Edward G Pettit

Another wonderful thing (for me) at Bouchercon was the program booklet, featuring a short essay by me dissing Baltimore and its claim to the legacy of Edgar Allan Poe. Several people stopped to tell me how much they enjoyed it (and I stopped several other people to show them the essay) and some even asked me to sign it (one guy had a NoirCon 2008 program for me to sign, which was a real treat!). I reprint my Bouchercon Program essay here for those unable to attend the conference. We could call it my Philly Poe Manifesto:

Edgar Allan Poe and Baltimore. Poe and Baltimore. Poe and Baltimore. I’ve been hearing this all my life. Poe is from Baltimore. Poe died in Baltimore. Poe wrote in Baltimore. Blah Blah Blah.

The truth is that Poe belongs to Philadelphia. Or at least, he should belong to Philly. And he should be buried in Philly, too.

I should be careful. The last time I suggested this change of perception regarding Poe, the Baltimore Sun ran two columns and an editorial insulting me and my city. The guy who runs the Poe House in Baltimore said, "Keep your greasy, onioned, sub-stained hands off Poe!" Then he threatened to punch me in the eye. Hey Sun, what kind of newspaper uses their columns to threaten bodily harm? And it’s a hoagie, not a sub. Get your sandwiches straight.

Baltimore’s greatest mystery writer, Laura Lippman, warned Philly to let Poe be and made a crack against the greatest third baseman ever to play baseball: “ Mike Schmidt is a fine ballplayer, but he's no Brooks Robinson.” (I pick no fight with Lippman. She is a great writer and she can be buried in Baltimore if she wants.) Even the mayor weighed in: "Poe is as much a part of the fabric of Baltimore as crab cakes, beehive hairdos and marble steps.”

Now I don’t want to brag, but if Philly’s icons are the Liberty Bell and Independence Hall, the very foundations of American Democracy and Baltimore’s icons are just foodstuff and strange hairstyles, then it does seem a little unfair to take away their greatest claim to fame. However, it’s the principle of the matter. So before all you “Charm City” folks go all mad dog frothing at the mouth again, let me lay out my case for why Poe belongs to Philly.

Poe wrote most of his greatest works while living in Philadelphia. Tell-Tale Heart. Fall of the House of Usher. Black Cat. Murders in the Rue Morgue. Mystery of Marie Roget. Masque of Red Death. Gold Bug. Pit and the Pendulum. It was the city that transformed his genius into the greatness we all know and love. And I’m not talking about all that Liberty Bell, Birthplace of Independence crap. It was Philly’s gothic, chaotic environment in the early 19^th century that had an indelible impact on the style and content of Poe’s work.

The doomed family of the House of Usher was conjured by Poe in Philadelphia. William Wilson and his evil doppelganger took form there. The madman of “The Tell-Tale Heart” made his murderous confession under the dark skies of the Quaker City. C. Auguste Dupin, the prototype of Sherlock Holmes and all fictional detectives to follow, sprung from Poe’s fertile pen while the author was reading the daily criminal mysteries that plagued the city. The detective/mystery story was invented in Philadelphia! (Why a mystery writer convention is held in any city but the one that invented the genre is beyond me, too.)

Philadelphia was the crucible for Poe’s imagination. The six years he spent living there were the most productive and successful of his writing career. Poe became a great writer while living in Philadelphia.

So why does Baltimore get all the attention when it comes to Poe? Yes, Poe had some family connections in Baltimore and married his wife there. Yes, Poe wrote a couple early stories there. But Baltimore was just a stop on his road to greatness. Poe had to move a little further north to become an accomplished writer (And I’m not talking about New York, which liked “The Raven,” but shunned the man who wrote it). People associate Poe with Baltimore merely because it has the body. Poe was unfortunate enough to die there, so they get to claim his legacy, as well.

And Baltimore wanted no parts of the Poe legacy when he died. No one came to his funeral and it took decades—Decades!—for them to erect a memorial stone. When Poe died, one Philadelphia newspaper was calling him one of the greatest writers who ever lived. Alright, the paper was published by a friend of Poe’s, but still, it just goes to prove that Poe had a friend in Philadelphia. Where were his friends in Baltimore as he died on its streets?

If there was a dead author draft and cities could compete for writers whose provenance was multi-geographical, then Philadelphia would use its pick on Poe. If Poe were a boxer, the ring announcer would intone, “Fighting out of the red corner, from Philadelphia, Pennsylvania, ED-GAR Allan POE! POE!” If Poe were quarterback of the Philadelphia Eagles, he might still get booed , but at least he’d go into the Hall of Fame in Canton, Ohio as an Eagle (In your face, Baltimore “Ravens!”).

So, Baltimoreans, why don’t you just fork over the body? There’s plenty of room outside the Poe House in Philly where he can be re-interred. It’s also just a short drive for the Poe Toaster. Philly would be happy for him to leave a bottle of booze once a year. Hell, if he wants to bring free liquor, the Poe Toaster can come as often as he likes. He can march up Broad Street in the Mummer’s Parade on New Year’s Day.

Look out Baltimore, the Philly Poe Guy is comin’ to town. And I’m bringing my shovel.

P.S. Hey Laura, I might choose a crab cake over a hoagie, but I’d take Schmidty over Brooks Robinson any day.