Hubbell Manuscript: A Family History of Rev. Will H. Hubbell and Jeannette A. (Imgard) Hubbell: A Family History of Rev. Will H. Hubbell and Jeannette A. (Imgard) Hubbell

By Kathryn M. Hubbell and S. Zimmerman

An eye-opening look at the accomplishments, tragedies, and sorrows experienced over a lifetime by Reverend Will H. Hubbell, his wife Jeannette A. (Imgard) Hubbell, immediate family, and extended family. This previously unknown and unpublished manuscript includes interesting tidbits of information about the Hubbell, Imgard, and Gasche families that cannot be found in the traditional Wayne County, Ohio historical reference books. Written by their daughter, Kathryn M. Hubbell, she relates family stories, social events, and activities of small town life in an entertaining manner. Rev. Hubbell served as pastor at the Dalton, Ohio United Presbyterian Church for 17 years and the Second United Presbyterian Church of Cleveland, Ohio for 26 years. A true treasure of the human experiences of a family during the first half of the 20th century.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Nov 14, 2021
• ISBN: 9781794844728

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cover-image, Hubbell Manuscript: A Family History of Rev. Will H. Hubbell and Jeannette A. (Imgard) Hubbell

Hubbell Manuscript: A Family History of Rev. Will H. Hubbell and Jeannette A. (Imgard) Hubbell

HUBBELL MANUSCRIPT. Written by Kathryn M. Hubbell; Compiled by S. Zimmerman for the Wayne County Historical Society of Ohio.

eBook Edition

© 2021 Wayne County Historical Society Of Ohio

All Rights Reserved.

Accession # 2021.014

Front Cover Image from The College Of Wooster Yearbook: 1925 Index

Front Cover Design by S. Zimmerman

ISBN: 978-1-7948-4472-8

Publisher: Lulu Press, Inc.

www.lulu.com



Group Image Caption: Image of the Jeannette Augusta Imgard and Will Herman Hubbell wedding invitation for Tuesday, August 17, 1897 at 3 P.M. in the August Imgard house located at 75 Beall Ave., Wooster, Ohio. Source: Wayne County Historical Society of Ohio, the family of Eileen Hubbell Mangham collection. Image of the Jeannette Augusta Imgard and Will Herman Hubbell wedding invitation for Tuesday, August 17, 1897 at 3 P.M. in the August Imgard house located at 75 Beall Ave., Wooster, Ohio. Source: Wayne County Historical Society of Ohio, the family of Eileen Hubbell Mangham collection.



Group Image Caption: Image of the marriage certificate issued for Will Herman Hubbell and Jeannette Augusta Imgard signed by Rev. James Oscar Campbell D.D. Source: Wayne County Historical Society of Ohio, the family of Eileen Hubbell Mangham collection. Image of the marriage certificate issued for Will Herman Hubbell and Jeannette Augusta Imgard signed by Rev. James Oscar Campbell D.D. Source: Wayne County Historical Society of Ohio, the family of Eileen Hubbell Mangham collection.

PREFACE

I Corinthians 13:11

When I was a child, I spoke as a child, I understood as a child, I thought as a child; but when I became a man, I put away childish things.

These words from Paul’s Epistle to the Corinthians explain, perhaps, why as children we attached so much importance to denominationalism. We were childish.

I have no recollection, nor has Wilbert, of ever hearing Papa or Mama make any derogatory comment about any other denomination.

The feeling which we acquired must have been in self-defense, as some of our classmates eyed us haughtily when we used the word Sabbath—certainly a far more musical and poetic word than Sunday—and which even today I use most of the time—and might inquire, Do you mean Sunday? or who thought we were queer because the United Presbyterians did not find certain forms of conduct acceptable—for example, making fudge or going coasting on Sunday. I’ll grant there might not be anything wrong doing either of these things on Sunday, but on Sabbath? No, indeed. Or who thought the Psalms we sang were inferior to the hymns—how anyone could choose the hymns in preference to the poetic grandeur and dignified beauty of the Psalms was more than even at this late date, I can understand. Don’t misunderstand me. There are many hymns which are very dear to me, and today hymns are sung exclusively in most United Presbyterian churches.

As I view the subject in retrospect, I am aware this denominational consciousness emphasized by our classmates was the childish desire of each one, including me, to make our church appear as God’s chosen. The pipe organ may not have proved to my classmates that the United Presbyterian Church was superior, but at least it diminished, to some extent, the boasting of the fourth graders. We could play happily together with only a monetary discord about this one subject, and this generally occurred on Mondays only. I am sure their parents were as unaware of this one note of disharmony as Mama and Papa were. When we had union services, naturally we sat with our Presbyterian and Methodist friends.

It was to a Methodist we owed the joyful experience of our first ride in an automobile.

Our physical welfare has always been in the hands of the Presbyterians except upon two occasions. It was a Baptist who made it possible for Papa to walk again, and a skillful surgeon who extended my life span.

Most of our education was under the guidance of Presbyterians and Methodists from the day we entered the first grade until we completed college, except for some assistance from one Catholic, one Jewish, and one United Presbyterian instructor.

Except for a few years when a United Presbyterian dentist lived in our neighborhood, we’ve been dependent upon the Methodists for dental care.

In our bereavements, the sympathetic understanding and personal interest of a Methodist Funeral Director eased those trying moments.

It was a Catholic huckster who always added to Mama’s purchase something for Papa when he was ill; it was an agnostic who told us to call him any hour of the day or night if we needed help.

Any reference to denominational prestige in the following pages merely indicate I thought as a child long ago, and though today I may be proud of my United Presbyterian heritage, I recognize and acknowledge that God works through all churches for the advancement of His Kingdom.

[Please note: all of the compiler’s notations and/or additions to Kathryn Hubbell’s original text are placed between [square brackets] throughout the text in the following pages. While every effort was made to avoid errors, any mistakes found between these brackets were those of the compiler and not the author. The original manuscript had no photographs or newspaper clippings and were added by the compiler.]

PK’S (Preacher’s Kids)

To the casual reader this title will mean nothing; to many it will recall miniature packages of gum; but to some, the select few, to the parsonage born and bred, it can mean but one thing— PREACHERS’ KIDS.



Group Image Caption: A 1905 photograph of the Hubbell children: the preacher’s kids. (left to right) Marie, Kathryn, and Wilbert. Source: Wayne County Historical Society of Ohio, the family of Eileen Hubbell Mangham collection. A 1905 photograph of the Hubbell children: the preacher’s kids. (left to right) Marie, Kathryn, and Wilbert. Source: Wayne County Historical Society of Ohio, the family of Eileen Hubbell Mangham collection.

Much has been written concerning the hardships of PK’s; even more has been said. Indeed, we could really feel quite sorry for ourselves did not the joys and blessings bestowed upon parsonage products, greatly outnumber the hardships.

To begin with, parsonage children do not belong exclusively to one family. They are the property of the entire congregation. This has its advantages and disadvantages. And if, as in our case, they are the only PK’s in the town, even though the town supports (I use the word with some hesitancy) three churches, there are still more advantages and disadvantages.

One of the disadvantages lies in the fact that there are two sets of standards for children; one for normal children, and one for preachers’ kids. While a normal child is permitted to dance, play cards, go to the movies, and read questionable books, the whole town talks and lifts its disapproving eyebrows if the PK’s do any of these things. The town had no movies, and incidentally still has none, so that was a temptation we did not need to resist. Dancing and card playing were unknown terms in my vocabulary, until I was living in the city.

No, the two sets of standards which confronted children in my youth, were quite different. While normal children might go downtown any day in the week, or even on Saturday evening, this was a lustful pleasure we were forbidden. Why this was forbidden still remains an unsolved mystery to me, but it had something to do with our being PK’s and loafing on the streets.

We were, however, permitted one vice. No objections were raised to our playing baseball in the vacant field behind our house. Although the doctor who owned the field referred to us as his baseball NINE, the nine actually made up two teams. Among these were one Presbyterian, one Methodist, six United Presbyterians, and one whose religious identity defied any classification.

Those who may have spent the early part of life in a small community are quite aware of the denominational consciousness which existed, a consciousness which has practically disappeared today.

Perhaps, because the imposing brick edifices, which housed the Presbyterians and the Methodists, occupied diagonal corners of the main street, while our little white structure stood a good 500 feet back, perhaps this gave their members a feeling of superiority; or possibly it was because they sang spritely hymns, while we clung to the dignified beauty of the Psalms—at any rate, whatever the cause, our sophisticated classmates, be they Presbyterian or Methodist, always let it be distinctly understood that they belonged to the ELECT. While our sixth sense cautioned us that it would be well not to mention this at home, we were constantly on the defensive in the classroom or on the playground in case anyone should make a slighting remark about our church.

I’ve digressed a moment to make this explanation, so that any further reference to denominational prestige may be understood. And now let’s return to the two sets of standard imposed upon children.

It was amusing to everyone, but the family, if a child forgot his speech for a Sabbath School entertainment; it was the talk of the town when the preacher’s kid forgot a speech that had been given to her only a half hour before the program began. The sting rankles to this day. Other children could do as they pleased at recess. They could run and jump and SCREAM. They could go out, even in the coldest weather, without cap or coat, but not the PK’s. Our conduct must be of the most decorous nature, and even in mild spring weather we must be warmly dressed. Nothing escaped the eagle eye of the parishioner who lived near the school. One mild day in April, Marie had gone out rashly at recess without her muffler. When she arrived home at noon, Papa met her at the door and reprimanded her for not dressing properly at recess. For a moment, seven-year-old Marie was stunned to learn that he knew. Then her brown eyes grew stormy, and she tossed her curly head. I know who told you, she cried. I’ll NEVER forgive her. But by supper time, Marie was quite willing to go to the parishioner’s and borrow the yeast for the Saturday’s baking. She knew she would be given a sugar cookie to munch on the way home.

At the age of five, I was seriously ill for six weeks with an abscessed neck. How I got it, Mama and Papa could not imagine. They were not long left in ignorance. Sick as I was, I recall how I hated Marcellus [Marcellus Anderson] when I heard him at the door. He had come to deliver a message for his mother who had seen me sitting on a cold, damp, stone step the previous week, and was sure I had taken cold, and the abscess was the result. Doubtless she was right, but it did not endear her to me, and I’ve disliked Marcellus all these years because of his part in it. And THEY didn’t even belong to our church.



Group Image Caption: Report of Kathryn Hubbell’s neck abscess as printed in the Dalton Gazette newspaper dated March 25, 1909 p.5 Report of Kathryn Hubbell’s neck abscess as printed in the Dalton Gazette newspaper dated March 25, 1909 p.5

However, even the abscess had its advantages since eventually I recovered. I’ll never forget the day, Miss Cully [Ada B. Cully], a staunch Presbyterian, who was Marie’s teacher, brought me some pussy willows. I’ve loved the soft satiny buds ever since. Nor shall I forget that Mr. Gardiner [Robert M. Gardiner] drove nine miles over mud roads with horse and buggy to get me some grapefruit. No one in town had ever seen any, but he had heard of them and thought they might tempt my lagging appetite. Many were the alluring dishes brought for me; even the Presbyterians and the Methodists let down the denominational barriers and were liberal in their attention and gifts. And the town’s worst drunkard whom Papa (who was mayor as well as minister) had fined and locked in jail countless times, was eager to be of service, and drove fourteen miles one stormy night when the doctor said I needed a specialist. When the abscess had been lanced, my appetite returned with a bound, and I hungrily demanded peach pie. By late afternoon, more peach pies had arrived than we could comfortably digest in several days, and it was some years before any of us could do real justice to peach pie again.

Quilting parties were a most fascinating form of entertainment to me. The fun was somewhat hampered when my formal education began, but until I was six, I was always invited to the quiltings, and always went. Please note that I was INVITED; other children were not invited. This was a special treat extended to me because I was the preacher’s kid. Mama didn’t have to take me, for Papa was a first-rate baby-sitter.

At nine in the morning, everybody piled into a big bob sled, and away we would go. Since I was supposedly a model child, it meant that I must not annoy anyone with my talking, but I gleaned much from listening, and my Peter Rabbit book and my favorite doll always entertained me until the dinner hour. Whoever has not been a guest at a quilting-party dinner has missed one of life’s rare treats. There was always a special treat when the quilting was at Mrs. McAffee’s [Margaret Anna (Stinson) McAfee], for after dinner her sister [either Elizabeth Jane Stinson or Sarah Isabelle (Stinson) Wynn] would take me to the loom room and allow me to watch her weaving rugs. The rhythmic music of the shuttle and the deft movement of her hands intrigued me more than the quilting did. Always before we started home, the hostess would give me a big red apple, some popcorn, or a bag of hickory nuts to be shared with Wilbert and Marie when we reached home.

In school, we had not only the honor of the family to uphold, but that of the church as well. Every Friday there was a spell-down. Several times, the Methodists almost snatched the honor from us, but the knowledge that the Lord was with the righteous availed much, and my adversary was spelled down.

Saturday night was a busy time in our household in our preparation for the Sabbath. Shoes must be polished, coffee ground for breakfast, sufficient corn shelled for the chickens, enough wood brought in to cook all the meals for the day, the Sabbath School lesson reviewed, the Golden Text memorized, and the big galvanized tub brought into the kitchen for the Saturday night baths.

On Sabbath, breakfast was punctuated by a few questions about the Sabbath School lesson, a reciting of the Golden Text, a reminder to sit quietly, and a special admonition to Marie not to fall asleep during the church service. Never was there danger of my falling asleep; I was always afraid I might miss something.

Soon after family worship we would start. Wilbert, his shoes squeaking, generally led the way. Marie and I, arrayed in stiffly starched dresses, a perky pink ribbon on my straight hair and a blue one adorning her curls, followed solemnly. Papa, in his shiny frock coat and stiff derby, his well-worn Bible in his hand, and Mama in her carefully pressed fourth year navy, brought up the rear.

The PK’s always sat in the first pew, not because of the crowd, nor even by choice, but so Papa could keep an eye on us in case we became restless. As Mama sang in the choir, she was too far removed for us to see any reproving glances she might cast our way, and even if we did see them, it was much easier to disregard her signals at that distance, than it was to ignore Papa’s penetrating eyes.

Papa could always count on at least three people knowing the text of his sermon, for after the blessing had been asked at the dinner table, he would look around and say, Well, and who can tell me what the text was? or sometimes he would single out one of us in particular. How proud Papa and Mama were when a guest minister would ask that question, for well they knew that we had been sufficiently schooled to be ready with the answer.

On Sabbath afternoons while our friends walked the streets or were wicked enough to play on their porches, or go coasting in the winter, we sat in the house reading Bible stories and poetry, memorizing a verse of Scripture, and singing Psalms, never hymns on the Sabbath.

Perhaps to test the Lord’s wrath, or possibly in a spirit of defiance, Marie sewed a blue ribbon bow on a doll’s quilt one Sabbath. This was done behind closed doors, I assure you, for while the chastisement of the Lord might be doubtful in her mind, there was no question about the parental punishment if she were discovered. Half admiring her temerity, and half quaking for the disastrous results which were sure to follow, I promised not to betray her, and I have kept her sinful secret locked in my heart until this day. And strangely enough, though no disaster occurred, it was the only sewing she ever did on the Sabbath.

Living in a parsonage, places a special responsibility upon preacher’s kids. According to the dictionary, a parsonage is the home provided for the minister by the church which he serves. It is quite evident that the author of this definition was not a PK, because while a church may have owned the house, the minister, all too frequently, was required to pay rent. Such was our case. At very rare intervals, the trustees might consent to a small expenditure for the improvement of the parsonage. These were exciting occasions for the entire family. Well do I remember the year when not only the parlor, but the bedroom Marie and I shared, were to be papered. Although dark green paper was chosen for the parlor, for its durability no doubt, for some unknown reason the trustees selected delicately flowered yellow for our bedroom. We were overcome with ecstasy. But our joy was short-lived. Mama had given each of us a glass of cherry juice for a tea party. The ideal setting for this special treat was our beautifully papered bedroom; in my rush and frenzied excitement, I bumped my elbow as I hurried through the doorway, and the exquisite paper was splattered with bright red. It wasn’t only a question of what Mama would say, but what would the trustees think after spending all of that money to make our room so enchanting. We conferred with Wilbert who suggested we move the bureau over a few inches to hide the spot. It took the combined strength of all three of us to move it. This solved the immediate problem, but when housecleaning time came, and the massive bureau was moved to take up the carpet, an explanation was in order. After the clean carpet had been tacked in place, Mama moved the bureau to conceal the telltale spot again.

What must the trustees have thought, when several years later we moved, and the parsonage was redecorated for our successors!

About this time the growth of the rubber industry in Akron began to entice a number of families from our little town by the attractive future painted by the representatives from rubber companies. When several United Presbyterian families responded to the demand for workers, Papa became disturbed; not so much because the loss of several families would impair the work of our little church, for he had infinite faith that those who remained would carry one, but what would become of those who were moving to Akron? With not a single United Presbyterian church in the entire city, where would they worship? It was inconceivable that they would ever be happy in another denomination. After many hours of serious thinking on the problem, a solution presented itself. If this little band of United Presbyterians would stay together, it might be the beginning of a United Presbyterian Church in Akron. He suggested the possibility to them, and with a promise from Papa that he would go to Akron at intervals to preach and hold Prayer Meetings, they agreed to keep together. And it was to this little group of loyal United Presbyterians that Akron is indebted for the birth and growth of United Presbyterianism.

Sometime later Papa received an invitation to become pastor of a city church. After much prayer