The Back Page
Baltimore’s fabled football history is amply noted on the Baltimore Ravens’ Web site. But poor Edgar Allan Poe, who died 160 years ago this Oct. 7 and whose very grave went unmarked for years and years, isn’t cited there (unless you count a mention of the team’s mascot, a giant Raven named “Poe” that appears at nursing homes, schools and bull roasts). Nor is there any explanation as to why, as the poet put it, “this ungainly fowl” might appeal as a name for a National Football League franchise.
Other teams’ names are easy to figure. The New England Patriots? Understandable. Lexington and Concord and all that. The San Francisco 49ers. Gold rush. No problem. You’ve got Lions and Bengals and Bears. Buccaneers, Titans and Vikings. Seattle has its Seahawks and Atlanta has its Falcons. But in the department of ornithology Baltimore has the oddest selection, one derived from Poe’s most famous poem.
Baltimore was not Poe’s hometown (he was born in Boston) but he had longtime family connections here although he lived only briefly in the city. He was a drifter all of his life. He spent his childhood in Great Britain and after that, lived all over— Richmond, New York, Philadelphia and Baltimore. Many cities claim him. He was on the move when he died here under circumstances that remain murky. He was very drunk when discovered in a bar. Was he wearing someone else’s clothing? Had he been drugged? And then there’s a theory that rascals got him stewed and hauled him around to various polling places to get him to vote. He died at Washington Medical College at Broadway and Fairmount (the old Church Home and Hospital). A plaque marks the spot.
His death made slight impression on the nation. Only eight people attended his funeral (one biographer says four). The service lasted three minutes.
But in death Poe looms large. His admirers included Arthur Conan Doyle, James Joyce, William Butler Yeats, Charles Baudelaire, Thomas Hardy, Nietzsche, Kafka, Dostoevski and all of France! The French have always loved him. They love him so much that they wish he were French. That’s their highest compliment!
Last year a bold fellow in the City of Brotherly Love proposed that Poe’s remains be moved to Philadelphia. He must be very bold, indeed. Baltimore is the city that turned back the combined might of the British army and navy when Britannia ruled the waves— and did it with volunteers, old men and boys. Do you imagine Baltimore would let Poe go? The father of the detective story sleeps eternal at Westminster Burying Grounds at the corner of Fayette and Greene streets.
Baltimore is a poor city and Poe was always poor. He spent his whole life asking people for money. And he drank. A lot. Supporters took up collections to help him and the first thing he did with the money was, you guessed it, get drunk. People close to him called him “Eddie” or “Eddy.” That’s very Baltimore.
His life— a mere 40 years— is a minefield of truths, half-truths and no truths. His writing successes in his lifetime were slight. But in death he has soared, leaving us his invaluable legacy: “The Tell-Tale Heart,” “The Fall of the House of Usher,” “The Murders in the Rue Morgue,” “The Pit and The Pendulum,” “The Cask of Amontillado,” “The Premature Burial” and “The Masque of the Red Death.”
Plainly, the Ravens have forgotten “The Raven” (there was only one raven in the poem) and they have forgotten Poe, too. But while there is still time in the football season, let us ponder weak and weary what the Ravens might do for Poe since Poe has already done so much for the Ravens. It is, after all, the 200th anniversary of his birth this year.
Last year 570,152 fans turned out to see eight home games here. You don’t need a calculator to figure that if every person who attended put one buck in the hat (or perhaps the money could be deducted from ticket sales?), Poe’s money troubles would be over. There would be plenty of cash to maintain the venerable Poe house at 203 Amity St., which is surrounded by some fairly grim public housing on the West Side. (It’s within walking distance of Ravens stadium.) Or, how about doing a little maintenance at his grave, helping the Enoch Pratt Free Library, which has a lovely Poe room, sprucing up Poe’s statue in front of the University of Baltimore Law School, or assisting the very worthy Edgar Allan Poe Society?
Even if the team did this for just one game, it would be a start. How about the Ravens start the tradition on Oct. 11 this year, the home game day nearest to the date in 1849 (Oct. 7) when Poe expired? If the team did this every year on the home game closest to the day he died in poverty and obscurity, think of the good will it would engender. Think of the publicity. You couldn’t make this up. PROFESSIONAL FOOTBALL PLAYERS SAVE LEGACY OF 19th-CENTURY POET. And to think that the Ravens thought cheerleader Molly Shattuck was a story!
