Jesse Halsey | 1950
David Horace Hallock, of sturdy Long Island ancestry, he
loved his native heath, and whether the ocean in storm, or the woods in the
autumn of springtime, he knew the roads and paths hereabouts and reveled in
nature in all her moods.
He was a student of history and the events of the past had
rivals in his interest only in the doings of the present. Not only did he
observe the passing scene, but he helped create it. Not only in the first World
War where he won the Purple Heart (though he never spoke of it), but in the
organization of the local Legion he gave his time and strength beyond measure;
a Patriot in word and action; in deed and in truth.
A good citizen contributing time, intelligence, and money to
good causes in this community; the Boy Scout’s organization owes its origin and
growth to him.
A scholar in his tastes with higher degrees from Hamilton
and Hopkins he pursued his historical research and became a Fellow of the
American Historical Society. But it was naturally, in his chose profession,
where his scholarly diligence bore its largest harvest. Preparing himself, in
the best schools of our time, for the practice of medicine, he, like his
grandfather before him, went into general practice and became the beloved
physician of many homes in the village. Such he continued, for many of us to
the end, but increasingly he turned to surgery and with long and diligent
application to that art became the chief of the surgical staff in the expanding
Southampton hospital.
But it was as an understanding friend that we, his patients,
came to rely on him, taking his professional skill unconsciously, as part of
that ministry of friendship that he rendered to so many of us.
Capable but never self-assertive, always at the call of
those in need he went his quiet way respected and beloved and now that his
busy, useful life is finished here, two verses of Scripture come home to us,
“He giveth his beloved sleep, He has earned his rest.” And this also, “His
servants shall serve Him,” and Somewhere out beyond our present ken his life
goes on—
“What is excellent,
As God lives, is permanent;
Hearts are dust; heart’s loves remain;
Heart’s love will meet thee again.” (Emerson)
*****
(More personal) David’s grandfather introduced me to this
terrestrial ball, and he, David (or Horace as we used to call him), was there
when our only child to be born in Southampton, arrived. His oldest boy
was born under the same roof that first sheltered me and he died in the house
built by my great-uncle, for whom I was named. Our paths crossed often, always
with a hail and farewell that now becomes more imperative but not permanent.
Three years ago, he pulled me out of the doldrums, climbing our steep
back-stair at the sacrifice of his own strength. It was that and a thousand
other “gestures of help” that finally, accumulating across the years, took him.
Like so many others, I am his debtor—and am grateful.
Within a week of his passing a reserve officer wired into the
Pentagon—“Available, dependable, expendable; Wire when and where.” Dave Hallock
was like that—available, dependable, expendable, always everywhere.
JH
