No One Disturbs Mystery of Poe Visitor
Sat Jan 18,11:34 AM ET
FOSTER KLUG, Associated Press Writer
BALTIMORE - The annual winter ritual requires the stealth of a cat burglar, an iron will and the tacit complicity of an entire city.
In the middle of a January night, for the last 53 years, a man cloaked in black has crept into a deserted graveyard in a gritty section of downtown Baltimore and raised a birthday toast to Edgar Allan Poe.
Like a character from one of Poe's dark tales, the man then vanishes, leaving behind a half-empty bottle of cognac, three roses and an occasional note but not a clue as to who he is.
It's a quiet show of respect, as charming as it is mysterious which might explain why no one has ever exposed the anonymous visitor. Unlike other traditions, there are no reporters, photographers or TV crews, and no throngs of well-wishers as the man makes his pilgrimage in the wee hours of Jan. 19.
"No one wants to ruin such a beautiful, graceful tradition," says Jeff Jerome, director of the Poe House and Museum. "People realize that it is something unique and special. If we know who the guy is, the mystery is gone it's ruined."
Every year on Poe's birthday, which begins at midnight Saturday, Jerome and a small group of Poe enthusiasts spend the night tucked away inside nearby Westminster Hall, a former Presbyterian church, rapt with excitement, waiting for the visitor.
After the man's toast, which usually happens sometime between midnight and 6 a.m., the group hurries down to examine Poe's grave and discuss the visit: Was it Martel cognac again? Were the roses red? Was there a cryptic note? Was it even the same visitor as last year?
No one, not even Jerome, who has watched the ritual since 1976, knows the identity of the so-called "Poe Toaster." The visit was first documented in 1949, a century after Poe's death. For decades, Jerome says, it was the same frail figure.
Then, in 1993, the original visitor left a cryptic note saying, "The torch will be passed." Yet another note left later at the scene told Jerome that the first man in black, who apparently died in 1998, had passed the tradition on to his sons Jerome thinks there are either two or three. Such notes are the only communication anyone has had with the visitor.
A combination of respect, the visitor's cunning and the chill of Baltimore on a January night have kept the curious from uncovering the secret.
Harry Lee "Hal" Poe, a cousin of Poe's and a professor of faith and culture at Union University in Jackson, Tenn., says the visit continues to inspire mystery and speculation because of America's continuing fascination with the man often called the father of the modern short story.
"His legacy as a writer and a contributor to American cultural identity is alive and fresh," Hal Poe said. "If someone was to visit William Henry Harrison's grave and toast him on his birthday every year, probably no one would notice."
Poe, who is best-known for poems and horror stories such as "The Raven" and "The Telltale Heart," died in 1849 in Baltimore at the age of 40 after collapsing, delirious, in a tavern. The circumstances of his death remain unclear: Some researchers have blamed a fever, while others point to the late stages of alcoholism or to rabies.
In 1990, a Life magazine photographer used surveillance equipment to capture the only known picture of the visitor. Jerome required the photographer to shoot the picture from behind so as not to spoil the secret, and it shows only the back of a man kneeling at the grave.
Despite the occasional intrusion, the visit today remains as shrouded in mystery as when it began.
The significance of cognac, for example, is still unknown, Jerome says. The three roses are thought to honor Poe, his mother-in-law, Maria Clemm, and his wife, Virginia, all of whom are buried in the graveyard.
During an annual three-day celebration of Poe's birthday, about 800 people fill Westminster Hall to watch performances based on the author's stories and poems.
After the public event on the night of Jan. 18, the hall is cleared of everyone but the few guests whom Jerome has invited to see the visitor. From the dozens of letters he receives from Poe enthusiasts around the world, Jerome picks about 15 people to watch the visit. Once the doors are closed, the lights are killed.
Guests sit in the dark until around 11 p.m., when they position themselves at the hall's windows, silently waiting for the visitor to appear out of the shadows.
"By the time he sneaks in, you have worked yourself up into something of a mystery yourself," says Antoinette Smith Suiter, a 78-year-old cousin of Poe's, who watched the toast last year. "You feel like you're part of one of Edgar Allan Poe's mystery stories."
Sat Jan 18,11:34 AM ET
FOSTER KLUG, Associated Press Writer
BALTIMORE - The annual winter ritual requires the stealth of a cat burglar, an iron will and the tacit complicity of an entire city.
In the middle of a January night, for the last 53 years, a man cloaked in black has crept into a deserted graveyard in a gritty section of downtown Baltimore and raised a birthday toast to Edgar Allan Poe.
Like a character from one of Poe's dark tales, the man then vanishes, leaving behind a half-empty bottle of cognac, three roses and an occasional note but not a clue as to who he is.
It's a quiet show of respect, as charming as it is mysterious which might explain why no one has ever exposed the anonymous visitor. Unlike other traditions, there are no reporters, photographers or TV crews, and no throngs of well-wishers as the man makes his pilgrimage in the wee hours of Jan. 19.
"No one wants to ruin such a beautiful, graceful tradition," says Jeff Jerome, director of the Poe House and Museum. "People realize that it is something unique and special. If we know who the guy is, the mystery is gone it's ruined."
Every year on Poe's birthday, which begins at midnight Saturday, Jerome and a small group of Poe enthusiasts spend the night tucked away inside nearby Westminster Hall, a former Presbyterian church, rapt with excitement, waiting for the visitor.
After the man's toast, which usually happens sometime between midnight and 6 a.m., the group hurries down to examine Poe's grave and discuss the visit: Was it Martel cognac again? Were the roses red? Was there a cryptic note? Was it even the same visitor as last year?
No one, not even Jerome, who has watched the ritual since 1976, knows the identity of the so-called "Poe Toaster." The visit was first documented in 1949, a century after Poe's death. For decades, Jerome says, it was the same frail figure.
Then, in 1993, the original visitor left a cryptic note saying, "The torch will be passed." Yet another note left later at the scene told Jerome that the first man in black, who apparently died in 1998, had passed the tradition on to his sons Jerome thinks there are either two or three. Such notes are the only communication anyone has had with the visitor.
A combination of respect, the visitor's cunning and the chill of Baltimore on a January night have kept the curious from uncovering the secret.
Harry Lee "Hal" Poe, a cousin of Poe's and a professor of faith and culture at Union University in Jackson, Tenn., says the visit continues to inspire mystery and speculation because of America's continuing fascination with the man often called the father of the modern short story.
"His legacy as a writer and a contributor to American cultural identity is alive and fresh," Hal Poe said. "If someone was to visit William Henry Harrison's grave and toast him on his birthday every year, probably no one would notice."
Poe, who is best-known for poems and horror stories such as "The Raven" and "The Telltale Heart," died in 1849 in Baltimore at the age of 40 after collapsing, delirious, in a tavern. The circumstances of his death remain unclear: Some researchers have blamed a fever, while others point to the late stages of alcoholism or to rabies.
In 1990, a Life magazine photographer used surveillance equipment to capture the only known picture of the visitor. Jerome required the photographer to shoot the picture from behind so as not to spoil the secret, and it shows only the back of a man kneeling at the grave.
Despite the occasional intrusion, the visit today remains as shrouded in mystery as when it began.
The significance of cognac, for example, is still unknown, Jerome says. The three roses are thought to honor Poe, his mother-in-law, Maria Clemm, and his wife, Virginia, all of whom are buried in the graveyard.
During an annual three-day celebration of Poe's birthday, about 800 people fill Westminster Hall to watch performances based on the author's stories and poems.
After the public event on the night of Jan. 18, the hall is cleared of everyone but the few guests whom Jerome has invited to see the visitor. From the dozens of letters he receives from Poe enthusiasts around the world, Jerome picks about 15 people to watch the visit. Once the doors are closed, the lights are killed.
Guests sit in the dark until around 11 p.m., when they position themselves at the hall's windows, silently waiting for the visitor to appear out of the shadows.
"By the time he sneaks in, you have worked yourself up into something of a mystery yourself," says Antoinette Smith Suiter, a 78-year-old cousin of Poe's, who watched the toast last year. "You feel like you're part of one of Edgar Allan Poe's mystery stories."
