Editor’s note: Like the piece published by Willliam Domhoff, this selection is from the last chapter of The Baltimore Book: New Views of Local History by Elizabeth Fee, Linda Shopes and Linda Zeidman which was published in 1991. While this means the selection is twenty-two years old, much of what is said is still very relevant to how the city is cracking down on Camp 83 [to maintain the city’s image or maybe because the I-83 ramps were expanding as one camp resident said which I now doubt more] and other groups of homeless sleeping across the city. So, here’s the selection for your enjoyment and it is here for the hope that you’ll see an alternative approach to Inner Harbor, especially why it HASN’T been good for the city of Baltimore.
A city center, it has been said, is a great book of time and history. The view of Baltimore from Federal Hill…is an impressive introduction to that book and conveys a powerful image of what the city is about. But we have to learn to read all the signs of the landscape.
Certain things stand out in the city. A medieval European city immediately signals that religion and aristocracy were the chief sources of power by the way cathedrals and castles dominate. The United States struggled long and hard to get rid of aristocratic privilege, but Baltimore’s downtown skyline says that a financial aristocracy is alive and well. As you look down on the city from Federal Hill, banks and financial institutions tower over everything else, proclaiming in glass, brick, and concrete that they hold the reins of power. The Federal Building…buried in the midst of all these financial institutions, signals a system of governance that is, as Mark Twain put it, “the best that money can buy.” City Hall…attractive and classical though it may be, is neither centrally located nor conspicuous enough to suggest it has more than a marginal role to play in determining the city’s fate. As for churches, they can be seen only when you look across the densely packed rowhouses of ethnic and working-class East Baltimore. God, it seems, has a meaning for the working class; mammon is fully in control downtown.
The other image that stands out is the importance of the water, of Chesapeake Bay, which formed Baltimore’s commercial lifeline to the world and became the nexus for much of its now declining manufacturing industry. Signs of those connections abound: the Domino Sugar plant…grain elevators, the chemical plant, and oil tanks that line the bay, as it opens from Federal Hill toward the Bethlehem Steel plant at Sparrows Point…and the Dundalk Marine Terminal…still one of the most important ports of entry on the East Coast of the United States.
Nor is it hard to imagine that Inner Harbor, now important as a tourist attraction and leisure park, was once the main port of entry into the city. Indeed these functions were preserved there until shortly after World War II.
Though the view from Federal Hill tells us much about the city, it cannot tell us how what we see came into being. How was Baltimore built? Who decided that it should be a tourist mecca rather than an industrial city? Why do the buildings look the way they do and to what traditions are they monuments?
Most of the downtown skyline has been in place since 1970 or so, though a transitional period dates back to the 1950s. By then, the boom in production and trade that had powered Baltimore’s economy during World War II has begun to fade. Strong currents of suburbanization, both of industry and population…particularly the more affluent whites, the immigration of poor rural African Americans from the South, and the shift of port functions to deep water down the bay left Baltimore’s downtown and inner city in a parlous state.
The formation of the Greater Baltimore Committee (GBC), an association of local business leaders, in 1956 marked a turning point. The committee recognized that downtown deterioration threatened the future of business in the city and that it was politically dangerous for any ruling elite to abandon the symbolic and political center of the metropolitan region to an underclass of impoverished blacks and marginalized whites.
The committee developed a plan and then pressured city government into pursing a downtown urban renewal project that would revive property development and corporate power in the downtown core. Federal urban renewal funds were available, Mayor Thomas D’Alesandro was persuaded, and the Greater Baltimore Committee/Charles Center Management Corporation was formed to promote and organize the renewal. This was the first of a succession of quasi-public agencies, dominated by corporate and business interests and outside any democratic control, that were to shape downtown renewal efforts over the next 20 years.
After nearly $40 million in public expenditures, which attracted a further $145 million of private investment, Charles Center…was essentially completed by the later 1960s. Modernist in design (its Mies van der Rohe building is considered a classic), Charles Center houses office workers and financial or governmental institutions in somewhat arid modern buildings punctuated by bleak open public spaces.
The city, it was argued, would receive two main benefits from such development: The increase in employment would help the city’s economy, and the increase in the tax base would provide the city with more resources to meet the needs of the poor. Unfortunately, from the beginning, Charles Center was conceived and built as a property development scheme of direct benefit to corporate and finance capital. The city as a whole received very little benefit from it. Much of the new downtown development, particularly in skilled and well-paying jobs, went to the residents of suburbs. The jobs created by the city were either in temporary construction or low-paying services.
Moreover, Charles Center was so heavily subsidized that it was a drain on, rather than a benefit to, the city’s tax base. This was particularly true before an upward revaluation in 1975, a year after it was revealed that tax assessments in Charles Center were lower than they had been before redevelopment.
The Inner Harbor
With the completion of Charles Center in the late 1960s, downtown realtors and business leaders turned their attention to the Inner Harbor. Plans were laid to extend development to the decaying waterfront of derelict piers and crumbling warehouses, marks of Baltimore’s once significant water trade now rendered obsolete by the trucks that rolled across the expanding network of federally subsidized highways.
There were few takers for developing this zone until the early 1970s. And it took a basic shift in orientation and philosophy to bring about this new and most recent phase of construction.
Baltimore, like many other cities in the 1960s, was racked by race riots and civil strife. Concentrated in the abandoned and decayed inner cities, this breakdown in civil order focused on racial discrimination in job and housing markets, unemployment, and the disempowerment and impoverishment of much of the city’s African-American population. Investment in the inner city seemed neither safe nor profitable. The urban spectacles that drew the crowds downtown were race riots, antiwar demonstrations, and all manner of countercultural events.
The riots and burnings that gutted areas of Gay Street and North Avenue in the wake of the assassination of Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., in April 1968, left six people dead, some 5,000 arrested, massive property damage, and streets patrolled by the military. In 1970, a day-long skirmish between youths and the police at the city’s flower mart—an annual event promoted by Baltimore’s elite since 1911—indicated that anger was common to disempowered blacks and discontented white youths.
On October 25, 1973, a group of women representing Baltimore’s elite placed a plaque at the Washington Monument to commemorate the end of the flower mart. At the time it seemed a fitting symbol of the lack of confidence and social malaise that inhibited any investment in the city’s future. The business climate in downtown Baltimore could not have been less propitious.
It was precisely in this context that many in the city sought for some way to restore a sense of civic pride, some way to bring the city together as a working community, some way to overcome the siege mentality with which some investors and the citizenry viewed the inner city and its downtown spaces. The coalition that was to form was much broader than the Greater Baltimore Committee. It included church and civil rights leaders, distressed that the riots generated as much self-inflicted pain as social redress for those during the rioting; academics and professionals, including downtown lawyers, suddenly made aware of the wretched living conditions of the majority of the city’s population; city officials who had long striven to build a better sense of community; and downtown business leaders who saw their investments threatened.
In this climate, the idea of a city fair that would build on neighborhood traditions but would celebrate a common purpose began to take shape. In 1970, when the first fair was held, the fear of violence was great. But 340,000 people came during the weekend of the fair in peaceable fashion, proving that disparate neighborhoods and communities could come together around a common project.
“A city reborn through a fair of neighbors,” trumpeted Baltimore’s newspapers. A Department of Housing and Urban Development report in 1981 recommended the fair to other urban governments in those terms: “Spawned by the necessity to arrest the fear and disuse of downtown areas caused by civic unrest in the 1960s, the Baltimore City Fair was originated by individuals in city government who seized upon the idea of a country fair in the city as a way to promote urban development.”
By 1973, the fair was attended by nearly 2 million people. It had abandoned its location in the secure heart of Charles Center and moved to the edge of the Inner Harbor. In so doing, it suggested an entirely different set of uses to which that site could be put. The city fair proved that large numbers of people could be attracted downtown without having a riot. It also helped Baltimore rediscover the ancient Roman formula of bread and circuses as a means of masking social problems and controlling discontent.
The story of the Inner Harbor’s construction is one of a steady erosion of the aims of the coalition that set it in motion and its capture by the narrower forces of commercialism, property development, and financial power. Two events had particular significance. The first was the election of a strong-willed and authoritarian mayor, William Donald Schaefer, in 1971.
Schaefer had grown up in Baltimore’s Democratic party machine politics, and he was everything a machine politician should be. He believed strongly in a partnership of business and private enterprise for furthering the city’s development and in elaborate and often ruthless politics of social control over the city’s neighborhoods. To offend the mayor was the risk retribution; to play along with him meant patronage and access to city services.
The second event was the recession of 1973-1975, which brought a massive wave of plant closures and deindustrialization to the Baltimore region. Unemployment surged. The prognosis for the city’s economic future was bleak. In 1973, after President Nixon announced that the urban crisis was over, Baltimore faced the beginning of the end of large-scale federal programs to assist cities with their problems.
Budgetary cutbacks in the Reagan years were the highwater mark of federal government withdrawal from its commitment to help the nation’s cities. The recession of 1981-1983—along with sharper foreign competition from Japan, Western Europe, and a host of newly industrializing countries—added to the city’s difficulties. The list of plant closures and layoffs grew daily more threatening. A new international division of labor was coming into being, with manufacturing plants moved to cheap-labor locations overseas and basic U.S. industries like steel falling behind Japan and South Korea in world markets, Baltimore now had to find its way in a hostile and highly competitive world.
The turn to tourism, the creation of an image of Baltimore as a sophisticated place to live, the razzle-dazzle of downtown, and the commercial “hype” of Harborplace…have to be seen as Mayor Schaefer’s (and the GBC’s) distinctive solution to that problem. With the crowds pouring in, it was a short step to commercializing the city fair, first by adding all manner of ethnical festivals, concerts, and spectacular events—for instance, the visit of the “tall ships” during the 1976 bicentennial celebration—to draw even more people downtown.
Then, having proved the existence of a market, the next step was to institutionalize a permanent commercial circus through the construction of Harborplace, the Maryland Science Center…the National Aquarium…the Convention Center…a marina…and innumerable hotels, shopping malls, and pleasure citadels of all kings. The strategy did not even have to be consciously thought out, it was such an obvious thing to try.
This thrust has the additional value of projecting a new persona for the city. The “armpit of the East” has been the out-of-town image of Baltimore in the 1960s. But by transforming the entertainment spectacle into a permanent image, it became possible to use it lure in developer capital, financial services, and entertainment industries—all big growth sectors in the U.S. economy during the 1970s and 1980s.
The imaging of Baltimore itself became important. The mayor, the media, and civic leaders set out on a binge that would brook no criticism. When excessive cancer rates were reported in a neighborhood long exposed to chemical wastes, the mayor criticized those who did the reporting because they had sullied the city’s image. When an impoverished population took advantage of a heavy snowstorm to loot city stores, the mayor accused them of creating unemployment because they had damaged the city’s image. So pervasive did the campaign become that when someone dreamed up the catchy slogan “Think pink,” the mayor had downtown sidewalks painted pink.
Image building of this sort had definite rewards. The mayor, designated the best mayor in America in Esquire in 1984, appeared more and more to be the savior of the city, a magician who made Renaissance city emerge phoneixlike out of the ashes of civil strife of the 1960s. Twice featured in Time, Baltimore’s Inner Harbor began to gain national and even international recognition as an example of urban revitalization. In November 1987, even the London Sunday Times brought the idea, lock, stock and barrel:
Baltimore, despite soaring unemployment, boldly turned its derelict harbor into a playground. Tourists meant shopping, catering and transport, this in turn meant construction, distribution, manufacturing—leading to more jobs, more residents, more activity. The decay of old Baltimore slowed, halted, then turned back. The harbor area is now among America’s top tourist draws and urban unemployment is falling fast.
If people could live on images alone, Baltimore’s populace would have been rich indeed.
After 15 years as mayor, Schaefer was elected governor in 1986. Only then could another tale of Baltimore be freely told. Baltimore 2000, a report commissioned by the Goldseker Foundation in 1987, summed up Baltimore this way:
Over the last twenty-five years, Baltimore has lost a fifth of its population, and a hard to enumerate but very large proportion of its middle class, white and black. It has lost more than ten per cent of its jobs since 1970s, and those that remain are increasingly held by commuters. By 1985, the city’s median household income was just over half that of surrounding counties and the needs of its poor for services were far more than the city’s eroded tax base could support.
There was plenty of “rot beneath the glitter” as one consultant to the report put it. The depth of that rot can perhaps be illustrated by the rapid rise in the city’s status to that of fifth-worst-off city in the nation, according to a 1984 congressional estimate. The city was ranked next to last among the nation’s largest cities in the proportion of 20- to 24-year-olds who has completed high school, in part reflecting the more than 15 percent decline in municipal spending on education between 1974 and 1982.
Impoverishment in inner-city neighborhoods increased. “Of the officially designated neighborhoods in the city,” wrote Marc Levine in an article in Urban Affairs, “210 (75.8 percent) experienced increased in the percentage of their residents living below the poverty line between 1970 and 1980,” while almost 90 percent of the city’s predominantly African-American neighborhoods saw their poverty rates rise. A Baltimore Sun survey of the Gay Street neighborhood, scene of some of the worst rioting in 1968, showed little change in conditions of impoverishment between 1966 and 1988. Yet the city’s expenditures on social services for the poor fell by an astounding 45 percent in real terms over the 1974-1982 period.
These facts cannot be seen from Federal Hill, but they belie the image of affluence and fun that the Inner Harbor conveys. Nor can we see the more than 40,000 families that wait patiently for access to public housing and the many others suffering from housing deprivation.
We cannot see the 45 percent of the population over the age of 16 who either do not or cannot enter the job market, the desperate plight of female-lead households, the record number of teenage pregnancies, the severe problems of infant mortality that put some neighborhoods on part with Mexico or Venezuela, the problems of rats, high cancer rates, and a resurgence of tuberculosis and lead poisoning. The conditions of grinding poverty in the city do not in any way appear to have been assuaged by all that massive downtown redevelopment.
This failure of the downtown redevelopment to make any substantial dent in the city’s social and economic problems is all the more shocking when the vast public subsidy is taken into account. According a U.S. Civil Rights Commission report of 1983, the first phase of the Inner Harbor development (costing $270 million) was 90 percent funded from the public treasury “either in infrastructure, business subsidies, or loans and grants.” Yet the management of the project remained entirely in corporate hands.
Where did the benefits of all this public investment go? There is no easy answer to that question, but some tentative conclusions can be drawn. First, most of the development so far has been hugely profitable to those who undertook it, with a few signal exceptions, such as the conversion of the old Baltimore and Electric Company power plant into the Six Flags Power Plant entertainment center…
Second, though not as seriously undertaxed as in the 1970s, present tax flows barely match public expenditures on the Inner Harbor. Indeed, a recent internal study suggested that Baltimore spends $17 million a year more on servicing the downtown and Inner Harbor than it gets back in tax revenues.
Third, the Renaissance has indeed brought jobs to the city, but most are low-paying jobs (janitors, hotel staff, service workers). Those who hold well-paid managerial jobs such as the six directors of T. Rowe Price—a dynamic Baltimore money fund that grew rapidly in the 1980s—each of whom gets more than $600,000 a year, tend to live in the suburbs. Some middle-level managers stay downtown and create a demand for gentrified housing and condominiums.
Fourth, and perhaps the most problematic, the redevelopment has certainly brought money into the city through a rapid growth of the convention and tourist trades. But there is no guarantee that the money stays in Baltimore. Much of it flows out again, either as profits to firms or payments from goods from Europe, Hong Kong, South Korea, Japan, England, or elsewhere. Spending money at Benetton or Laura Ashley does not stimulate the Baltimore economy. Evidence is hard to find, but the Inner Harbor may function simply as a harbor—a transaction point for money flowing from and to the rest of the world.
Baltimore’s urban elite have struggled to make a new city. Powerless to prevent deindustrialization and recession, they have tried to create a profitable growth machine that has focused on tourism leisure, and conspicuous consumption as an antidote to falling profits and urban decline. In limited ways, the strategy has worked—though mainly for them. By putting Baltimore on the map and by creating an prideful image of place and community, they have to some degree secured the political compliance of the majority. This can be measured by Mayor Schaefer’s reelection victories of 1979 and 1983, in which community activists lost heavily to machine politicians.
The close public-private partnership forged between City Hall and dominant corporate power helped turn Baltimore into an entrepreneurial city that faired rather better in a highly competitive world than some of its rivals, cities like Detroit, Newark, Cleveland, or even Pittsburgh. Yet such victories may prove pyrrhic. Excess investment in shopping malls, entertainment facilities, high-priced condos, office space, convention centers, and sports stadiums throughout urban America spells trouble for some cities—and Baltimore may or may not be one.
The failure of the Six Flags Power Plant amusement park in the Inner Harbor and the difficulties encountered selling high-priced condos in Harbor Court…are warning signals. And there are signs that the city is robbing Peter to pay Paul in the downtown commercial development stakes. James Rouse’s gallery…a three-tory shopping mall at Harborplace, is a success, but Hutzler’s place four blocks away on Howard Street has had to close its doors.
Several festival marketplaces in other cities (Norfolk, Toledo, Flint, and even New York’s South Street Seaport) are awash in red ink. Houston, Dallas, Atlanta, and Denver experienced overinvestment in hotels and office space in the 1970s, with catastrophic effects on the financial health of local banks and savings and loans. There is no reason to think that Baltimore is immune. There are already signs that the tourist trade is leveling off (according to Baltimore Office of Promotion and Tourism date), while employment in financial services took some hard knocks in the wake of the stock market crash of October 1987.
Furthermore, a serious social danger attaches to creating an island of affluence and power in the midst of a sea of impoverishment, disempowerment, and decay. Like the city fair, the Inner Harbor functions as a sophisticated mask. It invites us to participate in a spectacle, to enjoy a festive circus that celebrates the coming together of people and commodities. Like any mask, it can beguile and distract in engaging ways, but at some point we want to know what lies behind it. If the mask cracks or is violently torn off, the terrible place of Baltimore’s impoverishment may appear.
The Lost Treasures of Chesapeake Bay
Turn your back on all the downtown glitter and look down the long reach of the Chesapeake Bay, and you will see another, far less glamorous Baltimore. The landscape reflects the change from manufacturing to service industry and the growing influence of foreign capital in the Baltimore economy.
Along with this has come harder times for Baltimore workers. Total employment for the metropolitan region has remained fairly constant since 1970, but the average wage has declined substantially. Employment has shifted radically from blue-collar jobs (many in relatively high-paying unionized industries sprawling around the edge of the bay) to white-collar occupations (many in low-paying and insecure service jobs, often held by women, concentrated downtown). Where family incomes have risen, it is nearly always because more women have entered the workforce.
For example, at the foot of Federal Hill, on the eastern side, you can see the abandoned Bethlehem Steel Corporation shipyard…once a thriving centerpiece of Baltimore industry that employed some 1,500 blue collar workers, many of whom lived in South Baltimore. The yard was closed in 1983, put out of business by foreign competition, particularly from the Far East, and world recession, in spite of wage concession and give-backs by the workers.
To the chagrin of even South Baltimore gentrifiers, the yard was bought by a developer who proposed to convert the site into a marina, a repair yard for pleasure boats, a large office and commercial complex and more than 1,500 expensive condos with two 29-story towers that would block views of the harbor. The Coalition of Peninsula Organizations protested loudly and won some concessions, but they lost the battle for the site. A zoning change from industrial uses to residential and commercial uses was approved in 1985.
But the developers went bankrupt, and the project’s most recent $100 million incarceration, Harbor Keys, is funded by a consortium of investors from Singapore, Malaysia, Hong Kong, and Australia, all brokered by the Bangkok Bank of Thailand which financed the purchase of the site. This means that jobs lost in the region through competition from the Far East allow capital abroad to return to dominate Baltimore.
The closure of the Allied Chemical plant…directly across the Inner Harbor is another sign of lost industrial power. A gray-stripped eyesore, it was the last barrio to continuous condos and conversions on the northern side of the harbor from downtown through Fells Point to Canton. Developers would like to build condos here too if a way can be found to get the poisonous chromates out of the soil underneath.
The list of plant closures and industrial loss grows longer as we look down the harbor’s edge—the American Can Company at Fells Point…the Western Electric plant on Broening Highway…that eliminated 3,500 jobs in 1984, and the host of abandoned warehouses and rotting piers that testify to Baltimore’s decline from a once-powerful port and manufacturing city.
Even with the costly modernization projects recently undertaken with taxpayer dollars, the port of Baltimore is barely competitive as a major seaport on the East Coast. But the price has been tighter labor contracts and rapidly falling employment for Baltimore workers. The death of a union picket in 1985 in a struggle to stop the use of nonunion labor may signal a return to a bitter era of labor relations. The International Longshoreman’s Association, once a powerful voice in Baltimore’s labor movement, now has to balance a struggle to improve wages and working conditions against the kind of concessions demanded to keep Baltimore competitive with Norfolk, Charleston, and other ports. The difficulty of dredging the Bay and disposing the soil, the long journey up the Bay and the canalization of the Mississippi-Tennessee river system also threaten the viability of the port.
We should be careful not to romanticize the lost era of powerful industry and commerce and the strong traditions and labor culture it nurtured. Many of the traditional industries (including port before containerization) were onerous and dangerous. The division in the labor force between relatively affluent white male workers and the less skilled, less powerful women and African Americans was always a barrier to efforts to improve the lot of working people. Moreover, the economy as heavily involved in the exploitation of Third World resources and labor and was largely dependent on defense contracts. The Domino Sugar plant reminds us, for example, of the strong connection between Baltimore and Havana that had Baltimore businessmen rooting for Fulgencio Batista and against Fidel Castro precisely because of the cheap sugar produced by wretchedly paid Cuban sugarcane cutters. The Cuban revolution forced a major shift in Baltimore’s trade. Interestingly enough, Domino Sugar has recently been sold to a British company (Tate and Lyle), illustrating once again how vulnerable Baltimore’s industry is to international forces.
The Rusty Scupper, a restaurant at the foot of Federal Hill…is another reminder of the negative aspects of international trade. Permission to build the Rusty Scupper was held up by local protests because the developer was a subsidiary of Nestle, a Swiss corporation accused in the early 1980s of deaths of thousands of babies in the Third World by marketing its infant formula as a substitute for breast feeding. The Rusty Scupper opened only after Nestle agreed to change its practices in the face of widespread international protest.
Military contracts have always been an important source of employment in the Baltimore region. Steel and shipbuilding were heavily favored in World War II, but military expenditures in recent years focused on more high-tech materials for which Baltimore is not so well positioned. It was the loss of military contracts that put the final nail in the coffin of Bethlehem shipyard.
Some of the region’s most thriving firms, such as Martin Marietta and Westinghouse, depend heavily on defense contracts. This fact of Baltimore’s existence has not changed, despite efforts by local peace activists to focus attention on the waste of such expenditures relative to the social needs of the city. It should be possible, they argue, to convert industries producing instruments of death and destruction into activities that serve more human and benign social purposes.
For most visitors, Baltimore’s dependence on military production and its connection with the exploitation of Third World labor are the least visible aspects of a view from Federal Hill. Stroll along the Inner Harbor or climb to the top of Federal Hill, and you are more likely to notice how pretty the sight is and to appreciate it as a place of entertainment and diversion. But whether or not you care to consider it, the landscape of the center city is a great book of time and history, proclaiming in glass, brick, and concrete who holds the reins of power.
Additionally, here’s an excerpt from the Afterword which directly relates to this topic of improving the city:
“…To succeed, Baltimoreans have had to play an active role in the direction of communities and industries and to challenge the power of corporations, banks and developers, and unsympathetic politicians…Today, unless community residents and ordinary citizens take charge of future development, banks and developers will continue to set the priorities for growth that mainly benefit out-of-town interests and the wealthy. Corporations, banks, and developers have enormous power and resources, so it is not surprising that people do not challenge them easily and that when they do, successes are limited…Sometimes struggles are lost when owners of industries, impatient with citizen challenges, simply leave town, taking their capital and resources elsewhere…Residential segregation and blockbusting may no longer be legal, but the city is still segregated; residents must still watch out for banks that use “red-lining” in city neighborhoods. The desegregation of public schools and public facilities, however desirable, has not led to equality of opportunity for the African-American population. Relatively well-paid jobs have left the city, the quality of education for the largely black school population has eroded, and the low-skill service sector has offered inadequate wages. The economic outlook for both Baltimore’s black and white populations has become increasingly grim. To suggest that an alternative future for Baltimore can be achieved if ordinary citizens direct the decision-making process in their workplaces and communities is perhaps audacious. Success would dramatically shift the alignment of power, forcing those who wield power to relinquish it…This is the only way to redress inequality and injustice, both in Baltimore and in the nation. We find it encouraging to note that when ordinary Baltimoreans have taken charge of a project whether in their workplace or in their communities—they have accomplished a great deal…A strategy that would give ordinary citizens decision-making power over economic and community development would foster positive change in the city. Imagine the possibilities.”
Sources of the chapter [not the afterward] include:
– B. Berkowitz’s article in Urban Economic Development titled “Economic Development Really Works: Baltimore, Maryland in 1984, Sage Urban Affairs Annual, no. 27
– B. Berkowitz’s article in the Journal of Urban Affairs titled “Rejoinder to Levine” in the 1987 edition (volume 9, no.2), pages 125-132
– E. Garland’s article in the December 1980 edition of Baltimore Magazine titled “The End of Baltimore s a Blue-Collar Town,” pages 53-60
– Marc Levine’s article in the Journal of Urban Affairs titled “Downtown Redevelopment as a Urban Growth Strategy: A Critical Appraisal of the Baltimore Renaissance,” 1987 edition (volume 9, no. 2), pages 103-123
– K. Lyall’s report for the Committee for Economic Development in 1980 titled “A Bicycle Built for Two: Public/Private Partnership in Baltimore’s Renaissance”
– Robert P. Stoker’s article titled “Baltimore: A Self-Evaluating City?” in The Politics of Urban Development which was published in 1987
– Peter Szanton’s report put out for the Morris Goldseker Foundation of Maryland in 1986 titled “Baltimore 200: A Choice of Futures”