MELISSA BLOCK, host:
The word hon - spelled H-O-N, short for honey - has been part of Baltimore's working class lexicon for decades. But now, the term of endearment has been trademarked for commercial use by a local businesswoman. And as NPR's Jamie Tarabay reports, some in Baltimore aren't happy about it.
JAMIE TARABAY: To certain people in Baltimore, hon isn't just a nice thing to call someone. It's a person: that beehived, cat's-eye-glasses-wearing, working-class woman of the late 1950s and early '60s. If you've ever seen John Waters' 1988 film "Hairspray," you know what she looks like.
(Soundbite of film, "Hairspray")
(Soundbite of music)
Unidentified Man #1: Baltimore, 1962, the heyday of hairdos and hair-don'ts.
Unidentified Woman #1: We shall overcome someday.
Unidentified Woman #2: Not with that hair, you won't.
TARABAY: It's also a place in time - as Mary Rizzo, a historian in all things hon, explains.
Ms. MARY RIZZO: It's very much located in that sort of immediate post-World War II period, when the memory of Baltimore is all about these tight-knit neighborhoods.
TARABAY: Those neighborhoods were places like Hampden, a gritty group of row houses just north of downtown, originally home to white millworkers. Hon was a word they, more than any other group, used.
Ms. RIZZO: At the same time, the people who were outsiders were not welcome and often, those were people of color.
TARABAY: Even today in the majority African-American city, Hampden remains predominantly white, though it's becoming increasingly gentrified.
Along The Avenue, Hampden's main drag, is Cafe Hon. And behind the counter, in a hot-pink chef's coat and rhinestone glasses, is Denise Whiting, the owner of Cafe Hon; the Hon Bar next door; HonFest, an annual festival; and her gift shop, Hon Town - all trademarked. But she says she doesn't own the word hon.
Ms. DENISE WHITING (Owner, Cafe Hon): It absolutely belongs to everyone in Baltimore. I cannot take away noncommercial use of the word. The trademark has to do with commerce.
TARABAY: She said she was prompted into action when another business was manufacturing similarly designed products, and selling them at the airport. This was years ago, but most people didn't know about the trademark until a local newspaper recently reported it.
Her lawyer, Kathryn Goldman, sat in on our interview.
Ms. KATHRYN GOLDMAN (Attorney): A trademark that Denise had spent about 15 years, at that point, building - she built the identity for this. This is her identity, her brand.
TARABAY: But those opposed don't agree.
The halls of social media have been crammed with outrage that Whiting now owns something most people here say belongs to all of them. The hon tradition didn't begin with her, and hasn't always been associated with her restaurant, they say.
Ms. RIZZO: The reaction's been stupendous.
TARABAY: Mary Rizzo, our hon historian.
Ms. RIZZO: These folks have felt that their use of the word hon was part of who they are. And for Denise to be seen as someone who is just using it to make money, is to take away the meaning that they associate with it.
TARABAY: Dozens have picketed. Editorials in local papers have raged. Groups on Facebook call for a boycott of her business.
But on a recent night in Hampden, The Avenue aglow with Christmas lights and families out for dinner, three lonely protesters outside the restaurant were ignored. Inside, Cafe Hon was packed. Still, college student Rachel Avallone says, that word? It's a Baltimore thing, not a Cafe Hon thing.
Ms. RACHEL AVALLONE: It's basically said every other word. Like, my friend's grandmother literally says hon every other word. She's always just like: How are you, hon - or something like that. It's like, everything. If she went to the store, she'd be like: I went to the store, hon.
TARABAY: Not a name or a place but a feeling, she says, belonging to no one - and to everyone.
Jamie Tarabay, NPR News.