Evening star., 1925-03-30
A tale of old GEORGETOWN,

A tale of old Georgetown!
John Fogarty was 20 years old. He
had white hair and white moustache
and he wore an old high hat of the
vintage of Civil War days.
His little house sat just across the
road from the cemetery, a burial
ground that years ago gave way to
the march of progress. But when old
John Fogarty was baited by the boys
of the neighborhood IL was still Gods
acre.
"Stove-pipe! Stove pipew screamed
the youngsters, every time they laid
eyes on Fogarty. The tall hat was
too much for them. Boys will be
boys. Anything out of the ordinary
excftes their interest, and usually de-
rision.
Just what kink in human nature
this Is will require the services Of
several psychologists and educators
to explain. Old John Fogarty could
not do 1T. His only interest was in
| catching-he called IL ketching-one
of the little rascals. .'.-
John furnished huge sport to the
| boys. When they had tired of dig
ging fishin' worms, and running the
Washington boys back across the
creek, there was always old Fogarty
left.
"Stove-pipe! Stove pipe" they would
scream every time the old fellow ven
! tured forth from his house, the little
house across the way from the small
cemetery, the small house with the
| beautiful doorway.
There was rubbish in the ward and
| the siding needed painting. but the
| doorway was classic. Pure colonial
Years later IL was purchased at
fancy price by a lover of such things
and you may see II today on a GER
tain home out Chevy Chase way.
X y !: u
| Old Jorn lived alone in his tiny
house. Perhaps that accounted for
| his eccentricity. for no man ought to
have to take care of himself and a
house at the same time. 1t Is about
| all the average man can do to take
care of himself.
He spent his hours pottering around,
smoking his pipe, thinking back over
| the old days, talking to chance pass
| ersby, lamenting the state of the
| times
Il Kin remember when Mister Lin
| coin came over here once" said old
John Fogarty. History fails to record
| visit by the great emancipator to
| the little burial ground that once
stood at Thirty-fourth and Volta
| place. but old John swore IL was a
| 1dCt, dnO maybe he was right.
| AS long as Fogarty could remember.
| the boys had been screaming at him
/ about his hat. Years passed away,
and the boys grew up. but there was
| always a new crop of them to scream
| as loud as ever, 'Stove-pipet Stove
pipet Ya-a-a-aa!"
| Fogarty never even admitted 1t to
himself. but his life was made miser-
able by the kids of the neighbor-
hood. They, in the unthinking, cruel
way of children, never missed an op-
| portunity to insult the old man.
Old John could not poke his head
outside his home without hearing
| that cry: Stove pipe! Yaa-a-a-aa,"
! He got so he cooked his old red ears
to hear it. Seldom was he disap-
| pointed.
Being Irish, he never failed to wear
| the hat
What the boys would have hollered
had Fogarty ever issued through his
| pure colonial doorway in all the majesty
Of his gray hairs there is absolutely no
| way of knowing. Perhaps they would
have been so amazed at the apparition
| they would have been rendered speech
less.
But Fogarty wore his hat
You bet he did Let the little rascals
laugh. he would ketch one Of them yet
And when he did
John Fogarty would shake his stick
| menacingly.
= 4 = j.
One night, in the lonesome latter
years the Q street gang met to discuss
a worm-grubbing expedition. A rough