June 3, 2009

By Rick Winterson

Some individuals need no titles, other than their own names.  That’s because a title would imply that they “are” someone – as in, “Who do you think you are?”  People without those long, prestigious titles are usually known for their actions.  If that sounds too much like the ancient Greek and Scholastic philosophical distinctions between actuality and potentiality, well, that can be fixed.

Words from the 21st Century say it more simply and more completely:  Cynthia was a verb – a creature of pure action.  She did things.  All the way.

Yet it didn’t appear that she rushed around.  During a telephone interview, when her husband Bill Dromgoole was asked to describe Cynthia, he first said – without a moment’s hesitation – “She was a great listener.”  Whatever else, listening well takes calmness and patience.

In Bill’s words, she was “completely engaged in the community”.  She dealt with the homeless, who used her library as a sort of refuge.  She served the elderly and the children, when they needed assistance with modern library systems.  She dealt with the powerful and the esteemed, meeting with Ray Flynn when he was Ambassador to the Vatican and corresponding with the Pulitzer and Nobel Laureate, author Saul Bellow.

At the end of the phone interview, Bill Dromgoole gave her the finest eulogy a man can give, “She was a wonderful, beautiful woman, whom I loved so much.”

Her older brother Jack gave his own eulogy at Cynthia’s funeral service.  The anecdotes he spoke about shone light on her love of action.  She left school to go to Spain, where she taught English and was beaten while protesting against Generalissimo Franco, the Fascist dictator.  He told of the armed and forcible repatriation of her copy of “For Whom the Bell Tolls” (you had to be there).  Her resume reads like a litany of accomplishments – wife, friend, linguist, mentor, fix-it woman, librarian, music fan, painter, mother, world traveler.

Cynthia’s courage was unequalled   Her sister Barbara said that when Cynthia was told she had life-threatening cancer, she simply replied, “Why shouldn’t I have cancer.  Everyone I know has cancer.”  In Barbara’s words, “She inspired others like me to … question why there is this epidemic of cancer.  All the while, she was lively, vivacious, opinionated, and passionate about global issues.  And she loved the Red Sox.”

Cynthia’s colleagues at the South Boston Branch Library still revere her.  Echoing Cynthia’s family, Paula Fleming said, “Cynthia lived her life to the fullest right to the end.”  Susan Russell mentioned how Cynthia stuck up for them during the Library’s renovation two summers ago.  And the laughs they shared together – “I’ll miss her for a long time.”, Susan said.  Francie Francis is the Acting Branch Librarian now.  She described Cynthis using words like “supportive”, “appreciative”, and “I miss her as a friend as well as a boss.”  Theresa DeAmicis chimed in by saying, “You’ve all said what I was thinking about Cynthia.”

Laurel Moreau joined the South Boston Branch Library about the same time Cynthia came here.  They became close friends.  Laurel remembers how Cynthia bought into her “Tote and Tile” project – “just do it”.  And how well Cynthia could delegate.  She was “intelligent, creative – she stretched us.”

It’s truly a tribute that Cynthia was so well regarded by those who worked for her.  Perhaps it’s best to close with the poem Laurel Moreau composed for her:

Celebrating Cynthia

“We were so lucky, you being here.

Gracious, engaging, your sparkling wit

Made us generous with ourselves.

And you are with us still, knit into the fabric of our hearts

Painting your richness of spirit on the landscape of our days,

Shimmering in the streams of our quiet laughter.” 

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