Showing posts with label Billy. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Billy. Show all posts

Wednesday, November 18, 2020

Church Service is Cut Short by $5,000 Blaze in Annex; Memorial Painting is Saved

17 March 1941 | Cincinnati Enquirer 

Fire of undetermined origin cause $5,000 damage to the two-and-one-half-story stucco annex of Seventh Presbyterian Church, Madison Road and Cleinview, Walnut Hills at noon yesterday during services.

 

The annex, which connects with the church, houses the pastor’s study, a library, a music room, an auditorium, and storage quarters.

 

The fire, starting in the upper half story of the storage room, burned fiercely under the slate roof, Assistant Chief Edward Shearwood and Marshal William Cunningham reported.

 

First news of the fire was given to Fire Company 23, a square away at Madison Road and Hackberry Street, when a motorist, George Hack, stopped to report that smoke was pouring from the building. The company hurried to the scene, followed immediately by other companies.

 

So quietly did the firemen approach that few among the congregation attending services were aware of the blaze until the pastor, Rev. Jesse Halsey, curtailed the almost completed service as smoke started to filter into the edifice.

 

The congregation filed out of the structure in orderly manner. Many then joined spectators on the sidewalk to watch the fire.

 

Rev. Mr. Halsey had been informed of the blaze some time before by the assistant pastor, Rev. Samuel Warr. Rev. Mr. Warr told his superior that firemen were on hand and that everything was under control.

 

Rev. Mr. Halsey and Mrs. Halsey thanked fireman and the Salvage Corps for protecting an oil mural in Rev. Mr. Halsey’s study with tarpaulins. The mural hung immediately below the point where the fire was most intense. The picture is one that Cleveland Woodward painted as a memorial to the Halseys’ son. William Halsey, who, when 7 years old, was killed by an automobile in front of the church in 1927. The building in which the fire started had been used earlier in the morning for children’s Sunday school classes. The children were out of the building, however, when the fire was detected.

Marshal Louis Schraffenberger and Captain Carl Rogers started an immediate inquiry . .   


Persons associated with the church were summoned to a hearing in Deputy Feldmeann’s office this morning.

 

Too Much Competition!


“There’s too much competition!”


Thus did Rev. Jesse Halsey, pastor of Seventh Presbyterian Church, impart to his congregation yesterday the knowledge that a fire in the edifice was too intense to permit him to complete the morning worship service. 

 

Rev. Mr. Halsey had been informed of the blaze previously by an assistant pastor, Rev. Samuel Warr. The clergymen had hoped that firemen, already on the scene, would be able to keep the flames under control sufficiently to avoid disruption of the services. 

 

Thursday, December 5, 2019

A Living Hope

30 March 1929 | Cincinnati Enquirer

A Living Hope by Dr. Jesse Halsey, Minister of the Seventh Presbyterian Church

God and Father—Our Lord Jesus Christ—A Living Hope—The Resurrection—An
Inheritance Incorruptible—I. Peter 1:3-4

Easter comes with its message of Hope and Courage; like all deep things it begins in mystery. We don’t pretend to understand all that happened on the first Easter Day nineteen centuries ago, but we believe that the Lord Jesus showed Himself alive to his friends, and that in their new-found faith they went out to transform the world. Faith in God leads one to expect the great and mysterious. We live in no simple world; mystery—the mystery of life and death—surrounds us. We reach out beyond the things we see.

I believe first of all because I want to believe. One, at times, may argue the question of immortality and consider the case unproven, but let some one of his own flesh and blood pass within the veil and reason surrenders the place to love, so that many a hard man has set his face toward God in hope of one day seeing a little head on which the sun is ever shining. Napoleon said that the heart was a place in the body where two large veins met, and that a statesman needed to have his heart in his head. The same ideal possesses the formal philosopher. It is only when one says with Tennyson, “I have felt,” that he will experience the strong urge of the unseen world. “I can’t and I won’t disbelieve.”

This does not mean that our hopes are unreasoned and are but a fond imagination. There are good and sufficient reasons for believing, but first comes the attitude of mind and heart that is positive, constructive, and desirous.

We are citizens of two worlds. One is material and tangible, like water; the other is spiritual, unseen, intangible, like air. But the latter is no less real than the former. Our bodies are of the earth earthy, but we are spirit, living in a transitory earthly tenement. Some day we will slip off this “body of humiliation,” but the eternal spirit will take its way to God, who is the Author of life and our Eternal Home.

It is not selfishness that makes us want to live on, but a stern conviction that the best that the universe knows is that spiritual reality, which we vaguely call personality. The faith and hope and love that we have experienced in life—our friendships, all convince us of the value of persons. If anything in the universe has permanence, it ought to be these supreme values. Such values we enthrone at the heart of things in God.

And in Jesus Christ we have seen all lovely qualities incarnate. His life—so beautiful, so strong—we call divine. Is it reasonable to think that reality like this goes out in death? Can a few nails and a Roman spear end such a life? If death could destroy Jesus Christ I find my essential faith destroyed—faith in the reality of all human values; faith in God; faith in reason; faith in an ordered universe. Then the materialist is right—biochemistry explains everything in the realm of human life and faith and love and hope mean nothing!

So while we keep the feast of the Savior’s Immortality we pause in grateful remembrance of all the pure and beautiful souls who have walked with us in strength and gentleness and love. We are strengthened in the assurance that what was bound up with our life and made a dear part of our being cannot be lost; that they and we are safe in the hands of God our Father, who brought Jesus Christ through the experience of death into a new life which those who follow Him may share. God is the God of this and every world, visible and invisible. Character like Christ’s resides in Him, and He is pledged by the very nature of His being to honor the supreme qualities for which the whole creation labors.

Sunday, December 1, 2019

Phil E. Ziegler “pioneer in the organized labor movement”


6 June 1928
 
Dear Dr. Halsey:
I have been out of the city for the better part of month and just heard about your great sorrow. I sympathize with you deeply.

Sincerely,
Phil E. Ziegler
[grand secretary-treasurer of the Brotherhood of Railway Clerks]

Tuesday, November 26, 2019

Margaret "Peggy" Burchenal Rogan


Cincinnati Enquirer | 22 April 1926
20 May 1928
Roger Kemper Rogan to JH
Cincinnati O

Dear Dr. Halsey,
I know how futile words are at a time like this. I know how empty phrases are. Words of condolences help little. At the same time knowing from experience what tortures you and your wife are living, I can not refrain from offering you my sympathies in this your hour of bereavement.

My wife joins me in sending to you and Mrs. Halsey our love and our prayers.

May the same all wise God who took back until himself our glorious little Peggy give you strength and courage to carry on until this short time is past and we are all reunited around His throne.

Most sincerely yours,
Roger Kemper Rogan



Friday, November 15, 2019

Dorothy Kidd, age 11, 37th Auto Victim

20 May 1927 | Circleville Herald | Cincinnati—Dorothy Kidd, 11, daughter of Robert B. Kidd, comptroller for the Proctor and Gamble & Proctor Co., was the 37th auto victim of Hamilton county this year.

Thursday, October 3, 2019

Somehow Christmas just doesn’t seem like Christmas without you and Mother, Honey, Abbie, and dear old Freck and Bill.



 

25 Dec 1944 CH to J
Hotel Philadelphia
Westhampton, N.Y.
Christmas Day 1944

Dear Dad—

Merry Christmas! Wish we could all be there to wish you all that greeting. Maybe some Christmas we can all be together in the old homestead. What fun that would be. Somehow Christmas just doesn’t seem like Christmas without you and Mother, Honey, Abbie, and dear old Freck and Bill. I look back on those days in Cincinnati, what a job you and Mother must have had selecting the things for your children, trying to satisfy each and everyone of us. Then too we had a lot of Fairy God Fathers and Mothers whose Christmas gifts were usually those of untold splendor. I am using today a toolbox and a beautiful set of augur bits, given to Freck and me by Mrs. Smythe or Miss Becky many years ago. Even Freck’s old lathe that “Santa” brought him works in my shop. Somewhere in Southampton a train engine locomotor waits for future use given by Mrs. Reed [Pauline Carson Foster Reed, Mrs. C.L. Reed]. There are other things I don’t remember, but which I still have around.

Today we received a present that has been the trump of the day and the grandest gift imaginable from the swellest person I know. War Bonds for all four of us from My Dad—I can’t begin to thank you . . . I don’t know how, but any way we appreciate them more than words can express.

Today I am lazy and nearly exhausted—for nearly a month my machines have been busy sawing, drilling, etc., making toys. Then week before last I stayed in on my work full time usually from 9 AM to after midnight. In that time I made a barn, a train, a farm wagon model with team, a doll house, and drilled several cradles, in addition to the one that went to Sophie. Each and every item was sold representing about 50 dollars worth of toys. On top of that I made a gun for Chaddie and a rocking horse for Billy. I finished the latter at 11 last night. It is a cute little horse and cuter still when its young master swings into the saddle and rides away. He can really make it go.

Abbie certainly showered Chaddie with presents, we had a box from her and in it was a machine gun, a helmet, and a periscope. He is tickled pink with the helmet as well as the other equipment.

It looks as though we might have a white Christmas. It snowed last Monday and it snowed quite a bit, although there is still quite a bit on the ground it is going fast.  Today has been above freezing and it’s a heavy fog all day and occasional rain.

THANK YOU FOR MY BOND –BILLY

Fran just plopped his majesty in my lap and I thought he better learn to write early—

Friday morning I played Santa at the school party. Charlie is not at all sure it was Santa in fact he had a darn good notion it was me. When he came home I was working in my shop when I came upstairs he looked me over very closely. I had make up on, but washed it all off. My lips however showed signs of having been actual.  He mentioned the fact that I had paint on my face and he was quite positive that I was Santa. We changed the subject so may be he has forgotten.

There has been ice in the bay for a week or so, at last maybe with this thaw we are having I will break up enough to be able to go out and make a couple of dollars. If N.Y. has a meat shortage, which is threatened by the dealers or something, maybe clams should sell at a good price.

I wish you all could have been here today to help eat our 32# turkey. Next year I will have to raise some so that you can have one for Thanksgiving day and Christmas. Maybe a goose for New Years.

Our box went express last Thursday I hope it arrived in time to greet you today. Yours will be here I guess sometime this week as you said it was sent express on Thursday.

Thanks again from the 4 of us for your wonderful gifts.

A Merry Christmas—belated but in time to wish you a very Happy New Year.

Love from us all.

Your son,
Charles

Thursday, December 11, 2014

Season's Greetings | 1944

1944 Christmas Card | Westhampton

Westhampton, N.Y.
Christmas Day
1944

Dear Dad—

Merry Christmas! Wish we could all be there to wish you all that greeting. Maybe some Christmas we can all be together in the old homestead. What fun that would be. Somehow Christmas just doesn’t seem like Christmas without you and Mother, Honey, Abbie, and dear old Freck and Bill. I look back on those days in Cincinnati, what a job you and Mother must have had selecting the things for your children, trying to satisfy each and everyone of us. Then too we had a lot of Fairy God Fathers and Mothers whose Christmas gifts were usually those of untold splendor. I am using today a toolbox and a beautiful set of augur bits, given to Freck and me by Mrs. Smythe or Miss Becky many years ago. Even Freck’s old lathe that “Santa” brought him works in my shop. Somewhere in Southampton a train engine locomotor waits for future use given by Mrs. Reed. There are other things I don’t remember, but which I still have around.

Today we received a present that has been the trump of the day and the grandest gift imaginable from the swellest person I know. War Bonds for all four of us from My Dad—I can’t begin to thank you . . . I don’t know how, but any way we appreciatie them more than words can express.

Today I am lazy and nearly exhausted—for nearly a month my machines have been busy sawing, drilling, etc., making toys. Then week before last I stayed in on my work full time usually from 9 AM to after midnight. In that time I made a barn, a train, a farm wagon model with team, a doll house, and drilled several cradles, in addition to the one that went to Sophie. Each and every item was sold representing about 50 dollars worth of toys. On top of that I made a gun for Chaddie and a rocking horse for Billy. I finished the latter at 11 last night. It is a cute little horse and cuter still when its young master swings into the saddle and rides away. He can really make it go.

Abbie certainly showered Chaddie with presents, we had a box from her and in it was a machine gun, a helmet, and a periscope. He is tickled pink with the helmet as well as the other equipment.

It looks as though we might have a white Christmas. It snowed last Monday and it snowed quite a bit, although there is still quite a bit on the ground it is going fast.  Today has been above freezing and it’s a heavy fog all day and occasional rain.

THANK YOU FOR MY BOND –BILLY

Fran just plopped his majesty in my lap and I thought he better learn to write early—

Friday morning I played Santa at the school party. Charlie is not at all sure it was Santa in fact he had a darn good notion it was me. When he came home I was working in my shop when I came upstairs he looked me over very closely. I had make up on, but washed it all off. My lips however showed signs of having been actual.  He mentioned the fact that I had paint on my face and he was quite positive that I was Santa. We changed the subject so may be he has forgotten.

There has been ice in the bay for a week or so, at last maybe with this thaw we are having I will break up enough to be able to go out and make a couple of dollars. If N.Y. has a meat shortage, which is threatened by the dealers or something, maybe clams should sell at a good price.

I wish you all could have been here today to help eat our 32# turkey. Next year I will have to raise some so that you can have one for Thanksgiving day and Christmas. Maybe a goose for New Years.

Our box went express last Thursday I hope it arrived in time to greet you today. Yours will be here I guess sometime this week as you said it was sent express on Thursday.

Before I forget.

Charlie’s Birthday Aug. 5, 1936
Billy’s Birthday Nov. 3, 1943
Jean Grace Raynor May 16, 1944

Thanks again the 4 of us for your wonderful gifts.

A Merry Christmas—belated but in time to wish you a very Happy New Year.

Love from us all.

Your son,
Charles

Thursday, December 4, 2014

Jesse Halsey on Billy at 12 | c1932

Billy just came in. Billy is twelve. He was outfitted in a new scout uniform and a yellow handkerchief was neatly folded round his neck. He is new at scouting.

Twelve years old. It sets me thinking. My Bill is twelve too. Only he is not here. Where?  I don’t know. That is the trouble. I don’t know where. But somewhere I do know. People like Billy—my Billy—don’t’ just go away into nowhere. Not if life means anything. Not if there is a God; not unless we are all crazy. Maybe we are, but I don’t think so.

He came and stayed eight years. He was a real boy. Interested in everything and full of questions, some of which he had answered before he went away. More of which whe knows about by this time.

I watch the other boys about twelve years old and it sets me thinking. Asking questions dozens of them that I can’t answer. “My Father knows,” said Bill, one time to his teacher. And I say that too, jut that and leave it so—“My Father knows.”

But I say, “Why?” as Billy did. No answer comes to my most pointed Why. But none came to That Other Quester who said, as I say violently at times, “My God, Why?” No answer came to Him, and he said “Father.” And said it to the end. I’ll try and say it, too.

But Billy. I saw him last, his head swathed in a surgeon’s bandage. Not the ones that they did when they operated on his crushed skull. For after all was over and the mortician had done his best in a bandage, there came to our house two young surgeons, they had helped their chief in that double operation, as I looked on so helpless. One of them stayed all night and all the day till Billy went. He knew as I half guessed that Billy must go.

Three pairs of hands that worked as one. Few words, but nods, a flash of eyes, a gesture, on they worked, for hours—centuries it seemed to me.

So here he rested in his coffin, they came, those boys and put a real surgeon’s bandage on, neat and tight and trim and white. The last I think I saw was that and if I am conscious when I die I think I’ll see it then. It burned its white upon my memory.

I’m not morbid—often. The gay smile of that lad. His thoughtfulness, his joy in living and his love have stayed, and will. He’ll not come back. I know it now, though still I look odd times when other boys come trooping in.

There will be at confirmation this Eastertide some twelve year olds. Bill would have been with them. He loved the church. His father, I, a preacher and Sunday mornings early we came over together. He to open doors and windows and later to distribute bulletins and things. More than once when he was little, he slipped into the pulpit chair and sat down, before or during service. He loved the church.

When confirmation comes at Easter, I hope I’ll think of him as There, not here for if I do I may break down (only for a moment), but that’s not fair to faith, nor to the other boys who stand before me in the chancel.

"Seek Hundred 'Hungriest Children'" and "Foreign Mission Report Will Be Explained"

1932
"The minister dreamed that his eight-year-old Billy, who had died two years before, was hungry—hungry in the midst of plenty; and that on Thanksgiving day! The minister’s childhood was spent in New England where Thanksgiving was celebrated like our Christmas. Billy’s few Christmases had been spent in a time and in a part of the country where Christmas is Christmas. So, the next day our minister determined that Billy should have his Christmas celebration by proxy. He has that curious sort of Celtic (or is it Christian?) faith that convinces him that those who have “gone on” know what goes on here."

Wednesday, December 3, 2014

"The Little Levite"

Messenger | 10 June 1928
The Jesse Halsey Manuscript Collection. Special Collections, Princeton Theological Seminary Library.

Friday, November 21, 2014

"Eli and Samuel"

"Eli and Samuel" by Cleveland Woodward | 1930
Sunday, November 30, 1930
Cincinnati Enquirer 

"A few days ago we learned that a large mural painting picturing the dramatic story of 'Eli and Samuel' had been placed in the auditorium of the Parish House of the Seventh Presbyterian Church on Walnut Hills in memory of Wilmun Halsey, the young son of Rev. and Mrs. Halsey, whose tragic death occurred on May 20, 1928. The mural was presented to the church by Rev. Halsey and his family.

"It is a most appropriate symbol of the life and taste of the child, who ever loved the story of Samuel. The mural is the work of Cleveland Woodward, a Cincinnati artist, whose gifts for pictorial organization are well known. The work takes the narrative form, and the subject is one that many be admired as well as understood. Mr. Woodward selects the moment in Samuel's life when he hears the voice of the Lord and he comes to Eli in the temple. Both figures stand out in a great light against the dark light of a temple interior. The whole enshrines a beautiful associated thought, simple in idea and particularly appropriate as a memorial to a child whose heart was filled with aspirations and ideals. Such a little boy was Wilmun Halsey. He was much beloved by his schoolmates and teachers. At the Lotspeich School, where he attended, because he sought responsibility he was appointed bell ringer for the classes and every morning bright and early he was at his post, his eager little face showing the pride he took in his official position, and in the mural the face of Samuel was taken from a crayon portrait of little Wilmun which was done by Frederick Weber."

"Eli and Samuel" by Cleveland Woodward | 1949

Sunday, October 12, 2014

Thursday, April 10, 2014

Letter from Irvine L. Dungan to Jesse Halsey


With thanks to: The Jesse Halsey Manuscript Collection. Special Collections, Princeton Theological Seminary Library.

"generally gone to pieces"

Letter from Rev. Charles F. Goss to Jesse Halsey

With thanks to: The Jesse Halsey Manuscript Collection. Special Collections, Princeton Theological Seminary Library.