Stuff to See!

The First One's the Worst One

I've never been very good at local color stories/articles, so that's where I'll start this introspective. Some background is required, here. I've lived in Baltimore, Maryland for all my life, in which time I have traveled and lurked widely all over that remarkable city. One constant feature in my early childhood through adolescence and into early adulthood, before leaving for the wilds of UMBC, is Patterson Park. Patterson Park, for all of its civilization (the tennis courts, the playgrounds, and the many softball fields, among other things), lies like Nature itself squarely in the midst of no fewer than three separate neighborhoods (Canton to the south, Highlandtown to the east and north, Butcher's Hill to the west, although there may be more).
Any map of Baltimore will give you the precise location of Patterson Park; it stands dead center in my life as the nexus of my existence. It is a battlefield across which my unseen armies marched burning and looting as they went. It is an treasure trove of personally significant intellectual artifacts, to say nothing of what may lie buried beneath its sodden surface. In Patterson Park, one can see in the same field of vision (with effort) Victorian Rowhouses, a pagoda, and a Ukrainian Catholic Church with real onion domes, as well as more humble homes and bombed out buildings of which Baltimore has such a large supply.
There is also the isle of Hokeepoke, a circular knoll of sorts in the southwestern corner of the park which held a strange and fearful power. Every time my father and I walked through the park, we would take our time defeating this power (located under a sapling), and, triumphant, we would march down the Warpath toward Eastern Avenue and the wilds of Fells Point.
Or we would march south from Bull's Head (a fountain shaped...like a bull's head in the northwest) down Herring Bone Run, with the evil Salvation Army school at our right, when things were more innocent and I was unaware of the depravity in my father's home. He was my hero then.
Or we would come down from the church on Lakewood and Baltimore, entering through the Two Towers (before I'd heard of Tolkien), seeking adventure, or tossing a frisbee, high and low all over Patterson Park.
Or we would enter (as we most often did) from the southeast, and gaze upon the relief which was the Pulaski Monument. I confess my ignorance as to what exactly this General Pulaski did, the monument itself is impressive. Just behind the monument is the Slice o' Pizza, a triangular mound of grass which resembled our favorite food.
I have a lot of memories of Patterson Park, most of which involve my father and I, when we were a team. That may explain why I've seldom visited the park since he left in 1994. Rare were the times when I actually went there alone, or with any other person than my father. I miss those times, but looking back there is much that was wrong, although I didn't know it then. Those details don't bear remembrance in this forum.
And like any other place, the park has its dark side, especially at night. Prostitution, drug dealing, and violence, took their rightful place in and around Patterson Park. I was lucky enough to encounter little of this first hand. It's too bad, I guess, that the moral degradation of mankind finds its way into every sanctuary, but there is no good that is unmixed with evil in this world. I can still see almost every detail of the park, every rolling hillock, the stagnant pond which has its own fascinating and repulsive ecosystem. I think I swum in it once (so that's what did it...hmm).
I've seen bumper stickers with yellow backgrounds which say 'I Love Patterson Park'. I wonder what these people love so much about it.
Coming at the end of Easter Sunday (the first of two), this shpiel must end. There are many stories which have their settings in Patterson Park. I'd like to hear some of yours.