Histories

1942 History of Anne Arundel County

Until 1918, the northerly point of Anne Arundel the Patapsco. In that year five square miles of the County looked at the city of Baltimore from across point, the most thickly settled part of the county, were annexed to the city. A still larger part of the county is entirely suburban in character, all its inhabitants having jobs in Baltimore. There are also in this northern section wide stretches of rich land devoted to truck-farms where beans, strawberries, canteloupe, and so on are raised in wholesale quantities. Gangs of transient labor are brought out from the city in season to pick these commodities. Still another feature of northern Anne Arundel are the summer homes of city people ranging from the fine houses which cover Gibson Island and stretch along the shores of the Severn River, down to the humble shacks lining the smaller creeks. None of this is ''county."

Judge Ridgely P. Melvin, of the Circuit Court, described to me the divergent elements and his efforts to make them acquainted with each other. This he does by appointing a foreman of the Grand Jury from among the truck-farmers of the north for one session, and from the tobacco planters of the south for the next. In the jury-room the foreman rubs up against the other elements. For some reason or other, the southern Marylanders have cooler heads than their brethren on the Eastern Shore. Judge Melvin points with pride to the fact that a particularly outrageous case of rape in Anne Arundel in 1940 produced no mob action. The people were content to let the law take its course, and it did. The offender was hanged.

The real Anne Arundel begins with Annapolis and stretches south to Friendship and Bristol. This is the beginning of Southern Maryland, a delectable country, which, considering the vast changes which have taken place outside, has altered very little within a hundred years. In addition to Anne Arundel, it comprises Calvert, Prince George's, Charles, and St. Mary's, the tobacco-growing counties. It is divided by several great estuaries, the shores of which are honeycombed with creeks, but not to the same extent as the watery Eastern Shore, for the river banks on this side are high and the country gently rolling. This is the Western Shore of Chesapeake Bay. Few people stop to consider that a bay would naturally have a western shore as well as an eastern.

The people of this land, almost exclusively English in origin, are the descendants of the great landowners of the seventeenth and eighteenth centuries who brought aristocratic traditions across the sea. Inevitably, in the mutations of human affairs, many of the old families have grown poor, but the traditions survive. You may catch Miss Julia Shryock with her sleeves rolled up, working the handle of her old-fashioned churn, or down on her knees setting out plants in the garden. Or Mr. Joey Ludwell in his stained dungarees. He is likely to be a battered-looking specimen; his hair is a stranger to the comb and he can't afford the dentistry necessary to repair and conceal his broken teeth; but in his confident smile and easy manners you can not mistake him for other than quality. After the old places have been divided and sub-divided during succeeding generations, you will find some of the little houses distressingly bleak, but you will be aware, upon entering one that it is the house of a lady.

All the five counties are alike in this respect, but each shows amusing differences in character. Anne Arundel County leads because, as soon as Annapolis was made the capital of the state at the end of the seventeenth century, it became a center of culture and fashion. Moreover, the county land was rich and the eighteenth-century planters were able to build themselves capacious houses in the best style of the day, many of which survive.

The most famous house, however, was not built by a planter, but by one of the last proprietary governors, Horatio Sharpe. This is Whitehall on the Bay, north of Annapolis. It dates from 1766. The great five-part house with its monumental Corinthian portico (one of the first in this country) is, for its harmonious proportions and beautiful interior, considered by many architects to be the finest colonial dwelling in Maryland. The elaborate carved woodwork, modillioned cornices, fluted pilasters, consoles, and the like, are said to have been executed by a young redemptioner, transported to the colony for a serious crime. The governor, impressed by his good looks and intelligence, promised him freedom when the house should be finished. After six years the work was done but the young artist died before he could enjoy his freedom. |

Another much admired building is the Town Hall of London Town on South River. London Town, of which only this one house remains, served for a few hours as the capital of Maryland, when it was moved up from St. Mary's. It was discovered that there was not water enough in South River to provide anchorage suitable to a capital city, and it was moved a few miles farther to the bigger Severn.

On South River stands the simple frame house of the famous South River Club, which was organized in 1722 or even earlier, and is undoubtedly the oldest gentlemen's club in America that is still going. The club possesses many interesting mementoes of its past, including a huge silver punchbowl dating from 1776. The framed rules have hung on the wall for more than a hundred and fifty years. It is forbidden to discuss either religion or politics. Parson Weems tried in vain to introduce debating. Early in the Revolution it was resolved: "That this club be continued as usual," and it was. The Civil War almost destroyed it, and again between 1874 and 1895 no meetings were held, but it now functions as it did in the beginning. The twenty-five men who constitute the membership are all descendants of former members; they hold four all-day dinners a year. Since 1776 one has been held on the fourth of July. The dinners are provided by the members in rotation. One of the rules says: "The steward that appears not in person or by proxy at the usual place of meeting provided with two-and-one-half gallons of spirit with ingredients of toddy, by one o'clock, and a sufficient dinner, with clean pipes and tobacco, shall serve the following club day for such default."

Not far away is Tulip Hill, another fine example of eighteenth-century architecture with features all its own. This house was built by Samuel Galloway who, though a Quaker, was a great gentleman and a high-liver. He owned Selima, the finest horse of his day. Not far away stands Cedar Park, a much older house, built by Richard, the first Galloway in America, which, with its gigantic chimneys and unbelievably steep roof, has a most engaging quaintness and charm. Still farther south in the county, not far from the village of Friendship, is Holly Hill, formerly Holland's Hills, another ingratiating old-timer. No bricks were spared in building this house; the main chimney is nine feet thick at the level of the second floor. The present owners are slowly and carefully restoring the place to its original appearance.

The people of South River attended All Hallows, a friendly little church which has stood on a mound beside the main road since 1727. In 1940, to the grief of everybody in this part of the world, the interior was gutted by fire. It has been rebuilt. In 1784 the famous Parson Weems (Mason Locke Weems) served here. The emoluments were so small that he was forced to teach school and sell books to eke out. To-day he seems like a stuffy figure, but in 1792 his ideas were too liberal to please the vestrymen and he was forced to take to the road in clerical habit, carrying a stock of books and a fiddle. His was certainly the first book-wagon on record. For over thirty years he traveled through the country preaching, fiddling, selling books, and collecting the stories that he published in his own books and pamphlets. It was he who first gave the world the anecdote of George Washington and the cherry tree. His History of the Life and Death, Virtues, and Exploits of General George Washington has gone through more than seventy editions.

Annapolis, county seat of Anne Arundel and capital of Maryland, is the most individual small town in the entire country. Somebody has termed it the "finished city," which, of course, is not strictly true, but it conveys my meaning. It has gone under many names. The first settlers, who were Puritans, called it Providence; in later years it was known successively as the Town of Proctor's, Town by the Severn, Anne Arundel's Town, and finally Annapolis. It was no doubt the phenomenal growth of Baltimore during the eighteenth century which prevented Annapolis from becoming a great metropolis, thus the one perfect small town was preserved.

Annapolis comprises five principal elements which function harmoniously side by side; the Governor and Legislature with their satellites; the Navy; the County, centering in the courthouse and the county offices; the scholarly circle that revolves around St. John's College; and the plain townspeople. The governor, he comes and goes; he can scarcely be considered an Annapolitan; most of the governors spend the greater part of their time in Baltimore. The legislature meets every two years; it is not a distinguished body. The naval officers on active duty likewise come and go; such is the charm of the town that a great many of them return to Annapolis upon retirement to make their homes. St. John's College, by the novelty of its program, or rather by its return to earlier principles of education, is bringing a new fame to the town.

Annapolis, like Washington, enjoys the advantage of having been deliberately planned for a town. It is said that Major L'Enfant's plan for Washington was inspired by Annapolis. There are two circles, Church and State, with streets radiating in several directions, resulting in an irregularity not only pleasing but convenient (once you get the hang of it). Unfortunately, ancient St. Anne's in the first circle was burned in 1858 and the present edifice is undistinguished. The church's silver Communion Service was made by Francis Garthorne of London in 1695 and bears the arms of King William.

Since 1923 the body of Sir Robert Eden, the last English Governor of Maryland, has lain here. After the Revolution, Sir Robert returned to Annapolis to help further the claims of the old proprietors. He was a Calvert brother-in-law. He died in Annapolis in 1784, and so much feeling had been aroused that, instead of being buried in St. Anne's, he was interred in the small church of St. Margaret's a few miles away. As the years went by, it was recognized that Sir Robert had after all been a pretty good friend to the Colonists, and the Society of Colonial Wars bestirred itself to provide him with a more fitting resting place. In the meantime, the old church at St. Margaret's had been burned and the difficulty was to identify his grave. Somebody recalled an ancient saying that when George Washington and Sir Robert Eden walked down the street together, Sir Robert was much the taller. He must, therefore, have been 6 foot 6 or over, and it became easy to identify his grave by its exceptional length.

The severe and noble State House stands on a hill looking over the roofs to the river. It dates from 1772. After the independence of the country had been established, Maryland offered this fine building for the nation's Capital, but Congress, after sitting here for a session, did not accept. Here on December 23, 1783, Congress received George Washington's resignation as Commander-in-Chief. The scene is commemorated by an immense painting by Edwin White which hangs on the landing of the main stairway.

In 1905 it was considered that the legislative chambers had become too small and a big addition was built on the rear of the State House. As architecture it is not downright bad, but it inevitably destroys the harmony of the original building. It should have been built separately; or, supposing that to have been too great a feat of the imagination for the legislators of that time, it could still have been made to match the old building, with a little more care as to detail, a brick basement, small-paned windows and a closer reproduction of the moldings. Years later (1936) they attempted to turn the Victorian Executive Mansion into a colonial building with even more unfortunate results. It is now neither Victorian nor Colonial, but a botch.

Of the great eighteenth-century dwellings built in the heyday of Maryland's gay little capital, I will speak only of a representative few, for fear of becoming repetitious. Whereas other old towns may have saved a colonial house or two, they are to be found in every street of Annapolis. Of them all, the acknowledged gem is the Hammond-Harwood house on the corner of Maryland Avenue and King George Street. A modest five-part house, it does not hit you in the eye; as with all things rare and fine, its beauty steals on you as you take note of the harmonious proportions and the perfection of detail. Those who know, call it the finest example of Georgian architecture in the country. Lately the Garden Clubs of Maryland have purchased it and are now furnishing it in keeping. It is open for exhibition.

According to tradition, the Hammond-Harwood House was built low in order not to hide the view of the harbor from the windows of Samuel Chase's big house across the street. In those days people seem to have been more considerate of their neighbors. The Chase house is a much more imposing affair, rich inside in ornamental plaster and woodwork, with marble mantels, an Ionic colonnaded screen, an impressive stairway, a coffered ceiling in the parlor. Samuel Chase, the Signer, and later Justice of the Supreme Court, sold his house before it was completed to Edward Lloyd of the great Talbot County family. This house, now a home for old ladies, is also open for exhibition.

In East Street at the corner of Prince George's, the Brice House rears its imposing bulk, another plain brick five-part building with fine detail, notable for its steep roof and an insolent pair of chimneys. The best feature of the exterior is the triple, pedimented window above the entrance. This house now serves as residence for some of the faculty of St. John's College and is not open for exhibition.

In Prince George's Street, Carvel Hall Hotel now occupies the mansion of William Paca, another Signer. Great dignity is lent to this old brick house, with its flanking wings, by a raised forecourt shaded by a pair of ancient Chinese ailanthus trees. The hotel, requiring greater accommodations, built a great modern wing on the rear, so skillfully contrived that it does not show from Prince George's Street and so does not mar the beautiful old facade. The birthplace of Charles Carroll, a third Signer, now serves as a residence for the priests of St. Mary's Church in Duke of Gloucester Street. In the same street is the Ridout House, and near-by the three houses in a row built by John Ridout for his children. Other houses rated among the sights of Annapolis are, the Sands House — the oldest of all — the Pinkney, Scott, and Ogle Houses, and the Bordley-Randall House, which will take some finding, since it is hidden in its garden in the middle of a block.

Of the less famous houses my favorite is Aunt Lucy Smith's Bake Shop" on Prince George's Street. It is said to date from 1765, but I would place it earlier. Aunt Lucy was not a colonial character, but a famous cook of Civil War days who made cakes and candies for the first families to such good effect that she was able to buy this house. There are also the humble little houses, just as old, just as quaint, but never written up nor photographed. One may have the pleasure of a discoverer in wandering through the poorer quarters of Annapolis; Cornhill Street, Fleet Street, East Street, Taylor Street, and so on.

The best guide to Annapolis is Marcellus Hall, captain of the bell-boys at Carvel Hall Hotel. Marcellus has written a little guide-book, and a good one it is, too. Concise and to the point, with no nonsense about it. The author, though still a young man, has worked at Carvel Hall for many years and is one of Annapolis' well-known characters. The guests of the hotel have never succeeded in spoiling him; he remains the self-respecting Maryland Negro with beautiful manners. As a boy he attended a two-room parochial school at St. Mary's Catholic Church. Marcellus confesses that he was a tough egg; nevertheless, his teacher, the good Sister Clementia, liked him. She was full of the lore of old Annapolis, and the boy unconsciously absorbed it. When he went to work at the hotel, therefore, he found he could answer the guests' questions, and so fell naturally into the position of guide. Marcellus is full of bits of odd information not included in his guide. The ancient Dorsey Prayerbook, for instance, one of the chief treasures at St. Anne's, includes a marriage service which would take two hours to perform! It has never been called for. The H and L hinges which support the old doors in Annapolis houses stand for Holy Lord, and were so designed to keep the witches out.

It is the Naval Academy which brings most people to Annapolis. While this is not a Maryland institution, one can scarcely leave it out. It was established in 1845 on the site of old Fort Severn. In 1852, Commodore Matthew Perry set out from here on the famous voyage which resulted in the opening of Japan. On his return he presented the Academy with the great bronze Buddhist bell which hangs in the grounds. It is sounded only on those occasions when one of the Navy teams downs West Point. During the Civil War the academy was transported to Newport, Rhode Island, and its grounds became an army post. After the riots attending the passage of the Sixth Massachusetts through Baltimore, the Federal Government brought its troops by water to Annapolis and despatched them over the short road to Washington. There were as many as eighty thousand men encamped here.

The Academy occupies a perfect site for its purpose on a peninsula washed by College Creek, the Severn River, and Spa Creek. Vast Bancroft Hall, the Midshipmen's dormitory which covers four acres of ground and has three miles of corridors, looks out through the mouth of the river to the wide Bay. Architecturally the Academy is a disappointment, a place of missed opportunities, but the grounds are beautiful and, of course, beautifully kept, and the enclosure contains much that is of interest to all Americans.

A picturesque character of Annapolis is Colonel Boots of the Marines, retired, an immensely tall man who strides about town accompanied by his little dog, Major, who is inclined to be disobedient. The Colonel, true to the tradition of his service, explodes in startling bursts of profanity as he orders Major to heel. 'Major is like a New Dealer," he says, ''got to stick his nose into everything." Should the Colonel catch sight of a lady at such moments, he raises his hat and apologizes for his language, then immediately breaks forth anew. The Colonel is a little deaf. Somebody asked him how he liked the new Deacon. The Colonel, understanding it as the New Deal, replied with a fine blast. His friend said: "They say he's the son of a Bishop." "They all are!" roared the Colonel.

Once, when Colonel Boots was at sea, he cut out a wooden bulkhead at the foot of his bunk. There was a great to-do about this, and in the course of time he received an official communication headed: 'From So-and-So to Colonel Boots. Subject: Destruction of Navy Property." Boots replied, "From Colonel Boots to So-and-So. Subject: Destruction of Navy property. Sir: Length of bunk six feet two; length of Boots six feet six. Yours respectfully.'' Since that time, candidates for the Marine Corps may not be more than six feet four in height.

Peter Magruder, for many years Secretary of the Naval Academy and now Commodore of the Annapolis Yacht Club, told me an odd story concerning the Academy and Francis Scott Key. When Key had scribbled down the first draft of the Star-Spangled Banner on an old envelop, he came to Annapolis to show it to his father-in-law, Judge Nicholson. After having made certain alterations at the older man's suggestion, he copied it and tossed the original in a wastebasket. Mrs. Nicholson retrieved it and stuck it in the pigeon-hole of a desk. This was in 1814. In 1857, the Nicholson place was taken into the Academy grounds and the furniture removed from the house. The old desk was in time inherited by a daughter of the family. Not until 1890 was the old envelop discovered in its pigeon-hole. The discovery of the original MS. of the Star-Spangled Banner created a furore. J. P. Morgan offered twenty-five thousand dollars for it, but the owner, a wealthy woman, preferred to sell it to the Walters Art Gallery in Baltimore for twenty-five hundred dollars, where it now reposes. Here is the odd pay-off of the story: the Academy bandstand is built on the site of the old Nicholson house and every morning the Naval Academy band plays the Star-Spangled Banner on the very spot where the original script was so long hidden.

Much more ancient than the Naval Academy is St. John's College, which was chartered under its present style in 1784, but succeeded to the property, the funds, the masters, and the students of King William's School, founded in 1696, the first free school on the continent of America. The charter expresses the spirit of Maryland in stipulating that no religious tests were to be applied either to masters or students. After one hundred years of an established church, that is how the newly-freed state felt. The greatest names in Maryland appear in the roster of the first Board of Visitors and Governors, and President George Washington gave the "infant seminary" his blessing. After this auspicious beginning, St. John's for a hundred and fifty years experienced the usual ups and downs of the small college, and by 1937 had been reduced to the disappearing point of finances and scholarship. In that year, with the election of Stringfellow Barr as President and Scott Buchanan as Dean, its new life began.

These two young educators came from the University of Chicago with an idea which carried the enthusiastic endorsement of President Hutchins, to wit: that the colleges of America have erred from the path of wisdom and are dissipating their energies in side-issues. With the assistance of others, they chose the hundred greatest books written by man and boldly announced that that henceforth should be the curriculum of St. John's alike for all students. No more elective courses; no text-books. Why go to text-books written by mediocre men when the great and beautiful originals were available? The list is subject to change, of course; at present it comprises one hundred and eighteen books.

I remember, upon first hearing the program announced, how it fred me with enthusiasm; at last a real education, a return to man's glorious heritage, which had seemed in a fair way to be forgotten. It is what is in these books that constitutes the difference between civilization and barbarism. Surely it is the first duty of an older generation to bring it to the boys of the race. And how I wished I were a boy to get the advantage of it! Most of the oldsters I talked to felt the same way as I; not so the boys. The poor things are too anxiously concerned with getting on in an increasingly difficult world. Even the boys with a natural bent toward learning shook their heads wistfully. "How will it help me to get a job?" they asked. For three years the fate of the experiment hung in doubt. Little Maryland obviously could not support such a revolutionary program by itself. Slowly support came from the outside; finally in 1940 the corner was turned; there were more applicants than the college could accommodate.

It is fortunate that old St. John's College was available for the trying out of this new-old plan. The ancient green with its magnificent trees suggests an academic grove; the main building, McDowell Hall, is of a classic simplicity and dignity. Even the later' buildings which flank it are old enough now to have acquired an air of permanence. McDowell Hall was started in 1742 when the legislature authorized Governor Bladen, "to build a Dwelling House and other Conveniences for the Residence of the Governor of Maryland for the Time being." The cost was not to exceed four thousand pound sterling. Two: years later the Governor asked for two thousand pound sterling additional to complete it, which the legislature refused, and the house stood for forty years an unfinished ruin until the college took it over. Bladen's Folly, it was called.

One of the chiefest ornaments to the college is a new building, the State Record Office, which occupies a corner of the green. The grace of this little building, pure Georgian in style, is a never-failing delight to the passer-by, and proof that all the good architects are not dead ones. It was designed by Lawrence Fowler.

Very dear to Annapolitans is a tulip tree on the college green which is estimated to be six hundred years old. Under it in 1652 a treaty was made with the Susquehannocks. It is the last Liberty Tree of the Revolution to survive. Many years ago some boys playing Cowboys and Indians started a fire in the hollow trunk which threatened to consume the whole tree. The fire was put out and tree surgeons sent for to see if anything could be saved. They reported that the fire, far from damaging the tree, had killed the parasites which threatened its life. The branches were lopped off, the cavity filled, and sure enough when Spring came the old monarch blossomed in renewed verdancy. It is still thriving. At first, after the fire, no boy could be found who had had a hand in setting it. When it appeared that the fire had saved the tree, a dozen came forward to claim the honor. I have this on the authority of Marcellus.

Contributed 2024 Dec 4 by Norma Hass, extracted from 1942 Maryland Main and the Eastern Shore by Hulbert Footner, pages 257-270.