I was an Air Force brat until age eight. When my father retired in 1978, we moved from Dover AFB to Baltimore, Maryland. As a college and Jesuit educated, ex-Captain of the military, my father insisted that his children not pick up 
the local accents of the areas in which we lived, especially the Baltimore brogue, which seemed to grate on him the most. However, to me, an accent meant, roots. It meant you lived somewhere long enough to develop the local speak. I didn’t have the luxury of staying in one place during early formative years, and I think that is why one’s accent appeals to me and why I pay close attention to every accent I come in contact with envy.
My mother’s family is from Western Pennsylvania. If you listen to the local dialect, you can hear the influence the Scots-Irish-German settlers have on the speech to this day. My summers with my cousins were filled with “Drinking a pop (pronounced POWP) with a kielbasa (KOLBASI) hoagie.” My grandmother was always one to say “redd up this place” or “pick up this house.” A nebby nose is my Auntie D, who is the family gossip. My grandpa was raised on a farm and had a strong influence of Pennsylvania Dutch in his way of speaking. He would often mix leave and let (“Leave him go, he’ll be back”, “Let the dish on the table.”) and would add “need” plus a past participle, (“The clothes n’at need washed.”). A popular term spoken by Western PA locals, especially those from Pittsburgh is “yinz, yunz or you’uns”, although no one in my family really says any of these terms. My relatives are located in the more rural areas of PA and I’m guessing the “Yinzers” are the city folk.
My ex-husband was from Vietnam. His family immigrated in 1975 to Nebraska. As one of the few brown people in a town of very white, blonde people, it was very important for him to try to find a way to fit in whatever way he could. Early on he knew this was through speech. He had a perfect Mid-Western accent. Also known as, General American or Standard American English. This was one of the few things my father liked about my ex-husband. He would later go on as an adult to work in a sales position that required that he first speak to his clients over the phone. Because we have so many lovely, non-racist citizens in this country, who would never base their buying decisions on the color of one’s skin, my ex found his “white” sounding accent to be quite a money maker. But it took practice. Wine and whine were no longer the same words. Neither were, Merry-marry-Mary. He could have been an NBC anchor. Since English was not his first language, I’m not sure if learning to speak this way was easier or harder for him.
I remember really picking up on the Baltimorean (Bawlmer) accent when watching the news with my parents. The Inner Harbor, as we know it today, had just opened and at the time Mayor William Donald Schaefer, (later to go on as Governor of Maryland), was speaking about the attractions. Mayor Schaefer was born and raised in Baltimore City and had the thick accent to prove it. My father, a staunch Democrat believe it or not, even got a kick out of the flamboyant Mayor.
The accent stems from a combination of Baltimore’s English colonial settlers with influences of Irish, German and European immigrants. It is mostly spoken in the South and Southeastern areas of Baltimore amongst the white blue collar residents. Some say the accent is very close to a Philadelphia accent, however, the “Bawlmer, Merlin” accent isn’t just a way of speaking for the residents of my adopted hometown; it’s a part of what is known as the “Hon” culture. Watch any John Water’s flick and you may get what I mean. Spend time in the loving embrace of Baltimore, and you will definitely get what I mean. The tone is one of affection. When I think of an accent that conveys what it means to have roots through dialect, the Baltimore dialect is one that surely exudes this. Baltimore is known to be the biggest small town city in America. People die in the same houses they were born and raised. Out of towners are welcomed and always offered a second cup of coffee with a story. It is a comfortable city that is not often portrayed as such by the media. And they never, ever, get the accent right. So, whoever can interpret the sentence below, if you ever are brave enough to come to my great city, I’ll buy you a make-out session with our hot Governor, Berger cookies and a Natty.
“Hey dere hon, yoose all downey owe shin yet or say-leen on the Chest-peak? The wooders cowld dough. How bout dem Eh-oo’s? Jeet-nuf hon? Go-een Lit Litlee for some crabs and a Natty. Prolly cost bout hunnert. Soon as we done-ey warsh I’m go-een.”
