From "Cincinnati Post," September 5, 1899
He didn’t have to advertise on billboards or radio. He didn’t need a catchy telephone number. (For the record, his number was Main 103.) But everyone in Cincinnati, at least everyone who had troubles with the law, knew where to find Thomas Francis Shay at his office in the old St. Paul Building on the south side of Fourth Street, just east of Walnut.
Tom Shay (1853-1907) was the premier defense attorney in Hamilton County, and he defended them all—murderers, thieves and scoundrels of every stripe. Shay’s name was known to every denizen of the demimonde up and down Longworth and George streets, the thoroughfares of Cincinnati’s “red light” district. And not, it must be noted, for what might be the obvious reasons.
For example, Shay defended Kate Riley, described as “the proprietress of a well known house of ill fame” when liquor dealer Thomas B. Leonard attempted to shake her down for $111.50 that, he claimed, she owed him. It appears Leonard not only supplied Riley’s “resort” with booze, he often stopped by and consumed a lot of it himself. In fact, he had the nerve to file suit the morning after a “jamboree” at Riley’s establishment. Leonard testified Riley owed him various sums with very specific dates. On cross examination, Shay produced receipts, signed by Leonard, proving that every one of those bills had been paid. Shay then began reading a series of letters from Leonard to Riley suggesting their relationship went significantly beyond pure business. With typical courtroom flair, Shay handed one letter back to his client, announcing that it would be improper to read it aloud in court. The red-faced Leonard settled quickly and quietly.
When John D. Farrell, a resident of the Dayton Soldier’s Home, accused Kate Riley of theft, Shay again rose in her defense. It came out that Farrell scrimped and shepherded his pension every year into a fair-sized bankroll and then descended upon Cincinnati to paint the town red, as it were, for a week or so. After his 1884 spree, gazing at his empty pocketbook, Farrell complained to the police he had been robbed of $700 at Kate Riley’s bordello. Kate testified that Farrell had spent close to $300 at her place over four days but that was far from unusual. Some of her customers, Kate said, often squandered $500 in an evening. Then Shay got Farrell on the stand for cross-examination. According to the Cincinnati Post [May 23, 1884]:
“The testimony all along showed Farrell to be a consummate old fool, who comes to town once a year and blows all his money.”
Kate Riley was absolved of the old fellow’s indiscretions.
Shay’s courtroom tirades were legendary. The story goes that an assistant prosecutor was showing a visitor around the courthouse when they passed a rambunctiously loud courtroom. The visitor asked what matter was being adjudicated. The prosecutor replied that it was only a small case involving $2.50 and the United States Constitution. That’s a lot of exertion for $2.50, opined the guest. “Oh, that’s Tom Shay,” said the prosecutor. “He doesn’t care about the $2.50—he’s defending the constitution.”
On another occasion, Shay represented a man who had murdered his wife. In his closing arguments, Shay lambasted prosecutor Harry Hoffheimer, insulting him in very personal terms. After adjournment, Hoffheimer retreated to his office, still smarting from Shay’s tirade. The Cincinnati Post [August 21, 1907] reported that Shay cheerfully strolled into Hoffheimer’s room with his arm outstretched.
“‘All’s fair in war, you know, Harry. That was for the benefit of the jury. You know I didn’t mean that and wouldn’t for the world say anything like that outside of court.’ Hoffheimer took the proffered hand, and though they fought one another bitterly in many subsequent cases, they always remained fast friends.”
It was known that Shay had a devilish sense of humor. On day, Shay was in court, defending a man accused of murder. The victim had been shot in the abdomen. One of the witnesses, a corpulent surgeon, was asked by Assistant Prosecutor Thomas H. Darby to indicate to the jury the location of the fatal wound. The poor surgeon’s bulk prohibited this entirely, so the prosecutor, who barely weighed 100 pounds soaking wet, volunteered himself as the stand-in for the corpse. Shay immediately rose to object. The judge, very much surprised, asked Shay for the basis of his objection. Shay replied, “I don’t know by what right Mr. Darby claims to have an abdomen.”
Shay was very active in the Hamilton County Democratic Party and was occasionally drafted to sit in for ill or vacationing judges. By the time of his death, he was drifting away from litigation and spending more time as a stockbroker. Yet he still retained friends in high places and that was demonstrated by some unseemly shenanigans when Thomas Shay was found dead in the Lombardy Flats apartment of his stenographer, Ada Taylor.
From "Cincinnati Commercial Tribune," July 14, 1929
Shay had told his wife that he was going out of town on business matters. Instead, he dropped into Mrs. Taylor’s rooms on Fourth Street. He was there for several hours and began to feel unwell. He asked for whiskey and she went out to buy some, but he only felt worse, so she summoned Thomas C. Minor, a police surgeon who lived just down the block. Doctor Minor arrived, took one look at Shay and pronounced him dead.
“I’m disgraced! He’s disgraced!” shouted Mrs. Taylor. Doctor Minor took matters in hand. Shay had three $50 bills in his pocket. The doctor gave one to the African American porter for his silence and had him carry the body around the corner to John J. Sullivan’s undertaking establishment on Central Avenue. Minor then procured a room for Mrs. Taylor (she was in the middle of divorcing her insurance agent husband in Kentucky) at the nearby Grand Hotel. Only then did Doctor Minor contact County Coroner Otis L. Cameron. Doctor Cameron was pissed, and conducted a full inquiry the next day, exposing all of the uncomfortable facts Mrs. Taylor and Doctor Minor had hoped to keep under wraps, such as the fact that Shay was partially disrobed when he expired.
Mrs. Shay, for Thomas Shay was indeed married and esteemed as a family man, was not notified of her husband’s demise until after midnight and pronounced herself thoroughly confused because she was certain he had left town hours ago. With her was the couple’s only daughter Rose Cecilia Shay, an opera singer of some talent, married to an operatic tenor, Michael J. McCarthy, who performed on stage as Joseph Fredericks. The vocal duo were expecting their second child, Shay’s second grandchild, at any moment.
Newspapers back then dove into the nitty-gritty of wills and bequests and sometimes printed rumor and innuendo as hard-core fact. (Who knew?) And so, two versions of Thomas Shay’s estate emerged, both involving his talented daughter. Because Rose had found difficulty getting starring roles, Shay bankrolled an entirely new operatic company with his daughter as the headliner. It was an artistic success and a financial disaster. Shay found himself in debt to the tune of $5,000 to George Considine, a New York gambler, who intended to press his case for reimbursement against Shay’s estate.
The question was, how much was that estate worth? One news story pegged Shay’s final tally at just $10,000 which would have severely impacted his widow if she had to honor the gambler’s chit. Other reports said Shay had done pretty well with his investments and had something like $500,000 in stocks, so Considine’s debt was just couch change. It’s likely reality fell somewhere in the middle. Mrs. Shay, her daughter and son-in-law and the kids moved west to Hollywood. Rose and Michael (aka Joseph) kept singing and Rose got a few movie roles. They are all buried out in California.
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