Mount Vernon Baltimore

Mt. Vernon

I lived in Mt. Vernon a neighborhood in north Baltimore for two years. According to statistics, Mt . Vernon is one of the most impoverished neighborhoods in the city. I however see Mt. Vernon as probably the richest, poorest, most liberal part of Baltimore. It is home to the wealthy who occupy the condos, the disenfranchised who occupy the streets, and the homosexuals and anarchists who occupy the liberal mindedness. My residence was The Belvedere Hotel, which was built in 1904 and more recently converted into condominiums. The building itself contained three bars, two restaurants and countless colorful people. Strangely I often felt like I was the only person who lived there, because certain times of the day the building seemed completely empty and lonely.
It would be possible to never leave the building and still eat, drink and socialize. Many people including myself and the custodians sifted through the trash. For some reason residents would discard expensive well functioning items like portable dvd players, furniture , and new turntables.

Living in a hotel comes with many advantages. As most women believe you are by definition wealthy they are very eager to see your home and literally sleep in your bed. As I knew the inner workings of the building, I could take the freight elevator past the guards and into a swanky party serving incredible food that I did not pay for.
Gary the rotund black doorman is the face of the Belvedere who is at the same time notoriously friendly and notoriously shady. Nearly all of the Belvedere staff was black but that did not create a barrier as most residents were friendly and actually very fond of most of the people who worked there.
A board consisting of owners dictated the rules which I often liked to break. . I decided to create innovative community programs, like for instance leaving magazines or books in the mail room to be traded amongst the residents. The board did not like this so they tried to put an end to it by posting a notice on the community message board. In a drunken rage, I solved this problem by taking the message board with me.

The lower commercial space of the building was owned by the Russians. They looked suspicious, were suspicious and by all accounts were criminals funneling their money into a restaurant that seemed to have no intention of making money. Next to them was an unusual space below ground that was regularly being shut down by police raids and liquor board. Without liquor to sell they targeted young inner city kids which consisted of rival gang bangers ultimately resulting in occasional shots being fired.

A prison three blocks to the east hung a banner reminding people to “Drop the gun or pick a room”, but as I said that was three blocks, in Baltimore terms another universe.

Mt. Vernon might be best known as the gay capital of Baltimore. Down the street was the Hippo, a gay nightclub which was across the street from Grand Central a gay bar. Next to the Hippo is Eddie’s a small traditional grocery store, where all the people come together; to shop not necessarily to intermingle. Each year the neighborhood hosts gay pride. Gays, bis, tris, straights, men, women, and all that is in between attend. It is in one sense about being open, but also in another about shocking and possibly pushing those more conservative further away.

Across the street from entrance to my building is a beautiful old church which overflows with music and black patrons every Sunday. I always wanted to join in, but this was a racial barrier in which I felt I was not allowed to cross, but true Christians should be welcoming.

I frequented Red Emma’s, an anarchist collective run bookstore coffee shop for free internet, yerba Mate, a tea like drink sipped out of a gourd, and political conversation. The collective consists of intellectual snobby, hipsters, who actually have become the people they hate. One of the founding members admitted to me that collectivism does not work in practice as some people are forced to take charge where others fail. Enzo is the most famous customer. He is an overtly friendly homeless black man who hocks stolen goods to support his drug habit.
When I first arrived in Baltimore I decided I wanted to be a part of the hippy, dumpster diving, bicycle riding, deep thinking scene. I first became friends with a young lesbian girl, but our friendship never evolved partly due to the fact that I was attracted to her. I then dated a bisexual polyamorous girl. She was a member of the Red Emma’s collective which briefly elevated my status, but I soon broke up with her after she candidly admitted to having HPV
I worked as a busboy at XS one of the many restaurants in Mt. Vernon. Most of the staff were either students at MICA, the art college or former students. Working there I was allowed into their scene, but after I was fired I was ostracized and never again let back in.

As an entrepreneur I turned an ice cream cart into a coffee and pastry cart. I branded myself The Coffee Peddler and stepped onto the turf of The Hot Dog Guy. The Hot Dog Guy owned the corner directly to the northwest of my building. He was a large, old man with a thick foreign accent. He sold hot dogs and drinks in the afternoon.

My license specified that I be moving unless I was making a sale, but my cart was so heavy it was practically impossible to do. I setup early in the morning and sold a quick breakfast to people on their way to work. Although the Hot Dog Man never saw me, he soon heard of me.

After I realized morning traffic was slow, I moved to Pennsylvania Train Station which is just over the border of Mt. Vernon. One day returning from work I crossed the path of Thee Hot Dog Man. Straining, on the verge of a heart attack he let me know that the block belonged to him.