In the newspaper business, we know that the pace of obituaries picks up between Thanksgiving and Christmas. Year in and year out the trend confirms itself and this year is no different. In the past couple of weeks however, we lost an unusually large number of local folks whose pictures and names have been in the pages of the Cape Gazette frequently over the years. Kitty Bookhammer, Hattie Burton, Marcia Shihadeh, Bob Orr and Howard Seymour all made their mark in Delaware’s Cape Region for lots of different reasons.
Kitty Bookhammer – often called Kissin’ Kitty because of her natural affection for people – shone a bright light over the years as a sparkling and steady companion for her husband, Gene. Between the two of them, they have invested many decades to public service during Gene’s years as Lt. Governor in Delaware, state representative and with steady involvement and support for Beebe Medical Center. Kitty lived an active life filled with love.
Hattie Burton lived to 109 years old and maintained a vibrant spirit and faith in God right up until the end. She was a perennial winner in the Lewes-Rehoboth Rotary Club’s most senior citizen contest at the club’s Henry L. Brittingham Christmas Dinner for senior citizens. For years she looked forward to collecting her winner’s box of chocolates and poinsettia at the dinner which she did with hearty graciousness and a feisty spring in her step. The last time we spoke, sometime late in the spring, Hattie sang some old-time hymns for me. Through her century-old memory, she pulled up detailed fragments of a poor and simple childhood in a plantation community of pre-electric Georgia before she made her way north to Sussex County. Frail and tiny, her eyes wet with tears, Hattie was tired and worn out, and adamant about being ready to join her parents in heaven.
Marcia Shihadeh, at 56, was just more than half of Hattie’s age when she succumbed to cancer. Many of us remember years and years of opening night parties at the Camel’s Hump. The wine flowed and Richie and Marcia kept buffet tables stacked with fresh hummus, baba ganoush, hot pitas, spicy gyro, chicken and falafel and plenty of Mid-Eastern sweets. The opening always came the first weekend after the vernal equinox – the arrival of spring – a time of renewed hope and a new season at the beach. Marcia, always stylish and so much a woman, often sported a new necklace or earrings with little camels on them acquired during a winter trip to Richie’s homeland of Syria or other Middle Eastern locales. Bellies and heads full, we crowded around small tables as the night blossomed fully and sang “Day-O” and “Come Mr. Tallyman, tally me bananas,” and the springy salt air coming off the Atlantic Ocean just half a block away was filled with lively spirit. Marcia checked out too soon, but as Dr. Peri told Richie shortly before she died, “God wants her Richie; there’s nothing we can do.”
Bob Orr, a native of Lewes – son of a country doctor – loved his hometown and gave fully to it. He wrote a warm memoir of his early years growing up in town - available in local bookstores – and you couldn’t help but be envious. Bob served faithfully as a member of city council in Lewes, gave generously of his time and money to the library, and for years – along with his wife Virginia – worked and spoke out vigorously for the preservation of the area’s rich natural and historic assets.
All were characters in their own right, and then there was Howard Seymour. Macular degeneration robbed Howard of his clear eyesight a few years ago. He lost his license as a result and – after Lewes police officers could no longer look the other way – he finally had to park his pick-up. Relying mostly on his legs to get him between his apartment overlooking the canal at Fisherman’s Wharf and City Hall where he threw himself passionately into the work of the Board of Public Works, Howard walked everywhere. Many times I would see him making his way up Savannah Road to Lloyd’s for a few groceries. When he was chilly he would break out one of the bulky wool sweaters he acquired while visiting Ecuador – a place he called paradise, with warm and friendly unpretentious people. One thing Howard couldn’t abide was pretentiousness. He spoke out as an employee and as an elected member of the Board of Public Works. He shook his head in disgust when the state wouldn’t consider allowing Lewes to spray treated wastewater in the woods and dunes just east of Freeman Highway and he blew the whistle when he saw the monster metal power poles that the BPW planned to march across the town’s historic district between the downtown power plant and the Burton Avenue substation. He told me that he had voted for the plan but knew he was wrong when he saw the poles and realized their base diameter was greater than his own height. The poles were ultimately sent back.
On a cool day last spring I asked Howard whether Lewes was a good walking town, since he was reduced to his feet for transportation. He worked his mouth a little with his usual four-or five-day beard, his customary watch cap on his head, and said “no.” Why? “People won’t get off their bicycles going over the drawbridge and they almost run me off,” he said.
We’re going to miss them all.
