Monday, October 25, 1999
Cincinnati's Literary Club quietly marks 150 years
BY JOHN JOHNSTON
The Cincinnati Enquirer
The door of the literary club downtown on East Fourth Street.
(Craig Ruttle photos)
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Music Hall didn't exist. Preliminary plans had been drawn for a suspension bridge over the Ohio River. There was no Tyler Davidson Fountain.
Cincinnati was still taking shape on Oct. 29, 1849, when a dozen young men met in a lawyer's office and formed a new group. They called it the Literary Club.
Tonight the venerable club, devoted to nurturing a community of writers, will observe its 150th anniversary.
"It's really an anachronism, in a way," says John Diehl, club historian and a retired engineer. "I don't know of any other place like this."
Members - all men - meet on Monday nights from mid-September to mid-June in the club's home since 1930, a brick, 19th-century building at 500 E. Fourth St., downtown. Most of the gents are gray-haired, and their gait, in some cases, has been slowed by age. But there's no lack of enthusiasm as they greet fellow members with hearty handshakes.
Before each meeting, there's time for a glass of wine or other drink. Time to chat. Then, shortly before 8:30, they make their way into the reading room, where an archway is adorned with the club motto, borrowed from Shakespeare: "Here comes one with a paper."
At least once every two years, a each member prepares a paper and reads it at a meeting. Some members write poems. Others delve into personal experiences. Subjects range from history to science to Cincinnati institutions. Political arguments are considered inappropriate, as are papers that espouse a particular religious point of view.
“Some of the papers are really splendid,” Mr. Diehl, 82, says. “Some are not quite as good. But they're still met with applause.
“It's the one night every two years when a man has a chance to really be king for the night.”
100 venerable members
Members include academicians, doctors, lawyers, teachers, journalists and clerics, 100 in all. Some are well known, others are not.
William R. Burleigh, chairman, president and chief executive officer of E.W. Scripps Co., is a member. So, too, is architectural historian Walter E. Langsam; Thom Gephart, retired editor of the Enquirer's editorial page; Albert Pyle, librarian at the Mercantile Library; and broadcaster/columnist Nick Clooney.
They leave their titles at the door, addressing each other by first names.
Since its founding, the club has met nearly 6,000 times. Meetings temporarily ceased during the Civil War, and again in 1918, during an influenza epidemic.
“I think one of the reasons for its longevity is that it's changed very little,” Mr. Diehl says.
Indeed, the club has always offered fellowship within the framework of a healthy exchange of ideas.
And it has always been all men.
“I think the emphasis on a fellowship of men is important,” says psychiatrist John MacLeod, the 74-year-old club president. Current members share that view, he notes.
Retired Enquirer editorial page editor Thom Gephart, left, speaks with Russell Flick in the Literary Club's library.
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The meeting format has changed, however. In the club's early days, members met to debate issues of the day. Although there is no evidence that disagreements ever raged out of control, at some point the focus shifted to essays, 35 to 40 minutes in length.
Every paper delivered since 1885 can be found in bound volumes in the club library. Nearby, a huge guest book contains signatures of such notable visitors as Samuel Clemens (Mark Twain), Oscar Wilde and Alex Haley.
Presidential members
Members have included Presidents Rutherford B. Hayes and William Howard Taft. Mr. Taft, records show, delivered a paper on April 10, 1880, titled “The Molly Maguires.” Two years later, he wrote about “Crime and Education.”
Last Monday, 82-year-old Bob Hilton Jr., a retired attorney from Mount Lookout, presented a paper titled “My Last Sermon.” Typically, he says, members choose an enigmatic title.
So what did he write about?
“Things you don't discuss in polite society,” he says. “No. 1, religion. No. 2, economics. No. 3, politics. And No. 4, sex. If you do discuss them, you're a boor, and if you don't discuss them, you're a bore.”
After the meeting, he had 18 requests for copies.
“There have been some totally hilarious papers,” says Dr. MacLeod. “If you read a paper without (getting) a laugh, you wonder if you've done your job or not.”
The clubhouse doesn't necessarily look like a place where laughter reverberates. It more resembles a museum, with ample antiques, old paintings and artifacts.
In the entrance hallway hang photos of members dating to the mid-19th century. Some are in Civil War uniforms; 51 members served with Union forces during the conflict.
Four openings a year
Unlike the club's founders — who were in their 20s — many members today are in their 70s and 80s.
“I have a notion,” Dr. MacLeod says, “that participation in the club promotes longevity.”
That may be, but nobody lives forever. Death removes more men from the roster than do resignations.
Membership is limited by club rule to 100 regular members, plus up to 10 honorary members. On average, about four openings become available each year. Anyone interested in joining must be sponsored by a member, then voted in by the others.
Men of all races are welcome. Dr. MacLeod says a conscious effort is being made to bring in younger individuals, but perhaps not too young.
“We want members who have enough life experience that they'll be bringing something to the table, as far as having something to say.”
Ainsworth Spofford certainly did. One of the 12 original members, and later Librarian of Congress, he left a message for members long ago that is is perhaps just as appropriate today:
“And when our career on earth is ended and our work done; when the frost comes to the head and the furrows to the cheek; when this human life, so rich in promise and performance, so full of hope and fruition; of beauty and affection; of joy and grief, shall close for each one of this Club, may we have others worthy to take up and carry forward the duties that we lay down, worthy to hand on the name and the fame of the Literary Club of Cincinnati to the ages that are to follow.”
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