War Memorial Plaza

Now, wander in your mind just a few doors down, and you’d stumble into a classroom packed with German immigrant kids and one future troublemaker: H.L. Mencken. Here’s the Baltimore Sun’s most notorious newsman, a young Henry, dodging strict teachers and probably cooking up his first sarcastic headline. He later ended up at Baltimore Polytechnic, a school so old it’s like the Harvard of manual training, and still kicking around as “Poly” on the city’s east side. But back to the plaza—imagine the 1870s, when this place wasn’t an open expanse but a dense warren of buildings. Looming over it all was the Holliday Street Theatre, rebuilt in stone and Greek Revival splendor in 1813 by architect Robert Cary Long. This wasn’t just any theater—it’s rumored the National Anthem got its first public belting out right here, after Francis Scott Key’s poem was set to music in 1814. And because this is Baltimore, that likely turned into a raucous singalong at the Tavern next door, fueled by pride and, let’s be real, probably beer. Around the corner stood the Assembly Rooms, which were basically the 19th-century equivalent of an exclusive club and library mashup where the city’s glitterati would gather for balls, debates, and a little gossip. By mid-century, even the city’s top high school moved in—so this area has always been prime real estate for the ambitious. Disaster struck in 1873, when a massive fire torched the theater and school to the ground. Even so, the show must go on, and by the late 1870s, a new theater rose up... for a while, at least. By early 20th century, city planners with a flair for the dramatic—think: “City Beautiful Movement”—decided Baltimore needed a civic heart that looked the part. Architect Laurence Hall Fowler’s War Memorial Building sprouted up in the 1920s to honor Marylanders killed in World War I. The city’s planners also covered up the Jones Falls stream, which was less "gentle brook" and more "occasional disaster," opening this vista from City Hall. Today, War Memorial Plaza is a hush in the downtown buzz, home to official ceremonies, lunchtime chess games, and one striking bronze sculpture: “The Negro Soldier” by James E. Lewis. Unveiled in 1971, it was originally stuck facing the wrong direction on a one-way street. Someone finally got wise and, in 2007, gave it pride of place here. So, this patch of green has managed to be a schoolyard, a theater district, a high society hangout, and, now, a monument to sacrifice and service. Baltimore’s own civic living room, if you like.