Noni Beth Bookbinder Bell
Noni Beth Bookbinder Bell was all of about 5 feet tall. But that 60 inches was not to be taken lightly.
Bold, passionate, extroverted, private, selfless, loyal, a rabble rouser – loving and loved.
Noni was all these things and more, according to her family.
“She was always there and she was always on your side,” said her son, Billy.
“She was my little firecracker,” noted her husband of 47 years, Bill Bell.
“The people who got to know her,” offered her daughter, Jaime Earle, “they would love her and she would love them.”
Noni died last month at the age of 66. But the Medford resident’s life had an impact on many, including the township of Shamong, where she raised her two children and served for 18 years on the Joint Use Planning Board.
In a proclamation upon her retirement in 2021, the board noted, “Noni Bookbinder Bell has always exemplified a level of commitment to the citizens of Shamong, while focusing on keeping the charm of our community.”
After running a Tabernacle business with her husband, Noni ventured into freelance writing. Her byline graced the front page of many a local newspaper, including the Central Record and the Burlington County Times, and the international news agency, Reuters.
She did not prefer to write about parades or potlucks, the stuff of much local journalism. Her goal was to advocate for people – the small business, the little guy – and to report on the politics of living in a quaint New Jersey suburb after being raised in worldly Manhattan.
“She always had a love for politics,” Billy said, “but also holding people accountable.”
And she had a bit of the counterculture in her, even at a young age. A long-ago photograph shows a teenage Noni looking very much the hippie, with loose long hair, the kind of aviator sunglasses preferred by feminist Gloria Steinem, a shirt that bared a smidgen of midriff and a cigarette.
The hippie never left her. Jaime recalls learning a “little nugget” from her mother when Parkinson’s had Noni in its grip and her daughter helped take care of her. Noni once had a lightning bolt tattoo on her shoulder.
“Because they called me ‘The Flash,’” she explained to Jaime.
That “flash” – as Bill Sr. noted of his “little firecracker” – illuminated many an issue for Noni’s newspaper readers.
“She believed in supporting people who couldn’t support themselves,” recalled her son, “who didn’t have a voice loud enough. She was always going against the grain.”
“When she came home from a meeting or an event, she didn’t have just one story going on at once,” Bill Sr. remembered. “She had a few. She was something else.”
Noni also expressed ideas through her own poetry and was a lover of art, music, horses and puzzles. She once wrote a fan letter to author Stephen King and got a hand-written response.
She also had more than her share of heartache, losing her mother, brother and sister on the same day while she was still in her teens. Her goal then was college, but her heart just wasn’t in it. It wasn’t until she was close to 50 that she regained that heart to earn a degree in political science.
As a mother, Noni waited until Jaime and Bill Jr. were older to freelance and was a supportive parent who homeschooled her son and emphasized hard work. She also taught her children the lesson of living life to the fullest.
“So jump, silly fool, as if on a trampoline,” Noni wrote in a poem. “Dance the day away like you have never seen.”
Noni’s obituary asks that people remember her by performing a random act of kindness. Her children and husband thought that fitting for a woman who touched so many lives.
“She was a great mother and she taught me a lot,” Jaime reflected. “She nurtured us as children. So I’ll miss that.
“I thought we had more time.”
Sources: Bradley and Stow Funeral Home, Legacy.com
Dr. Michael Anthony
It was said that veterinarian Dr. Michael Anthony spent as much time calming owners as he did their animals.
And there were legions of those: Leo, London, Harrison, Katrina, Sadie, Dory, Gene Kelly, Friday, Nash, Tofutti, Carl, Patrick – even a pack of 10 dogs with one owner.
The list of animal patients at Haddon Vet goes on, and many of them are mentioned in online tributes to Dr. Anthony, a Cherry Hill resident who died suddenly in December. Since dogs and cats can’t talk – not in our language anyway – it is up to their humans to pay tribute to the veterinarian.
“Dr. Anthony was a kind and compassionate vet,” noted Linda McAdam in one of the nearly 40 recollections posted with the doctor’s online obituary. “He helped two of my fur babies cross over the rainbow bridge (believed to be what happens when a pet dies and goes on to a mystical afterlife), while comforting me through the whole process.”
“Dr. Anthony had the kindest eyes,” remembered Amy Amato, who finally found the right vet after 12 years.
“My dog typically doesn’t like vets,” recalled Jill Chambers, “but she LOVED Dr Anthony.”
Karen Luke, owner of the aforementioned pack, fosters dogs no one else wants. When one of them – Snazzy – was diagnosed with a heart murmur, she was given one year to live.
“Because of Dr. Anthony´s holistic approach,” Luke recounted, “Snazzy just celebrated her eighth birthday.”
That “approach” included chiropractic care and acupuncture, dentistry and food therapy. But it was the TLC his humans most remember about Dr. Anthony, a 45-year-old father of two sons and three of his own animals: Harper, Hermes and Bort.
A native of Bethesda, Maryland, and an avid runner, Dr. Anthony attended the University of Pennsylvania School of Veterinary Medicine, according to his obituary, specializing in little animals. But they weren’t the only ones cared for by a man whose heart was anything but small.
“His life-long love of animals made him an exceptional colleague we were lucky to work with,” read a statement from his practice, Haddon Vet. “(To go on) will require that we all strive to model his example of patience, kindness and compassion.”
When Jill Hall lost her female dog, iPod, she got a handwritten note from Dr. Anthony in which he told her to take comfort in her memories.
“A more kind, caring and connected veterinarian you will never find,” Hall posted. “I will miss you Dr. Anthony every time I drive past your office and every time I read the card you sent me after my little iPod was put down.”
Erin Giacobbe remembers Dr. Anthony as a colleague she met when he was a relief vet at an Egg Harbor Township practice and she was a tech. Dressed in a natty combination of pink shirt, blue tie and khakis, she recollected, Dr. Anthony proceeded to examine a cat with a urinary blockage.
When he lifted its tail, he and his clothes were sprayed with feline waste.
“He immediately started cracking up,” Giacobbe recounted. “He was so lighthearted. He was not only a fantastic veterinarian, but a fantastic person and a light in this world.”
That light has gone out – or maybe it’s headed over the rainbow bridge.
Sources: Bradley Funeral Home, Legacy.com
