The other day I received a letter from a reader suggesting that Kevin Plank, the Under Armour founder and CEO, get behind a dirt bike park in Baltimore -- that the billionaire action figure lead a civic effort to finally resolve the problem of dirt bikers by developing an off-road venue for them.
Yeah, right.
Like Plank doesn’t already have a full plate: Heading a growing sports apparel company on track to reach the Fortune 500; redeveloping a sprawling piece of post-industrial waterfront known as Port Covington, one of the largest such projects in the country; leading an effort to establish new high-tech manufacturing that will employ American workers; developing a hotel in Fells Point; reviving Sagamore Farm as a leading breeder of Maryland thoroughbreds, and distilling rye whiskey.
And there are more projects that I’ve forgotten already -- fitness apps and skateboards just came to mind -- plus those of Plank’s brother, Scott, who retired from Under Armour four years ago to start a real estate development company. He has all sorts of projects going in the city, too.
How much more Planking can this city expect?
How much more Planking can a Plank do?
There’s no way Kevin Plank, in particular, could take on anything else. Just Port Covington, which is facing a high level of public scrutiny because of a high level of proposed public financing, must consume all available, non-Under Armour-related room in KP’s high-octane brain.
And just as I think that, what happens?
Plank shows up the new owner of Baltimore’s water taxi service, with big plans to expand it and Uber it. (You’ll soon be able to Uber a boat for a lusty supper at the Rusty Scupper.)
Kevin Plank is not a type-A personality. He’s Triple-A. A game of Monopoly with this guy would give you a sweat.
He has big money and big energy, and he’s pouring it into the city where he established his business. I’ve called him Baltimore’s Bruce Wayne, a philanthropist with a large municipal spirit, and he almost always seems to respond to the city’s bat-signal.
It’s pretty clear we’re in the Kevin Plank era of Baltimore.
This does not mean everything he does is golden. The big house on Greenspring Valley Road, possibly the biggest in Maryland, sounds kind of obnoxious. Port Covington has big issues remaining, starting with the need for a firm commitment to make housing affordable and inclusive so that taxpayers do not end up financing infrastructure for an elitist enclave.
But, after that, what’s not to like, and like very much?
(Pardon this parenthetical interlude: Maybe some day we’ll have to rename the city Plankton. Back when the country was first being settled, places were named in honor of those who owned the most land or who helped establish a village. There was Jamestown (1607), of course, and Charleston (1663). Later, in Maryland, there was Hagerstown, named after landowner Jonathan Hager, and Crumpton, named after another guy who literally owned the place, Billy Crump. We’re getting to the point where we might have to rename a big chunk of the city for Kevin Plank. Planktown, Plankton, Plankville. I’m taking suggestions. Now, back to our regularly scheduled commentary.)
I can think of three other men in this town, each a generation older than Plank, who made lots and lots of money. Their businesses did not quite reach Under Armour scale, but their personal fortunes certainly ran into the hundreds of millions, and all three probably ended up billionaires. All three benefited, in different ways, from Baltimore’s renaissance. While charitable, none invested in Baltimore to the extent we see with Plank, and there was always an air of cynicism about them that you don’t sense at all from the new owner of the water taxi service.
Plank has taken civic-minded investment to a whole new level.
"I want Baltimore to be the coolest city in the world," he said in an interview two years ago with The Baltimore Sun’s Jeff Barker. "Why can't we make it great?"
That’s the full definition of Planking -- you put your money where your mouth is.