varying states of both decay and restoration. “They represent the oyster money of the 1920s and thirties,” Howard had told us. The brick ranchers on the fringes of town, he said, were built by crab money in the 1950s and ’60s.
Howard’s voice continued to echo in our ears as we made our first stop downtown, slipping into Goodsell Alley near the city dock for ice cream and a hands-on approach to history. “If you actually put your hand on the old oyster house, you can feel the rough [cinder] blocks it was built with,” Howard had said as he told us about the tour we were not going to get. “Then you can put your hands on the next building, where the ice-cream shop is, and feel the smooth blocks. You can feel the difference in time.” So Hal and I did that, while Skipper did something else I don’t want to get too specific about. Then we docked the ship’s dog at a post outside and went in to get some ice cream. The purveyor of ice cream came back out with us, carrying a bowl of water for the dog. With all hands happy, we decided to get a better look at the old oyster house. MeTompkins is one of only a few seafood houses still operating in Crisfield. We walked between its two buildings, the larger of which lies in the shadow of a block of condominiums. To the left, out on the old dock, sat a wrecked car, with an oyster boat tied up next to it. I would have asked, but saw no one to tell me the story.
Goodsell Alley itself could tell a few tales. Late in the 19th century, during the heyday of the oyster trade and when Crisfield was the second largest city in Maryland, Goodsell Alley was the home to bars and bawdy houses, not demure ice-cream parlors. To deal with the ramifications of this new rip-roaring lifestyle, Crisfield