« April 2007 | Main | June 2007 »
Well, gee . . . the mayor and city council president got a clue (and maybe from Sunday's column): They are asking for more money for more cops to fight crime in Baltimore. Great Caesar's Ghost! What's next? Espantoons?
(Espantoon -- look it up!)
Lacrosse fans must have noticed the Disneyesque Blue Jay on the Hopkins helmets during the Final Four last weekend. That is from the fine hand of freelance cartoonist and journalist Neil A. Grauer, a Hopkins alumnus and long-time supporter of the team. He's been drawing the NAG Jay since 1966, and for much of that time has been whipping up personalized versions of it for players weekly, during lax season. That's a lot of ink! 
According to Grauer, Bill Dwan, the associate head coach, declared earlier this season: “If we get into the playoffs, I want to put your Blue Jay on the helmet.” The new decal appeared for the first time two weeks ago, at the start of the NCAA Tournament. Given the results, it should stick. (Get it? Stick! The decal should stick! Oh, I kill myself!)
"It’s an incredible honor," says Grauer, an old friend.
The photos here are by Spencer Norcross and were posted to the LaxPower forum.
In case you are wondering about the other markings on the Hop helmets, Grauer adds: "The FH and MD commemorate Franz Hartig, Class of 1929, who died in January, and Mike Durgala, a four-year member of the Blue Jay baseball team and assistant coach. He was killed in an automobile accident last August while returning to Baltimore from a baseball camp in Pennsylvania. Hartig and his wife, Jane, attended practically every home and away game, regardless of the weather, up to the last game of the ’06 season, even when they both had to use walkers. He kept meticulous notes on who got what ground balls, assists, goals, etc. Mrs. Hartig was escorted to this year’s championship game by Bob and Margo Scott."
I returned to my hometown in Massachusetts and, while visiting family here, attended the Memorial Day service on the town common. The town is so old the honor roll includes someone who died in battle during the French-and-Indian Wars, one Increase Robinson. Six Robinsons from the town died in the American Revolution, including one named Snow. There was also someone named Scipio Pance (and my brother wonders if that odd name wasn't some long-gone someone's idea of a joke, "Zippy You Pants.") It was a classic small-town ceremony, with the high school band, speeches by town officials, a reading of LIncoln's Gettysburg Address by a student, a wreath laying and echo taps. An old schoolmate, brother of the town's only Vietnam War casualty, was there. So far, the town has not lost a son or daughter in Iraq.
I have lived my whole life with the name and image of Gordon M. Craig. He was a winner of the Medal of Honor, from my hometown. He died early in the Korean conflict. There is a bridge named after him. His portrait hangs in the high school lobby, along with his medals. I was always told that he had thrown himself onto a hand grenade to save others. It's a true story, and here is the Congressional citation:
Cpl. Craig, 16th Reconnaissance Company, distinguished himself by conspicuous gallantry and intrepidity above and beyond the call of duty in action against the enemy. During the attack on a strategic enemy-held hill his company's advance was subjected to intense hostile grenade mortar, and small-arms fire. Cpl. Craig and 4 comrades moved forward to eliminate an enemy machine gun nest that was hampering the company's advance. At that instance an enemy machine gunner hurled a hand grenade at the advancing men. Without hesitating or attempting to seek cover for himself, Cpl. Craig threw himself on the grenade and smothered its burst with his body. His intrepid and selfless act, in which he unhesitantly gave his life for his comrades, inspired them to attack with such ferocity that they annihilated the enemy machine gun crew, enabling the company to continue its attack. Cpl. Craig's noble self-sacrifice reflects the highest credit upon himself and upholds the esteemed traditions of the military service.
I watched on ESPN from Massachusetts, and said at half time: "I hope Duke makes it close, but I hope Hopkins wins."
Hope floats.
Congratulations Hop
If you haven't had a chance to see them yet, the Baltimore Blackbirds play the Johnstown Riverhawks Friday, June 1, at First Mariner Arena. Kickoff is 7:05 p.m. They've got all kinds of promotions and contests going on, too. Your chances of scoring a give-away I would say are pretty good.
We sent Rafi Tamargo, a high school senior interning with us at The Sun, out on his maiden voyage as a film critic. He went to see Pirates of the Caribbean: At World’s End at the The Senator, and he files this review:
This installment brings back all of the series’ standbys: swordfights, explosions, stormy seas, ghosts, and Johnny Depp’s kooky rockstar swagger. Newcomers include fish-people, a goddess of the sea, and a council of pirate leaders to add to the fun. There’s plenty of over-the-top action as always, like Captain Sparrow’s new favorite move where he launches himself from ship to ship holding a rope tied to a flying cannonball. The sword fights are as good as ever, and even more chaotic this time around with three factions—the pirates, British troops, and Davy Jones’ crew—all in the fray. Sparrow’s sword fight on the crossbeam of a mast, with the rain beating down on him, is the best of all.
The Pirates series results from the great combination of unbridled imagination, youthful joy, and the pure joy of a child playing with boats in a bathtub. There’s something refreshing in a movie we can just enjoy, no heavy themes or messages, no political statements. Even Harry Potter films tend to get a little dark. Pirates is just boys with toys letting their imaginations run wild. It taps into all the excitement of a child’s fantasies and brings awesome energy to the big screen.
The only drawback to the movie is that the plot sometimes seems like a child with a wandering mind is writing it as well. There are too many subplots to follow, and I’m still not sure what the pirates’ ultimate goal in this adventure was. I do know, however, that it was fun to watch regardless of the disorienting story.
Depp and his shipmates fight imperial forces who want to crack down on their swashbuckling lifestyle. The pirates take a stand in the name of mischief and their love of freedom on the high seas. The movie itself stands for that same carefree lifestyle. There’s humor, fantastic images and plenty of action. What more do you need?
Here's what another teenager I know -- the one who lives in my house -- had to say:
It was too long and all over the place. I mean, there were cool scenes and great special effects. But it was impossible to tell what was going on, or what anything meant -- this god is mad at this god . . . and you'll never get out of this place because of this . . . . But very little of it made very little sense.
Well, it's not 72 percent.
But it's 50 percent! On top of the 15 percent we're already paying.
So what's the difference?
Almost none.
When he was running for governor, Martin O'Malley did a lot of complaining about the PSC, saying that Ehrlich-appointed commissioners were in the pockets of industry and had not given the BGE rate request the deep scrutiny Maryland consumers deserved.
"The Public Service Commission, which has become a shell of its former self, needs to become a commission that protects consumers and protects the public instead of a commission that protects corporate interests," O'Malley said. In May 2006, as Baltimore mayor, he sent his city solicitor into court to try to get a better deal that would include reconsideration of the rate increases by the PSC. A Circuit Court judge found that the PSC's "failure to conduct a proper adjudicatory hearing resulted
in its issuance of a defective order, which contained neither findings of fact nor conclusions of law supported by substantial evidence on the record."
As governor, O'Malley put Steve Larsen in charge of the PSC. Here's a bright guy who reached heroic status in Maryland a few years ago when, as state insurance commissioner, he nixed CareFirst BlueCross BlueShield's gross attempt to become a for-profit insurer, to sell itself and create a multimillion-dollar bonanza for its top executives. To the disappointment of no one I know -- except maybe Bill Jews -- Larsen rejected the proposed $1.37 billion sale of CareFirst to the publicly traded WellPoint Health Networks Inc. of California.
So, we're talking about someone with independence and integrity, which is what you want in a PSC chairman.
After all is said and done, and the PSC does the homework O'Malley accused the Ehrlich-era commission of shirking, what do we get?
A conclusion that BGE followed the rules when it obtained electricity at higher market prices last year, and a 50 percent on top of 15 percent -- instead of 72 percent -- rate hike for consumers.
"I know that won't be satisfactory to the ratepayers, but hopefully it will remove some of the suspicion around the rates and show that whatever else you can say about it, they aren't contrary to the law," Larsen says in today's Sun.
Call it the Larsen effect: Validation that Ehrlich's PSC wasn't as far off the mark, in terms of this particular issue, as O'Malley claimed when he made it the hottest issue of the 2006 gubernatorial election.
There's no way to be satisfied with this. But at least with Larsen involved you know that a genuine consumer watchdog was on the case. Everyone knew this was coming -- the only question was how much.
Among many e-mails received in response to yesterday's column, was this one, from a reader named William Smith:
C'mon, we both know why O'Malley vetoed the "treatment not prison" bill. I've known the guy for 20 years, and I grew up down the street from Katie Curran. Martin has dreams of the White House in his eyes, and he's already polishing his Presidential credentials. His handlers have him convinced he's the next Barak Obama, so he's sold his soul to the national pollsters and pundits who tell us that no "soft on crime" Democrat will ever become President. And that's sad.
I personally predict that unless a Democrat stands up to these spineless losers that run the national Democratic party, we'll never have another Democratic President. People are sick of the John Kerrys and their ilk who couldn't find themselves a backbone if they tried. I have no idea how these losers took control of the Democratic party, but I'm predicting another Republican President in 2008 unless someone stands up to these clowns, and fast.
Sadly, it isn't going to be Martin.
On June 4, Our Daily Bread will serve meals for the 9,500th consecutive day since its opening in 1981. However, after 26 years of consistent service to the poor and homeless and hungry, June 4 will mark a new era for the charity. ODB’s kitchen and dining room on Franklin Street, near the cardinal’s residence, will close, and the first meals will be served at the Catholic charity’s new location on Fallsway and Madison Street, across from Baltimore’s correctional complex. And this time, Baltimore’s needy will be able to get more than a meal there.
Sun intern Rafi Tamargo filed this report:
The new Our Daily Bread Employment Center, seen rising hard by the Jones Falls Expressway during the last year, will consist of Our Daily Bread as well as the Christopher Place Employment Center and the Maryland Reentry Partnership, providing multiple forms of support for men and women in need of something to eat and something to help them become self-reliant citizens. The center’s motto is: “Stable work, stable home, better life.”
Dennis Murphy, director of the new center, and Catholic Charities representative Renee Johnson gave me a tour of the center, walking me through as if I were a “guest” of Christopher Place. (Mr. Murphy makes a point of referring to the centers patrons as “guests” to give them a sense of dignity while visiting. He says ODB’s goal is to offer “one of the few times these people get respect all day.”)
The tour began on a covered outdoor walkway, a long porch where patrons will line up for food and have protection on those rainy days when they need a hot meal the most.
We then entered the dining room, where each day there will be 16 tables covered with casseroles, the most popular meal at the center. The guests can sit and relax as 35 volunteers serve them their meals, another change that the center hopes will make guests feel at home.
The dining room looks out onto what Murphy calls a “Reflection Garden,” which residents of the Christopher Center, a transitional home for ex-offenders and homeless men, will tend to. He says there are “lots of metaphors” to be found for these men, many of whom are recovering from addictions, in cultivating the garden.
As guests leave the dining room, they pass classrooms for residents of the center, who are required to wear ties when in GED classes or Alcoholics Anonymous meetings. The idea behind design is to spark the interest of those who come for a meal: When they see others benefiting from the Employment Center’s programs, they might consider using them also. The main hall ends at an information desk, where those inspired by the programs they have just seen can inquire about joining.
Those interested in enrolling in the new ODB center will be directed to one of two intake advisers across the lobby. These advisers assess each individual’s situation and inform him about potential jobs or programs to fit their needs.
Three offices are also reserved in the area for a rotation of outside charities wishing to help the inquiring guests.
Nine computers are available for the new residents to research job opportunities and contact employers.
Upstairs, Christopher Place has about 60 beds for men. The first bedroom, known as “The Academy,” has 30 of the beds all together in one long hallway. Murphy explained that the first step is to teach the men to “learn to live in a community.” The men stay here their first 12 weeks in an 18-month program as they seek work, build their savings, and learn healthy habits. In the first phase, they are allowed few visitors to help them start their new lives.
Upon finding work, the residents are rewarded with more private, cubicle-like, rooms. This section of the dorms also has a kitchenette and bathrooms shared by fewer residents. Many will “graduate” from the center, meaning they have been employed for one full year, during this phase and they will either move in with family, or even better, buy a home. For those with financial troubles and significant debt, 15 beds in rooms of three are reserved until they can get back on their feet.The center provides the men with an array of programs to help them re-enter society. Every morning at nine there are job information sessions. Computer training courses will be held in a classroom on the second floor to expand the men’s employment potential.
Other amenities include a basketball court, rec room with TV and fitness equipment, small library, and a quiet room to find peace from the close quarters in which the men live. In addition, the men are taught responsibility. All residents will be given chores to help maintain the building and grounds, and they’re required to save 80% of their salary once they find jobs.
Our Daily Bread Employment Center hopes to build on its past practices of serving food, and provide even more support to fully integrate its guests back into society.
A colleague, who grew up in Baltimore, takes a dim view of the proposal for a new sports arena on the outskirts of the city. Man, this guy is negative:
I agree that the old Civic Center (First Mariner Arena) should bite the dust. But I disagree on just about everything else. If you're gonna build an arena that far from downtown, why not just build it in the county? It would have actually made better sense to build Camden Yards and M&T at a more central location in the metropolitan area rather than the city. But would Camden Yards or the football stadium be nearly as cool in Arbutus or Parkville? Nope. As for hockey, sorry, i know you love the game, but Baltimore ain't a hockey town. Ask the Skipjacks. We have an indoor football team that ain't even major league in a minor league sport. And, professional lacrosse? They've been trying to make that work in this town for years, and it's been a flop. The old Baltimore Bullets, with Wes Unseld & Co., got more respect in New York than they did here. When the Orioles played the World Series here, against the Reds, you could go to Memorial Stadium and buy a seat on game day. The Orioles had great teams, and they thought they had a good turn out when 10,000 folks showed up at Memorial stadium in the 60s and early 70s.
I know you will say that was a long time ago. Well, check out the prices for NBA tickets. Absolutely ridiculous prices -- for Baltimore. Folks might pay that kinda money in some other places, but not in this mecca for cheapskates.
So negative! And so old school. So yesterday!
He completely missed the point of today's column -- all this yapping about Baltimore not being able to support an indoor sports franchise (other than the Blast) is seen through the yellowing prism of First Mariner Arena (nee Civic Center). What we need is a new and better arena, a fresh start and a new vision. It will make all the difference. Put a state-of-the-art arena in a place that is safe and accessible for fans from the suburbs, market your teams correctly, set them up to succeed by wisely and fairly managing the home schedules, and we will see a huge difference. Even hockey will succeed.
Here's comment from a reader a little more upbeat about the prospects:
You're right on with regards to needing a new arena and now. But the thing that we need to do is avoid thinking small and with short- sightedness. Based on my understanding, Ed Hale is planning on building a "smallish" arena similar to the size that we have now. We need a venue that will attract major league sports and events. We as a region always take the low road when it comes to such things. The original arena was too small from the beginning and poorly designed. The convention center has always been too small even after the expansion that was done several years ago. The light rail was originally built with sections that only had one rail line. If M&T Bank Stadium had been built with a dome then we could have attracted more events like the Super Bowl, NCAA Final Four and larger conventions instead of it being under-utilized. Who knows? If we had done all these things and had a more visionary mindset, we might have even won the summer Olympics bid a few years ago. It seems that we are doomed to be a mid-market area and we have no one to blame but ourselves.
Here's more from the US Lacrosse announcement:
US Lacrosse has targeted the tickets for participants in its BRIDGE Affiliates program, Equipment Grants program and Diversity program. "We’re very pleased to be able to make this opportunity available to youth players in the city of Baltimore, and appreciate the cooperation of several partners in this effort," said Beth Reisinger, director of sport development for US Lacrosse. "Having these youth players experience the excitement of the championship in person is consistent with our mission to inspire participation and embrace the passion of the game."
Among the allotment, 100 ticket packages will be distributed offering a ticket for each day of the (three-day) event. The remaining 500 tickets will just be available for Saturday’s semifinal doubleheader. US Lacrosse, a 501(c)(3) corporation, is the national governing body for men's and women's lacrosse and includes more than 215,000 active members. For more information about the organization, please visit www.uslacrosse.org
Last night about 8:45 p.m. I'm driving on I-83, approaching the Hunt Valley area, when the crotch rockets attack -- motorcycle nut-jobs doing 90 and weaving in and out of traffic, a couple of them driving between northbound cars, their tires on the broken white line dividing lanes. One, two . . . three-four-five . . . six . . seven-eight-nine-ten . . . they keep coming. They keep weaving. One pops a wheelie to my left.
For once, I decide to phone it in. I hit #77 on my cell phone.
Of course, I realize that by the time Maryland State Police get the message, the crotch rockets will be long gone. But, you never know: There are often troopers along I-83, and they might even have time to alert their buddies with the Pennsylvania State Police up ahead.
"I'll have to alert the College Park barracks" was how the person who answered the emergency call responded when I quickly and concisely reported the motorcycle race and my location.
I found this baffling, and repeated my location -- Interstate 83 north of Hunt Valley, in Baltimore County.
"That's College Park's area. I need to contact them," the #77 guy said.
I don't know why Hunt Valley would be "College Park's area," and, even if it is, I don't know why this person wanted to take up valuable seconds telling me about it. Very weird. I had no confidence the phone call was worth my time.
It's mid-May again. The horses are running at Old Hilltop, and where are you?
It's nice to be able to brag about Baltimore hosting the Preakness, but when was the last time you actually went to its home, Pimlico Race Course?
Do you ever think about taking an afternoon off to sit in the sun and make a few bets?
I know: It involves money and gambling. So does the Lottery. So does the stock market. The next azalea bush you buy could die.
Simple rule: When you go to Pimlico, take only money you can afford to lose, and leave the ATM card at home.
I suggested in my column last year that there is a lack of appreciation of racing among the children and grandchildren of the baby boom. We might love the Preakness and worship it as Baltimore's biggest party, but where are we the rest of the year?
And we have not taught our children that it's OK to go to the track and blow some green.
We should not be training kids to become degenerate gamblers, but we can at least present them with the pleasures of an occasional visit to Old Hilltop.
They need to be out there, among their elders, close enough to smell the liniment and cigar smoke. They need to see and hear, firsthand, the agony and the ecstasy of the bettor's life. ("Hon," I overheard an elderly woman say at the track, "I could paper a house with them losing tickets. I could paper the Trump Tower.") They need to see real live horses rumbling toward the finish line.
Children who grow up in Maryland should know how to pick a crab, how to catch a shad, how to cradle a lacrosse ball, how to make a flower urn out of a tire, how to paint swans on a window screen and how to handicap a race at Pimlico.
We should have a statewide effort to educate our kids on the importance of the Maryland horse racing industry, and there should be no child left behind.
Among the many letters already received in response to today's column is this one from Tony Ruocco, who is a teacher, head football and lacrosse coach at Kenwood High School.
I spent 1995 to 2001 as a teacher, Head jayvee Football Coach and Head Boy's Lacrosse Coach at Patterson High School. I was fresh out of college and ready to make a difference in kids' lives both on and off the playing field. Patterson was a challenging school to work at, but what I saw were many kids who had the potential to go on to do great things in college and beyond. Many of my students had a light in their eyes, and they craved leadership and guidance.
In 6 years at Patterson, four of these students with vast potential lost their lives to random acts of violence. One was a wrestler on a championship team, one was a basketball player, and one was a student in my Health Class. The fourth was a ninth-grade football player named Darien Ward. Darien was so full of life. He was a B student with a great sense of humor. He was articulate and extremely fun to be around. The room lit up when Darien entered. He was also 210 pounds as a freshman, and if given the chance to play Varsity Football for the legendary Patterson coach Roger Wrenn, he may have had a chance for a football scholarship. This never took place because Darien was murdered as he walked home with his brother.(According to the Sun archives, Ward was shot on a snowy night in January 1999 near Belair Road and Seidel avenue.)
My assistant JV Football Coach Keith Robinson (currently Overlea High's Head Football Coach) and I spoke at Darien's funeral. It was a surreal experience. I look back on it now, and it almost feels like a dream. Many people are blind to this sort of thing. They don't understand how much potential is being lost to this sort of violence.
I often think about the many students I worked with at Patterson. I've lost touch with them as I've gotten busy with my job at Kenwood, and I've started a family of my own. I always feel a sense of relief when I hear from some of my old Patterson teaching colleagues (many are currently teaching in Baltimore County) that my players are alive and well.
We played Patterson in a state lacrosse playoff game on Thursday. Their assistant coach Phillip Matthews played for me in the late 90's. Phillip's teenage baby face was replaced by the face of a handsome and proud man. We hugged and he picked on me about my gray hair and belly. I watched him coach and lead his team during the game. I was proud. Phillip attended a small Division III school called Mount Ida. He was their starting quarterback and an all-league lacrosse player. He is now a substitute teacher at Patterson working towards his teaching credentials. Could Darien Ward be doing the same type of thing? Unfortunately we will never know.
teThe shootings at Virginia Tech occured four weeks ago and left 32 people dead. It has been declared the deadliest shooting by an individual in U.S. history. They held the commencement at Virginia Tech yesterday, and that's the top story across the nation today, but it will soon be gone again. Public discussion of this tragedy seems to have stopped. Few want to engage the really tough questions of gun control or mental health that the tragedy rubbed in the nation's weeping face. I think the nation as a whole has a fatalistic resignation about all this -- it can and will happen again, so what's a body politic to do?
In the days following the shooting, college students across the country expressed sympathy and shared feelings on the social network Facebook. Most colleges have groups on the site for comment postings by their students, and many groups adorned their sites with images of a black ribbon, the VT logo, and their school’s symbol as well. The banner on the site read, “Today we are all Hokies.” That lasted a couple of weeks before the schools returned to images of their mascot or a scenic view of a quad. Approaching the one-month anniversary of the attack, the banners have pretty much disappeared. With such an immense tragedy it feels a bit quick to have moved on already.
A student from an Ivy League college asked his fellow classmates: “When can we take down the Hokies banner?" He said he was “tired of being all depressed” and thought it was “about time to be positive.” The banner was gone by the end of the day.
The news media has pretty much pulled out of the story, except for a return to the scene for Friday's commencement.
Gun control? The first debates for the 2008 presidential candidates touched on the issue, citing the event at Virginia Tech, but it was an aside. Count on this: Most candidates, even the alleged liberal ones, will avoid this issue unless pressed about it.
The International Herald Tribune noted:
"The tragedy of America's runaway gun culture can only deepen now that it's clear the new Democratic Congress operates in fear of the gun lobby's well-practiced demagoguery and rich campaign treasury. A collective silence descended on the Capitol after the pro forma expressions of outrage over the Virginia Tech gun massacre."
Here's a comment from one of the few pols who have continued to speak up on gun control in the wake of Virginia Tech, Rep. Jim Moran, congressman from Virginia's 8th District:
"The Assault Weapons Ban, for instance, was allowed to expire in 2004 by President Bush and the Republican-controlled Congress. Had that law been in effect, the Virginia Tech shooter would not have been allowed to purchase high capacity ammunition clips giving him the ability to discharge bullets rapid-fire without reloading. Another measure that could be implemented would be to strengthen the instant background check system to prevent someone mentally or emotionally disturbed who had been temporarily institutionalized from purchasing a handgun. Sadly, these measures — which I believe if you took a survey a large majority of the public would support — are unlikely to pass the Virginia General Assembly, Congress or gain active support from the White House. Why, you might ask? Because the National Rifle Association has a vice grip on these legislative bodies and too many lawmakers are all too willing to do its bidding."
It’s not pleasant dealing with tragedy and the complex questions this one raises. We’ve had some time to take a breath and dry our eyes, but the issues from Virginia Tech need to be revisited and resolved, particularly in the context of the next presidency. That only happens if the rest of us speak up and press the pols.
We asked for some help last week in the hunt for morels, the delicious fungi that sprout each spring. Readers called, readers wrote – but no readers were willing to give up the exact location of morel patches in the Baltimore metropolitan area. There’s competition among the morel hunters, and no one likes to give away secrets – not even to a newspaper columnist who promises to keep them to himself.
We are in the tail end of morel season now, reports high school senior Rafi Tamargo, who is serving an internship with me this month.
These few weeks bring the perfect humid, warm mornings when morel hunters search dead trees and thick brush for these ephemeral mushrooms that only grow for about six weeks each year. Some hunt the morels to cook the delicacy— although one hunter’s wife lamented to Rafi that they “don’t taste great” — and others sell their harvest for the $30 to $200 per pound morels can fetch.
However, a major morel-hunting site www.morelsandmore.com argues that the greatest thrill is scouring the woods for these fungal gems. As they say, “If it was always as easy as walking to the grocery store, it wouldn’t be nearly as exciting.”
Despite the morel’s scarcity, local hunters do not compete with each other for the biggest haul.
Dr. Paul Edgar says he has gone searching for morels for the past six years but cannot recall ever running into another person on the same quest. The search is more personal, more of a struggle to overcome nature, which guards these treasures so dearly.
Like many other types of mushrooms, morels cannot be cultivated, so those who want them must venture out in hopes of striking gold. The morels are such a great challenge because conditions need to be perfect. Thick, muggy mornings are the best time to go hunting. Certain trees like Elms or Poplars seem to often have morels around them.
Places where fires have recently occurred often yield morels, too, making parks where they burn brush a good place to look as well. Morel hunters compile all these secrets each year and follow the clues in search of one of the Earth’s precious treasures.
I called Kevin Driscoll this morning to express condolences on the passing of Steel, his beloved black Lab who achieved something of legendary status five years ago by surviving a Lab-napping that occured during a robbery in Baltimore. Steel died yesterday at the age of 11. Here's my account of events that made him famous, from The Sun just before Christmas 2002.
KEVIN DRISCOLL and I have something in common - resistance to the cell phone thing and a willingness to use pay phones, even on spooky, misty nights after the corner gas station has closed. What can I tell you? We just haven't gone cellular yet, and maybe we both like to live life on the edge. Yeah, baby: The pay phone at 10 o'clock on a gloomy night when there's no one else around - that's a minute or so of living dangerously.
Of course, Driscoll didn't see it that way. (And I don't, either; I was just saying that stuff for dramatic effect.) Driscoll needed to call his brother, to see if he was home before driving over there, and he saw no grand risk in using the pay phone at the gas station in the 5800 block of Belair Road in Northeast Baltimore. "I was just a couple of blocks from my own house, and I could have stopped at home and called my brother from there, but I didn't want to," Driscoll explained. "I would have had to get out of my car, unlock the house and go inside to use the phone."
And you know how that goes. Once inside the house, then you're checking the mail and flipping through the pages of the new Sports Illustrated, looking for a quick snack in the refrigerator, listening to telephone messages, and before you know it you've forgotten why you came home in the first place.
So Kevin pulled his 1996 Acura Integra onto the parking lot of the gas station, got out and walked to the pay phone there. He did something he never does - he left the keys in the ignition.
"I feel safe in my own neighborhood," Driscoll says. "And Steel was in the back seat."
Steel is his black Labrador retriever. Driscoll has had him for about four years - since the dog was 2 and his original owners were divorced.
Driscoll found two quarters and dropped them in the pay phone slot. He started to dial his brother's number. "I had just dialed the area code when I felt something in my back."
Something like the barrel of a handgun.
"Give it up," snapped the voice behind Driscoll, presumably that of a man attached to the aforementioned weapon.
"I don't have anything," said Driscoll, who is 55 and a city employee.
"Give it up!" the voice said again.
Driscoll turned to face the stickup man, who appeared to be in his 20s and wearing a baseball cap under a hooded sweat shirt.
"Don't look at me!" the gunman shouted. "Turn around, give me your car keys."
"I don't have my car keys, they're in the car," Driscoll said, and out of the corner of his eye he noticed a second young hoodlum over by his Acura, with the car door open. There was something else Driscoll noticed - the gun in the hand of the hoodie next to him. This Driscoll and I have much in common, because he did what I would have done in that situation - he ran away.
"I took off up Belair Road and got behind a car near an alley near the liquor store, Six Pax & More," Driscoll says. "Next thing I know, these guys are in my car and they floor it out of the parking lot, south on Belair Road."
With Steel in the back seat.
This was not only an armed robbery and theft of an automobile. This was a Lab-napping.
Driscoll ran into the street and screamed for help. A young woman emerged from a rowhouse and handed him - Can you guess? - a cell phone. Driscoll called police.
Officers from the Northern District arrived in about three minutes and took
a report. Kevin Driscoll walked home. His car was gone, his nerves were shot,
and his faithful companion was missing.
He and assorted relatives searched for Steel throughout Northeast
Baltimore. They called the animal shelters.
Nothing.
No Steel.
Driscoll assumed the car thieves had abandoned the dog, but where?
A week later, Driscoll got a call from Robert Jackson, a Baltimore police detective. The Acura had been found - outside a Moncks Corner, S.C., convenience store that three men were apparently casing for an armed robbery.
Two suspects - the detective told Driscoll they were from Baltimore - had been apprehended inside the car. Police impounded the Acura, and Driscoll's insurance company paid for its shipment back to Baltimore.
"The car wasn't damaged," Driscoll said. "But there was all kind of clothes
and junk inside. It smelled like crooks."
Maybe that scent had something to do with what happened next. (You didn't think I'd leave you with a sad ending to a dog story during the holiday season, did you?)
Four days later, a neighborhood kid came to Driscoll's back door and yelled, "Mr. Kevin, look what just come down the alley!"
It was good ol' Steel - wagging his tail, tongue flapping, and pretty soon toes tapping on the ceramic floor in Driscoll's kitchen. The dog jumped when he saw his master again - the first time in 11 days.
Driscoll couldn't believe it. The dog had lost some weight but otherwise appeared healthy. "He was hungry, of course," Driscoll said. "And he slept for a day and a half."
What we don't know is where the car thieves abandoned Steel, whether they took him all the way to South Carolina, and whether the dog made the long journey home completely on his own. Steel knows, but he's not talking.
Judge Bruce Lamdin's comments on Maryland drug courts, quoted in Sunday's column, brought a lot of reaction from readers, including this e-mail:
Having been a drug court prosecutor for over 3 years, I can uncategorically state that providing treatment for addicts, helping them to remain engaged in recovery and holding them responsible for mistakes and bad choices they may make during the process saves taxpayers' money, and lots of it. And I have not found it necessary to hold the hands of any participant in that process or sing a song, though I don't think either one of those things would cost any taxpayer dollars!
Read Van Smith's report on Lamdin in the City Paper.
Here's another e-mail from a reader:
So glad Lamdin's unacceptable behavior is finally going to be addressed by the court. I was a witness in his court room last year and was appalled by the way he treated the people who appeared before him. It was inexcusable the way he talked down to people. He was especially cruel to people who didn't speak English well and needed a translator. I like law and order but his behavior doesn't benefit anyone and only disgraces our justice system. I hope he's out and I hope other judges will take notice.
I don't remember exactly why, but Wally Schirra was the Mercury (and Gemini, and Apollo) astronaut I took a liking to and called my hero. I wrote him a letter in fourth grade. He wrote back, and sent the color photograph that appears on the front page of today's print edition Sun. Years later, I had an encounter with my boyhood hero in Baltimore. More on that Sunday.
My Sun colleague Steve Auerweck read today's column item about the bee that got into my house and my pile of bills, and he writes:
You've stumbled across the solution to the mystery! Our nation's bees have been mysteriously drawn to Comcast bills, where they land, see the numbers, and die of heart attacks.
Tommy Newsom, one-time second banana to Doc Severinson in Johnny Carson's Tonight Show orchestra, passed away over the weekend in Virginia. . . He had a huge Baltimore/Peabody connection . . . I'll be speaking with some of the folks around town who played with the soft-spoken "Mr. Excitement" and went to school with him. More to come.
