Obituary of "Fireman George" a New Orleans character who expired on his annual Fourth of March parade. In the article it is mentioned that Peter Fabacher had Fireman George interred in a tomb at St. Joseph's Cemetery where the Fabacher family cook was also buried. The Fabachers were New Orleans brewers. Peter Fabacher owned the Peter Fabacher & Bros. Restaurant on St. Charles Avenue.
The New Orleans Herald.
March 12, 1914
Page 4
OLD VOLUNTEER FIREMAN.
"Nearer My God to Thee, Nearer to Thee."
Just as the strains that an immortal president at his death requested were dying away taps were sounded for George Palmer Holmes, the old negro whose yearly custom it was to commemorate the Fourth of March volunteer firemens parade of the old regime. The aged black breathed his last at Terpsichore and Dryades in view of several hundred spectators who were trying to do what they could for the picturesque freak.
The old volunteers of another generation have passed - most of them - though that meant nothing to "Fireman George," as he was called by the youth on the street - and he kept fresh the memory of what was to him halcyon days.
It was Fireman's George custom to march on the Fourth of March. No matter who wet or cold the day, he would hire a negro band, a carriage and horses - grays were his favorites - and he would turn out. Thus he kept up the traditions of the past - traditions that were realities along about the time horse cars were in favor in New Orleans.
This year Fireman George made an important announcement. Leaning on his hickory stick he shambled up to the newspaper officers about two weeks ago and said that this March would be "the latest parade I'se will be in, boss." His prophecy proved only too true.
March 3, last Wednesday, turned out a raw, blistery day, since March comes in like a lion, and so old George, with the weight of years hanging heavily on his frame, said he "Jist couldn't get out 'till the day after." March 5 dawned cold, though clear and the veteran decided he would make the best of his small means "wid jist a little band."
Accordingly, he started out, and passersby heard the old familiar tunes from wheezy cornets and drums of a juvenile aggregation of three or four pickaninnies. The parade, with old George dressed in his numerous decorations that have made him near-famous, reached Terpsichore, on Dryades, when George gave a gasp and asked the leader of the band to stop just a moment. He staggered, about to go into a corner drug store, then asked someone to lift him back into the carriage.
In his carriage, in duty to the last old George expired a few minutes later. But before he went he asked the band to play an old favorite, "Nearer My God, to Thee." The leader acquiesced, and wheezy strains of the immortal hymn sounded on the crowded thoroughfare.
Peter Fabacher and Alvin T. Stumpf paid his funeral expenses. Mr. Fabacher made arrangements to have his body interred in St. Joseph's Cemetery, on Washington Avenue, in the vault he purchased years ago and where reposes the body of an old colored cook of the Fabacher family.
The New Orleans Herald.
March 12, 1914
Page 4
OLD VOLUNTEER FIREMAN.
"Nearer My God to Thee, Nearer to Thee."
Just as the strains that an immortal president at his death requested were dying away taps were sounded for George Palmer Holmes, the old negro whose yearly custom it was to commemorate the Fourth of March volunteer firemens parade of the old regime. The aged black breathed his last at Terpsichore and Dryades in view of several hundred spectators who were trying to do what they could for the picturesque freak.
The old volunteers of another generation have passed - most of them - though that meant nothing to "Fireman George," as he was called by the youth on the street - and he kept fresh the memory of what was to him halcyon days.
It was Fireman's George custom to march on the Fourth of March. No matter who wet or cold the day, he would hire a negro band, a carriage and horses - grays were his favorites - and he would turn out. Thus he kept up the traditions of the past - traditions that were realities along about the time horse cars were in favor in New Orleans.
This year Fireman George made an important announcement. Leaning on his hickory stick he shambled up to the newspaper officers about two weeks ago and said that this March would be "the latest parade I'se will be in, boss." His prophecy proved only too true.
March 3, last Wednesday, turned out a raw, blistery day, since March comes in like a lion, and so old George, with the weight of years hanging heavily on his frame, said he "Jist couldn't get out 'till the day after." March 5 dawned cold, though clear and the veteran decided he would make the best of his small means "wid jist a little band."
Accordingly, he started out, and passersby heard the old familiar tunes from wheezy cornets and drums of a juvenile aggregation of three or four pickaninnies. The parade, with old George dressed in his numerous decorations that have made him near-famous, reached Terpsichore, on Dryades, when George gave a gasp and asked the leader of the band to stop just a moment. He staggered, about to go into a corner drug store, then asked someone to lift him back into the carriage.
In his carriage, in duty to the last old George expired a few minutes later. But before he went he asked the band to play an old favorite, "Nearer My God, to Thee." The leader acquiesced, and wheezy strains of the immortal hymn sounded on the crowded thoroughfare.
Peter Fabacher and Alvin T. Stumpf paid his funeral expenses. Mr. Fabacher made arrangements to have his body interred in St. Joseph's Cemetery, on Washington Avenue, in the vault he purchased years ago and where reposes the body of an old colored cook of the Fabacher family.
Obituary of "Fireman George" a New Orleans character who expired on his annual Fourth of March parade. In the article it is mentioned that Peter Fabacher had Fireman George interred in a tomb at St. Joseph's Cemetery where the Fabacher family cook was also buried. The Fabachers were New Orleans brewers. Peter Fabacher owned the Peter Fabacher & Bros. Restaurant on St. Charles Avenue.
The New Orleans Herald.
March 12, 1914
Page 4
OLD VOLUNTEER FIREMAN.
"Nearer My God to Thee, Nearer to Thee."
Just as the strains that an immortal president at his death requested were dying away taps were sounded for George Palmer Holmes, the old negro whose yearly custom it was to commemorate the Fourth of March volunteer firemens parade of the old regime. The aged black breathed his last at Terpsichore and Dryades in view of several hundred spectators who were trying to do what they could for the picturesque freak.
The old volunteers of another generation have passed - most of them - though that meant nothing to "Fireman George," as he was called by the youth on the street - and he kept fresh the memory of what was to him halcyon days.
It was Fireman's George custom to march on the Fourth of March. No matter who wet or cold the day, he would hire a negro band, a carriage and horses - grays were his favorites - and he would turn out. Thus he kept up the traditions of the past - traditions that were realities along about the time horse cars were in favor in New Orleans.
This year Fireman George made an important announcement. Leaning on his hickory stick he shambled up to the newspaper officers about two weeks ago and said that this March would be "the latest parade I'se will be in, boss." His prophecy proved only too true.
March 3, last Wednesday, turned out a raw, blistery day, since March comes in like a lion, and so old George, with the weight of years hanging heavily on his frame, said he "Jist couldn't get out 'till the day after." March 5 dawned cold, though clear and the veteran decided he would make the best of his small means "wid jist a little band."
Accordingly, he started out, and passersby heard the old familiar tunes from wheezy cornets and drums of a juvenile aggregation of three or four pickaninnies. The parade, with old George dressed in his numerous decorations that have made him near-famous, reached Terpsichore, on Dryades, when George gave a gasp and asked the leader of the band to stop just a moment. He staggered, about to go into a corner drug store, then asked someone to lift him back into the carriage.
In his carriage, in duty to the last old George expired a few minutes later. But before he went he asked the band to play an old favorite, "Nearer My God, to Thee." The leader acquiesced, and wheezy strains of the immortal hymn sounded on the crowded thoroughfare.
Peter Fabacher and Alvin T. Stumpf paid his funeral expenses. Mr. Fabacher made arrangements to have his body interred in St. Joseph's Cemetery, on Washington Avenue, in the vault he purchased years ago and where reposes the body of an old colored cook of the Fabacher family.
The New Orleans Herald.
March 12, 1914
Page 4
OLD VOLUNTEER FIREMAN.
"Nearer My God to Thee, Nearer to Thee."
Just as the strains that an immortal president at his death requested were dying away taps were sounded for George Palmer Holmes, the old negro whose yearly custom it was to commemorate the Fourth of March volunteer firemens parade of the old regime. The aged black breathed his last at Terpsichore and Dryades in view of several hundred spectators who were trying to do what they could for the picturesque freak.
The old volunteers of another generation have passed - most of them - though that meant nothing to "Fireman George," as he was called by the youth on the street - and he kept fresh the memory of what was to him halcyon days.
It was Fireman's George custom to march on the Fourth of March. No matter who wet or cold the day, he would hire a negro band, a carriage and horses - grays were his favorites - and he would turn out. Thus he kept up the traditions of the past - traditions that were realities along about the time horse cars were in favor in New Orleans.
This year Fireman George made an important announcement. Leaning on his hickory stick he shambled up to the newspaper officers about two weeks ago and said that this March would be "the latest parade I'se will be in, boss." His prophecy proved only too true.
March 3, last Wednesday, turned out a raw, blistery day, since March comes in like a lion, and so old George, with the weight of years hanging heavily on his frame, said he "Jist couldn't get out 'till the day after." March 5 dawned cold, though clear and the veteran decided he would make the best of his small means "wid jist a little band."
Accordingly, he started out, and passersby heard the old familiar tunes from wheezy cornets and drums of a juvenile aggregation of three or four pickaninnies. The parade, with old George dressed in his numerous decorations that have made him near-famous, reached Terpsichore, on Dryades, when George gave a gasp and asked the leader of the band to stop just a moment. He staggered, about to go into a corner drug store, then asked someone to lift him back into the carriage.
In his carriage, in duty to the last old George expired a few minutes later. But before he went he asked the band to play an old favorite, "Nearer My God, to Thee." The leader acquiesced, and wheezy strains of the immortal hymn sounded on the crowded thoroughfare.
Peter Fabacher and Alvin T. Stumpf paid his funeral expenses. Mr. Fabacher made arrangements to have his body interred in St. Joseph's Cemetery, on Washington Avenue, in the vault he purchased years ago and where reposes the body of an old colored cook of the Fabacher family.
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