The Washington times., 1924-12-17
OLD UNCLE TOM
DIES At 70
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Newspaper Row called a night
liner or "sea-going hack"

Newspaper Row called night
liner or "sea-going hack"
Waited For Late Fares.
For almost a half century he sat
on the box of his old hack and
waited for the fares that came at
midnight, or maybe nearer dawn.
He made his stand around the news
paper offices and the old Press
Club because the fellows there seem
ed to stay up later. Sometimes
they were generous with their tips.
sometimes they couldn't pay at ali.
Uncle Tom never kept books
against them. AS age crept upon
him he began to call them ''my
boys" or my white gentl'man
frens." They calltd him "Uncle
Tom" and probably not one out OF
ten knew his last name. Characters
like this waather-beaten nighthawk
are institutions: last names do not
matter SO much.
In more recent years the auto
mobiles and taxicabs began to close
in upon the row OF night liners.
Uncle Tom was still at the same
old stand, but the fares" were
fewer and many of the midnight
crew passed by lie shaky hack ana
climbed in faster vehicle.
Mortgages Horse.
Rather wistfully Uncle Tom"
watched the march of progress lie
realized the night liners were pass
ing and his humble calling along
with them. Modern competition
soon was such that he had to mort
gage his horse. His dilapidated
hack wasn't worth a mortgage, and
the horse itself was getting feeble.
like his owner, but anyway a loan
was arranged. II Uncle Tom"
could have gone back through the
years and collected all that was due
him from the good fellows" he'd
taken home from the saloons and
the clubs around town he wouldn't
have needed a loan.
The mortgage became due, as all
mortgages will, ana Uncle Tom"
couldn't pay. A group of his for
mer patrons heard about it and paid
it off. But the horse was getting
older and more decrepit. 1t seemed
some nights he couldn't make the
grade at all, and going home with
Tom Carter and his nag was a
wearying ride.
Sells Horse for So.
One day the horse Just stopped
and Tom couldn't buy another. If
was no use, anyway, with taxicabs
and motor cars darling about him
and getting all the "fares." He
sold the horse for So, and two long.
time friends. dumb animal and
man. sorrowfully parted and gave
way to the newer day. Most of the
night liners of a few years ago
are now off the Washington streets
forever.
Uncle Tom" turned naturally to
his newspaper friends. Newspaper
Row had about passed, but tbe
National Press Club was a bigger
institution.
Mister Nick" said Tom, IT was
wonderin' il there amt somethin'
| could git to do aroun' the club.
I'm gettin' old, but 1 might do a
little cleanin' up or somethin'."
Sure Uncle, Tom" said Mister
Goes to Work at Club.
Git me a night job, Mister
Nick" urged Tom. You see. i've
been up night for fifty years and
can't seem to wuk in the dav.
time. Got to have Iectric lights, ),
And so they put him to work
at the Press Club.
Talked About Old DAYS.
All night long for several wears
past he'd polished the brass knobs
on the doors, swept up the cigarette
stubs, and puttered around the
place at this little Job and that
Indulgent members spurred him
on with praise as he grew feebler.
The door knobs were never polished
50 brightly before. they said. and
the floors were never cleaner. Now
and then he'd stop and, with short.
ened breath, talk about the old dave
ana that now vanished row Snf
night liners along Pennsylvania av.
enue and r street.
About three months ,aRo "IJncle
Tom" began rapidly to fail. The
club pensioned him, and back in
the room where they play dominoes
and bridge and hearts the fellows
passed the hat twice a week "for
Uncle Tom" Mister Nick'' and
Mister Bish'--a lot OF you read.
ers will know the names-sent or
took the money out to the home
OF the venerable colored man, and
no money troubles hurried his end.
Down South, from whence this