Baltimore Evening Sun (12 May 1911): 6.

Why not a Mount Vernon Place Visiting Day next? Here is a street with quite as many attractions as Broadway—and yet the average Baltimorean knows nothing at all about it. What he is told about it, say, in political campaigns, is usually misleading, if not downright untrue. He is asked to believe that the folk of Mount Vernon Place have no hearts, that their one aim in life is to prevent the paving of Fort Avenue, that they wear silk stockings, that they try to hog all the more dignified and remunerative public offices, that they keep pauperhounds to harass the poor, that they eat nothing but terrapin and drink nothing but champagne. The Mount Vernon Place issue (which is sometimes called the Charles street or Maryland Club issue) is just as effective in a campaign as the “nigger” issue. The late Frank Wachter turned it into thousands of votes. George Konig, “Bill” Garland and other such fellows use it constantly.

A chance offers for the good folk of the place to put it upon the shelf forever. Let them select a visiting day and invite all Baltimore to call upon them. Perhaps more than one day will be necessary, for the place is much smaller than Broadway. Say a week, then, instead of a day. During that week let every householder in those fashionable precincts keep open house, bidding any and every Baltimorean enter and have a look. Let the plain people see for themselves that the Mount Vernon Placers are human beings like themselves. Let an end be made of all ancient prejudices. Let us hear no more silly talk of deadlines.

Prejudices make the world unhappy. The German hates the Frenchman. The Greek hates the Turk. Highlandtown hates Roland Park. Snake Hollow hates Kuhviertel. South Charles street hates North Charles street. The thing is unpleasant to all concerned, for it is unpleasant to hate, and even more unpleasant to be hated. Why not profit by Broadway’s example? A week ago there were 50,000 persons in West, North and South Baltimore who probably never spoke of Broadway save to sneer, snicker and wink their rolling eyes. Now they know that Broadway is a wide and beautiful street, with fine houses lining it and very agreeable people living in those houses.

Such visiting education and mellows. A Mount Vernon Place visiting day would cost “Bill” Garland 500 votes. The silk-stocking issue would die the death. A few carpets ruined, a few butts of malmsey broached, a few hundred thousand 10-cent cigars distributed—and millionaire and toiler would be friends forever.

Still other visiting days suggest themselves. Let Locust Point show the town its new parks, its shipyards, its grain elevators, its old fort, its elegant cafes. Let Highlandtown invite us all! And Carroll, and Peabody Heights, and old Marsh Market!

And Druid Hill avenue!

Percival Pollard, lately home from foreign shores and now perspiring in our midst, brings back the true story of the Crippen case.

“The late Dr. Crippen,” says Pollard, “poisoned that fat wife of his because her notions of the artistic made life with her unbearable. In brief, she insisted upon fastening bows of pink and blue ribbon to all of the pictures in their house. Dr. Crippen, arising before dawn, would tear down those ghastly decorations and heave them into the dust bin, but his good lady, within 24 hours, would always put up new ones. He stood it for years. Then he killed her.”

The Shakespeare of tomorrow, It appears, will be a writer of scenarios for moving-picture films. Already the trade engages the literati. Capt. Leslie T. Peacock, of Los Angeles, is in the forefront of the fray. His film dramas, says one of the theatrical papers, now delight millions. A portrait reveals the Captain as a tall, handsome gentleman in a high tight collar. His chief rival is Sidney Franklin, “once a comedian of ability.” Sidney’s masterpieces are “The Schoolmarm of Coyote County” and “Jack Mason’s Last Deal.”

Already a demand comes from the leading film authors that their work be labeled with their names. Going further, they ask for an increase in wages. At present a moving-picture play brings $20 on the hoof. Certain masters begin to feel that $100 would not be too much.

Faring eastward last night I passed the falls at Baltimore street. Its friends and admirers will be glad to hear that it is already warming up for the summer.

From various contributors, known and unknown, come the following additions to the list of poetic synonyms for beard:

If any gentleman in the house has a further contribution to make, let him speak up at once.

Meanwhile it is interesting to note that Captain McIlwaine, a refired British naval officer, is calling upon all Englishmen to raise beards as a tribute of respect to King George V, who sports a sedate Van Dyke. The men of England, says Captain McIlwaine, are ready enough to follow their sovereign in the design of their waistcoats and hats, but they show a lamentable lack of loyalty when it comes to adorning their faces. It must be plain, continues the Captain, that King George, like his father before him, wears a beard for some good and sufficient reason. What that reason may be no one knows, but if it is good enough for the king it should be good enough for the dukes, and so on down the line. The logic here is impeccable—but between whiskers and logic, Dowie and Aristotle, there seems to be a bitter and eternal antagonism.

The school authorities of Cleveland have discovered that “clean teeth are essential to the progress of school children.” In consequence, tooth brushes are now to be distributed with slate pencils and spelling books. All the same, the fact remains that Francis Bacon acquired a good deal of knowledge without the aid of dentifrice. Whether or not George Washington brushed his teeth of a morning I don’t know, but I do know that there was no bathroom in his house. When the frenzy for ablution seized him he leaped into the Potomac. If the water was too cold, he waited until it got warm.

An historical friend once told me that the first bathtub ever seen in Maryland was put into service in 1827. Down to the year 1888 not more than 30 per cent. of the homes in Baltimore had bathrooms. As for the tooth brush, it was unknown in Europe until 1748, when John W. Kraus, of Frankfort-am-Rhein, invented it. The first American tooth brushes were made by Ezra J. Fereguson at Bangor, Me., in 1816.

H. L. Mencken