AS JOHN WALKED AROUND OUTSIDE the stadium he’d personally watched being built, brick by brick, he felt like a foreigner. He’d passed places where less than twenty-four hours earlier people had been standing on top of police cars, smashing windows, and chanting “All night, all day, we will fight for Freddie Gray.”
He knew that around 6:00 P.M. the day before, protesters had crossed paths with a small group of baseball fans outside Pickles Pub, a stalwart sports bar right outside the ballpark. It wasn’t clear who started it—there were different accounts floating around. But the story John heard from his team was that protesters began yelling “Black lives matter” while a few of the fans angrily yelled back “We don’t care.” Then some of those at the bar started yelling out racial epithets at the protesters. Interactions like these had been reported at other spots near the ballpark—Frank and Nic’s, Sliders—where the combination of drunk fans and angry protesters created a commotion.
John thought about his grandfather, after whom he’d been named, as he walked the grounds. His grandfather and great-uncle had owned a produce company in Baltimore City beginning in the 1960s. Every morning, starting at four o’clock, the two of them would drive all around the city and county delivering tomatoes, lettuce, onions, and cabbage to area bars, taverns, and restaurants. They’d travel the full breadth of the city, from some of its poorest areas to its wealthiest. And the elder John Angelos had talked to everyone, whether they were loading staff or store owners, black waitstaff or white refrigeration crews. John’s first job, when he was fourteen years old, had been to ride around and help with the drop-offs. The thing that John remembered and admired most was the fact that his grandfather could have great conversations with anybody. He knew about their families, their struggles, their hopes. No matter what was going on, his grandfather could coax a smile out of anyone.
As John walked around the exterior of Camden Yards, stepping on shattered glass, he thought about what his grandfather would say.