Should Spiro T. Agnew's portrait hang in the Reception Room of the State House in Annapolis, they'll have to give Frank Brown the nudge. There's only so much wall space. If Agnew's portrait goes up, Brown's comes down. And that's too bad.
"Farmer Brown" was an honorable man from Carroll County, a leader in business and agricultural affairs. He served as governor from 1892 till 1896, and did a couple of things that, in their time, could only be considered extraordinary. In 1894, for instance, he intervened in a dispute between coal miners and mine owners in Allegany County, deploying troops to Frostburg and personally conferring with strike leaders to avoid violence. Even more impressive, however, was his intervention in an Eastern Shore criminal case that saved the lives of innocent young men. According to the book "Governors of Maryland," four black youths were scheduled to hang for the murder of a Chestertown doctor, a crime that caused an emotional tornado. Alerted to doubts about the defendants' guilt, Brown personally (and secretly) investigated the case. "Brown not only visited the boys in person," a biography says, "but he also examined the evidence exhaustively. Then he sent a state oyster boat secretly at night to Chestertown to take the four prisoners aboard and bring them to Baltimore. Finally, he commuted their sentences. For a time residents of the Eastern Shore were bitter against the governor for his interference and threatened to lynch the four. Better judgment, however, prevailed, and the four men responsible for the crime were later apprehended and hanged."
Brown's portrait deserves better than the attic -- if only to right an earlier affront. For 54 years, the Brown portrait did not even hang in the State House. It was sealed in a carton from 1916 until 1970 when, by some odd circumstance, it was discovered on an auction block in New York. The Maryland Commission on Artistic Properties negotiated its return and, presumably, it has adorned the State House since then. Now, Brown's getting bumped by a bum?
Bummer.
Girl needs tank
Gary Holloway, chief of public affairs at Aberdeen Proving Ground, occasionally gets requests from moviemakers to use props or locations. The 72,000-acre "Home of Army Ordnance" has a lot to offer a filmmaker: Menacing-looking research labs, sprawling firing ranges and an assortment of modern weaponry.
This week, Holloway took a call from a Baltimore film promoter who wanted to borrow a tank to publicize "Tank Girl." It's a new film based on a cult comic book and directed by Rachel Talalay (her mom and dad are Hopkins profs).
Holloway wanted to know about the movie, and it was explained to him: "Tank Girl" is a "really cool babe with an attitude." She saves the world from evil public works guys who are hording water supplies following an ecological cataclysm.
"I about lost it," Holloway said.
"It plays to a younger audience," he was told. "It's going to be a funny movie. It's not going to be one of the best movies to come out this year."
In exchange for the tank, the promoter offered to let the Army set up a recruiting booth at the March 30 screening in Timonium. (Just what the Army needs: Fans of "Tank Girl" and her band of half-man/half-kangaroo mutants.) The Army is still mulling the request.
Cupid's helper
After Christmas and Easter, Valentine's Day is the busiest holiday of the year for master chocolatier Albert Kirchmayr. At his cozy shop on Charles Street, one might expect the conveyor belt frenzy of that famous "I Love Lucy" candy factory episode. But there's little automation in Kirchmayr's shop. Most of the work is done by hand -- quietly, methodically.
Yesterday morning, a young woman in a chocolate-smeared red apron placed small cherries on tiny squares of candy fillings while Kirchmayr and an assistant carefully mixed mocha syrup with cream and a dash of brandy. The air, of course, was scented in chocolate, with subtle undercurrents of mocha and hazelnut. This year's Valentine's Day special is a heart-shaped tray of assorted chocolates -- the truffles have the tastiest kick of champagne -- covered in heart-covered cellophane and tied with a bow.
Last year, some people missed that the tray itself, fully wrapped in red foil, was made of chocolate. "They bought the package, ate the chocolates, then threw out the edible heart," Kirchmayr lamented. So this year he's leaving part of the tray uncovered.