In 1965, highway planners proposed linking I-95 to I-83. The original plan would have destroyed much of Fells Point and separated the upper part of the neighborhood from the waterfront. A grass roots effort saved the area from that fate. Locals held a large block party to celebrate, and that began the Fells Point Fun Festival. Over ensuing decades, the revel grew.
In February 1997, a career change brought me to Baltimore. Despite growing up only 100 miles away, I knew little of my future hometown. I asked where I should look to find a place to live. I was told Fells Point and have lived here ever since.From my first festival on, I've enjoyed the good time all-the-while hearing how much more fun it was back in the day. That is nothing new for Fells Point. In the last 16 years, a week has not gone by without some old-timer regaling me on how much better the neighborhood used to be. To quote the Merry Pranksters, "Nothing Lasts." To quote Ram Dass, "Be Here Now."
One often bemoaned aspect of past festivals was the fact that you could drink in the streets. I have never experienced that as it ended about 20 years ago. This year, revelers will be able to carry their libations through the streets just like those halcyon days.
That brings up one of the innate dichotomies of the Fun Festival. It wants to cater to families with children's areas, puppet shows and wholesome fun. Depending on how you measure the confines of Fells Point, the neighborhood has 64 to 120 drinking establishments. Add to that the two beer gardens the Festival hosts, and a drunken bacchanalia transpires. Mostly these two opposing poles coexist. Though a certain group of party goers refer to themselves as the Fells Point Stroller Kicker's Club (several are regular readers of this blog - you know who you are). Before you let the bile of outrage rise in your esophagus, they lean to the platonic not the practical.
Personally, the Festival has a special significance. Twas at this event that I met my muse and partner. Since then, we have celebrated together. At times the imbibing has gotten the better of us. One year we attempted to enjoy in moderation and made a pact. When one felt the approach of drunkenness, he/she would utter a "code word" to alert the other of impending inebriation. The word was SHOTS. Probably not the best choice. This year we will attempt that again. My list of possible watchwords includes "Chartreuse" and the phrase "Jitney to Jagertown." Maybe I'm not the one to come up with the code word. As ever - BB
“Reality doesn't impress me. I only believe in intoxication, in ecstasy, and when ordinary life shackles me, I escape, one way or another.” - Anais Nin
