The Jewish Times for many years was located at 2104 North Charles Street.
I used to love to walk along Charles Street, heading up past 25th Street into Charles Village to neighborhood markets.
I loved walking past friends of mine in the advertising business who sat on the front steps of their businesses taking a break on a warm, summer’s day.
I even walked more than a few times to Memorial Stadium to catch an afternoon O’s game. After dark, I walked back.
Over the years, though, that walk became a bit more interrupted. Junkies would stop me and ask me for money. Their “daughter has asthma and I’m just $10 short.” “My baby hasn’t eaten, can I spare $1?” One morning I got to work only to find two children playing outside of my storefront office door. They were there for hours before an adult came to pick them up. They left fast food wrappers and even excrement in the stair well.
What was happening to my city?
On a regular basis, our employees’ cars were broken into in our parking lot.
Finally, on a workday morning, a crowd of people, including little children stood around at something lying in on the sidewalk. It was a corpse. For the children, it was like a field trip. Instead of running away in tears, they ran towards the body with excitement.
I used to love it when the trees bloomed with their white leaves in the spring. I loved the quirkiness of our office, the sounds of traffic on Charles Street.
But then it got scary.
On an April Monday when the Orioles were opening a new season, I was given a ride down to Camden Yards. I would watch the game and then walk back to the office. It wasn’t really that far a walk. It was a brisk walk, good exercise.
So I walked, and had a pretty good pace until I got to the train station. Something inside of me stopped me. That something was the thought of walking the remaining handful of blocks at nightfall past North Avenue.
I weighed the embarrassment of asking a cab driver to take me the three or four blocks. I was told it would cost $5.
After walking a couple of miles from Camden Yards, I took a cab for a two-minute ride to my office.
Ridiculous, isn’t it?
I’d do the same thing all over again.
So I think there’s even more of a danger.
It’s a danger that’s capitalized on by the simple happenings of a day.
A week ago we were talking about the murder of Hopkins researcher Stephen Pitcairn. Before his name fades, there’s the recent killing of Milton Hill, a vital member of the Ark Church.
If there was ever a time when the race for State’s Attorney was made more important on a daily basis, than it’s now.
I know that challenger Gregg Bernstein has been every where getting his message across that he sees this as even more of an indicator of a need for change.
Patricia C. Jessamy, the incumbent, has to know that this cannot go on at all for her to continue in office.
But because Mr. Bernstein is white and Ms. Jessamy is black, the vote could have little to do with information and issues.
Maybe Ms. Jessamy deserves to win again. Maybe, because the crimes continue and the killers have all been in the “system,” then perhaps we need a change. But perhaps not.
If this were not an election year, would we care so very much? Or would it just be Baltimore being Baltimore.
One thing for sure, of all the elections, County Council, legislative and even to some extent gubernatorial, this race between Jessamy and Bernstein is the most vital, critical election to watch and to become involved in.
It impacts us all on the street, in our homes, walking from the train station, taking a Light Rail Train, living near our churches and synagogues. And even deciding whether or not to take a cab or walk the final three blocks between Penn Station and 21st Street along Charles.
Fast forward to two years ago, I took a light rail train from Mount Washington to Cultural Center near our offices. I was the only white person getting off at my stop. And when I left a young black woman yelled at me, “get the f out of here.” Two or three of her friends said “uh, huh.” I had just been sitting the entire time reading from a book. I didn’t know she was on the train until she addressed my presence. Did it matter that I live in the City, grew up in the City, went to city public schools and probably do something she’ll wasn’t doing, paying taxes to the city. No, I was just a white guy in a shirt and tie. That was enough.
It’s not black and white or Hispanic or Christian or Jewish. It’s all of us.
If we can all step back for a moment and take races and ethnic groups away and just look at resumes and the reality on the ground, then maybe we could make an informed decision about an election that can and will impact Baltimore arguably more than Ehrlich vs. O’Malley.
I wish that Bernstein and Jessamy would debate.
They should debate at the very location of either Mr. Hill’s death or Mr. Pitcairn’s death.
This can’t go on, Ms. Jessamy. Do you understand the depth of that? It can’t go on?
And Mr. Bernstein, if you weren’t white, if you were black or Hispanic or green or blue we’d still urge you to keep working harder. It’s important for a strong challenger to help the incumbent come out on the street and fight back with words and actions. Ms. Jessamy, show us what can be done even better. Account for mistakes of the past with a defensive posture. This isn’t about you or him, it’s about the city.
A good, strong fair race between these two candidates is what we need now.
And then the actions have to speak louder than the words.
I love this city.
It’s in my heart and soul.
I know it is in your’s as well Ms. Jessamy and Mr. Bernstein.
Please get us out of this cycle of violence.
Please.
A vote in this particular race isn’t about slogans or t-shirts or lawn signs.
It’s about lives…saving them.