Part 5: A Shining Beacon

Sitting in Richard’s truck at the darkened intersection of Wilkens and Gilmor, the windshield wipers slapped time to a lonesome ballad nobody could hear. We were lost in a no-man’s land in a strange city.

“Any ideas?” I asked.

Richard said he was pretty sure there was a hotel down the interstate, before the Wilkens Avenue exit. We retraced our path to the west again, out Wilkens past the hospital, past the cemetery, past the little shopping center to I-495, and headed back to Washington.

There it was, a beacon of hope shining on a hill: The Beltway Motel. If only there were a way to get to it.

After several turns and reversals of direction, we finally made it to the Beltway Motel and crashed for the night.

In the morning we got up and went back to UMBC, filling in details about the setting that were obscured by darkness the previous night. The campus was indeed surrounded by open area. That was a golf course, and those were cows in a dairy pasture. Even during daylight the area looked more rural than suburban.

We went to the student union to get a student paper and look for housing notices on a bulletin board. I found a note from a family in Woodlawn with a room for rent. I tore the paper down and stuffed it in my pocket.

Richard had been talking with people, asking where the closest commercial area is, where there are stores and banks and people, and we might get some breakfast.

“We’re looking for Route 40,” he told me. “A few exits up the highway.”

Soon we were on Baltimore National Pike, a broad avenue lined with the comfortingly familiar signs of fast food and chain stores – civilization at last.

We found our way to the Double T Diner at Rolling Road. Now this is more like it.

We filled up on platters of eggs, hash browns, waffles and various pork products. I had cup after cup of coffee while browsing through a stack of newspapers: the Baltimore Sun, the Evening Sun, the News American and the Washington Post.

Not bad for my first meal in Baltimore. I could get used to this.

I pulled the paper from my pocket. Room for rent in Woodlawn, $75 per week. I went to the Double T pay phone and spoke with Mrs. Murray. The house is just up Rolling Road, near Security Boulevard.

The Murrays – Kathryn and Harold – were an older couple, each on their second marriage. Harold was in sales. Since their children have grown and gone off to college and lives of their own, the Murrays rented out the two bedrooms on the second floor of the house, which are separated by a full bathroom in the hallway. One room is already rented out to a Catonsville Community College student.

The room was a generous size, and furnished with dressers and overstuffed chair. One of the windows overlooked the wooded area backing the yard.

This will do, at least for a while.

“It’ll have to do, because we’re not shopping around,” Richard said. “I’m heading back to Memphis.”

But not without seeing a little of Baltimore first. We unloaded the boxes of my stuff from the truck and stacked it in my new room, then headed out the door.

We drove aimlessly for a while, following main streets and what appeared to be the flow of traffic. Mrs. Murray said that we’d want to see the Inner Harbor, which had been recently redeveloped. Richard tucked the truck into a parking spot on a South Baltimore street, and we walked toward the harbor.

Dusk was falling when I crossed Federal Hill for the first time, The Inner Harbor landscape unfolded before my eyes – colorful and brightly lit shimmering off the water, neon and glowing triangles, tall-masted ships, people strolling dockside. It looked like a postcard, like Disneyland. I’d never seen a cityscape like this.

We walked to Harborplace and through the bustling Light Street Pavilion. Part market, with fresh meats and produce, and part food court. We grazed on pizza and lemon ice. Richard wanted to try a soft-shell crab, declaring it tasty. I took a look at the battered bug and deferred a sample.

There was a newsstand at the top of the steps on the second floor of the pavilion. On a rack of books, a title spoke out to me: Shock Trauma by Jon Franklin.

I bought a copy.