I can't remember exactly how long I had been standing in the bank parking lot that I was backing up into, trying to frame up a shot of the iconic Pasadena 3-B's bakery. If you've ever driven through the area, which all told you could achieve in under ten minutes on the highway, then you've no doubt been distracted by the immensity of the signage. An estimated fifteen (my own) foot pig wearing a pastry chef's apron and hat holds out a tray of glazed treats and cold milk to the drone of hot afternoon traffic on Ft. Smallwood road below.
One could almost imagine a a nomadic tribe in a post-apocalyptic world stumbling across the remains of the white cinder-block building. The left overs from some unthinkable man-made atrocity pledging their allegiance and sending up offerings to the towering monument of glutton. But that digression is for another narrative...
After capturing this sweet sliver of Pasadena's culture, I brought the camera down to my side and stared up at this living memory through a thick July atmosphere. This pig takes residence in some of the furthest reaches of my memory. I can't remember a time when I wasn't aware of its stoic presence and its benevolent offering of an unassuming breakfast.
Raking through the scattered remains of the early eighties I realized that I don't know much if anything about this area's history and its relevance to the Baltimore canon. A quick interweb search provides a weak Wikipedia page, giving a lackluster overview of the 21122 zip. The online encyclopedia gives little more than map coordinates and an unimpressive list of notable citizens who had there beginnings here. To boot, Pasadena is listed as a CDP or Census Designated Place which I found to be more than a bit depressing.
On first impression that term defines the peninsula as an area where a substantial amount of people live. An area that the government recognizes for tax and zoning purposes but for little else. That thought leaves little room for any distinctive cultural elements, which admittedly Pasadena has few of anyway. My distaste for the CDP label is more rooted in the shame that I experience due to the ignorance of, or apathy toward, any of the origins of my own hometown.
What I can recall from my great aunts and uncles is that Pasadena used to be a summer retreat for well-to-do's in Baltimore city. Beyond that I can only say from observation that there used to be a wealth of farming. My mother's parents moved here in the fifties from Baltimore city, and my father's parents from rural southern Virginia around the same time.
With these meager impressions, and much thanks to the gregarious 3-B's mascot, I have decided to investigate for myself how exactly Pasadena came to be. As a love letter to this suburban enclave I will publish what I find out in the next few weeks before I leave it again, most likely for good...?
