In 150 years, will people gather at the grave of Kim Kardashian or one of the Housewives of (insert city here)? I doubt these names will even be remembered, and their contributions - such as they are - will not be considered in anyway artistic.
That thought came to mind once I realized that one of the great traditions in our country's past 60 years or so has seemly come to an end in Baltimore. The Poe Toaster is nevermore.
Since the 1940s (or even earlier) a mysterious person, dressed in black clothes with a white scarf and a wide-brimmed hat, had visited Edgar Allan Poe's grave after midnight on the anniversary of the writer's birthday and left three roses and a half-empty bottle of cognac. The person's identity remained a mystery despite the fact that, starting in the 1970s, a few people would gather in a church to keep a vigil for the toaster. Not knowing who was toasting Poe made yearly appearance that much more delicious. A note left in 1993 said 'The torch will be passed,' so the toaster was probably someone different - a son perhaps - the last last 17 years.
Poe was a great writer who had a dark, macabre side and died under mysterious circumstances at the age of 40. The yearly toast was a wonderful tradition that remained bathed in the early morning darkness, which was a refreshing contrast to our reality show, 15 minutes of fame culture. True art inspires quiet respect, not TMZ.
Please come back Poe Toaster. If not possible, I entreat the third generation to pick up the torch.
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