a&e features
Martick’s faces demolition in Baltimore
Early gay gathering spot played host to artists before advent of gay bars

One of Baltimore’s early gay gathering spots has been threatened with demolition.
The former Martick’s Restaurant Français, the endangered building, is well known locally as one of the first places where Baltimoreans were introduced to French cuisine.
It housed a speakeasy during the Prohibition era. It has been a magnet for artists and performers, including Billie Holliday, Leonard Bernstein and, more recently, filmmaker John Waters. It’s one of Baltimore’s few remaining buildings that was constructed before the Civil War.
But Martick’s, which is now vacant, was also a place where gay people felt comfortable and came together, long before the advent of gay bars and nightclubs.
According to former employees and patrons, it had a following in the 1950s and 1960s that included not only gay men and women but other members of what is now called the LGBTQ+ community, including bisexuals, crossdressers and people undergoing sex change operations by Johns Hopkins Hospital physician John Money.
“It was one of the first places where gay people felt comfortable coming,” said Jimmy Rouse, an employee from 1974 to 1981, in recent testimony before Baltimore’s preservation commission. “They had people from the Sun papers, the artistic community, the gay community and the jazz community, all coming there during the 50s and 60s.”
The Martick’s building at 214 W. Mulberry St. is endangered because a local developer, Christopher Janian of Vitruvius Development Company and Park Avenue Partners LLC, proposed this year to tear it down and use the land as part of a larger project, a six-story, $30 million apartment building planned for the block.
Janian has appeared before Baltimore’s Commission for Historical and Architectural Preservation (CHAP) twice in the past three months seeking approval to raze the entire building, and twice he has been rebuffed by the preservation panel.
This week he is coming back to CHAP with a compromise plan: He has proposed to save the front third of the Martick’s building in exchange for permission to tear down the rest and make the land part of the residential development.
The demolition proposal is coming at a time when some gay bars and meeting places around the country are being recognized and preserved as cultural landmarks. The best-known example is the Stonewall Inn in New Year City, the site 50 years ago of riots during which patrons protested a police raid on the bar.
The Stonewall riots are considered a key event leading to the gay liberation movement and the fight for gay and lesbian rights in the United States. The Stonewall Inn, still open, has been added to the National Register of Historic Places and designated a New York City landmark specifically because of its association with an LGBT-related event.
In Baltimore, Martick’s restaurant closed in 2008 and the building has been vacant since then. Former owner Morris Martick, who lived in the building for most of his life, died in 2011.
CHAP is involved and holding public hearings on Janian’s plans because the Martick’s building is within the city’s Howard Street Commercial Historic District, and any changes to buildings in the district must be approved by the preservation panel.
At the two previous appearances, Janian’s proposal to tear down the entire building drew strong opposition from former patrons and employees. They argued that the building should be preserved for its historical significance as a rare pre-Civil War structure, for its association with Morris Martick, and for its cultural significance as a magnet for a wide range of people. Seven hundred people have signed a petition to save the building.
At a CHAP hearing in February, several of the speakers noted the building’s significance as a gathering spot for the city’s gay community, at a time when there were few others and many businesses were less tolerant.
Rouse, who is a son of the legendary developer James W. Rouse, waited on tables and tended bar at Martick’s from 1974 to 1981. He said Martick’s role as a hub for the arts community and for gay people came before it was converted to a French restaurant in 1970.
During the 1950s and 1960s, he explained, it was a beatnik bar and jazz club, and that made it a center for the arts community.
It was also integrated, he said. “Very few bars in Baltimore were integrated at that time. Because of jazz music, Billie Holliday would sing there. It developed a kind of regular clientele of what Morris used to refer to as artists-slash-alcoholics…It was almost a rite of passage for anyone who was interested in art to work at Martick’s.”
In his seven years at Martick’s, Rouse said, he worked closely with the owner and got to know him well. He described Martick as a colorful, cantankerous character who put a doorbell on the front door that diners had to ring in order to be let in.
Rouse recalled that when first-time diners asked Martick what he recommended, he would reply, “I recommend you try another restaurant.”
If diners wouldn’t leave after that, Rouse said, he assured them that there are hospitals nearby in case they get sick. “If you choose to stay, we’re in a very good location,” he would tell the customers, Rouse said. “Hopkins Hospital is to the east and the University of Maryland Hospital is to the west.”
Rouse said he thought one reason Martick’s became a magnet for gay people is because Martick, who never married, had gay friends, and that made other gay people feel welcome there.
In the 1950s, Rouse said, Martick “experimented with being gay, and that’s part of the reason he attracted gay people. But in the 60s and 70s, he was heterosexual, totally.”
Martick’s drew writers from The Baltimore Sun, Rouse said, largely because Morris Martick’s sister Rose dated Sun theater and film critic R. H. “Hal” Gardner, and he spent a lot of time there.
Beyond that, Rouse said, Martick was non judgmental, and that carried over to his employees and clientele.
For the wait staff, there wasn’t a strict dress code like there was at Marconi’s several blocks away, he said.
“It was so relaxed. You could do your own thing there. There weren’t strict rules about how you approached the table. It was much freer about how you interacted with the customers. You didn’t have to say your name, I am your waiter. You didn’t have to do that.”
Martick’s approach was reassuring to people who may have felt uncomfortable elsewhere, agreed Ruth Turner, a Baltimore native who worked there in the 1980s and now owns a boutique in Hampden called Caravanserai on the Avenue.
Turner said the same non-judgmental attitude that was appealing to the Jewish community and the arts community was appealing to members of the LGBT community, and that included gay African Americans and transgender people.
“It was exclusively inclusive,” she said. “He allowed anyone who wanted to come in to come in. No questions asked. It was very inclusive. It was a melting pot. Some people were flamboyant. Some weren’t. Morris was accepting of everyone. There were no divisions. We were all just people.”
In terms of human sexuality, Baltimore was a center of experimentation and medical advances, she noted. And the heyday of Martick’s as a jazz club predated places such as Leon’s, the Drinkery and the Hippo.
“This was the beginning of the whole transgender movement and the sex change operations at Hopkins. There was a lot going on. That’s when [sex change pioneer] John Money was at Hopkins.”
At Martick’s, “you weren’t defined by your sexuality or your skin tone,” she said. “You were defined by your character and your behavior. … He looked at people on a one-on-one level…He made it clear that being different and being eccentric is not a problem, it’s an asset.”
Tom DiVenti, another former employee, echoed Turner’s sentiments in an article he wrote for Splice Today entitled “Morris Martick: Last of a Breed.” He called the place a “sanctuary” and said “Morris was the father many of us never had.”
DiVenti recalled that at one dinner party for John Waters, Martick “carved miniature penises out of carrots and whipped up a creamy white sauce appetizer for the guest of honor.” He described Martick as “an original Baltimore character who gave others the freedom to be characters too.”
Martick’s was “a place of tolerance and acceptance for all kinds of people,” DiVenti wrote. “No one was ever judged or criticized for beliefs or non-beliefs. No one was ever bullied because of gender or sexual preference. Restaurants in Baltimore today could take a cue from his old school finesse.”
Will Janian’s partial demolition proposal satisfy the preservationists?
The Baltimore Heritage preservation advocacy group testified against Janian’s plans in February; the board has not taken a position on the latest proposal and was slated to meet this week to discuss it.
Visit washingtonblade.com for updates on this week’s hearing, scheduled for March 12. Email correspondence about the proposal can be sent to CHAP planner Stacy Montgomery at [email protected].
a&e features
Meet Mr. Christmas
Hallmark’s Jonathan Bennett on telling gay love stories for mainstream audiences
Jonathan Bennett believes there are two kinds of people in the world — those who love Hallmark movies and liars. And in Season 2 of Finding Mr. Christmas, which the Mean Girls star co-created with Ben Roy, Bennett is searching for Hallmark’s next leading man.
“It’s so fun for people because everyone in their life has someone they know that they think should be in Hallmark movies, right? The UPS driver, the barista at the coffee shop, the dentist,” Bennett says. “So we’re testing their acting abilities, we’re testing who they are, but we’re also looking for that star quality — the thing that makes them shine above everyone else. It’s almost something you can’t explain, but we know it when we see it.”
Season 2’s cast includes a former NFL player for the Green Bay Packers, a few actors, and a realtor. The 10 men compete in weekly festive-themed acting challenges, one of which included having to ride a horse and act out a scene with Alison Sweeney. The contestants were chosen from a crop of 360 potential men, and Bennett gives kudos to the show’s Emmy-nominated casting director, Lindsay Liles (The Bachelor, Bachelor in Paradise).
“She has a tough job because she has to find 10 guys that are going to be good reality television, but also have the talent to act, carry a scene, and lead a Hallmark movie eventually,” he says. To be the right fit for a Hallmark leading man, Bennett singles out five key characteristics: you have to be funny, charming, kind, have a sense of humor, and you have to do it all with a big heart.
Of course, Finding Mr. Christmas wouldn’t be Finding Mr. Christmas without its signature eye candy — something Bennett describes as “part of the job” for the contestants. “I can’t believe Hallmark let me get away with this. I dressed them as sexy reindeer and put them in harnesses attached to a cable 30 feet in the air, and they had to do a sexy reindeer photo shoot challenge,” he says with a laugh. “This season is just bigger and bolder than last. People are responding to not only all the craziness that we put them through, but also comparing and contrasting the guys in their acting scenes when we do them back-to-back.”
Season 1 winner Ezra Moreland’s career has been an early testament to the show’s success at finding rising talent. On seeing the show’s first winner flourish, Bennett says, “Now to watch him out in the world, just booking commercial after commercial and shining as an actor and a model, I think the show gave him the wings to do that. He learned so much about himself, and he took all that into his future auditions and casting. He just works nonstop. I’ve never seen an actor book more commercials and modeling gigs in my life.”
Bennett has been a star of plenty of Hallmark movies himself, including the GLAAD-award-winning The Groomsmen: Second Chances, which makes him a fitting host. Among those movies are 2020’s Christmas House, which featured the first same-sex kiss on the network and had a major impact on Bennett’s career as an openly gay man. “Hallmark’s been so great about supporting me in queer storytelling. But again, I don’t make gay movies for gay audiences. I make gay love stories for a broad audience, and that’s a huge difference, right? We’re not telling stories inside baseball that only the gay community will understand.”
He continues, “The backdrop of a Hallmark Christmas movie is very familiar to these people who watch. And so when you tell a gay love story, and you tell it no differently than a straight love story in that space, they’re able to understand. It’s able to change hearts and minds for people who might not have it in their lives.”
While Hallmark has become a major staple of Bennett’s career, he started off wanting to be a Broadway actor. And before the first season of Finding Mr. Christmas aired, Bennett took a break from TV to make his Broadway debut in Spamalot, replacing Michael Urie as Sir Robin and starring alongside Ethan Slater and Alex Brightman.
“That was my dream since I was five years old – then I booked a movie called Mean Girls, and everything kind of changes in your life. You no longer become a person pursuing Broadway, you become a part of pop culture,” Bennett recalls. “And to be honest, when I hit 40, I was like, ‘I’m probably never going to get to live that dream.’ And that’s okay, because I got to do other dreams and other things that were just as cool but different. So I honestly never thought it would happen.”
Bennett is still determined to make his way back on Broadway with the right role — he calls Spamalot the “best experience” of his life, after all — but he’s got another Hallmark show lined up with Murder Mystery House, which he co-created. The show was recently greenlit for development and intends to bring the Hallmark mystery movie to life. “It’s kind of like our version of The Traitors,” Bennett admits.
Looking back on both seasons, Bennett says that what makes Finding Mr. Christmas stand out in the overcrowded reality TV landscape is that everyone involved makes it with heart: “This isn’t a show where you’re going to watch people throw drinks in each other’s faces and get into big fights. The thing that has amazed me so much about this show, the more we’ve done it, is that every season, 10 guys come in as competitors, but they leave as a family and as brothers. That’s something you don’t get on any other network.”
Finding Mr. Christmas airs every Monday on Hallmark through December 20, with episodes available to stream on Hallmark+.
a&e features
Guillermo Diaz on his role as a queer, Latino actor in Hollywood
Shattering stereotypes and norms with long resume of roles
Actor Guillermo Diaz has been working hard in the entertainment industry for more than three decades. Proud of his heritage and queer identity, he has broken through many glass ceilings to have a prolific career that includes tentpole moments such as roles in the films Party Girl, Half Baked, and Bros, and in major TV shows like Weeds and Scandal, and even in a Britney Spears music video. This season, he made his feature-length directorial debut with the film Dear Luke, Love Me.
In an intimate sit-down with the Blade, Diaz shares that he attributes a lot of his success to his Cuban upbringing.
“Well, it prepared me to learn how to lie really well and be a good actor because it was a lot of acting like you were straight, back in the eighties and nineties (laugh). Another thing I learned from my Cuban immigrant parents is that they work super hard. They both had two jobs; we were latchkey kids, and I just saw them constantly working and wanting to provide for us by any means. So that was super instilled in me. That was the one thing that really stuck out that I admire and respect.”
Besides Diaz’s recurring roles on TV, his resume includes appearances in just about every genre of programming out there. If there is a major show out there, he was probably on it. Law and Order, Girls, The Closer, Chappelle’s Show, ER, Party of Five, and the list goes on. He’s accomplished more in his career thus far than most actors do in a lifetime. There is no doubt he is a hard worker.
“It’s a sign that I just loved to work, and it’s funny looking back at it now because you see all those things, but at the time it was just the next gig, the next job. I was just wanting to keep working and acting and learning and doing all that stuff. Then it sort of accumulates, and you look back and you’re like, damn! That’s a lot of stuff!”
Acting was never on Diaz’s radar until he was asked to fill in for a friend in a Beastie Boys medley for a talent show when he was a sophomore in high school.
“I did it and fell in love with it. I was teased a lot in high school. Then, when I did that performance, all those people who teased me were like, you were so great! So I looked at it initially as a thing of like, oh, this is where I’m accepted and people like me when I’m on stage. It’s kind of sad, too, because that’s what I latched onto. And then of course, I fell in love with the craft and performing and acting, but that initial rush was because all these people who were messing with me and teasing me all of a sudden liked me. And I was like, this is what I have to do.”
Little did Diaz know that he would break the mold when it came to stereotypical casting. When he first hit the industry, diversity and positive representation were not a thing in Hollywood.
“You just kind of accepted at the time. It was the early nineties. 90% of the time, it was playing a thug or a gun dealer, or a crack head – it was all bad guys, negative characters. But it was either that or not act and not be in anything. So you just kind of accept it, and then you have this sort of vision or hope that in the future it’s going to get better.
Diaz’s management was trepidatious about him playing gay roles for fear of being typecast. But Diaz did play a handful of gay roles early on, although he passed on But I’m A Cheerleader, which went on to become a gay cult classic. Diaz decided early on that he was not going to hide his sexuality. Diaz appeared in the film Stonewall. That was the defining point for him in sharing his identity.
“Being cast in that historical sort of dramatization of the 1969 Stonewall riots – I couldn’t believe I was in the midst that I was in the middle of doing this and playing the lead drag queen on the film. I just felt so honored, and I knew it was important, and I knew I needed to do a really good job. I thought, what a special moment this is. And it kicked my ass shooting that movie.
I remember after doing Stonewall, people saying, well, now you’re either going to have to make a choice if you’re going to lie, or if you’re going to just be honest, and you’re going to have to be out from now on if you’re going to be honest. And I was like, I’m not going to freaking lie. When they’d asked me, I would say I was gay. I think because I never tried to hide it, it didn’t become a thing. So people just kind of ignored it. It didn’t mess with me or my career. I don’t know. Or I just got lucky. I don’t freaking know.”
As a queer, Latin actor, Diaz is all too aware of what is happening politically and socially in the world towards minority communities. Does he think actors have a place in politics?
“For sure. I mean, we’re people first, right? Like, I hate when people sort of are like, oh, you’re an actor, shut up. I’m super political and outspoken, and I’m that guy who will say shit. I’m on the right side of history, at least. I’m not being complicit and silent. So, yeah, I think actors for sure have a place in politics. Absolutely.”
While directing was on Diaz’s radar, it wasn’t something that he was actively searching out. But as life would have it, his friend Mallie McCown sent him her script for Dear Luke, Love Me, a film she would play the lead in. Diaz was hooked.
“It was one of those scripts that I had to keep putting down every like 20 pages. I would put it down because I didn’t want it to end. It was so good. Originally, I was just going to come on as a producer of the film, and then the director dropped out, and then Mallie asked me if I was interested in directing. I was scared as shit. I had never directed a feature film. But I was like, it’s now or never.”
The film covers a decade of the friendship between Penny and Luke, covering themes of platonic love, asexuality, co-dependence, and self-identity. With most of the film focusing on just the two leads, Diaz has crafted an intimate and raw film. What is his message with the film?
“That love is complicated, but it’s beautiful and rewarding and worth all the heartache. I believe that. I don’t want to give away too much in the film either, but I think everyone can relate to it because there’s heartache and there’s pain, and there’s beauty and there’s love.”
And in looking at his past work and in looking toward his future career, what kind of legacy does Diaz want to build?
“That I broke some ground, that I knocked down some walls as an artist; I’m hoping that made a difference. It’s funny because when you’re in it, you’re not thinking about all this stuff that could possibly pave the way for other people. You’re just kind of moving along and living your life. But yeah, I would hope that I broke down some walls as a queer Latino.
I hope that people can sort of get something out of me trying to live as authentically as I can, just being my queer self. Hopefully, that helps someone along who is having some troubles being accepted or being comfortable with who they are.”
a&e features
Exhibit showcases trans, nonbinary joy in Maryland and Virginia
‘Becoming Ourselves’ proclaims that our lives are ‘expressions of divine creation’
Gwen Andersen was putting up posters for her photography exhibition “Becoming Ourselves” in and around Takoma Park shortly following the death of Nex Benedict. “Everybody’s heart was heavy,” the lesbian photographer said, “and I’m waltzing around town putting up these posters.” At a bookstore, she asked the person working at the front desk if she could put up one of the posters. They immediately looked at it more closely because of the trans flag, and said yes.
“When they read it and saw that it was something positive, beautiful, happy, they started to cry,” Andersen said, and she instinctively asked if she could give them a hug. With permission, she walked around the counter and embraced them — and in many ways, herself — in a world where negativity and violence takes aim at and harms the LGBTQ community. It was a powerful moment, she admitted, because “the first person didn’t even see the pictures.”
“That’s when I realized.” she said, “just how the idea of this is making an impact.”
“Becoming Ourselves” is an exhibition of 26 photos featuring happy and joyful trans and nonbinary adults and children that has been displayed at six different spaces of worship and one gallery in Maryland and Virginia. From the United Universalist Congregation of Rockville (UCCR) to its eighth spot that opened at the Sandy Springs Meeting House on Oct. 1, the exhibition originally started after Andersen’s friend Marian Bowden connected her with Sandra Davis, then president-elect for the Women’s Caucus of Art. Davis, seeing that Andersen had something critical to say during a time of intense anti-trans violence, became her mentor.
Andersen decided to host the exhibition at the UCCR based on the suggestions of her friend Rev. Jill McCrory, an affirming pastor and justice advocate, who along with Stevie Neal had previously invited Andersen to help found Montgomery County (MoCo) Pride. McCrory recommended UCCR and Davis shared that the church had their own hanging system, but for Andersen, their eager acceptance of the show sealed the deal.
“They were so happy to have been asked,” Andersen said. “They weren’t just consenting. They were wildly enthusiastic about it. I could not have had a better first place to host this.”
Rev. Dr. Rebekah Savage echoed this affirmation. Andersen approached her in October 2023 and from the very beginning, Savage acknowledged, we knew it would be a vital gift to congregants. Showcasing queer and trans people in spaces of worship, as the portraits hung in the Sanctuary during Sunday morning worship for Transgender Day of Visibility is critical, Savage explained, and it “does more than challenge exclusion,” Savage said. “It proclaims to the world that LGBTQ+ lives are sacred, beautiful, and an essential expression of the divine creation.”
“This visibility is both healing and life-saving, especially right now: for trans youth and families who need to know that there are faith communities ready to celebrate with them fully,” Savage continued. “Becoming Ourselves,” she said, visualized the leadership of our trans loved ones and held space for joy and celebration during times of intense violence. It has, Savage said, “become a beacon of hope, within our congregation and beyond, witnessing to the power of love, equality, and justice as sacred commitments.”
But there was a time crunch — the exhibition would open in March 2024, so all photos had to be taken by December 2023 and to her surprise, there was great interest in being part of the project. She had taken some photos already, but when a friend’s child asked if their friends could be part of it, they realized they would need extra enforcements to get the photos taken and processed in time for printing, so she connected with Salgu Wissmath, a nonbinary photography who recently opened their own exhibition “Divine Identity,” and other photographers from Los Angeles, London, and Baltimore.
She also reached out to Natasha Nazareth from Gaithersburg and Elias Nikitchyuk who worked locally and contributed photos to the exhibition.
She also brought a child — Emery — on as the Formal Youth Adviser, recognizing that the show’s most important audience would be trans and nonbinary children. The resulting 26 photos of joyful trans and nonbinary adults and children were chosen by LGBTQ young people from across the United States who shared their selections through a virtual survey, and the group just made the tight deadline. Sadly, Stevie (a nickname for the beloved Petra Stephanie) Neal passed before the project was put on display, but their estate covered photography printing costs.
Soon, the UCCR was filled to the brim with photos of happy and joyful trans people. While UCCR has designated a room for its display, there were too many so the photos spilled out into the hallway, entryway, and anywhere else they would fit. It was only the first of many surprises.
She anticipated just displaying the show at the church in Rockville, but at the opening, McCrory shared that she would love for the show to be on display at Bethesda United Church of Christ (UCC) where she was then and is now working as an interim pastor, so it went to Bethesda UCC next, but that wasn’t its final stop as church members attended other parishes, they shared that they wanted the photos displayed in their own spaces of worship, and soon the photos had travelled to Christ the Servant Lutheran Church in Gaithersburg, Pilgrim Church in Wheaton, Hope United Church of Christ in Alexandria, PhotoWorks at Glen Echo, and finally, Third Space in Baltimore — its most recent stop at the recommendation of one of the photographers. A friend of Octavia Bloom, a Baltimore photographer, wanted the show to come to their hometown.
The exhibition at Third Space came to an end on Aug. 8, but as before, another church —this one Sandy Springs Meeting House — stepped up to host the show. The brick Sandy Springs Meeting House was originally constructed in 1817 and has stood ever since, making the Sandy Spring Meeting of the Religious Society of Friends one of the oldest Quaker Meetings in Maryland. Sandy Spring just put up their hanging system, on loan from a local artist, this month and aims to have the show on display to the public soon.
For some, the choice to display the exhibition in churches may seem like a strange or at least surprising one, but for Andersen, it was a meaningful choice. For Andersen, it helps counter the narrative of churches being places of hostility and part of campaigns against us. While recognizing the history of harm that churches and other religious institutions have caused through conversion therapy, exclusion, hate speech, and more, Andersen’s exhibition showcases how spaces of faith can also be key centers of LGBTQ advocacy and organizing. In fact, D.C. has a rich history of LGBTQ activism based out of and supported by faith communities.
“The fact that it was held in a church made so many people so happy. It also made many people cry because the church has been a place of hostility because the resistance, the hatred, of lesbians, gays, bis and transgender people has been biblical, both in terms of its size and in terms of its purported origin, and so having churches hold this exhibit was dearly important symbolically,” Andersen said.
Andersen shared that so many friends of hers who came to the show had not visited churches in decades because they (justifiably in some cases) viewed them as completely hostile locations. When they went to the exhibitions in the churches and were treated well, she said, she believes it was a healing experience, as it was for many trans and nonbinary children and adults and their parents who are facing a world of negative representation — either hostile from conservative, Christian nationalist groups or media portraying trans and nonbinary people as victims.
Andersen wanted to create a show that offered hope to trans and nonbinary kids, as It Gets Better did many years before. sharing videos and photos of happy and joyful LGBTQ adults as a way to share positivity and hopefully prevent suicide among LGBTQ children. It was more than timely than ever following Benedict’s death in February 2024. The previous day, Benedict was assaulted by other high school students in a girls’ restroom and later died by suicide.
“The purpose of the show was to counter all of the negativity because with Republicans running and now Trump in office there was so much animosity and hostility and people trying to pass these hateful laws that I knew this had to be having a negative impact on the mental health of trans kids.”
Andersen hopes that this exhibition enriches this rich tradition and sparks new conversations — and maybe even more happy tears — at Sandy Springs Meeting House this fall.
The show will be open most days between about 10 and 4 except for Mondays and Saturdays. Viewers are advised to call Sandy Springs Meeting House at 301-774-9792 first on weekdays. The show will continue until the end of December.
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