At the center of Fergie Fest is a self-deprecating arts benefactor

No one man gets an entire festival named after him if he isn't beloved by at least several communities, although Thursday's Fergie Fest - dedicated to bar owner and arts patron Fergus Carey - will be as much of a foulmouthed roast as it will be a genuine performance celebration.

Still, it remains an opportunity for local actors, comedians, and musicians to honor a guy who donates his bars (such as Sansom Street's Fergie's) for shows and rehearsals, hands out bartending jobs to starving artists, and helps arts organizations raise money when he isn't donating it outright.

The self-deprecating Carey thinks something else is at work. "There's nothing wrong with a lovefest as such, but I have no clue why they're doing it," says Carey in the same Irish brogue that he's used to sweet-talk many a Philadelphia drinker. "I think they're desperate."

In any case, Carey, 49, barely has time to consider why actresses such as Jess Conda, Lee Etzold, and Madi Distefano, comedians Chip Chantry and Doogie Horner, bandleader Andrew Nelson, and the night's host, Theatre Exile, will honor him Thursday at the Ruba Club. (Money raised from Fergie Fest will support Exile's operating budget for the remaining 2012-13 season and its staging of Bruce Graham's production about former Philly Mayor Frank Rizzo).

Along with running Fergie's Pub, Grace Tavern, Monk's Café, the Belgian Café, and Nodding Head Restaurant & Brewery - all of which he travels to by bike - Carey is on the board at Brat Productions and is an adviser to the food and drink space to come when FringeArts' new headquarters are created at Race Street and Columbus Boulevard. Then there's the pressing parent/teacher meeting at the school his kids (son Eamon, 8; daughter Degitu, 6) attend, before heading off for a brief trip to Mexico. He gave an interview while he and Eamon were studying Spanish-language tapes and packing straw hats in their luggage. That's multitasking.

"I'm looking forward to Fergie being on stage with all of the talent roasting him," says Exile co-artistic director Deborah Block. "We all know that he won't take it quietly."

Carey, a Dubliner who as a child had a pen pal in this city, hasn't been quiet since he got to Philly. He moved to Houston in 1987 ("and haaaaated it") before making his way to Philly the same year at the urging of his pal, whose family owned two local El Taco Grande locations. "I got here on a Saturday night, and on Sunday morning was selling tacos at the Cherry Hill Mall." Ole.

It wasn't so long afterward that he found himself drinking, then working, at one of Philly's most infamous dive bars, McGlinchey's. His strong suit there was being able to recall everybody's drink after the first shot - a true talent.

"I met Fergie at McGlinchey's back when he was bartending," says Block, at that time a young actress. "More than a month had gone by when I saw him again - and he remembered my name and drink. That was not because I was so memorable, but because of his special gifts, the gift of remembering names and making others feel important."

While Carey served Philly's theater crowd, more often, people found themselves after-hours at his then-home near McGlinchey's, which housed a remarkable number of costumes and wigs, Mummers stuff in particular. "What can I say? I like Halloween more than I like Christmas," says Carey drily.

Not so long after tending bar at McGlinchey's, Carey would open Fergie's in an abandoned pub space on Sansom Street. Then he opened another bar. Then another, and another. He co-owns Nodding Head with his wife, Christine Chisholm. Fergie's is now 19 years old, an age most bars in the city never reach. Why the longevity? Carey muses that in a world where things are often transient and fake, Fergie's and his lot are the genuine article. "We are very real," he says.

And, his fans say, very generous of his time, energy, and money. He has allowed Brat Productions to put on pub-plays, staged readings, Irish theater festivals, and happy-hour fund-raisers in his upstairs bar since that company's inception in 1996. Fergie has, says Block, "given money and beer and food and time" and, most famously, ran Fringe Fest's late-night bar in 2000 (complete with a kiddie swimming pool filled with ice and God-knows-what) and, after nearly two weeks of toil and sweat, he gave all the money to the organization.

"Who else was I going to give the money to? My bars were doing fine at the time. Besides, it made us more popular with that crowd, so . . .," Carey trails off. "They need more . . . more love, more help. And I'm just a girl who can't say no."

With that, Fergie - nonchalant, comically self-effacing - tries to explain away why he gives of his money and his spaces. "It's the aaaaahrts, man."

Block says it's in his DNA. "He takes responsibility for what he cares about. He gets support because he gives support."

Philly comedian Doogie Horner hosted his Ministry of Secret Jokes event at Fergie's for several years. Horner never paid the venue a dime for staging his mix of stand-ups and sketch comics. "No, Fergie never charged for the room, which was awesome," says Horner.

Fergie's also hosts open mikes every Tuesday - never a moneymaking proposition for bars that host them, yet it shows support for artists' growth - where he's been known to sing a verse or two. Is he a closet performer living vicariously?

"I really always dreamed of writing," says Carey. "I've scribbled things, but to say more about those jottings would be a massive overstatement. That said, if you want me to be on your board, I'll sit on it. I'll sit on anybody's board. Just ask me. I'm a whore."