Corona Virus, Pandemics and Remembering My Grandmother

Edward and Bertha Roth's wedding photo 1918

I have been reading about the Corona Virus for over two months now.  From the first outbreak in China up until counting the daily death toll here at home there has been little of anything else to think about.   It is on the TV news non stop.  And Facebook is no escape from it either.  There is the doom and gloom daily updates and the humorous daily memes to capture our attention online.   We are not supposed to gather in large groups right now.  Weddings are being cancelled and conducted with no guests.   There are questions about how to hold memorial services for our deceased when we are not supposed to gather in groups of more than ten.   Our schools are closed.  Many are without jobs.  We will never forget these days.   Much like watching the daily body counts from the Viet Nam war on TV we now are counting bodies by country and ranking which ones have the most deaths.  It's truly frightening and exhausting.

I was joking with some friends on Facebook today and we were comparing our efforts scrubbing our floors and house holds today.   As I scrubbed my own kitchen and dining area today with Pine Sol I took a deep breath and smelled the fresh scent of the Pine Sol.  I was immediately back in my Grandmothers tiny three room apartment.  She scrubbed and cleaned her apartment on a daily basis.  The minute I would walk into her home I was surrounded with the scent of Pine Sol.   I could not help but feel her presence with me today while I cleaned.

As I reminisced about her today it dawned on me that she was alive for the 1918 Spanish Flu pandemic to which  out current situation is so often compared.   And yet I never remember her ever talking about surviving a pandemic.  Her name was Bertha Wilson but was known as Bertie to most of her friends.   She was born in 1897.   I stopped to think about what she might have been doing in 1918.   She was not bombarded with non stop daily updates about the pandemic.  Radio's were not common in most homes until the late 1920's.  There was no TV with twenty four news and daily Presidential updates.   There was no internet to surround her with doom and gloom.  So I have to wonder if she even  realized there was a terrible flu spreading across the world.

I did some quick research on the Spanish Flu today.  It started spreading across the globe in 1918.   One article stated that many believed the virus came to the United States through the military.  In 1918 my grandmother met and married her husband Edward Roth.

Edward Roth 1916

The second waveof  the Spanish flu arrived in the United State late summer 1918.  It is believed it was carried by the returning dough boys from World War I.  My grandfather was one of those dough boys returning home and was stationed at the newly opened Aberdeen Proving Ground.  The virus spread from Boston and to New York and Philadelphia before spreading west to St. Louis and San Francisco.

Dough Boys Returning Home - My grandfather Edward Roth upper left

Edward Roth 1918

Here in Maryland the first notice of the flu came in late September 1918 in a handful of soldiers at Camp Meade.  Each soldier was quarantined.  But visitors and other solders were allowed to come and go at will.  Then within a few days there were almost 2,000 cases reported at the camp.   In Baltimore theaters and railway and street car operators were asked to keep their spaces well ventilated.  They were asked to post signs suggesting travelers sneeze and cough into kerchiefs.

My grandmother Bertha Wilson and her mother Katherine Wilson

I do know my grandmother had a very active and busy year in 1918 during the epidemic. She met and married my grandfather. They moved from Maryland to Indiana, his home, after they were married that year. While in Indiana my grandmother had one child who was still born. She was very depressed and missed her home and family very much. So they moved back to Maryland in early 1919 while the flu was still active in the country. But she survived. I never knew my grandfather. He died when my mother was still a teenager during the Great Depression. My grandmother lived until 1976. She raised four children during the Depression. She survived the death of her husband. Every year she would watch our local 4th of July parade. When the military from Aberdeen Proving Ground would march past she would put her hand over her heart and say there go my boys. And she would always have a tear. Sad but sweet memories for her I am sure.




My grandmother often spoke of World War II. She would mention the black out drills, the rationing and the the Great Depression. She loved telling stories. But she never once mentioned the great pandemic of the Spanish Flu. She survived all of this. And we too will survive this pandemic. And maybe like her I will never mention it again.

My grandmother Bertha Wilson with me 1953

8th Grade Art History and Rome 2016

  

Surrounded by at at the Vatican Museum my last day in Rome

My father could sketch a little.  My cousin Junior, his nephew, was an artist who did beautiful water color landscapes. My brother's daughter Amanda draws beautiful portraits.  My sister could draw a little.  My ex wife drew very well.  My daughter Katie is an excellent artist. The Sampson's had artistic genes.  MY MOTHER COULD NOT DRAW.  She had absolutely no talent  at all for drawing.  My Aunt Louise, my mother's sister, could not draw.  My mother's mother, my beloved /grandmother had no artistic talent at all. The Roth's could not draw.   My name may be Sampson but the lack of artistic ability is pure Roth. I can not draw anything.  Even my stick men look like a five year old drew them. 

My two nightmares in school were gym and art class.  I could not catch a soft ball or throw a football.  I was raised in a holiness church and I can you now I experienced sanctification praying to the Holy Spirit to keep that softball away from me in the outfield.  Whoever said you can't pray in school never stood next to me in gym class.  Had it rained every time I prayed for rain on gym day my home town would have been washed down the Chesapeake Bay many years ago.  My junior high and high school gym teachers were good men.  They never made fun of me or made me feel inadequate.  Although I already felt that way they never encouraged it.  I always was graded a B in gym class.  Years later I talked with one of my gym teachers and asked him why he always gave me a B.  Obviously I was not a B student.  He told me "You always came to class.  You wore your gym suit and you took a shower. And you never gave me a problem." 

My seventh grade art teacher was never so kind.  She knew I had no artistic ability.  She knew her assignments were way beyond anything I could do.  And she never gave me a break.  She assigned us paper mache animals.  We had to use coat hangers, newspaper and wheat paste to create animals.  I was in a panic.  Other students were already molding the shapes of horses and dogs and even fish.  I decided an octopus would be easy.  I took four coat hangers and a ball of newspaper and formed my octopus.  Of course an octopus has eight tentacles and mine only had four.  But I knew I could never mange bending eight arms into place.  My teacher never corrected me until I was finished and we had to present our projects to the class.  When I presented mine she asked "What is that?"  I said an octopus.  She said it has four legs and looks like a camera on a tripod.  I just wanted to crawl under the table and hide.  Another time she assigned us to make mosaics. We had to draw a picture and color it with pieces of construction paper mosaic style.  Once again I was in panic mode.  I could never draw a picture much less color it with pieces of colored paper mosaic style.  I ended up drawing a big head much like the heads on my stick figures.  I gave it a large head of hair that flipped up on the ends.  I was making That Girl which was a current hit TV series back in the those days.  When she was grading the finished project once again I was asked "What is this?"  I said "That Girl".  She told me "That is not any girl I have ever seen."  I have a feeling if my gym teacher had been there he would have understood exactly who it was and why I made it and would have graded me his usual B.

My eighth grade art teacher was the best.  She knew not all of us were talented but she assigned projects we could at least try to work on with some success.  She also taught us about art history.  She taught us about the appreciation of art not just the creation of it.  We were a small rural school.  Going to Baltimore City was a big journey for most people in my home town.  Mrs. Smith, the art teacher took us on a field trip to Baltimore to see The Agony and The Ecstasy, the movie about Michelangelo painting the Sistine Chapel.  I was fascinated with the movie.  I learned about the great artists of the period and got to see their masterpieces.  And this little gay boy also got to see Charlton Heston in a toga  through most of the movie.  I was spellbound.  So there I sat watching every stoke of his hand and every movement of Charlton Heston recreating this great Michelangelo's masterpiece.  We were in the huge and beautiful Mayfair Theater in Baltimore.  Everything about this experience spoke to the little boy from Havre de Grace, Maryland.  Sadly now the Mayfair Theater sits in a shambles in the inner city of Baltimore.  I have taken photos of it on several occasions still remembering the school field trip.

Mayfair Theater, Baltimore 2015I

I made my first visit to Rome in July 2016 fifty years after junior high school art class.  The appreciation for classic art that I learned from Mrs. Smith has remained with me all of these years.  When I travel. I want to experience the food and the art from the location I am visiting.  So Rome as a dream come true.  From the wine, to the pasta, to the Bernini angels I overdosed in Roman culture.  The highlight was on my last day in Rome when I finally go to see the Sistine Chapel and Michelangelo's masterpiece.  The room was crowded.  People were standing shoulder to shoulder with no room to move.  But I didn't mind the crowds.  I was back at the Mayfair Theater and twelve years old again.  I could see how Michelangelo created the scaffolding and climbed to the top of chapel exhausted to finish the finger tip of God touching Adam.  There were signs posted saying no photography.  But there were people snapping cell phone photos all around me.  I didn't want a cell phone photo though.  I wanted a real photo for this special moment.  So I worked my way to the center of the room and lifted my camera up, with no flash, to take my photo.

My photo from the Sistine Chapel - July 2016

I had my moment.  Actually only a second.  I was  tapped on my shoulder by a security guard and was told no photos allowed.  I explained I did not use a flash. He said very abruptly "Turn it off." When he left I turned quickly to sneak a photo of the back wall which had Michelangelo's The Last Judgment.  As I snapped the photo the guard returned and said to me "Turn off NOW."  So I  did.  And I departed the chapel after having a very special moment with the arts.  I can't help but feel my seventh grade art teachers spirit was guiding that guard to me just to harass me once more.  But my eight grade art teacher was there also standing next to me smiling.

My photo of The Last Judgement - July 2016

The Hiker - Spanish American War Memorial - Baltimore

The Hiker - Spanish American War Memorial in Baltimore
E Fayette Street & N Lakewood Avenue (Street View)

I love monuments and memorials. When I travel if I see a monument  I have to take a photo of it. When I return home and start to label my photos I then take time to research the monument.  I have a learned a lot of history that I never saw in  a text book this way.  I've decided to so a series of blogs on some of the monuments from my home city of Baltimore.  One of Baltimore's nicknames is The Monumental City because of the number of monuments located here.  Some have become hidden or forgotten over the years.  But each is fascinating and has a unique story to tell.

"The Hiker depicts a hero stripped of his parade uniform and shown as a soldier reacting to the challenges of the battlefield."

This statue has a rich history that does not start with Baltimore.  The original statue  was created by Theo Alice Ruggles Kitson.  She created the statue to honor the American soldiers who fought in the Spanish-American War, the Boxer Rebellion, and the Philippine-American War.  The original statue was created for the University of Minnesota in 1906.  It became a very popular statue and copies have been made and placed in over 50 locations in the United States.  The one in Baltimore was dedicated on June 11, 1943 quite a few years after the original statue was created.

Theo Alice Ruggles Kitson was born in Massachusetts.   She was the student and wife of artist Henry Hudson Kitson.   She studied in Paris and became known for her work by the age of nineteen. The Hiker became her most famous work.

The statue stuck a cord with people.  Due to it's popularity in 1921 the Gorham Manufacturing Company in Providence, Rhode Island bought the rights to the statue.  They eventually cast at least 50 statues over the next 44 years including the one here in Baltimore.  

The Spanish-American War only lasted for ten weeks and is primarily remember for Teddy Roosevelt and his Rough Riders.  However the conflict did spread to the Spanish owned Philippine Islands and the island of Guam.  The war ended with the signing of the Treaty of Paris in 1898.  It gave the United States temporary control of Cuba and ceeded ownership of Puerto Rico, Guam and the Philippine island to the United States.  So for me personally, with the historic reopening of diplomatic status with Cuba in 2015, this monument has great interest to me.  I am hoping to travel Cuba in the near future and explore the culture we have long ignored. 

Theo Alice Ruggles Kitson died in 1932 eleven years before the statue was dedicated in Baltimore.

The statue is 9 feet (2.7 m) tall and stands on a 6-foot (1.8 m) granite base, depicting a soldier clad in a period uniform with a campaign hat and a Krag-Jorgensen rifle

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"The Hiker depicts a hero stripped of his parade uniform and shown as a soldier reacting to the challenges of the battlefield."

There are worse problems I know

It was a beautiful day today.  The weather was perfect.  As you can see above Fell's Point in Baltimore calls my name on days like these.  My day started out kind of normal.  I got up. I stretched out the old man morning pains.   I put the Delilah the Wonder Lab out about ten times this morning which means twenty trips to the back door.

I took some time this morning for some house work.  I cleaned two bathroom and vacuumed dog hair from the carpets.  If you have a black lab you already know this is a daily requirement. I had planned to do some laundry today also and few other things around the house but by 11:00 and trip number twenty to the back door the weather got the best of me.  I decided today was calling me for a trip to Fell's Point for lunch.

Larry at Woody's Wine Bar Spring 2012

I usually go down to Fell's Point the first really warm day in the spring and go to Woody's Rum Bar.  I don't go for the rum, although I do like a little rum.  I go there because it's a small cafe on a third story balcony overlooking Baltimore's harbor with a perfect spot to people watch and they serve a perfect portion of wine along with my lunch.  It's the perfect way to start my spring.  I have even written a blog or two here about early spring afternoons at Woody's.  This year I was side tracked a little.  I was still recuperating from my spinal surgery through the spring and was not allowed to drive or to drink any kind of alcohol.    I finally had my chance last week to make a trip to Woody's  I was waiting for my glass of wine, a fish taco, and lots of people watching from my perch on the rooftop.   To my dismay Woody's was not serving single servings of wine any longer.  They were serving $40 bottles of wine which is way over my budget for lunch and also way to much for me to drink while driving.  So I asked the waitress about this.  She told me there did serve wine by can now for single servings.  She said it was the size of two glasses.  Wine by can?   Let's just say this did not really appeal to me and just leave it there.  My response to her was "Show me the beer menu".  I ended up with a beer and a rather boring and tasteless burger because not only didn't they have wine but they were temporarily out of the fish tacos also. So I made a note to myself scribble Woody's off my list of favorite places.

I returned to Fell's Point today, one week later. The first thing to happen is my air conditioning in the car was not working.  My car is two years old.  The A/C simply can not be broken.  But it was.  No matter what I did all that happened was hot air blew in my face.  So I had to roll down the windows and deal with the heat.   I was hoping for the perfect experience I missed last week once I arrived in Fell's Point, a glass of wine, a light lunch, and some time to relax along the water front and enjoy the view.  Where better to this, now that Woody's is scratched off my list, than the Waterfront Hotel, aka WTF Hotel.  It is know to have some of the best food in Fell's Point.  Baltimore Magazine and The City Paper give it awards every year.  And I have enjoyed it in the past.  I parked my car in the square in Fells Point and paid the meter. (Please keep this in mind dear reader as it plays a roll in the end of my story).  I entered WTF Hotel and placed my order: a glass of wine and a Maryland Crab Cake.  .  I found a seat with a view of the street and the harbor.  Things were looking up.  UNTIL.....

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They served my wine in a stemless glass!  I have whined and posted rants on Facebook in the past about my disdain for restaurants and bar who serve me white wine in a stemless glass.  It's a huge pet peeve of mine.  I can accept, if I must, red wine in a stemless glass.  But not white wine. EVER!  The wine gets warm from my hand.  It's difficult to pick up and hold.  And it makes me unhappy.

Next they served me my crab cake.  For an award winning restaurant I was expecting a text book perfect Maryland Crab Cake.  But no that is not what I was served.  I was served "their take" on a Maryland Crab Cake made with smoked crab meat.  So there I sat with my stemless wine glass and my wine getting warmer each time I touched it and a smoked crab cake.  Let's just say I made another one of those notes to myself to scratch the WTF Hotel off my list also.

I did not finish the wine.  I picked at the crab cake.  I paid my bill and decided to try and salvage the afternoon  by going to Max's Tap House.  Max's has over two hundred beers daily.

Max's did not disappoint.  They had one of my favorites.  Susquehanna Brewing's So Wheat.  It was a perfect Hefewizen for my hot afternoon. So I left Fell's Point to head home in my non air conditioned car feeling somewhat satisfied.  It was not quite the experience I had hope for but there are far worse problems in the world.

I got back to my and what do I see on the wind shield?  A parking ticket.  I looked at my phone for the time.  3:00.  I looked at my parking permit inside the window.  Expires 2:58.  I was pissed.  Did the cop stand there and wait for two minutes to post my ticket?  Was it really worth even coming to Fell's Point any more?  Ugh!   I picked up the ticket to examine it.  It was not for expired parking.  So I guess I owe the police an apology for my nasty thoughts.  It was for expired license tags!  My tags expired July 31.  Today is August 4.  I was mad at myself now instead of the police. I drove my car to the MVA express near my house and went in to pay for new tags;  Before going in I looked at the ticket again.  And there it was.  The wonderful and kindly but fat fingered policeman had keyed my license number incorrectly on the computerized ticket.  My tag has three letters in the middle of the plate and he or she had keyed two of them wrong.  So there is no way I can pay the ticket on line because my tag number is not in the system from the ticket.  Not a bad ending all things considered.  Someone else with the license tag number on my ticket will have a bad day in about a month when they get a notice for not paying their fine.  I was saved a $35 fine but still had to pay $135 for my tag renewal.

These are all insignificant first world problems I know.  I have a cousin who is battling leukemia.  I have a best friend who's brother is battling cancer.  I have a prayer list a mile long for friends who are ill, or having financial problems.  A stemless wine glass and a crappy crab cake really don't hold up as major problems in the long run.  I do count my blessings every day.  Now if only Fell's Point could pull it's act together!






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The Tough Ladies of Locust Point

Locust Point is one of my favorite neighborhoods in Baltimore.  It is slowly being gentrified from a rough working class area into an up and coming neighborhood with trendy bars and remodeled classic Baltimore row houses.  The old concrete silo's and warehouses are now becoming attractive condominiums.  The old form stone covered row houses are now dwarfed by these renovated towers and apartments honoring both the past and the future of this neighborhood.

I started spending time in Locust Point last year.  It's a neighborhood I had not given much thought to in many years.   I was out on one of my photo walks last spring and found myself in the heart of South Baltimore, the Locust Point neighborhood.  My father had sisters who lived in this neighborhood when I was young.  It was a rough working class area that could be dangerous at times.  We would go down to South Baltimore to visit his sisters always making sure all the car doors were locked before leaving the car and watching over our shoulders as we walked to their houses.  When we got ready to leave my Aunts would' always warn us to be careful walking back to the car.  This was the Locust Point of the 1950's.

The lady on the left is my Dad's mother Margaret Sampson.  The lady on the left is his sister Stella.  They lived in this South Baltimore neighborhood.  My Dad's sisters Agnes and Margarette also lived in South Baltimore.   My father's sister Anna Mary lived on the north east side of Baltimore not far from where I live now.  But she traveled by bus each day to Locust Point to work along with Stella and Agnes at the box factory.  They were hard working ladies.  They were not the June Cleavers or Donna Reed's from the television shows.   They were the working class "Roseanne" types of ladies who were worked hard to help support their families.  I have very faint memories of my Grandmother Margaret Sampson.  She died in 1955 when I was three years old.  I have a very brief memory of seeing her at my Aunt Kate's house but no memory of her voice or actions. I was told she loved little boys and would try to hold me on her lap although she was very ill with uterine cancer at the time.

One day last week I found the old box factory where my Aunts used to work.  It still looks like a rough place to work.  Agnes, Stella and Anna Mary all three worked here for many years.  They were all three tiny little Welsh/Irish women.  Stella and Anna Mary looked small and fragile.  Agnes looked tough.  She had tattoo's on her arms and this was in the 1950's before tattoos were acceptable.  But appearances can be deceiving.  Stella and Anna Mary looked fragile but they were as tough as Agnes.  These were not ladies you wanted to mess with.  They worked hard, they liked their beer, and they were not afraid to finish an argument or a fight.  But they were also loving and kind ladies who were proud of their families and would take care of each other.   They would embrace your and kiss you cheek one moment and then let out a profanity that would shock a sailor the next.  When I go to Locust Point today I feel like they are with me.  I can sense them around me when I walk down there taking photos with my camera. I can't go to this area and not think of them.  I didn't know them all that well growing up.  Of all of my father's Baltimore sisters I knew Stella and Anna Mary the best.  Agnes and Margarette were more distant to me.  I only met or saw Margarette a few times usually at family funerals.  She was a large woman and quite loud also and I remember finding her kind of scary as a child.  .  I saw Agnes more often than Margarette but not as often as Stella or Anna Mary.

I walked past the box factory to take my photo and I could almost imagine those three sisters, Agnes, Anna Mary, and Stella standing inside working hard, sweating, and waiting to get off work to walk down to one of the corner bars in South Baltimore for that cold beer they loved so much.  I have a favorite bar in Locust Point now also.  It's quite different from any that they would have recognized.  There are large screen TV's broadcasting the World Cup.  The beer served is craft beer both local and from around the world.  I am not sure how they would have reacted to this.  I don't know if they would have traded their traditional bottles of Natty Boh for one of my craft beers or not.   They probably would have laughed at the idea of watching soccer, not cared for the really hoppy beers, and probably punched out anyone who crossed them.

When I became an adult and we had a family funeral I was given the job to drive the Aunts back to Baltimore City afterwards.  Not one of them had a car or drove.  They lived in the city.  They didn't a car.  We had a funeral for one of my Uncle's during the winter one year.  It had started to snow during the funeral.  Afterwards I had to drive Aunt Anna Mary back her home not far from where I live now.  At the time it seemed a great distance to me though.  As we drove the snow started coming down harder.  Aunt Mary was in the front seat with me.  Her husband Walt was in the back seat.  I don't think I ever heard Walk say a word.  He was very quiet and Aunt Mary always took charge.  I could tell she was getting concerned about the snow.  I thought she was nervous about us driving in the snow.  I told her I was used to to driving in the snow so there was nothing to be concerned about.  Walt laughed out loud.  One of the few times I ever heard him speak.  He said "She's not afraid of your damned driving.  She's afraid she doesn't have any beer at home and might get snowed in!"  She looked over at me and smiled and said "Can you stop at the liquor store on the way to our house."    With the snow coming down I really wanted to just get back home to Harford County before the roads got any worse, but I agreed to stop and pick up a six pack for her.  I parked the car near the liquor store.  Walt stayed in the car while Anna Mary and I went inside the store.  I picked up a six pack for her and she looked at me like I was crazy. " Put that back she snapped at me.  We could be in for a blizzard."  We left the store with two cases of beer.  When it snows in Baltimore people rush out for toilet paper and milk.  Aunt Mary rushed out for a case of Natty Boh.

At another family funeral I was assigned to take Aunt Stella and Aunt Aggie back to South Baltimore afterwards.  They enjoyed the ride home and we talked non stop.  They both called me Little Larry for some reason.  I was never sure why but I never minded it.  They laughed and told me family stories that I had never heard before.  And these two white haired grandmothers were not afraid or ashamed to drop the "f bomb" a couple of hundred times during that forty minute drive.  When I arrived at Aunt Stella's house she told me she would love to have me come in for a few minutes if I didn't mind.  I said sure.  I was enjoying her company and wanted to talk some more.  She said she had to check the house first though and asked me to wait in the car.  She came back to the car all upset and cussing up a storm.  "That f#*king husband of mine isn't home and the friggin pit bulls  are running lose in the house.  They'll rip your leg off if you try to come in."  This was the last time I ever saw Aunt Stella.  But I will never forget that moment.

Union Soldier and Sailers Memorial Baltimore Maryland - Photo editing

Union Soldier and Sailers Memorial Baltimore Maryland a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

I recently downloaded the Picsa photo editor.  I have been having fun editing old photos with Picsa and seeing the new results..  This is an interesting photo I took last year.  I posted it to Flickr and had a few hits on the photo, but it was not an outstanding photo in my photo stream.   I edited the photo today and reposted the new version.  Within one days time I already had more hits on the photo than I had for a year on the original.  Its amazing what a little editing will do.  Its the same picture, but its presented differently.  It really makes me realize what a difference presentation can make.  I think it can also work on a personal level.  I am the same person that I have always been, but how I present myself on a daily basis can make a difference in the way others see me. With a little editing each day I can change the way people see me.  It does not change who I am but it can change the way the others perceive me. 

The object in the photo is interesting in its own way without any editing, but editing brings the attention to the photo that it deserves.

  Baltimore is a city full of fascinating monuments.  You can tell much about any cities history from its monuments.  Maryland was a divided state during the Civil War.  Much of the state supported the Confederacy although Maryland never secceeded from the Union.  This is the only Civil War monument in Baltimore dedicated to the Union.  One the opposite corner of the Wyman Park Dell you will find the  monument to Robert E. Lee and Stonewall Jackson of the Confederacy.

The statue was created by Adolphe A. Weiman and was dedicated in 1909. The monument depicts a Union soldier striding forward with the Goddess Victory to his right and the Goddess Bellona (War) to his left. Behind Bellona rises a fig tree.

The Real Braveheart

William Wallace Memorial in Baltimores Druid Hill Park a photo by litlesam on Flickr.

The Real Braveheart

I am not a fan of Mel Gibson. My Scottish friend Gillian has told me that most Scots are not fans of Mel Gibson either. His portrayal of William Wallace insulted many people in Scotland for its historic inaccuracies. But that’s Hollywood. Historical epics are not made to tell history, they are made to make money. While in Scotland in 2009 I was able to visit Sterling Castle and see the fields where William Wallace led the battle for Scotland’s independence. It brought back to memory the statue of William Wallace I had seen here in Baltimore in Druid Hill Park. I told my friends in Scotland about the memorial here in the park. That’s part of my love of travel, to be able to visit other countries, meet friends, and then be able to make a connection with something familiar back home.

After returning from Scotland I drove over to Druid Hill Park to take some photos. The William Wallace Memorial in the park was created by artist David Watson Stevenson, who was a member of the Royal Academy of Scotland. The monument was presented to the city of Baltimore in 1893 by William Wallace Spence. It was then rededicated one hundred years later by the St. Andrew’s Society of Baltimore. I really like the way the statue stands with his sword lifted facing the skyline of Baltimore.

Having been to Sterling and seen the castle and the battleground there, this monument has a special connection for me when I see it. Another connection is the fact that for the past few years Baltimore’s Gay Pride Festival has been located in Druid Hill Park. William Wallace now stands surrounded by the GLBT community each year in the park. The state of Maryland is now involved in a large battle for marriage rights. The battle for freedom continues today. I find it appropriate that he stands here today representing the fight for freedom. Move aside Mel Gibson. Here is the true Braveheart.