By Eugene L. Meyer
Washington Post Staff Writer
Saturday, September 6, 2003; Page G01

In Port Tobacco, there is no port and no tobacco. Moreover, in Port Tobacco, there is no commerce on Commerce Street.

And there are precious few people -- 15 permanent residents, according to the 2000 census, making the Charles County town the smallest municipality in Maryland. The latest unofficial count stands at 16, plus Prissy, the town dog.

Any way you figure it, that is a big drop from 1990's tally of 35 inhabitants.

"We call it America's oldest ghost town," said Calvin L. Compton Jr., 60, a fourth-generation resident.

That may be true. Port Tobacco was first an Indian village and was colonized by the English in 1634. The tiny community was once the bustling county seat and also a major shipping port. In London and Paris, the president of the town commission says, they knew of Port Tobacco.

The town's heyday was before the Port Tobacco River silted in and the county seat moved in 1898, after a mysterious fire, to a new railroad stop known as La Plata.

For now, the 60 acres that make up the incorporated town, named for the Potopaco Indians, encompass three homes on the town square, four strung along Chapel Point Road, and two -- at least one of them unoccupied -- on Warehouse Landing Road.

That makes for a lot of peaceful and quiet living, except for occasional truck noise from nearby Route 6, which leads a few more miles to busy U.S. Route 301. From there, it is 24 miles north to the Capital Beltway.

Residents attribute the town's recent population decline to natural causes: Old folks died and children grew up and moved away.

"Our children have grown up, gone through college, are on their own and in other places," said Dorothy Barbour, 87. "I'm a grandparent and a great-grandparent. Next door is a grandparent. The ones across from me are grandparents. It's come to that."

In 2000, the average age was 55, compared with the state average of 35, and household income was also a lot higher, $100,000, compared with $61,000. Clearly, Port Tobacco is a different place.

Those subscribing to the Jeffersonian philosophy that "the government that governs best governs least" would feel right at home here.

"If that's true, we are the best in the world," said Jerry Volman, the town's treasurer.

The commissioners are unpaid, and there are no town employees. The town council meets on Wednesday evenings "when necessary," and often months go by without a meeting.

"We don't have much to meet about," said Compton, a commissioner whose family school-bus company keeps him busier than does town business.

Talk about pure democracy. Because there are five council members, a third of the town directly runs it, and five of the town's seven households are represented on the governing board.

"It's almost one commissioner for each family," Compton said. "There are two families that don't have representatives because they don't want to. Our charter says we'll have five commissioners. As it happens, we have five families willing to serve."

Nobody can remember the last contested seat. "We're a very harmonious group," said John Hyde, president of the town commission and the third generation in his family to live in the 1857 house his grandfather bought in 1888. "If they contest, we'll shoot 'em. We make them an offer they can't refuse."

Hyde, a funeral director, is serving his second term as commission president. "He likes to do it, so we reelected him," Compton said.

How much is the town budget? "We really don't do a lot. We don't write too many checks," Hyde said, referring a reporter to Volman, the town treasurer.

"We generate a whole lot more income than we spend," said Volman, who produced the most recent audit, from fiscal 2002. It showed that the town spent $7,499 and took in $30,399, for a surplus of $22,900.

State revenue-sharing plus property taxes of 4 cents per $100 of assessed value pay to keep the town's six streetlights lighted, for twice-a-month trash pickup and for mosquito control.

Volman, 66, a retired chemical engineer who is also a banker and land developer, fields most of the official calls coming in. "I got a call yesterday from the governor's office," he said. "They'd been trying for weeks to get in touch with somebody, just to find out who the current officers are."

The Volmans raised five children in what is called the Chimney House, built in 1750 and notable for its two tall brick smokestacks. Their offspring range in age from 23 to 40 and, naturally, live elsewhere.

The Volmans' next-door neighbor is Dorothy Barbour, who, widowed, came to Port Tobacco in 1983 when she married Robert Barbour, a widower. Since Robert Barbour, a lawyer, died in 1998, Dorothy has carried on at Stagg Hall, his grandmother's home built in 1732. She is, as much as anyone, the town historian.

"Things move slowly here, naturally, because we only have these few houses," she said. "But it's nice to keep the history, to look after the little place and keep it alive with us. We're going to have a garden tour next spring."

The "little place" became the county seat in 1681 and, by 1729, had a courthouse, destroyed in a 1808 windstorm and rebuilt.

The central section of the rebuilt courthouse burned down in 1892. Arson was suspected. "Three men took all the records out of the courthouse, put them on the grass, and burned the center of the courthouse," Barbour said. "They ignited it purposefully."

This came after the townsfolk had defeated a referendum to move the county seat to La Plata. Following the fire, La Plata boosters pushed through the state legislature the Courthouse Removal Act of 1894, and the move was made.

Who were the arsonists? "I happen to know," Barbour said. "They were well-known, but we don't say because the families are still here in the county."

Before the fire, the town had 20 shops, two newspapers, three hotels and 60 to 70 homes. Afterward, most of the town just picked up and left. Even Christ Church was moved, stone by stone, in 1904, to La Plata, to assume its place next to the new county courthouse.

The Baptist Church of Port Tobacco inherited what was left of the old court building. By 1949, the church had dissolved and a group known as the Society for the Preservation of Port Tobacco acquired the site.

Eventually, the state and county came up with $270,000 to build the courthouse replica, which was dedicated in 1973. An architectural landmark eerily evoking the town's past, it is open to the public spring and summer weekends and on occasional weeknights for town meetings.

The town pays the society rent for that privilege -- the largest municipal expense, $2,400 a year.

The society also owns what is known as the Catslide House, a circa 1720 structure with a slanted roof. For a time, after a 1984 restoration, it housed a children's museum, but it is now vacant and needs work.

While the town's buildings fell into disrepair, its government also became dormant. Then, about 15 years ago, Frank B. Wade Sr., whose son is a current commissioner, succeeded in reactivating the town charter.

Not surprisingly, property does not change hands often. About 25 years ago, the Volmans bought the Chimney House on the public square. That still makes them "the new people."

Barbour said: "We love the houses, look after them, keep them up. We're very attached to them. You don't have a desire to change your residence. All of us are that way. We have seven houses that are here and not much interest in getting rid of them."

But there is interest in new people who might build on the foundations of the old houses that were demolished. Barbour, it so happens, owns many of the lots and might be willing to sell some.

"The land was bought years ago to protect it," she said. "I own the square and the jailhouse lot behind the courthouse. There are a few of us who have the land. We hope someday people will be interested and build it as it was."

Then, perhaps, Port Tobacco will have to cope with an issue it has not faced in a long time: growth.