For Marian Barclift, gratitude was a part of everyday life. She believed that finding and sharing joy would attract positivity into her life. The numerous friends, family, and coworkers who mourned her passing are evidence that it worked for her. She passed away on November 27th, 2009, the day after that year’s Thanksgiving.
Her Baltimore Sun obituary describes the success she had as a teacher at Pimlico Junior High School, where former principal Samuel R. Billups observed that “Marian had an awareness of students and their concerns, and she knew how to reach out to them and get them to put their best foot forward.”
The obituary described Barclift’s impactful career. From 1975 until her retirement in 1990, she worked as a guidance counselor at Western High School, where the National Honor Society was renamed the Marian H. Barclift National Honor Society chapter.
Barclift was also active in the Sharp Street United Methodist Church. She served as president of the Naylor Hughes Fellowship, a service group within the church that produced “Our Book of Favorite Recipes” in 1994. Marian contributed several healthful and low-calorie dishes to the cookbook.
Barclift’s Baltimore Sun obituary was a good source of information about her work life and her involvement at the church. But I have more to go on. Thanks to the Enoch Pratt Free Library African American Funeral Programs Collection, I know that Marian was “the baby” of five girls, the youngest daughter of a postal worker and a teacher, and that her father recited Paul Laurence Dunbar poetry to the little girl: “Little brown baby with sparkling eyes, come to your pappy and sit on his knee…” Fittingly sweet words spoken to a person who later “radiated warmth in her lifetime relationships with her family and friends.”
The Afro-American covered every detail of Thomas R. Smith’s 1938 funeral. Five women wept. “Two were relatives.” United States Senator George Radcliffe spoke at the service, which was held on the lawn of Smith’s home at 6621 Reisterstown Road. Inside the house, Tom’s body was dressed in striped trousers; a satin, striped black ascot; and a black coat with a gardenia in the buttonhole. In his closet, he left sixteen pairs of white shoes, silk shirts and boxers, and “innumerable suits of all kinds, colors and materials.”
On the lawn of Smith’s home, across from where Reisterstown Plaza now sits, mourners interacted with his herd of goats, who demanded to have their heads scratched. One goat chewed on a political poster announcing a candidate for governor.
This post is not about Tom Smith; not really. But I can’t write about John Weaver, who tended bar at Smith’s Hotel for twenty-six years and called his boss “Chief,” without writing about Smith himself.
How could I not include the fact that Smith, according to the Afro-American “maintained his dominion by aid of an elaborate set-up which prevented any illegal business being conducted without his knowledge or consent,” or that he influenced Baltimore’s Black citizens to vote Democrat in a time when that was unheard of?
Mrs. Edward Z. Watson “disclaim[ed] any fame as a cook,” said a profile in the Afro-American in 1958. The article described the vivacious teacher, seamstress, and mother of two as a “party girl,” who “not only adore[d] going to parties but [was] not adverse to giving them either!”
They shared her cake recipe using “many of the newest methods,” including a MixMaster mixer. The title of the feature was “Mrs. Edward Watson makes the highest cake you’ve ever seen.”
Afro-American, 1958
The light and fluffy cake could be served a variety of ways. “For the chocolate frosting I use the recipe right on the Hershey can,” Watson declared. She also confessed to using ready-mix caramel icing. But Bernice Watson’s cake is no lazy feat. With egg whites beaten separately and folded into the batter, plus a seven-minute icing made over a double boiler, the cake requires plenty of attention and generates a fair amount of dirty dishes.
I just had to make it – particularly the coconut variation, which Watson would flavor with “lemon or almond” flavoring. (I used the latter.) I couldn’t find the canned style of coconut that she preferred, and I’m not skilled at cooked icings, but the recipe did indeed turn out a tall, light delightful cake.
“Sometimes I scarcely think it’s worthwhile. A big beautiful cake now. A few hours, no cake at all,” Watson sighed in 1958.
She was born Bernice Calverta Francis in Philadelphia in 1922, the granddaughter of a Sharp Street Methodist reverend, McHenry Jeremiah Naylor. After attending high school in Baltimore, and Coppin State Teacher’s College, she went into teaching at Baltimore City schools.
Along the way, she married fellow teacher Edward Z. Watson, who would serve a full career at BCPS as a teacher and later as an administrator.
From Beef Broth to Banana Fritters, one of my favorite cookbooks to turn to for everyday recipes is “300 Years of Black Cooking in St. Mary’s County.” No book better encapsulates the range of delicious fare produced in the kitchens of Maryland’s home cooks.
As much as I love “Maryland’s Way” and “Eat, Drink & Be Merry in Maryland,” those books contain recipes from the state’s wealthiest families. The Canvasback Duck and Terrapin served in elite hotels and manors may have made our regional food famous, but the culinary talents behind those dishes was an outgrowth of the brilliant and humble cooking traditions captured in the “300 Years.”
Compiled in 1975 by “Citizens for Progress,” the book contains recipes from over 60 residents of St. Mary’s County. There is a history of stuffed ham included, with two different recipes. By far the most recipes were contributed by Theresa Young, whose daughter I spoke to a few years ago for this post.
Sometimes I feel like “300 Years of Black Cooking in St. Mary’s County” is kind of a crutch – a very easy book to turn to when I want to focus on African-American cooking in Maryland. We (historians, Marylanders, whatever…) are very lucky to have a document like this.
On the other hand, the book really is so great that it deserves repeat readings (and cookings.) This time around, I made “Southern Sour Milk Biscuits,” attributed to Mary Helen Dove and Mary Taylor.
Unfortunately, I couldn’t definitively identify either person. It is possible that Mary Helen Dove was a woman who was born around 1897 and passed away in Baltimore in 1981.
A farming family’s home interior, Beachville, MD, 1940, Jack Delano, loc.gov
Whether or not that is true, I often find evidence that the extended families associated with “300 Years” had connections in Baltimore city. Some moved to the city later in life, others would visit with family in Baltimore during the summer. This suggests the influence that the unique culture of Southern Maryland has had on the city I call home.
The concept of urban versus rural implies a lot of arbitrary cultural differences that should be questioned, especially in light of the series of events that have displaced or hindered generations of farmers (black and white).
During and after the Civil War, many Confederates fled Maryland. One was Joseph Forrest, who was a captain of the “Fourth Maryland Light Artillery.” In 1864, Forrest’s abandoned land was seized by General Lew Wallace for use by the Freedmen’s Bureau.
“The purpose of the Bureau was to protect former slaves and provide living quarters and a livelihood where possible… These plantations were called ‘Government Farms.’ The only properties abandoned and seized in all of Maryland were in St. Mary’s County.” – Maryland Historic Trust
House and garden of William Sanders, Farm Security Administration Saint Inigoes, Maryland, Jack Delano 1940, loc.gov
All in all, the Freedmen’s Bureau in St. Mary’s County seized 3000 acres of land for 500 Black citizens to farm. When President Andrew Johnson granted amnesty to the exiled Confederates who had once claimed the land, the white planters got to take the land back. Forrest was pardoned in 1865.
Most Black farmers were tenant farmers or sharecroppers. Those who were able to get land for themselves were often displaced by other circumstances, as in the heartbreaking case of the Dyson family.
My attempts to identify Mary Helen Dove or Mary Taylor entailed another viewing of “Now When I Look Back,” by Andrea Hamer, a book of oral histories and Farm Security Administration photos. I strongly recommend you get yourself to the Maryland Room at the Enoch Pratt Free Library and spend some time with this book. It’s a meditation on history’s legacy, the earth’s bounty, perseverance, and community bonds. All of the things that make Maryland’s history – and our food – so fascinating.
Recipe:
2 Cups flour
.5 Teaspoon baking soda
1 Teaspoon baking powder
1 Teaspoon salt
4 Tablespoon shortening
1 Cup thick sour milk*
Sift together the dry ingredients. Cut in the shortening. Stir in the milk. Roll to 1/2″ thick on a floured surface. Cut, place on a greased or parchment-covered sheet. Bake at 425° for 15-17 minutes.
Modern pasteurized milk generally doesn’t get sour in an appetizing way. If it’s a little off it may be used. I used a mix of milk, yogurt, and beer and left it out overnight to get a nice ‘funk.’
Recipe adapted from “300 Years of Black Cooking in St. Mary’s County”
“The French chef has been tried in the south, but, except in a few rare instances, they have failed to satisfy the peculiar demands of the southern epicure or even of the tourist who, coming south, expects dishes peculiarly southern… The demand for capable colored cooks is greater than the supply.” – The Afro-American, December 1915
In June 1913, a squad of policemen were called into the Emerson Hotel for special duty. They stood watch as the French kitchen staff of the Emerson were informed that their services were no longer required. Head Chef Joseph Sarri and his staff muttered curses in French as Eli Jones, “grinning nervously and advancing rather cautiously, was led into the presence of the haughty Frenchman and introduced.” The chefs handed over their aprons and their kitchen tools to an all-black staff.
The Sun was rapturous. “Real old Maryland cooking has triumphed!” they wrote.
Emerson manager John J. Kincaid stated things more cynically. “We simply had to get negro cooks to keep our patronage,” he explained. “People were getting tired of coming to the South, the land of good, old-fashioned eating, to run across French cooking. When they come here and ask for ‘chicken, Maryland style,’ or for terrapin or oysters they want these dishes prepared by the cooks who know how. French cooks might do pretty well for New York — but for Baltimore, never.”
Chesapeake Room at the Emerson Hotel
Still, the Sun continued to gloat a week later, this time in poem form. In a parody of Poe’s “The Raven,” they wrote:
“Joseph Sarri, expert Frenchman,
with his band of Gallic henchmen,
‘got the can,’ while stalwart bluecoats guarded well the kitchen door.
‘Joe’ had served up Paris dishes,
but this did not meet the wishes
of the Emerson’s best patrons, visitors to Baltimore.
So the sons of Gaul departed
dignified, yet broken-hearted
and since then the dark-skinned Eli and his band have held the floor.”
Although the fetish for black cooks was reaching new heights at this time, Baltimore’s dining scene had depended heavily on African-Americans from the beginning.
Cooking and catering provided a rare opportunity for Baltimore’s black citizens to enjoy some of the benefits of the city’s culinary fame.
Caterer John R. Young had been serving the city’s well-to-do since before 1900, at the Elkridge Hunt Club, Filon’s restaurant at Light & Redwood (née German) Streets, and countless luncheons, weddings, and banquets. All of his advertisements mention his specialty – terrapin, but there are other accounts of dinners he catered which highlight his mutton, turkey, Chicken a la Maryland and Oysters a la Newberg.
1907 advertisement, Maryland Medical Journal
When Young died of pneumonia in 1920, the original Sun obituary reduced his lifelong accomplishments to the fact that “many white persons who had known and had enjoyed the meals he prepared were present” at his funeral.
A later eulogy did a little better. “He was a scientist, an artist, and an alchemist,” the Sun wrote. “It was John Young who first made a culinary poem of the diamond-back terrapin: and the chicken that came to John Young’s kitchen to be fried came out not as a martyr, but as one blessed among chickens.”
Young was born in Tappahannock, VA, and moved to Baltimore at age 17 and became a waiter. He was a head waiter at the Hotel Rennert before moving on to work at several of Baltimore’s elite clubs such as the Anthenaeum and the Elkridge Hunt Club.
Athenaeum Club, Charles & Franklin Streets, Baltimore, loc.gov
Eventually, he branched out to commence catering out of his home on Richmond Street (possibly now Read street.)
His reputation reached so far and wide that he was shipping diamondback terrapin to Chicago and New York. The latter Sun eulogy wrote that he was being mourned in Chicago, New York, and Baltimore and that “when the news gets to Paris and London he will be mourned there.”
Though the Sun attempted to honor Young by emphasizing how white funeral attendees “of place and position” mourned his passing for love of his cooking, we can hope that more than a few of them mourned him also as a friend.
Meanwhile, over at the Emerson, fickle management had a change of heart. In 1922 they summarily dismissed the black kitchen staff (though they kept the waitstaff.) The move was explained away by crediting “efficiency experts” and cost-saving measures. The hotel created segregated locker rooms for the kitchen staff. (In 1926 they hired Charles Bitterli – more about him on this post.)
Baltimore was still a city with a world-famous dining reputation, and there would be caterers who would follow in Young’s footsteps, gaining prosperity, independence, and fame and admiration not unlike the era of celebrity chefs we know of today….
