Frank H. Nelson of Cincinnati

by Warren Crocker Herrick

The welding together was again the work of many civic-minded men and women, and Frank Nelson was the fire which fused the different parts into a unity. "He made the Community Chest a platform upon which every man could stand," says C. M. Bookman, the Executive Secretary. His work in the formative years of the Council, particularly in the raising of funds for the first three years, was of untold value. As the Council achieved coherence and a consciousness of its identity, he went on to the larger work of conveying to the city the idea that in this cause the people of Cincinnati could be supremely united, above politics, and beyond racial and religious prejudices. It was his ability to interpret the spiritual basis of this work that made it a common platform. As a result, contributors felt their gifts to have a downright significance. "It is," he said, "God's way of making cities good in spite of themselves."

Frank Nelson believed so thoroughly in the work of the social agencies that the financial drives became a crusade, an adventure in human relationships. He took off his coat, so to speak, and plunged into the drives as one of the solicitors. The calls assigned him were the general run as well as the difficult cases. He canvassed people of modest means whom he didn't know as well as the large donors. As the calling was done by two men soliciting together, he often found himself teamed with a man whose occupation contrasted sharply with his own, once being paired with a distiller! In the personal interviews his was not the milk and honey approach, and he often became quite indignant if some did not give according to their means. On one occasion he called with Mr. William J. Shroder on a man who headed a large corporation but who refused to give commensurately, using as an excuse the fact that the directors were away. Mr. Nelson's feelings blazed forth and he blurted out, "You run this corporation, and you can do as you please," and with that he strode out of the room leaving his calmer friend to secure a gift of $500.00. Sham irritated him beyond measure. Again, at headquarters one day Maurice Pollak was holding forth in vivid language on the subject of people who refused to contribute, and he did not notice Mr. Nelson coming in behind him. When he suddenly stopped in some embarrassment, Mr. Nelson exclaimed, "Go ahead, Maurice, you are saying just what I feel but can't express so well." As he was a man of intense fervor, it is probable that he was better at interpreting the inner significance of the cause than in soliciting contributions. In 1922 he was elected the General Chairman of the drive, and from 1916 to 1939 was a director of the Chest.

As the years went by, Mr. Nelson became something of an "institution" in Cincinnati, and his popularity made him "fashionable" to the superficial-minded. Yet there was something decidedly spontaneous in the acclaim with which he was once greeted by over one thousand canvassers at a campaign dinner in the suburban city of Norwood. To a man the great audience rose when he stood to speak, and applauded with genuine emotion this Christian minister who represented Cincinnati as they wanted it to be. Always sensitive to the reactions of a throng, he poured forth such utterance as made them see the Community Chest as a great moral force, not as just a financial campaign. Their consciences were quickened by his graphic portrayal of their desires for righteousness and decency and fair opportunity.

He was always one of the speakers held in reserve for the crucial last days of the campaigns, and at the large daily luncheons held in the Hotel Gibson for the canvassers he was at his best. The following sentences from a newspaper report of one such address are typical:

You know what this Community Chest has done for this great city, how it has been, as the old seer said long ago, the river of life, flowing through the streets of the city, keeping it clean, refreshing it, strengthening it, heartening it, so that the tree of life, bearing all manner of fruits, through all the year, could grow upon its brink and spread forth its branches to shelter and give new vigor and hope to the inhabitants of the city. That river of life which we call social service is more vital, more important and more needed for the steady maintenance of the morale, well-being, and good life of the whole community than the Ohio River is, believe me.

By the power of simple, forceful speech, strengthened by his great love for people and his belief in them, he enabled Cincinnati to see beyond the horizon, to dream dreams; and by his uncommon labor some of these dreams became actualities. He looked at the city's welfare from the religious viewpoint, and in so doing commended religion to the religiously indifferent. He saw the practical value of spiritual things and the spiritual value of practical things. When, for example, he addressed the National Conference for Social Workers at Denver in 1925 and propounded the theme of Immortality, the audience was at first aghast, and then enthralled. He maintained that they had nothing to work for unless it was for eternity; that their business was concerned with souls, and that the souls of the feeble-minded were as much heirs of immortality as those of others more fortunate, and that no man has the right to condemn or stand in judgment. It was a bold speech to such an audience, and held their rapt attention; it was perhaps the more stimulating because it had been preceded by the scholarly and very formal address of the president of the conference. It was this occasion that produced a choice story which Mr. Nelson loved to tell on himself. At the close of the long evening two men were overheard commenting on the speeches. One of them remarked, "The first man was over my head, and the second just plumb crazy."

He not only made the Community Chest common ground for all, but he also enabled the churches to see it as their work, calling the social service organizations "sub-committees of the Church, doing for the churches the work that the churches want done and would have to do themselves if it were not for the Chest."

Frank Nelson's influence on the civic and political life of Cincinnati cannot be measured, but its power was evident and was revealed time and again through the contacts he had with civic leaders. A Roman Catholic priest said that many politicians went secretly to Mr. Nelson before expressing themselves on certain civic matters or endorsing certain projects. If some considered him officious, they could not have known his humility, much less his consuming passion for human beings. When he addressed public gatherings, one could gauge his power by watching the audience; as the sincerity of the man made his words convincing, even cynical faces "broke up," and the light shed by his stirring eloquence often brought tears.

Among the many tributes paid at the time of Mr. Nelson's death, was one given by the Reverend Jesse Halsey, the beloved former minister of the Seventh Presbyterian Church, who culled the phrase "An Unmitered Bishop," a title which is signally descriptive of the man by reason of the many civic causes to which he was spiritual advisor, and thus a father-in-God to diverse groups scattered over the seven hills and in the "bottoms." He actively furthered many humanitarian causes: the Juvenile Protective Association, the Anti-Tuberculosis League, the Branch Hospital, the Community Chest, the Council of Social Agencies, the Helen S. Trounstine Foundation, the Hospital Social Service, St. Michael's Convalescent Home, and many others. Now that he is gone, the long list of social enterprises ceases to be a mere string of activities and becomes a roll of drums.[11] His whole life seems to exemplify the words of the philosopher Bacon: "The nobler a soul is, the more objects of compassion it hath." His spirit breathed out upon men, and in his lifetime the city felt its beauty and greatness, drawing from his constancy the courage to endure. He protested impatiently against the nonsense often bandied about concerning the alleged immorality of city folk compared with country folk, and cited confuting evidence out of his pastoral experience to prove his conviction saying, "Heroes of these days are the poor people who live in our big cities."

One of the heroines of Cincinnati, though not one of the poor, was Helen S. Trounstine, a remarkable young woman of Jewish faith, who was responsible for making Mr. Nelson the first president of the Juvenile Protective Association. She was a pioneer in social service work, but her career was tragically cut short when she died at the early age of twenty-six. At her memorial service held in Christ Church Parish House January 21, 1917, Mr. Nelson made the principal address and some of his words indirectly reveal much of himself: