"Years of love have been forgot

in the hatred of a minute."

Edgar Allan Poe

We can only speculate what happened in a minute on the night of October 3, 1849 , the night that Edgar Allan Poe was found unconscious in the streets of Baltimore. He died 4 days later on October 7.

I traveled to the Edgar Allan Poe House in Baltimore to conclude my investigation into the houses that have been preserved in his name, saving Baltimore for the end, since this is the city where he died. As I mentioned in an earlier blog, Poe was actually born in Boston, but he considered Baltimore his home since he considered it a place of personal solace. He lived here from 1833-1835 with his grandmother, Elizabeth Cairnes Poe, his aunt, Maria Poe Clemm, and his two cousins, Henry and Virgina (his future wife.) 

It may have been by "accident" that he was in Baltimore in 1849. He had traveled to various cites throughout his life (Boston, New York, Richmond, Philadelphia) many times for more than one stay. Other blogs have examined the incidents that led him to these cites and the opportunities that arose (or didn't) there.  In 1849 he was on a lecture tour in Richmond, intending to make his way home to New York. His train would have transferred in Baltimore. ......


.........Then, no one heard from him....until he was found on the street:

"Found delirious on the streets of Baltimore outside Gunner Hall (an election polling place)"

 A corrupt practice (called "cooping") found men, took them to bars to drink excessively, changed their clothes and transported them to various polling places throughout the city so the candidate could receive multiple votes. Was Poe a victim of this practice? We will never know for sure.

Poe was taken to Washington University Hospital. Historical accounts of his hospitalization indicate that at first he was delirious with tremors and hallucinations, and then he slipped into a coma. He emerged from the coma and was calm for awhile, but he once again required restraint. He died on the 4th day of his hospitalization.
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The Edgar Allan Poe House, built in 1830, was intended to be demolished around 1949 to accommodate a public housing project in the city. The Edgar Allan Poe Society stepped in to preserve this vital historical landmark. The housing project was built; the house stands on the end of one of the rows of housing units.

Poe was buried in in a small churchyard in the back of Westminster Hall and burying ground on Fayette Street, just a 3/4 mile walk from the Poe House. His funeral was small and not well-attended. The original grave sight was left unkempt; a woman visiting later reported the condition to Maria, his mother-in-law/aunt. She wrote to a relative and implored that his sight be better maintained.

A new tombstones was ordered but was damaged by a railroad car (can he even catch a break ever?) A teacher heard of this misfortune and had her students raise funds to erect a new one. This money, in conjunction with gifts from other benefactors, enabled the exhumation of Poe's body and a new tombstone.

At this time, the remains of his wife Virginia and her mother Maria were joined with Poe's; the family was reunited in death.

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I learned much about Edgar Allan Poe through my visits to his homes in New York, Philadelphia, and Baltimore, as well as the enlightening exhibit at the George Peabody Library and the Poe statue and neighborhood in Boston. There is, however, so much more to learn, and even places to go! (Charlottesburg and Richmond, Virginia come to mind.)

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I'd like to take this opportunity to thank a trusty (and fun) companion on several  journeys, my dear friend, Ginny Mc Cartin.

We visited the home of Walt Whitman: ("Will you come travel with me? Shall we stick with each other as long as we live?")

Exhibits about Emily Dickinson in New York : ("My friends are my estate.")

Two Poe homes--in Philadelphia and Baltimore: ("We loved with a love that was more than love.")

And a visit to the Free Library in Philadelphia (“Good friends, good books, and a sleepy conscience: this is the ideal life.” )
― Mark Twain

Thanks, Gin!