Marriage of Miss Phebe Baker Perry

30 October 1944 | Cincinnati Enquirer

The Rev. Jesse Halsey of Southampton Gets Important Pulpit

21 May 1913 | Brooklyn Daily Eagle

"I have loved this city as Isaiah loved Jerusalem"

6 December 1941

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“Regardless of rootage, every religious group would claim the same heritage—a belief in a God who is all powerful and loving and wise, and a belief in human brotherhood. Let us all join hands as such. Those ideals and ideas are boldly challenged today. All who stand for them had better stand together, or they will hang separately.”

The Messenger | 1940

Almost without warning death came to United State District Judge Howard C. Hollister.

Cincinnati Enquirer

25 September 1919

In the library of his home, Baker place, on Madison road, at Walnut Hills, a few minutes after 7 o'clock last night. Although not feeling well since his return September 8 from an extended trip with Mrs. Hollister to the Northwest. Judge Hollister did not regard his condition, to b at all serious. He contracted a cold while away, and complained of a difficulty m breathing. Yesterday morning Judge Hollister went to his courtroom and remained until 2:55 o'clock yesterday afternoon. He told his private secretary. Miss Bessie Colling, to phone to Dr. Emmanuel Schwab to make an appointment to see him.

On his way home Judge Hollister saw Dr. Schwab, who gave him a prescription and reassured him. Just before sitting down to dinner with Mrs. Hollister their daughter Evelyn, wife of William Perry, an Indianapolis railroad man, and two sons, John B. and George, Judge Hollister was taken violently. Dr. Schwab was summoned and Dr. Allen Ramsey also was called in. They did all possible, but Judge Hollister did not rally. He was fully conscious when he died. The cause of his death, Dr. Schwab said, was pulmonary oedema, superinduced by heart disease.

Transacts Court Business.

In spite of feeling badly in the morning, Judge Hollister attended to great deal of Count business. His last official act was to postpone the hearing from Saturday to Monday of the cases of Thomas Hammerschraidt and 12 associates, recently convicted of conspiracy to defeat the draft act, and who were seeking a new trial.

Howard K. Hollister, the only one of his children not at home when his father died, is in New York. Howard Clark Hollister was born on Southern avenue, Mt. Auburn, September 11, 1856. His father, George I Hollister, came to Cincinnati from Vermont, and for several years Judge Hollister represented that state on the Board of Governor of the New England Society. The mother of Judge Hollister, Laura Strait Hollister, was a daughter of Thomas J. Strait, one of the most successful of the early lawyers at the Cincinnati bar. He began practice in this city in 1826. On both sides Judge Hollister was of colonial and revolutionary stock. He had three great-grandfathers who were soldiers in the Revolutionary War. In his boyhood Judge Hollister attended the district Intermediate and High schools, he later took a course of preparation for Yale at Orelock Institute, Williamson. Mass., and, after entering Yale, was graduated from that institution in 1878, in the same class with William H. Taft, afterward President of the United States, and the late Judge William L. Dickson, who were friends of his days in the primary schools of Cincinnati. Another close friend was former Judge Rufus B. Smith.

Admitted To Bar in 1880. After studying law in his father's office Judge Hollister went to the Cincinnati Law School and in the spring of 1880 was admitted to practice by the Supreme Court of Ohio. He served as Assistant Prosecuting Attorney or Hamilton County In 1881 and 1882. He was elected Judge of the Court of Common Pleas in 1893 and re-elected for a second term, serving in all ten years on the Hamilton County Common Pleas bench. At the end of his judicial term Judge Hollister resumed practice of the law with his two brothers, Thomas and Burton P. Hollister. In March, 1910, his lifelong friend, President Taft, appointed Judge Hollister to be United States District Judge to succeed the late Judge Albert Thompson. During his nearly 10 years on the United State bench, Judge Hollister tried many cases, which attracted national attention. He presided at the trial and conviction of President John H. Patterson and other officials of the National Cash Register Company, accused of violation of the provisions of the Sherman anti-trust act. Later the verdict of the jury and rulings of Judge Hollister were reversed and the defendants acquitted. More recently was the Van Tress case. In which Roy Van Tress and his associates of the McAlester Real Estate Exchange, were tried and convicted of conspiracy to misuse the mails to defraud in connection with the sale of Oklahoma lands. Van Tress and his co-defendants were sentenced, but are awaiting the decision of the Circuit Court of Appeals on a new trial.

Fought County Organisation.

Judge Hollister was a strong Republican In national affairs, but (fought the Hamilton County Republican Organisation bitterly at times after his retirement from the Common Pleas bench. He was an elder in Walnut Hills Presbyterian Church and a devout member of that congregation.

Judge Hollister was married June 2 1887 to Miss Alice Keys, daughter of Samuel B. and Julia Baker Keys. The three sons of Judge Hollister entered the military service to their country during the recent war.

Parish Paragraphs, In Lieu of a Pastoral Epistle

March 22, 1931

The Seventh Presbyterian Church

In Cincinnati

Jesse Halsey, Minister

“I wish that you would put up with a little ‘folly’ from me. Do put up with it, for I feel a divine jealousy on your behalf.” –II Cor. 11: 1-2.

It is eighteen years ago Sunday that the present minister first preached in this church. Mr. Garvey and Mr. Besuden met him at the door. On the afternoon of the following Sunday (Easter Day) Judge Hollister and Mr. Ballantyne talked with him about the possibility of his becoming the minister . . .

This is from Ian Maclaren, my patron saint. (An elder is speaking to a young minister.) “There is just on thing that the brethren laid upon me to say, and you will not be considering it a liberty from the elders. You are never to be troubled in the pulpit, or to be thinking about anything but the Word of the Lord and the souls of the people, of which you are the shepherd. We will ask you to remember, when you stand in your place to speak to us in the name of the Lord, that as the smoke goeth up from the homes of the people in the morning, so their prayers will be ascending for their minister, and, as you look down upon us before you begin to speak, maybe you will say to yourself, “They are all loving me.’”

. . .

The acoustics in the church are bad. Two thousand dollars worth of acoustical material would cure it. But there is another way—a full house, and all hear perfectly! The hard surfaces are too many; but four to five hundred people will cure it. On Easter Day, with its crowd, you can hear a pin drop. If one day, why not other days?

The Canvass comes on March 22. The preacher will talk about money. Nothing sordid in that. The Romance of the Kingdom is tied up with its use. “Good stewards of the manifold grace of God.”

This from Carl W. Petty: he is describing two ministers, acquaintances: “one gives a brilliant performance. His sermons are literary gems, his delivery is faultless. But when he is through that is the end of it. He has a metropolitan pulpit, but he preaches in the suburbs of the great realities. He juggles skillfully with secondary issues. There is no urgency in his preaching. And there is B--, his sermons show carful preparation, but preparation for an event rather than a performance. His sermons do not scintillate, but they stab into the heart of things. Preaching for him means wrestling with stern reality, asking no quarter nor giving any. When he is through you go out convinced something ought to be done about it, and that you are a partner in the responsibility of getting it done.”

Tutti-Frutti (Stream of Consciousness)

Jesse Halsey

2726 Cleinview Ave.

Cincinnati, Ohio

Why had he come? Why couldn’t he have been sick; one of his headaches. They came Sundays when he didn’t want them; why couldn’t he have had one tonight?

The new rector sat uneasily on the edge of his chair. Then, realizing he was uneasy, or looked uneasy, he sat back in the chair and assumed a still more unnatural pose. “It must look that way,” he thought, “for he was trying so hard that it should not look that way.”

It was at the table of his leading parishioner, Judge Hill. The Judge sat at the head, the rector was at his right. Why had he come in these clothes? Everyone else had on a diner jacket. They would think he didn’t know; and he didn’t, he had to admit it. He had come from a country parish to the big city; how should he know that for an affair like this one was supposed to wear a Tuxedo?

The Judge had asked him to say grace. He had, in a perfunctory way, but all the time he was thinking of the slave of his grandfather’s, who was invited out to dinner and, when asked to say grace, had said, “Lord bless the bread, but curse the skunk.” Not that this table suggested the equivalent of skunk, but he had overheard the Judge’s wife tell his wife that sweetbreads were coming. Why hadn’t he followed his wife’s suggestion and worn his high vest and dog collar and Tuxedo, that was, he had heard, correct for a clergyman. This sack suit and this speckled tie, black and red dots; little red dots. Surreptitiously he looked down over his chin. Yes, how strange it must look. A red tie! Everyone else with a Tuxedo, white shirt bosom and black bow tie. How strangely that old man’s was tied. Let’s see—yes, he was Mr. Straley—or was it spelled Strahley? Never mind, even old Mr. Strahley, who was kept on the vestry because he once had been a generous giver, even he had a Tux, and knew enough to wear it, even if he couldn’t tie a bow right side out.

What would they think? Would it hurt him in his work? He had tried to be a man among men, didn’t want to be stuck up nor preacherish, so had worn a business suit and a tie, instead of a dog collar. A dog collar and dinner jacket, that would have been the thing but—with a start he realized that Mr. Thomas, the treasurer, had finished a story and that everyone had laughed except himself. What a fool the old fellow looked, laughing at his own joke, but the rector must laugh, too, and laugh he would and did; a little late. And then he wondered, was it off color? Men seldom laughed like that at stories unless they were off color. He hadn’t really heard it. What would they think of him now he had laughed at that kind of a story. Was it that kind? He must pay attention.

Now the Judge was speaking . . . they must make a budget . . . run a church like a business . . . what did the rector think of that? “Yes,” “certainly,” “surely.” But he knew so little of business, or society, not to wear a Tux; and at his leading member’s house; all the vestry there; he their new rector in fashionable St. David’s. What would they think of him?

“Yes, sir.” “Yes.” They would add another hundred a month to the poor fund; that would be enough.

Poor they must think him, or ignorant, not to wear a Tux. Anyway, his wife, (who was dining now with the Judge’s wife upstairs,) she was dressed appropriately. Why wasn’t she there, then they could look at her. They must have noticed that she, anyway, was properly dressed. He wasn’t stingy.

Sixty dollars more on the janitor’s salary? “Why, yes, yes, sir.” Sixty dollars would buy a Tux; he’d have one tomorrow, and, by George, no one would catch him napping again. But this was today—and here he was.

What was that? Didn’t his host know he was a dry, in practice and in principle? Why should he be humiliated before his men—surely that was what it was—champagne. It sparkled; it bubbled; it looked like that kind of a bottle; it was wrapped in a napkin. What infernal set-up was this? An effort to make a fool of him . . . he would show them . . .

Just then; “Parson have some cider?” from the host. Cider? Then it was alright. Why, of course, the Judge was a dry, too. He had known that. Why had he been so critical? That Tux. He knew it but, confound it, the thing was out of hand. What a fool to be so miserable . . . Here they were all his friends; his Board, his backers. Wake himself—he must. What did they care for a Tux? Or, he care? Or, what should he care if they did care? Why? No reason at all. Forget it. And, with a mighty effort, he concentrated on the budget.

And then, just then came, the sweetbreads. How he hated them. No farmer’s boy could like in’ards. Butchering days on the plantation came back: his olfactory nerves rebelled. He must surely leave the table. Again, with a mighty effort, he resolutely helped himself, sparingly to be sure, but helped himself. Maybe there were mushrooms in it; he could pick them out and pretend to eat. And there would be other things. Green peas, likely. He would make out, yes. Everything was good—except the sweetbreads. Butchering day . . . brains was it, or pancreas?. . . his old father had never worn a dinner jacket . . . curse it, what difference did it make. What was that story? He must add his bit of conversation. But he would choke, there were no mushrooms in it. He was eating sweetbreads, guts. With a gulp, he swallowed, then a big sip of cider—that was better.

The glass chandelier flashed overhead; the great oak sideboard carved and laden with china looked across at him. Thank God there was no mirror in it to flash back his red spotted tie! His glass was being filled. Why had he misjudged his host? The kindest of friends were these, they wouldn’t care . . . but they might. Oh, for a Tux!

“Good sermon the rector had last Sunday,” he could just overhear. He tried not to, but that only sharpened his auditory nerves the more.

“Good sermon last week.” “Which?” “The Babylonian Garment.”

They were making fun of him. That wedding guest who came without the proper clothes. That was the parable he had expounded. They were making fun of him—a wedding garment. “Friend, how camest thou in hither not having on a wedding garment?” No Tuxedo. And the guest’s answer. “And he was speechless.” Well, that was true of him tonight, alright. How true the old Scripture was—“speechless!”

Dessert was being served. Already his parishioners had discovered his inordinate love of ice cream. Once a year as a country boy, now once or twice a week as a city minister, he had ice cream; and so much of it, and so good.

“Take more, Parson, Mrs. Hill has made your kind.”

Tutti-frutti! His favorite. They had tried to please him. And he had come like this—a red dotted necktie—just like tutti-frutti .  . .He must look like some Holy Roller preacher with no Tuxedo. Why hadn’t he had some sense?

“Coffee, sir?”

No, he didn’t drink coffee. Maybe he’d better; it might straighten out his nerves and sharpen his wits.

The Judge had begun some of his best stories and soon he would be called on. What could he say? He had no stories. He had no proper clothes, why should he have stories? He, who didn’t know how to dress himself—no Tux, no toast, no good.

Yes, here is came. The Judge was standing.

“Gentlemen, our Rector, a young man, a gentleman, a scholar. God bless him.”

The vestrymen were on their feet. They drank his health. He bowed and thanked them. He started to speak. They were looking at him, interest centered on that red spotted tie. No Tux, a sack suit. They must be thinking of that, not of his speech. What was he saying? Red and flustered, he sat down.

Next morning at nine-thirty the rector was at the leading tailor’s being measured for a Tuxedo. “He was hard to fit.” “Those football shoulders!”

“Sixty dollars, sir, for this grade, and seventy for that with silk lining.”

“Better have the seventy, I guess. When will it be ready?”

“Two weeks.”

“So long as that?” . . . “Yes, a high-cut vest . . .” “And order me a dozen clerical collars . . . size sixteen.” “Thank you.” “Good day.”

At dinner that night the rector’s pretty wife was all animation. Mrs. Hill had called and they had driven to the country.

“You must have made a great hit last night,” she said, with pride in her voice.

“Mrs. Hill said the Judge told her how your Mexican stories charmed the whole company. They thought it lovely that you wore a business suit—‘no airs or society climbing’—something like that. The treasurer is glad you don’t smoke and the Judge don’t’ like a minister to button his collar in the back, except on Sunday.”

The dining room door swung open. The maid appeared with dessert. It was a mould of tutti-frutti ice cream.

“A surprise from the Hills,” said the wife as she sliced it down.

Judge Hollister Funeral Coverage

 September 29, 1919

HON. HOWARD CLARK HOLLISTER.

from "Cincinnati: The Queen City, 1788-1912, Vol. 3" By S. J. Clarke Publishing Company

Judge Hollister was born on Mount Auburn, September 11, 1856. His
father, Hon. George B. Hollister, came to Cincinnati from Vermont; was admitted to the bar in 1848, and was in the active practice until his death in 1898. He interested himself in all efforts for the city's welfare; was active in the formation of the republican party and in public affairs. He was instrumental in the establishment of the University of Cincinnati and for sixteen years was a member of the board of trustees.

Judge Hollister's mother, Laura (Strait) Hollister, was a daughter of
Thomas J. Strait, who began the practice of law in Cincinnati in 1826, and was a leading practitioner of his time. He also was a Vermonter.

Judge Hollister's ancestry was of colonial and Revolutionary stock, he having had three great-grandfathers who were soldiers in the Revolution. One ancestor was an officer in the Pequot wars and King Philip's war.
 

As a boy, Judge Hollister attended the district, intermediate and high schools,
and spent one year at Greylock Institute, South Williamson, Massachusetts, in
further preparation for Yale College, where he was graduated in 1878. He
studied law in his father's office and in the Cincinnati Law School, where he was
graduated in the spring of 1880, and was in May of that year, admitted to prac-
tice by the supreme court of Ohio. He was taken into partnership by his
father. He served as assistant prosecuting attorney of Hamilton county for
a year, 1881-1882. In 1893 he was elected judge of the court of common pleas
for the first judicial district of Ohio for a term of five years and was reelected
for a further term of five years in 1898. At the end of his judicial service he
reentered the practice of law, having offices with his brothers, Thomas and
Burton P. Hollister. In March, 1910, he was appointed, by President Taft,
judge of the district court of the United States for the southern district of Ohio.
He is a republican in national politics but has been actively opposed to the local
republican organization under the control to which it was subject for so many
years.

On June 2, 1887, Judge Hollister was married to Miss Alice Keys, the daugh-
ter of Samuel Barr and Julia (Baker) Keys. Some of Mrs. Hollister's
forebears were also of colonial and Revolutionary stock, and she is descended
on both sides, from some of the original founders of Losantiville (Cincinnati).
Judge and Mrs. Hollister have four children. They live on Madison Road in a
house built by Mrs. Hollister's grandfather, John Baker.