1st Covid Victim Buried — With Extra Care

Marion Marcus Curtis Hunt, better known as ​“Curtis” to friends and ​“Kirky” to family, loved to sing opera around the house.

He had an insatiable appetite for good food and education. And he dedicated his professional life to helping New Haveners at the margins — those struggling with addiction, those suffering from HIV — get quality, stigma-free healthcare.

It was in that capacity that the humble 57-year-old became the first New Havener to die of Covid-19 — and the first to be buried with the virus firmly in mind.

Several dozen of his siblings, cousins, nieces, nephews, god-siblings, and longtime friends attended an open-air, open-casket visitation Tuesday in the parking lot of Howard K. Hill Funeral Services on Chapel Street in the Dwight neighborhood.

They then made the drive up to Beaverdale Memorial Park near Southern Connecticut State University for a brief memorial service dedicated to a man Pastor Donarell B. Elder, who presided over the funeral, described as ​“humble, quiet, and a giving spirit.”

“He has left a legacy for all of us,” Elder said alongside Hunt’s casket. ​“He wasn’t about talk. He was about doing something.”

Every aspect of Hunt’s visitation and graveside memorial service was permeated by the novel coronavirus, which has infected at least 119 New Havenvers (confirmed cases) and likely many more. So far Hunt is the only New Havener to die of the disease. (Officials reported Tuesday that a second person believed to have died remains alive at the hospital.) He was in Yale New Haven Hospital with two other people associated with Cornell Scott Hill Health Center who also contracted the disease.

Nearly every attendee Tuesday wore a tight-fitting face mask and latex gloves along with more typical mourning attire of black suits, dresses, hats, and sunglasses to hide the tears.

They largely refrained from touching one another, maintaining a social distance of six feet or more when possible and, when not, bumping elbows to provide some form of physical contact at a time when shaking hands has become a dangerous and forbidden act.

A bright red posterboard with information about the pandemic stood in between a bouquet of flowers and a hearse in a parking lot temporarily converted into a funeral parlor.

The pall of the pandemic hung over Tuesday’s rituals because the disease that has swept the globe and that healthcare professionals expect will peak here in the coming weeks had taken the life of Hunt, who worked as a clinical and addiction counselor at Cornell Scott Hill Health Center’s Grant Street Partnership in the Hill.

“Who would have thought our world could be turned upside down?” Elder lamented at the cemetery. That New York City could be so besieged. That Times Square could be so empty.

“This is not an easy time,” added Hunt’s older brother, John Mann, Jr., an elder at Way of The Cross Church. ​“It still seems surreal.

“My little brother was just a good man. Period.”

“This Is Real”

The visitation began on Chapel Street a little after 11 a.m. The funeral home had set up Hunt’s body and casket under a white tent pitched in the side parking lot, allowing for visitors to drive through and pay their respects as they parked behind the building.

Many got out of their cars, donned their masks and gloves, and walked to within a few feet of Hunt to pay their respects.

Hunt was ​“very generous” and ​“lovable,” said his first cousin, John Gilbert (pictured). ​“He knew everyone. He was just a nice person.”

As for Covid-19, ​“I hate this pandemic,” he said. ​“I just wish that the world didn’t come to this.”

Hunt’s niece, Dieshell Gilbert (pictured), agreed. ​“He was always an uplifting person,” she said.

She knew a lot of people who grew up in their home neighborhood of the Hill who wound up struggling with drug addiction. ​“He talked them off the streets,” she said about Hunt. ​“He was a good listener.”

Gilbert said this experience of losing her uncle has convinced her to ​“take [Covid-19] very seriously” and to ​“be mindful of other people’s lives.”

Anthony Stewart (pictured), a childhood friend of Hunt’s family, said he remembered Hunt as a child running around his family’s house in the Hill and singing opera and the blues.

“This is my first day wearing a mask,” he said. When he learned that Hunt had died from Covid-19 was ​“when it really hit” that this pandemic was serious, and present in New Haven just as it is nearly everywhere else in this country right now. ​“This is real.”

“Going Up Yonder”

The hearse bearing Hunt’s casket arrived at Beaverdale a little after 1 p.m.

The pallbearers, masks still wrapped tightly around their mouths, carried the casket to Hunt’s burial place …

… and then stood in a row parallel to the casket, directly across from Hunt’s immediate family.

Elder urged those gathered around the casket to follow safety precautions during the abbreviated service.

“We are all aware of the horrible impact this Covid virus has had and is having,” he said.

Then he launched into his eulogy for Hunt, followed by a reading of his obituary by Jackie Lindsey.

Hunt was born on July 3, 1962, at St. Raphael’s Hospital to Marion and Cora Hunt.

“As a child, Curtis fell in love with the arts and theater,” Lindsey said. ​“And as he grew, his undeniable talent as a singer began to flourish.”

He was a member of the Audubon Society while attending Cooperative Arts & Humanities High School. He earned an associates degree from Gateway Community College, a bachelors degree from Albertus Magnus College, and a master’s degree from Fordham University. He worked at Cornell Scott Hill Health Center and at New Reach as a clinical and addiction counselor.

“Curtis was the type of person that would light up a room with his beautiful presence, bright smile, and warm demeanor.”

David Kennedy (pictured), one of Hunt’s former colleagues at Hill Health’s Grant Street addiction recovery center, praised Hunt’s ​“camaraderie” and ​“morale” for boosting the spirits of co-workers and patients alike.

“We will never forget you, Curtis,” he said.

Hunt’s niece Faith Mann read a letter she said was provided by Hill Health’s Ben Metcalf. ​“He was the personification of caring,” Mann read about her uncle. ​“The indelible mark of his legacy is that he left us that much more motivated to care for others.”

And Hunt’s god-sister, Carolyn Williams (pictured), sang over Hunt’s casket one of her late family member’s favorite songs, ​“Going Up Yonder”:

If you wanna know
Where I’m going
Where I’m going, soon

If anybody asked you
Where I’m going
Where I’m going soon

I’m goin’ up yonder
I’m goin’ up yonder
I’m goin’ up yonder
To be with my Lord