Peter Angelos, the man who owned the Baltimore Orioles for a significant period, passed away on March 23rd at the age of 94. My interaction with him was limited to a single face-to-face conversation, yet it left a lasting impression, revealing a side of him that often went unmentioned amidst public scrutiny of the baseball team’s performance. This encounter, sparked by a poignant photograph, unveiled Angelos’s quiet generosity and his deep connection to the Baltimore community.
It was in the late summer or early fall of 1995. While working as a journalist for the Sunpapers, chronicling the city’s diverse characters and stories, I became involved in sponsoring Bosnian refugees in my own Greektown neighborhood. Several found temporary homes with me on Macon Street, and I helped secure affordable housing nearby for families seeking safety and a new beginning.
This initiative was born from a confluence of events: the horrific genocide unfolding in Bosnia, the recent loss of a close friend’s father, and a noticeable decline in the quality of life in my neighborhood, a place that predated the wave of gentrification that would later transform Canton and spill over into Highlandtown and Greektown.
The elaborate funeral of my compañero’s father, complete with the burial of expensive jewelry – a practice I learned about for the first time – prompted reflection. It raised a question in my mind: what greater good could be achieved if such wealth were converted into practical assistance for those in need? This thought led me to consider what resources I possessed that could be of use.
I realized I had a network of friends and spare rooms in my home – space that could offer refuge to people desperately seeking shelter. Haunting me was the image of Ferida Osmanovic, a 31-year-old mother of two, found hanging from a tree. This tragic scene followed the slaughter of her husband and approximately 8,000 other men and boys in Srebrenica by Serb troops. This atrocity occurred in an area designated as a safe haven for refugees by the United Nations, a stark betrayal of trust and safety.
A few phone calls connected me with a representative from the Lutheran Immigration and Refugee Service. Within a month, Eldin Cengic, a young man who had witnessed his father’s murder by Serbs, arrived at my doorstep. His immediate request, surprisingly, was for Nutella, a craving he had developed since the war began. Peanut butter had to suffice until a trip to the store could be arranged.
Eldin was followed by another young man, a combat veteran against the Serbs, and then the Sadjak family of five. Despite having a three-bedroom rowhouse secured for them on Ponca Street, the Sadjaks initially chose to sleep together in a single room, a testament to their shared experiences and need for closeness in a new, unfamiliar land.
Support arrived from unexpected corners. Jewish synagogues in Northwest Baltimore, communities I was covering at the time as a journalist, provided clothing. Regulars at a local bar, known for their convivial spirit, contributed groceries. These “good-timers” even insisted on buying the Sadjaks a Christmas tree. Although the family were nominally Muslim and not observers of Christmas, they were delighted by the gesture and proudly placed the tree near their front window, a symbol of welcome and community.
However, space was becoming a critical issue at my own home. The insidious spread of drugs was evident on the street corner, with some of the dealers disturbingly close to home. Vacant houses, once the sites of my grandparents’ evening chats with neighbors in a more vibrant era, were becoming increasingly common. The specter of boarded-up windows loomed, threatening to dim the once-bright appeal of this corner of the “Land of Pleasant Living.”
While friends had generously provided desks and bicycles for the Sadjak children, the escalating neighborhood blight was a challenge beyond their reach. It was then that I decided to call Peter Angelos. Angelos, a man of substantial influence and resources, had roots in the very area I was concerned about. He had once tended bar at his father’s tavern, located at the corner of Eastern Avenue and Oldham Street, just a short distance from my Greektown home.
His success in litigating asbestos and tobacco cases, fighting for families impacted by these industries – many from neighborhoods like mine – had amassed him considerable wealth. This wealth enabled him to become the principal owner of the Baltimore Orioles in 1993, purchasing the team for $193 million.
Before recounting his response to my request, it’s important to understand the broader perception of Peter Angelos within Baltimore. Perry Sfikas, one of three Greek-Americans to have served on the Baltimore City Council alongside Angelos and Anthony Ambridge, offered a revealing perspective after Angelos’s death. “I’d see him criticized for the [failures of the] team and thought, ‘If they only knew how generous he is behind the scenes,’” Sfikas remarked. “It wasn’t just for the Greek community. I’d go to his office with a request from a constituent who couldn’t pay their medical bills and he’d call out to his secretary, ‘Mary Jo! Get me the checkbook!’”
This sentiment, echoed by Sfikas and others who were privy to Angelos’s private acts of kindness – acts he often instructed them not to publicize – was a recurring theme.
Baltimore County State’s Attorney Scott D. Shellenberger, who began his career working for Angelos, corroborated this image of quiet philanthropy. “Everybody went to him for help,” Shellenberger recalled. “I’d be walking by his office and I’d see his secretary shaking her head. I’d ask what was going on and she’d say some lady wrote him a letter saying she needed money and he’s writing her a check.” Shellenberger emphasized that, more often than not, Angelos had no prior connection to the individuals he assisted.
Armed with this understanding of Angelos’s character, I arrived at his office at 100 North Charles Street. I shared my concerns about the blight consuming my neighborhood, the same neighborhood where my father had delivered newspapers, possibly even to the Angelos family before their home was cleared for the Harbor Tunnel project.
My proposal was modest: perhaps Angelos could help acquire a house or two to accommodate the incoming refugee families. His response, however, was on a scale I hadn’t anticipated.
“This is what we do,” he stated, gesturing expansively across his desk. “We buy up five or six blocks, it’ll cost maybe a million dollars and you can move in a couple dozen families.”
His proposition felt overwhelming, like being presented with an impossibly large serving. My children were young, I had a demanding full-time job at the newspaper, and while I admired the impactful work of figures like Brendan Walsh and Willa Bickham at the Viva House Catholic Worker, the sheer scope of Angelos’s suggestion was beyond my capacity.
Moreover, while my editors were aware of my refugee support efforts, approaching the owner of the Orioles, a prominent figure we covered daily, for personal assistance felt like a step too far, blurring professional boundaries.
I politely declined his generous, albeit grandiose, offer, thanking Angelos and promising to consider it. However, even before I reached Charles Street again, I knew his plan was impractical for my circumstances. I continued to support my new Bosnian friends but abandoned the idea of venturing into non-profit housing development.
And what became of the Bosnians? For over a year, we shared enriching experiences: family dinners, baseball games, and navigating the complex challenges faced by newcomers to America, particularly those with limited English language support.
Whether Angelos ever revisited the idea of housing immigrants in his old neighborhood remains unknown to me. His focus seemed to shift towards downtown revitalization, including the purchase of landmark restaurants like Maison Marconi, which sadly remains closed since 2004.
Downtown Baltimore’s revitalization remains a work in progress, facing ongoing challenges. However, Greektown has experienced a remarkable, organic resurgence, exceeding any expectations I might have had 30 years ago. The westward momentum of Canton’s real estate boom proved powerful enough to transform an old trucking company at the end of my street into upscale townhouses. Coupled with sustained Hispanic immigration, the neighborhood has stabilized and thrived. The sounds of children playing on the sidewalks, speaking a language my grandfather would have understood, have returned.
In time, my Balkan friends, each pursuing their own aspirations for a better life beyond the city, moved on, mirroring the paths of previous generations of East Baltimore immigrants. Even the woman Eldin affectionately, if exasperatedly, described as a “pain-in-the-ass before the war,” found her own new beginnings.
The story of Peter Angelos extends beyond baseball and business. My brief encounter offered a glimpse into his character, revealing a man who, despite his public image, possessed a deep-seated generosity and a commitment to his community, often expressed in quiet, unpublicized ways. His legacy is complex and multifaceted, but the stories of his hidden acts of kindness deserve to be remembered alongside his more public achievements and controversies.
Rafael Alvarez has covered the City of Baltimore since 1977. He can be reached via [email protected]
