took our orders and told us to forget about the first guy – must have been fired on the spot. Anyway, the second waitperson was extremely efficient and our entrees were delivered at the same time within minutes. Moral of the story: Don’t judge a restaurant by the first person who waits on you. Judge it by the food, if you have the time and the patience.

After our return to Delaware City, the heat wave continued, so on Labor Day, we took off for Rehoboth Beach in the afternoon, expecting that the holiday hordes would be heading home. Sure enough, the traffic lines heading north on Route 1 and away from Rehoboth were packed. Aha! Our plan was working –we would have the beach to ourselves – not! When we arrived, to our dismay, the not-so-friendly tourist venue had installed parking meters (8 minutes for 25 cents) everywhere. They were even in front of my favorite bed and breakfast, At Melissa’s. Boy, that would have been a buzzkill if the BB’s and I had been forced to stuff a meter with quarters every few hours. We looked in vain for a real public parking lot – one that did not charge, or at least had an attendant or ticket arrangement. No such thing, apparently. So I ran into three different stores and each gave me one dollar’s worth of quarters – enough for an hour and a half. Then we headed off to our barren beach. But no! There were beach umbrellas everywhere, with people still under them! What’s this? All these people are playing hookey on Tuesday? Never mind – the 70 degree breezes off the Atlantic were heavenly, as we felt them brush against our faces while sitting on a shaded bench on the boardwalk. And then we sought the A/C of the Grotto, which served pizza by the slice. Boardwalk pizza – not usually the best pizza, perhaps, but this stuff was pretty good, loaded with cheese and with the tomato sauce on top of the cheese, a la Romano’s famous tomato pie. Plug for Romano’s in Essington, Pennsylvania – go there. You will not be disappointed.

We are still in the middle of the heat wave, but fortunately the thunder and lightning storms last night brought the humidity down a little. And so far today, the sun is not punishing us. I am so ready for my massage at high noon, but first it’s time to do the laundry. I bet you thought that all my days are filled with adventure. Sorry to disappoint. This morning I wiped the spider poop off the seats in the flying bridge and vacuumed the carpets up there as well. Next I stripped the beds to wash the sheets for our “royal” (and Brenda) company. And now the laundry – another day in the exciting cruising life on Slow Motion. Eat your heart out, Martha Stewart.