Cynthia Ann Beer
August 18, 1933 – September 15, 2004
Cynthia Beer detects that lunch is almost ready.
Orient resident Cynthia Ann Beer died at her home on Sept. 15. She was 71 years old.
Born in New Orleans, La., on Aug. 18, 1933, to Mose and Hemet (Loewenberg) Beer, she graduated from Wellesley College in 1955, and received an M.A. in English literature from Columbia University. Her special interest was James Joyce.
Ms. Beer taught English and math for 40 years at the City and Country School in New York City. She created a unique program for junior high school students there, and was much beloved by her students, said a family spokesperson.
Ms. Beer had summered in Orient since r the 1960s, and moved there permanently upon her retirement in 1994. She enjoyed swimming in the Sound and sailing on the bay. She loved to travel, but found it hard to leave Orient during the summer months.
She is survived by her partner of many years, Jane Llewellyn Smith. She is also survived by her brother, Peter, of New Orleans, nieces Dana and Kim, and nephew Ken.
Memorial donations may be made to John Kerry for President or to Memorial Sloan Kettering Cancer Center Melanoma Immunotherapy Fund.
As per The Suffolk Times, October 7, 2004
Cynthia, Hostess
A poem by Anne MacKay, 2003
This charming, lovely person, so happy swimming at the beach, greets everyone with gracious warmth,
makes friends with trades-people, nurses, cleaning women. She would invite the lawn-cutter to lunch – but has learned he will stay all afternoon. She worries there is enough to eat.
She worries she will not have time to clean the kitty-pan. At the hint of a hurricane, elaborate evacuation plans begin. Cynthia wants to make the world happy for everyone.
Being the perfect hostess creates worry-festivals. Will people think she hasn’t done enough? Worry is exhausting.
Needing to go away brings terrible worries, sometimes tears. We worried about these worries until we learned that as soon as she steps on the plane, she forgets she was worried.
Setting off on a trip, like swimming, is the happiest of times – someone else is in charge of gracious Southern hospitality.
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