The old Mercantile-Safe Deposit and Trust Co. earned a reputation as a no-nonsense, independent, conservative bank, and for all the years, this place kept me out of red ink.
Its trust department managed the unseen, dusty but abundantly green fortunes of ancient Baltimore. The Mercantile vaults held silver heirlooms for families off to Bar Harbor in the summer.
H. Furlong Baldwin headed the Mercantile for decades and was a Baltimore business legend. His death, at age 92 on Dec. 9, is a reminder of the way his institution conducted business. They did it their way.
He was known as “Baldy” and — to me — he was an unseen presence at the banking house he ran. The Hopkins Place office was on West Baltimore Street, just facing the old Morris A. Mechanic Theatre. Both institutions are now gone, the Mechanic demolished and an unproductive vacant lot in the heart of downtown Baltimore, while the Mercantile was sold to PNC, a Pittsburgh-based bank in 2007.
I had a lowly checking account and not much else. The passing of its big boss marks a time when local corporations were proud to be local and run by real people who might actually give you the benefit of the doubt. They knew your name and you knew theirs. They were there to help and they did.
Need to keep a check from bouncing after an unexpectedly expensive trip to New York?
Just call somebody you knew at the Merc and it would be taken care of. Not forgiven, but you were accorded a few more days to tidy up your elastic finances.
Mercantile’s downtown offices were, on the surface, formal. The Hopkins Place headquarters had tall ceilings and dim lighting, but the staff was quite approachable, once you were introduced. The bank seemed somehow autonomous, different from its competition.
I think I bonded with the place one day when applying for a short-term loan, the kind with a reasonable interest rate. The bank did a credit check and in the most diplomatic way possible — a teller reminded me I had a $166 bill due from the B. Altman department store in New York.
The old Redwood Street branch survived the Baltimore Fire of 1904. Its reigning queen was Marion Carozza. She earned her way into the Baltimore business by serving as contractor Victor Frenkil’s secretary, a daunting task that she eventually moved on from. She was competent and friendly but with proper banking authority. She was the branch’s ambassador.
Mercantile favored family ties. One of its branch managers was Phil Roe, whose father had been with one of the Mercantile affiliates on the Eastern Shore.
Phil and I became chatty and some 35 years ago I unloaded the story of my typical Baltimore damp basement. I called my cellar the sewer of Paris for its proclivity to flood, deep and disgusting. It was only partially paved.
Phil listened and offered me a solution. He suggested I meet with another customer, a man named Bill Bauer who could cure the ills of ancient homes prone to flooding in Fells Point. I detest getting estimates and prefer a quick, handshake approach. Before long a crew arrived at my home and a cement truck (holding up traffic on Saint Paul Street) was pumping tons of concrete through a little window that had served as a coal chute.
The bill came to $10,000 and bank manager Phil Roe had the home improvement loan ready to get that job done. The cellar has never flooded and now, years later, I’m not embarrassed to lead guests down the steps where I run the electric trains.
After it was over, contractor Bauer confided to me that mine was the worst basement he’d ever encountered.
When my aged father needed to do his banking, Phil Roe offered more help. My father was about 85 or 86 and did not like walking. Phil opened a non-public back door and reserved a parking space. He also had a staff-only restroom available. Those are accommodations you don’t forget.
Carl Presser ran the uptown branch at Charles and Chase Streets opposite the Hotel Belvedere. He was a neighborhood legend and was trusted by business people. Carl was the opposite of the bank manager who would say “no” to your needs. I think he hid spare money under the rug if you needed something in a pinch. He shattered the rules and likely had no enemies.
H. Furlong Baldwin ran this bank in an old-fashioned way for 47 years. He ran this august banking institution that despite its long name made you unafraid of overdraft notices.
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