James Rouse
For Master Planner James Rouse, urban life is a festival
The people are the city.
They come in every size, costume, complexion, class and age, an ever renewing multitude, lured to ocean’s edge as inexorably as water sprites. From early morning until well past midnight, natives and tourists by the thousands turn Baltimore’s Inner Harbor into a continuous celebration: milling on the promenades, perching on the bulkheads, dangling feet in the drink, flirting on the benches, lounging in the outdoor cafes, ogling, jogging, strolling, munching, sipping, savoring the sounds and sweet airs. In their midst, jugglers hurl batons, mimes mime, clowns pratfall and dancers soar. At one time or another, the sounds of jazz, Mozart, marching bands, rock, Rodgers, Bach, bagpipes and bouzouki fill the air. The air is filled, too, with the fragrances of fresh-baked bread, cheeses, chocolate, roasting coffee beans, crepes, French fries, fruit, sausage, seafood, soul food, souvlaki, spices and herbs.