“Never split an infinitive!” This is one of many memories of Clayton Hoskins who is one of our firm’s memorable characters. “If you don’t like 'promptly to give notice,' then say 'to give prompt notice.'”

Clayton reminded me of a bantam rooster. With closely-cut red hair, he always walked with a determined strut, full of confidence, heel first, as if he were on a mission. I remember him even dictating that way, marching back and forth in front of Jo Barrett’s desk.

I first met Clayton at a recruiting lunch hosted by John Eckler at the University Club on a Friday afternoon. Clayton and Jerry Draper joined us for lunch. It was my first introduction to the Club’s New England clam chowder and sticky cinnamon rolls. Clayton dominated the conversation, which wasn’t easy to do with John Eckler (but was easy to do with Jerry who as a young associate kept feeding himself cinnamon rolls). He enthusiastically described his drafting of amendments to corporate bylaws to cover changes in Ohio’s indemnification law. I envisioned from his description a master completing a complex crossword puzzle.

Clayton spoke and wrote in short, staccato sentences that matched his determined strut as he walked and typically were laced with asides of wit. He was an interesting contrast to John Eckler who would typically address a mistake by giving a parable. After John, in Clayton’s presence, addressed one of my mistakes as a young attorney by telling a story about a carpenter who missed hitting a nail with his hammer, Clayton, turned to me and said, “In other words, John, you missed the mark.”

John Eckler, true to his style, gave advice to Rich Simpson and me before we took the bar exam. John for years served as bar examiner including the year that Clayton Hoskins took the exam. At that time, the exam consisted entirely of essay questions answered in bluebooks. John described the bluebook that stood out most in John’s mind. The answer to each of the essay questions was “Here are the issues,” with a listing of them in bullet form, and then concluding “Anyone can answer the question by determining these.” Although John could hyperbolize, I have no doubt that this is how Clayton answered all of the questions.

Tina Widmyer tells the story of a call she received one afternoon from Clayton who was in his office. “Tina, I could use some building maintenance in here. Sooner would be better than later.” Maintenance arrived to find Clayton’s wastebasket in flames. Clayton had set it afire when cleaning his pipe.

The firm was small enough in my early days of practice that the office collected carbon copies on yellow paper of every lawyer’s correspondence for each day, stapled them together in a single packet and circulated the packet for everyone to read. Each day’s packet was circulated among the lawyers generally in order of seniority. Clayton would typically edit the letters, choosing one or another that caught his attention regardless of whether the author was someone senior as John Eckler or junior as John Beavers. I looked forward with both anticipated humor as well as anxiety to reviewing Clayton’s edits for each day: Humor if he had edited someone else’s work, and anxiety if he had edited mine. Clayton’s edits could reduce any three-page letter into a more precise one-page version.

Clayton and Margaret not only had two daughters and a son, but they had a huge extended family of foster children. They were part of the pioneers that began foster parenting in the Columbus community for abused or neglected children. I remember Clayton coming to the door of his Dublin Road home one day when I as a very young attorney was to give him a ride somewhere. As soon as I stepped in, he handed me a baby saying, “Here, you need to learn what to do with one of these while I get my coat.” It was the first baby I had ever held in my life. My experience didn’t last long because, thankfully for both me and the baby, Margaret almost immediately came to the rescue.

Clayton had two second careers after he retired from the active practice of law. He returned to his beloved Ohio Wesleyan (where he had received his undergraduate degree and, I think, first met Margaret) and served as counsel to its presidents as well as its board of trustees. And he became an avid writer of articles for numerous golf magazines and as well as author of his personal memoirs, A Jump in the River.

Several years ago after circulation of a story I had written for the Update about my lack of parenting skills with my older daughter, I received a call from Clayton. Clayton rarely introduced himself on the phone, but just began a conversation knowing that you’d immediately recognize him. “You might make a writer someday, John, but quit splitting the infinitives.”

Last year James Kilpatrick, whom even Clayton would recognize as a stickler on grammar, wrote in his newspaper column, “The Writer’s Art,” that the rule against split infinitives is now anachronistic. I can hear Clayton retort, “Well, he wasn’t educated at Ohio Wesleyan.”