A Day-Time Television Event!

If anyone is going to make bad day-time television commercial that airs between Jerry Springer and Judge Mathias it should be "The Historians". 

[Serious deep man's voice rumbles while background sound effects add the squealing tires, a tortured scream and sounds of a racing ambulance siren added between lines for ultimate emotional appeal] 

"Have you been the victim of a crime? Denied Social Security benefits? Recipient of bad medical advice?      

Let the Historians help! 

We serve the public through pristinely kept records of all the legal precedents and medical procedures that have caused you pain and suffering.

Our efforts make it possible for that ambulance sniffing lawyer to do their job or the doctor to remember those antibiotics so as not to bleed you dry in attempts to cure a case of pneumonia. Life can be a scary thing. Just forget about it and let us do the remembering for you!"

"Call now for a free consultation. Remember...we don't get paid if you don't get paid!"

"The Historians...experts on everything before you were born."

[ Cut back to Jerry Springer and his, " My man is really a gay woman..." episode]

History of History.

 "Many think that getting a master's degree in History is a dead end." 


This is how the website, Mastersdegree.org begins their description of what to do with a History masters. It pretty much sums up the popular opinion of what it is to be a Historian. 


I know that my mother holds tightly to that assumption as she always changes the subject from my historical aspirations to medical school. Recently even suggesting I become an accountant to run my husband's business while, "doing volunteer work for history on the side." An accountant? Seriously, Mom! Historians may be nerdy, but accountants are downright zombies. Albeit the kind of zombies one would like to have chained up in the back yard during tax season...


The real history of history goes like this...History has been the staple of politics, law and culture since the beginning of time. In fact, we wouldn't even know about the beginning of time without concerned record keepers. Even the disgustingly nostalgic and sentimental scrap booking moms who buy polka dotted paper and and stickers that say, "Love" or "Imagination" employ the magic of history to maintain a record of family events. They too are archivists and historians. 


It is however somehow not acceptable to aspire to just be a Historian. One may take that undergraduate degree as long as they vow to continue on with their studies in law or business or even forsaking it altogether when a better paying career beckons.


Public and private middle and high schools across the country have deadened the experience of History for most individuals. At least in elementary school with the interminable study of Pilgrims and Christopher Columbus came picture books, school assemblies and those awesome turkey pictures where you get to use your spread out fingers as feathers. Past that light hearted approach to inspiring patriotism school strips away most truth, interest and value of the Historical genre. Hence, making it one of the most loathed subjects known to students. Me included.


Now I stand at the precipice of continuing my education into the post grad world. I've tried to force myself into med school, law school, matchmaking, motherhood, and housewifery just to avoid the truth that I am a Historian for life. 


That's right, I'm a Lifer. The tweed jacket, pipe smoking, long winded, short pant wearing, unkempt keeper of facts that resides somewhere between the obsolete card catalog and dusty historical tomes in a forgotten college library. That's what we look like to you, right?  


It's still better than the cadaver cutting, God-complex, white coat wearing, germ soaked doctor.... or ambulance sniffing, bad day-time commercial making, over worked and underpaid member of the public legal world. Historians have enough to deal with...paper cuts, eye strain, being dull in social situations and the extreme deficit of interaction with the opposite sex. It's not all heroes and high-jinxs in the world of History. It's serious business.

The Man. The Myth. The Legend.

Blogging by popular demand, my fabulous friend and musical savant Dave Kemp has reigned down his knowledge to the world via: www.kempepedia.blogspot.com. 


Like myself, he is a subterranean lover of the underground. Dave is totally worthy of the Sin In Mobtown Seal of Underground Approval.


Show him some love!

                                                                    Approved!

Feels like the very first time...

Wednesday, July 28th,  a major press conference was called by the city. It was a podium placed in front of the tree where courageous Reggie held Stephen Pitcairn's limp hand and watched the blood pool in the dirt surrounding the hostas. The press conference brought together Col. Bealefeld, Mayor Rawlings-Blake, the heads of the neighborhood associations, a Senator, Jack Young President of the City Council, a religious figure and other city dignitaries to speak about the horrifying murder.

Head of police, Bealefeld, looking pristinely white skinned in his perfectly ironed blue suit, went to the podium and the vein in his neck was popping in just a matter of seconds. He was angry and apologetic and making all kinds of promises that I'm sure he wants to keep but can't. Everyone else, including the Mayor all said equally angry things and promised to get on legislation to strengthen laws on illegal gun violations. No one mentioned that this crime was done with a knife and gun laws won't help the next victim...The wonderful man who was brave enough to venture out upon hearing Stephen's cries was honored. That was good and true and honest on everyone's part. The Mayor, in her vibrant emerald suit slipped away and soon all of the other officials had evaporated with the setting sun.

So many promises, that everyone has heard before. But, the officials made these sound like they were the very first time they said it and that they mattered. Stephen wasn't the first to lose his life that weekend and since his death a man volunteering at a church downtown was shot for his scooter in a robbery. He made the news a couple nights in a row, but he was a black man, in a bad neighborhood, volunteering at a church. He wasn't working at Hopkins and getting ready for med school.

Baltimore kills so many people so often we almost forget about it. How do officials decide which murder gets the most attention and the most yelling and promises? Charles Village has enough money and influence to get the news there on the double. Whereas West Baltimore has already dug their graves with drugs and gang violence. How can we get people to have sympathy for those "junkies" and "welfare losers"

The crime numbers don't sky rocket because of random murders surrounding "outstanding and motivated" white kids. Our numbers come from neighbors killing neighbors in places the city has forgotten. Maybe a podium should be set up there to grieve for the loss of a whole generation and the fact that the city is too overwhelmed, too underfunded and too corrupt to be effective. It is up to the people to empower themselves. Charles Village, Druid Hill, West Baltimore, East Baltimore and all the rest are responsible now for making their own promises to ensure the safety of each-other and these kind of promises can be kept.

The very same issues emerged on The Block in the 70's as the city was getting a downtown re-model. The city had many ideas for this adult entertainment zone that included, tearing it down or moving the businesses out of the area. Instead of making any changes at all the city built their offices around it and closed their eyes to the problem. It is now very obvious what has happened to a once very viable part of the city. Broken promises and lowered expectations are the downfall of Baltimore. We are continually ok with reports of "lowered violence." The expectation should be NO VIOLENCE. Go ahead and raise the bar.

The people of Baltimore are paying the price. I've heard many say, "I hate this city," as a result of Stephen's murder. It is that attitude that killed him. We all did it. There is always enough time for you to get up and help your neighbors, your neighbor's dog, their child, your car, your family. Turn off the awful trash on television for just thirty minutes and take a walk around your block. It's that simple.

Can you make that promise?

A BA and The Block

It's official, I have my Bachelor's Degree in History from Goucher College.

Historian for Hire complete with BA and low rates!

My first edition of Sin In Mobtown: the academic version has been written and is under revisions. I will not sleep until the red light history of Baltimore is revealed and the people of Baltimore understand the dire need for change on East Baltimore Street. Learning about The Block isn't just history it's about human rights in the present. Adult entertainment can be profitable, fun and doesn't have to be exploitation.

Ye Olde Arguments for a War on Ye Olde Boston.

Boston Beauties

Even though I was in the heart of the American Revolution and the symbolic home of Independence all I could wonder about was, "Where did they keep the strippers?" I had heard of The Combat Zone from those who had visited many years ago. It was supposed to be the Boston equivalent to The Block, with a much cooler name. In the very brief research I had done to find this place I found that it had been destroyed during urban renewal projects in Boston and turned into City Hall.

Baltimore Gems: Ready to Move In !!

The complete irony did not get passed me as I stood around what had been the area of The Combat Zone at the edge of beautiful Boston Common and watched couples kissing and homeless rummaging and tourists touristing with no idea that less than 40 years ago the district would have been blanketed by prostitutes, neon lights and peep shows.

Boston chose to solve this issue of sleeze by removing The Combat Zone and building the bright domed building of democracy and law, City Hall... where naked girls had once done splits. Baltimore chooses to simply ignore the sleeze, the tourists and the homeless by surrounding the depressing scenes with City Hall and all of the important government buildings. For Bostonians it wasn't acceptable to have a city center filled with drugs, underage strippers and prostitution. Baltimore likes to think of itself as a rebel, one that can live with real combat zones in full view and be progressive enough to allow them to exist side by side with half-assed urban renewal from 1970.

Boston didn't have the same unique character or characters that Baltimore can boast. We Baltimoreans have the privilege of affordable housing and cheap beer with no suits or high heels required. It seemed Boston had a lot of professional up-tights wandering the streets looking productive and educated. Baltimore doesn't have too much to worry about it that area either; everyone in Baltimore knows that those from Hopkins can't bother to mix with the rest of the population anyway. Baltimore's a lot more friendly and have way better accents. There has never been an instance when either "park" or "car" have ever contained an "h."

I didn't come back after two days in Boston to rip on my favorite city in the world. Instead, I came back like one does after attending the wedding of a really rich friend with impeccable taste. Their uncle is a bank president, their mom a beauty queen and brother Secretary of State. You showed up with a Goodwill dress you thought was funky and interesting, but really just looked like you dumpster dove outside the reception hall when compared to the designer crap the twiggy women wore so elegantly. When you get home from an affair like that your life all of a sudden seems so sloppy and out of control. At your wedding the wedding singer sounded like Neil Diamond, the catering was from the pit beef place down the street paid for with a coupon, and the most educated guest was your brother with an A.A. in General Studies from a tech school. The kid that walked in drunk to his last final and announced, "I feel like Ron Howard!" when he really looked like King Koopa smelling like Natty Light and vomit.

There are many fundamental differences between those scenarios and I would never want to live a life of designer clothes with the Secretary of State's secret service at family dinners. I just want to know that I am good enough to have anything I want and that people realize I choose to live the campy life and love it. As of right now, I take my English guest to Boston after living with me for months in Baltimore and I found myself trying to show her dumpsters behind the historic churches calling them "monuments" or asking the few drunken homeless people I could find for directions to avoid the nicely uniformed "information" people milling about every corner. It was just too upsetting to show her how easy and wonderful it was to navigate around a city that embraced and capitalized on both its hard drinking Irish side and refined Puritan roots. Even after taking her to a soup kitchen for our final night out and telling her it was the best restaurant in town she was starry eyed about the city that had started the war against her nation with tar and feathers!

Baltimore city government wants to start a 4 cent bottle tax to raise money for city improvements. I am totally for the tax and insist that all of the money go to a "Government Exchange Program" so we can import the Boston planners and send our impoverished government lot up to them. Our Baltimore city council will have the extinct Combat Zone moved into City Hall in no time. Tourists will be mugged and possibly shot in front of famous monuments while liquors stores will be instated on every block. At least this "Government Exchange Program" will keep us competitive with Boston instead of our usual lack of recognition for creation of complete unemployment, total violence and most effective littering campaign. Let's spread the love.

Carnival Strippers.

photo by Susan Meiselas

Take a close look at the beautiful photo documentary book by Susan Meiselas, Carnival Strippers. It may not focus on the girls from The Block but does bring the sentiments of the current day Block strippers to life. It is sad and poetic and has blocks of transcribed interviews taken by the author beside images wavering between purity and total resignation.

Her documentation took place between three summers of 1973 through '75 as the carnival strippers performed in town. One girl cites Blaze Starr as an example of how well she wanted to do for herself as a stripper. Another girl candidly stated that all of the dancers were prostitutes veiled as strippers. It did seem this was true there as well as the way it seems to be on The Block. I can confirm that information for the present day and feel very strongly that the atmosphere of explicit sex acts on stage and prostitution were a common historical theme on The Block as well.

It is so unfortunate to me that a similar collection of photographs does not exist to document The Block of this same time period in the 1970's. The women interviewed for this collection spoke very often of their disdain for woman's liberation and their great desire for being homemakers. It makes me think deeper about the role of feminism in society beginning in the late 60's then taking flight in the 1970's and how it was translated to life in a strip club on The Block. I am curious how much of an effect the women's movement had on the souring of the adult entertainment district of Baltimore.

Carnival Strippers will most likely not appear in your local library. It is very explicit and often times highly disturbing. I checked it out from Goucher College Library in Towson, MD. It's worth searching for to help with your understanding of the most basic adult entertainment that was and still can be found all over the country.

photo by Susan Meiselas