File:Sighting the Courthouse Cannon (15442334685).jpg

English: Since at least 1956, when my contributions to the process began, thousands of boys have straddled this relic of the Spanish American War and gripped the pommels. in the most popular perch just below the handles, their corduroys have kept the bronze glowing warmly, Further up the barrel the more rambunctious have imparted a soft sheen to the century old tarnish as they shinny up the massive casting to perch on the very tip, which is also corrosion free.

Located on the south side of the courthouse front yard, this old cannon was the other half of the twin attraction that drew school children to them like bee's to honey. After long hours of the sort of forced calmness that can only be induced in children by the liberal use of corporal punishment, the boy and girls of Immaculate Conception School would practically tumble down the hill from the school to the courtyard. There they would mimic the laughing fountain located on the north side of the walk, The words that had been beat back into their throats during the day now tumbled forth in merriment like water gushing from the font. The sparkle of their eyes and the sparkle of the dancing water made the southern circle a place the fairies of their Irish ancestors would surely appreciate. While not every child at the school came from an Irish Catholic family, names like Quinn, Callahan, Figgey, O'brien and Tunney rendered in Palmer method script identified the black and white marble note books of the children who gathered for the afternoon romp as belonging to some of the oldest clan on the island their great grandparents had abandoned 100 years before. And it would not be just one of each name either. No, the names would be found in large clumps as brothers and sisters of each family all claimed a small bit of real-estate for book bags and lunch boxes. Every afternoon, thus freed of excess baggage, the kids would turn the iron railing of the courthouse pond into the inner boundary of an endless raceway as they circled the pool, some racing a top speeds others seeming to stand still while all the time drifting in the current of energy set loose in Towson every school day at 3:15.

All of them would sweep away like the autumn leaves on a breeze when the Number 8 trolley rounded the corner and turned from narrow Pennsylvania onto wide Washington Avenue. Then in a single swoosh, the whole crew would abandon the circles and line up by the entrance of the great green electric machine each one waiting to deposit their dime in the coin box.