Broom

Since 1975, Eugene S. Nardone comforted the sick of East Baltimore with his clarinet and saxophone.A longtime bandleader, the Broening Highway resident spent thousands of hours volunteering at Johns Hopkins Bayview Medical Center, making people feel better with a little music and conversation.Mr. Nardone's generosity was honored during the Bush administration when the White House selected the longtime Southeastern Atlantic Broom Co. supervisor as an example of voluntarism at its best through the "Thousand Points of Light" project.

Maria Broom remembers the magical moment when she knew, with absolute certainty, what she wanted to be when she grew up: a dancer.She was 6, and her mother had taken her to the Lyric Theatre to see what Broom describes as a "grand, traditional ballet" with a full company of dancers. Even now, more than 40 years later, her voice reflects the awe and excitement she felt watching the performance.She remembers "a whole village of people created on stage," the beautiful costumes, and scenery that included forests and houses, a day scene, a night scene.

My backpack's big,my backpack's blue,my backpack's very nearly new.Grandma sent it in the mail.She bought it at a garage sale.She says by now I'm big enoughto fill it with important stuff.I'll put my teddy bear inside.He'll like a little backpack ride.Here's my train.I'll take my blocks.I'll take my brother's baseball socks.I think I'll take his catcher's mitt -he keeps it soft with lots of spit.My mother hangs her keys up high,but I can reach them if I try.I'll take a cookie and a spare -one for me and one for bear.

Against a deep blue African sky, a majestic woman steals across the stage carrying a spear and the conscience of a nation. Lithe and sensuous, eloquent in every gesture, Maria Broom presents the mute, haunting presence of Mother Africa calling out to her children.The Baltimore actor and dancer is making her Center Stage debut in "Les Blancs," Lorraine Hansberry's play about an imaginary African country on the brink of revolution. She plays a silent spirit visible only to the main character.

Lee Brailles, a longtime East Baltimore resident and community activist who friends said greeted newcomers with a pie and a warm smile -- but gave troublemakers a stern gaze and chased some with a broom -- died of heart failure Jan. 26 at her Collington Square home.Mrs. Brailles, 77, was the "eagle beagle" of her neighborhood for the past two decades, baking cakes and pies for the ill or elderly and cleaning gutters and alleys.But she was perhaps known more for her no-nonsense approach to troublemakers and illegal activities near her Preston Street home.

ON THE WEEKEND that Kenneth Starr released his Official Big Book o' Smut, I went to America's Heartland to see how ordinary citizens were handling the continuing traumatic national crisis involving President Clinton. (Motto: "I Am Really Sorry, Although Legally I Did Nothing Wrong.")As you know if you read this column regularly, America's Heartland is located in Arcola, Ill., which is immediately south of its arch-rival city, Tuscola. To get to Arcola, you take jet airplanes as far as they will go, then switch to a "commuter" airline, which gets its name from the fact that "commuter" sounds better than "terrified passenger."

Visitors to the Carroll County Farm Museum will have a chance to take a step back in time this week, as they learn about the art of broom-making and the proper way to hold a Victorian-era tea party.A series of classes celebrating the post-Civil War period will be offered at the Farm Museum tomorrow through Thursday. The traditional-arts workshops are as diverse as tinsmithing and blacksmithing, papermaking and open-hearth cooking."We're very excited about the program we've planned," said Emma Beaver, who coordinated the workshops.

AT MY HOUSE, everyone is longing for summer -- well, almost everyone. To me summer equals ungodly heat, humidity, and a surplus of creepy-crawlies. Like snakes. And last summer was a very snakey summer.Truth is, where we live, summers lean toward the lively. Back in the inferno of 1988, it was miserable for people but just peachy for crickets. The hotter and drier it grew, the more they multiplied, leaping with abandon through the fields, around our house and, of course, into our house.So, while my husband worked and my newborn snoozed, I would kill crickets.

It was Saturday night in the beer tent, which is where everybody goes after the day's festivities at the annual Broom Corn Festival in Arcola, Ill. A group of us guys were standing around, shouting snippets of conversation over the din of the band, when we saw a man's naked rear end advancing toward us through the crowd. The owner of the rear end was walking backward and bending over, so we couldn't see his head or upper body -- just a disembodied, naked butt shuffling our way.Next to us, a group of women suddenly noticed the oncoming butt.

The Gypsy Dance Bringer appears onstage with a song in her heart, a cymbal in her hand and a basket on her head.But she is not a Gypsy, nor does she perform Gypsy dances.Inspired by the ancient Middle Eastern tradition of introducing music and dress to other cultures, Maria Broom performs the songs and dance of Africa, the Far East and South Pacific in a theatrical and educational show.Ms. Broom will perform at 2 p.m. and 3:30 p.m. Jan. 29 in Smith Theatre at Howard Community College for the Candlelight Concert Society's Performing Art Series for Children.

Carpenter Mike Cutsail and a colleague stood outside their work van on North Charles Street yesterday and gawked at the procession passing before them. Roughly 40 to 50 people, some in costume - like the man wearing a plastic top hat with daffodils sprouting from it - were sweeping past them, maneuvering push brooms and mini piles of trash. Musicians followed along, keeping the pace. "We're just wondering what the hell they're doing," Cutsail said. "It's not every day you see a bunch of people sweeping in the streets."

Kate Dallam, co-owner of the Broom's Bloom dairy farm and ice cream shop, was getting lunch with her daughter yesterday in Bel Air when a fellow patron asked her if she'd heard the news. "She told me, `Broom's Bloom is on fire, and the cows are still inside,'" Dallam recalled yesterday. Dallam raced home, where more than 40 firefighters had already contained the two-alarm blaze, but not before the barn had burned to the ground, injuring a state trooper helping to get livestock away from the flames, causing $700,000 worth of damage and killing 10 cows.

The members of Girl Scout Troop 7140 lined up at the prison's metal detector, eager to start their meeting. After a security officer patted their jackets, a few of the girls ran toward the locked front door. They knew the way, past the razor wire and dining halls to the gym. For some Scouts, a prison visit would be part of a field trip or community service project. But for Troop 7140, Maryland Correctional Institution for Women is their regular meeting place. Every other Saturday, they come to the Jessup facility, where their mothers are serving sentences ranging from several years to life in prison.

"Only the street-sweeper swishing his broom to collect fallen leaves from the gutter." `GET A LIFE' by Nadine Gordimer

Curling not a sport? Tell it to my hamstring. Sure, it looks simple on TV. Grab the polished granite stone by its convenient handle and slide it along the ice in one, smooth motion. Two teammates with little brooms tidy up along the way with frantic sweeping motions until your rock knocks away the other team's rock or your rock blocks your opponent's next shot or you put your rock in the middle of the bull's-eye. As simple as playing football on a cafeteria table with a wooden ice cream spoon.

Tibetan incense fills Maria Broom's tidy apartment in Randallstown. A gentle, a rhythmic bossa nova tune plays on her stereo. She wears an earth-tone tunic and brown leggings. Large chunks of amber - set in silver - dangle from her ears and she wears several silver and copper bracelets. Her voice is soft but strong as she welcomes a guest on a recent afternoon. "I'm a joy-bringer," says the native Baltimorean. "I'm a hostess. I create environments, I can go into any place and make the space more than welcoming.

Ski instructor Andi Broom knows a thing or two about caring for skin in the cold. Each winter weekend, Broom, her husband, Scott, and two daughters, Molly, 10, and Taylor, 9, hit the slopes armed with sunscreen, lip balm and moisturizers. Broom teaches skiing at Whitetail Mountain Resort in Mercersburg, Pa., while her husband volunteers to help his daughters' downhill race team. The Brooms spend hundreds of hours in the brisk winter air. "We have to be even more careful in the winter than in the summer," says Andi, who lives in Towson.

Robert L. Rosenberger, a retired president and chief executive officer of the Atlantic-Southwestern Broom Co., died of cancer Thursday at his home in Hobe Sound, Fla. He was 75 and formerly lived in Hampstead. Mr. Rosenberger was born in Baltimore and raised in Govans. He was a City College graduate and served in the Navy during World War II. After the war, Mr. Rosenberger owned and operated a chain of dry cleaning establishments in the Baltimore area. In 1966, he went to work for the Atlantic-Southwestern Broom Co. It had been established in 1907 by his grandfather, August Rosenberger, in the 1300 block of Baylis St. in Canton.

A celebration of Kwanzaa Maria Broom, a performer who teaches storytelling and dance at the Baltimore School for the Arts and the Park School, brings the principles of Kwanzaa to life through music, movement and drama today at the Catonsville Branch Library. Kwanzaa, created in 1966 by a black-studies professor at California State University, is an African-American holiday celebrated each year from Dec. 26 through Jan. 1. It honors the family and customs based on certain African harvest festivals.

A very important issue that we all need to be concerned about is global warming, and we will get to that shortly, but first we need to discuss the issue of what happened the other night in my kitchen. It began when I was in the bedroom, flossing my teeth (I keep my teeth in the bedroom). Suddenly my wife, who is not normally a burster, burst in and said: "There's a bat in the kitchen!" A good snappy comeback line would have been: "No thanks! I already ate!" But snappy comebacks are not what is called for in this type of situation.