Amayor, transportation officials and road planners underestimated the diminutive woman with the black beehive, whose tenacious love of her Locust Point community and knack for grass-roots organizing changed the course of Interstate 95 during the 1970s.
Ann Shirley Doda, who died Wednesday of a heart attack at her Fort Avenue home, successfully stopped I-95 and a proposed bridge from being built over historic Fort McHenry.
The retired funeral home owner was 74.
In 1972, Mrs. Doda and her husband, Victor, organized the Locust Point Civic Association to fight an elevated highway that would have sliced through their community as the final inner-city link of I-95 between Washington and Delaware.
"We've lost a legend and a dynamic individual. She fought so hard to keep that road out of Locust Point. She and Vic will never be forgotten," Joyce R. Bauerle, former association president, said yesterday.
"She was spontaneous, and when she believed in a cause, she threw everything she had into it. She was larger than life in so many ways. The woman did so many things to keep the community intact," said Mrs. Bauerle, who lives on Andre Street.
She recalled 3 a.m. meetings in Mrs. Doda's funeral home, where various strategies were considered, plans for demonstrations were ironed out and signs were painted.
"Frankly, I'm not sure when the woman slept," Mrs. Bauerle said with a laugh. She added, "I never had picketed in my life until I got involved with Shirley. My mother thought I had lost my mind."
The Dodas were called to the office of City Councilman Dominic Leone, who represented South Baltimore, and warned that continued resistance would only arouse the ire of William Donald Schaefer, who was then council president, and later became mayor and then governor.
"She'd say, 'You can't fight City Hall? Watch me.' That was her attitude, and she could easily handle all of the experts with their studies," said South Baltimore Del. Brian K. McHale.
"She also started a community festival so they could pay expenses, and in some cases, they often paid them out of their own pockets," he said.
Mrs. Doda was formidable and resourceful.
"She would not let go of it and eventually prevailed. She was simply tenacious and never gave up, and that was absolutely wonderful," state Sen. George Della said yesterday.
"Every Monday, there she'd be at City Council meetings with the ladies of Locust Point," Mr. Della said. "I was scared to death of the lady until I got to know her, because she had a very strong personality. William Donald Schaefer was scared of her, too."
For three years, they never missed a City Council meeting, as Mrs. Doda and her supporters kept the pressure on.
"When I fight, I don't hold anything back," Mrs. Doda told The Sun in 1980, "and when I had something to say I told them, but we didn't make it personal."
The Locust Point women rode up to City Hall in a chartered bus wearing distinctive red-white-and-blue headbands so they'd stand out at meetings. And Mrs. Doda always made a point of slipping into a chair behind Mr. Schaefer.
They put up a billboard reading "Fort McHenry ... Is it Baltimore's Watergate?" and sold bumper stickers for a dollar: "Save Fort McHenry, Our National Shrine." They donned Revolutionary War-era dress and marched around the White House.
According to news accounts, the mayor retaliated by threatening to cut services to the community and remove some playground equipment from Latrobe Park.
"To get her goat, whenever Schaefer called, he'd ask for 'Mrs. Doo-dah.' And when she called City Hall, she'd ask for 'Mr. Shoffer,'" Mrs. Bauerle recalled with a laugh. "It was just something else."
Mrs. Doda was the creator of other hijinks that drew public and news media attention to the group's plight.
A friend went to the old United Fruit pier in Locust Point and purchased several cases of bananas.
"We sat all day in my house writing on those bananas: 'We don't deserve this monkey business,' and 'Stop monkeying with Locust Point,' " Mrs. Doda told The Sun in 1991.
One of the group's members, Betty Brown, dressed up as a gorilla, while others dressed as clowns. Then the entire banana-wielding assemblage descended upon the mayor's office and made a ceremonial presentation.
Mr. Schaefer, who could not be reached for comment yesterday, did not appear amused then.
After years of protests, Mr. Schaefer finally surrendered, and the $878 million, 1.7-mile, eight-lane highway - which went under, rather than over, Fort McHenry - opened for traffic in 1985.
"He came to Shirley and said, 'You're right,'" Mrs. Bauerle said. "Before the tunnel opened, we were invited to walk through, and he came with us. That's when she began to like him."
To show their gratitude, Mrs. Doda and her supporters staged a "Thank You, Mayor Schaefer, Day," collected 35,000 signatures on a "Bravo, Mayor Schaefer" scroll and put up a "Thank You, Mayor Schaefer" billboard on Fort Avenue.
The pair tangled one more time in 1984, when the mayor announced, in a budget-cutting moment, that he would close the Locust Point firehouse and remove both engines.
Mrs. Doda and her friends marshaled their forces, took to the sidewalks once again and draped the firehouse in black crepe. They held candlelight vigils outside of the station and went downtown and marched around Fire Department headquarters. A delegation called on Mr. Schaefer's office.
Again, he withdrew from the contest, and to restore peace, he returned one piece of firefighting apparatus to the station.
"We used to call her the Mayor of Locust Point," said Floraine B. Applefeld, who for years staged Baltimore's Best and Maryland's Most Beautiful People events.
"She was dynamic - that's the only word I can use to describe her - and a good-hearted woman who when she decided to do something, it was best to just get out of her way," she said.
Born Ann Shirley Stevens, Mrs. Doda spent her entire life in Locust Point, the tightly knit South Baltimore rowhouse community that is surrounded on three sides by the Patapsco River, marine terminals and noisy railroad yards.
"During her lifetime, she only lived in two houses," said her daughter-in-law, Anita I. Doda, also of Locust Point. "She spent her girlhood at 1501 E. Fort Ave., and then in 1966, moved across the street to 1432 E. Fort Ave."
In the 1991 Sun interview, Mrs. Doda said of Locust Point, "There's one main drag into the neighborhood, one school. It's a very unique neighborhood."
After graduating from Mount de Sales Academy in 1950, Mrs. Doda married her high school sweetheart, Victor P. Doda Sr., and eventually the couple took over operation of the Charles L. Stevens Funeral Home that had been established by her paternal grandfather in the 19th century.
After her husband's death in 1982, she took over the business and operated it until she retired as president in 2002 because of failing health. Her son, Victor P. Doda Jr., is now in charge of the business, which is in the 1500 block of E. Fort Ave.
Mrs. Doda and her husband were remembered for their compassion when dealing with families who had lost their loved ones.
"We don't ever send a bill or go after anyone. We've never needed to," she told The Sun in 1992.
For decades, Mrs. Doda was dance chairman of the annual Locust Point spring dance that is held at Our Lady of Lourdes Council of the Knights of Columbus hall on Hull Street. She enjoyed reading, visiting area restaurants, and spending time with her grandchildren.
"Shirley Doda was bigger than life, and everything she did was for her community. It was never about her," Mrs. Applefeld said. "And I'm sure she's right up there in heaven stirring things up."
Mrs. Doda was a longtime communicant of Our Lady of Good Counsel Roman Catholic Church, 1532 E. Fort Ave., where a Mass of Christian burial will be offered at 11 a.m. Monday.
Also surviving are a daughter, Ann Shirley Bowman of Locust Point; a nephew, Charles S. Markowski of Locust Point; and six grandchildren.
fred.rasmussen@baltsun.com