Port Town/Cold Evening

Back in the 18 and 19th centuries, Fell's Point was a shipbuilding port. It was the only place in Baltimore harbor with enough depth to allow larger-drafted ships to be built, like the schooners that defended Fort McHenry, just across the harbor, during the Battle of Baltimore in 1814. Fell's Point
continued to operate as one of the busiest ports on the East Coast for 200+ years.

Aside from building ships, a port like Fell's was a place to drop cargo, undergo repairs, replenish supplies, and take on new cargo. This means that sailors, out to sea for as long as two months, were cut loose in the area till it was time to ship out again.

Historically, sailors have a notorious reputation due to their transient nature. They wanted to live it up before shipping out again for another harsh tour at sea. The savvy businesses that crowded around the piers offered food, booze, beds, and women; therefore, almost every building still existing in Fell's today was at one time a tavern, pub, inn, or brothel. The few places that weren't any of those were missions or churches, there to catch the fallen souls after a rough night in one of the other establishments.

By the 20th century, the sailors and shipbuilders gave up their bar stools to longshoremen and cannery workers who, after their shift, headed to some of the same establishments that had been supplying the overworked and unruly with alcohol for almost two centuries.

Walking around now, Fell's still has that seedy, nautical atmosphere, heavy with its history, plainly seen in the narrow buildings, their roofs bowed slightly in the middle, occasionally dropping a shingle for no other reason than their age, and the smell of stale beer, prevalent at all hours. The streets retain the Belgian block that held down last century's streetcar tracks: they turn a dull emerald green after it rains. Taverns like Bertha's and Leadbetter's claim a lineage longer than most of the establishments in the area and they feel different inside than the others: darker, older, and claustrophobic, for sure. On a cold, windy Tuesday at dusk, you could believe you're drinking with ghosts.

From what I've heard, you'd be right.