In 2020 and early 2021, the Peale participated in the Lexington Market Public History Initiative in an effort to collect stories and memories about the world-famous Lexington Market as the market itself prepared for a redesign and reopening. The initiative’s core partners were Baltimore Heritage, Baltimore Public Markets Corporation, Lexington Market, Inc., Market Center Community Development Corporation, Seawall, and the Peale, and the work was partially enabled by a Pathways Grant from the Maryland Center for History and Culture. This project was financed in part by the Maryland Center for History and Culture’s Thomas V. “Mike” Miller History Fund.
Unique Robinson: My name is Unique Robinson. Poet, performer, educator, and of course, West Baltimore native. This is a story about Lexington Market from my perspective.
Unique Robinson: And what can I say about Lexington Market other than the fact that it raised me, kept my belly full. Well with fried shrimp I was able to eat that my cousins didn't take away from me. It kept entertainment buzzing and kept the community for a generation that needed it. My maternal family was raised in Lexington Terrace Project. So Lexington Market was the back porch. It was a supermarket, it was the seller zone for my relatives fix, or fixes. It was stopping at your favorite stalls in the old or new market, or both, depending on what you got to taste for that day.
Unique Robinson: Mary Mervis, which I called Mary Mary's for a lot of my young life, because the cursive confused me, always had a mass of people crowding in front of an elevated platform, and a cooler full of lunch meat. Corn beef sandwiches of course would a fan favorite and cold cuts were the second. Everyone always seemed to be in a hurry. The customers, the clerks slicing meat rapidly and jumping back to take orders, take dollars, food stamps and the like. It was so packed, so popular that they had two stalls. And my mother and Aunt Sonia often raised hell at both of them.
Unique Robinson: They'd either get into an altercation with the clerk because she was nasty, or nasty itch if it was my aunt talking, or about how to slice the meat. Not too thick, not too thin. And my mother, whose name was Carla, would regularly ask the clerks to hold up the meat as they sliced it to check for her own precision. This of course pissed the clerks off, who again are on a constant rush, remember? This also pissed off the customers in line with both stalls reaching beyond their actual length. And I would stare, childhood me, at the cartoon characters painted on the green border at the top of the stall wrapping around it's about 12 by four or five frame. Donald Duck, Bart Simpson, Snoopy, probably. All of them shouting into each other in bubble form about how delicious the sandwiches were, and how Mary Mervis just couldn't be beat.
Unique Robinson: This was true, as there was a rival deli spot directly in front of Mary Mervis is called The Baron, which gleamed in red, old English font on its side, which was frequently underpopulated. Almost ghost town in comparison to the one across. Sometimes my mother would order from them, but rarely. Other times my mom would have a craving for Park's Fried Chicken, asking for one or two wings at a time. And everybody knew Parks had the best chicken in the new market, with the lines often protruding past both of their stalls too. And I would later have the same craving in high school. City forever, class of '05. You already know. When me and my friends would pull out of school rushing to take the 36 downtown. Douse everything in salt, pepper, ketchup, including the city itself.
Asset ID: 8871
Transcript abbreviated: Contact the Peale for a complete transcript.
Photo courtesy of Unique Robinson
