Cully Singletary

Documentary photographer, Culpepper “Cully” Singletary, was born in the Bronx in 1954 and spent his formative years in the historically Black hamlet of North Amityville, NY. Cully was the 2^nd born son to World War II veteran, Glossie Singletary, and social services worker, Marion Antoinette Hill. They named their 2^nd son to honor his paternal grandfather, Culpepper Singletary, a son of formerly enslaved John and Francis Singletary of Florence County, South Carolina. Cully’s cousins and classmates teased him to tears, and in time, he preferred his nickname.  

In the Golden Age, Marion invested her husband’s GI Bill benefits and spearheaded the family’s relocation to Ronek Park. The newest North Amityville subdivision was nationally marketed as an interracial homeowners’ haven created in idealistic contrast to Levittown, a Long Island community that explicitly restricted residents based on race. Glossie and Marion were well-meaning in wanting their boys, Larry, Cully, and their adopted daughter, Marilyn, and yet-to-be-born Kim, to have rich soil to grow.

In the two hundred years following the English and Dutch divide of Long Island, the North Amityville community came to include freemen, freedmen, and former enslaved Africans like, Bolden Mack, who maintained a farm in the area until he died in 1975. Cully and other children greeted the centenarian as he rode his horse to tend to his acres and animals. The North Amityville neighborhood bears signs of the Native Americans who settled in the swamps after their land was sold under suspicious circumstances centuries ago. Devine Place, Miller Avenue, Smith Street, and Steele Place—where Cully walked the way to Scudder Avenue School with descendants who carried the same surnames. 

What was once a rural farming faction slowly started to take shape as a suburb. The post-war era fostered a population boom driven by Black veterans, their families, and “fancy” jobs. They were met with integrated schools and invisible lines. Black residents knew the unspoken rules of conduct on the predominantly White, infamous horror house side of the Village of Amityville, and before sunset, “negroes” knew to leave that part of town.

The Natives, African-Americans, and Caribbeans carved out a community they were proud to call home. During the 1960s, “The Block” blossomed with Black owned-businesses. In the years just before the family relocated, the Long Island Branch of the National Association for the Advancement of Colored People (NAACP) hosted then-hotshot civil rights attorney Thurgood Marshall and former First Lady Eleanor Roosevelt in Amityville to speak against discriminatory housing practices on Long Island.  They boycotted White businesses that wouldn’t employ Blacks and assembled after Dr. King’s assassination. When the Singletarys’ settled, Marion was eager to join the NAACP and served as a secretary for the organization.  She was a voting rights activist who emphasized education and entrepreneurship in her household. Cully’s sister, Marilyn, cousin, Sheila, and friends formed the first Black Student Union at Copiague High School. They picked up at the picket lines where their parents left off; they protested to hire Black educators and advocated for culturally inclusive curriculum.

Cully clung to a camera as soon as he could crawl, assuming his ancestral assigned role of family documentarian. His folks had plenty of Polaroids and a plethora of other recording equipment. His self-portraits most often feature his Sears KS Super and his sunbeam smile. Cully loved to clown. He was a charismatic conversationalist and popular prankster. A storyteller and shit-stirrer supreme. The type to cause chaos, then walk away cackling. He was a complete contrast to his stoic big brother, who seldom smirked.

The city-to-country culture shock was a clash that caught the children off guard. In some ways, they were able to adapt. Cully played ping pong as a pastime, had snowball fights with friends, and went sledding in the sump.  Their father worked full-time at the Ford factory and buried himself at the bottom of a bottle every weekend. A new home and a band-aid baby couldn’t heal their marriage. Fed up with her husband’s fists, Marion filed for divorce on the grounds of inhumane treatment. Marion and Glossie remained amicable and continued to celebrate family events together.

When Cully was 10 years old, his mom moved to the Breslau Gardens division of North Amityville. Her aunt had purchased eight plots in the neighborhood 15 years earlier and built her homestead. Cully was now closer to his cousins, great-aunts, and great-grandmother. Cully attended Copiague District Schools, where he cultivated his curiosity and creativity. He was a smart, though not studious, and well-liked by teachers. He turned into a thrill-seeking teenager, tight-rope walking on train tracks and the narrowest beams on bridges. He hosted high school ditch parties every June and peacocked in his mom’s new pool. He belly-flopped from the balcony and dove into the deep end. In the summers, he hyped up his baby sister in swim races, and beamed with pride when Kim beat boys his age.

Cully touched grass running behind the big boys from the Bronx—his brother Larry and cousins, Jimmy and Ronnie. It was with this core crew that Cully tried his first cigarette, nip of alcohol, and hit of heroin as a pre-teen. He didn’t hesitate; he was hooked. They played hide and get high at the old airport and in the freshly dug basement foundations before the concrete contractors came. They tapped into their track team training and outraced the cops who chased colored kids for sport.  

Cully traded his spikes for skates while with the roller-skating team. He was always in motion. Born a day after Valentine’s Day, the ladies loved him. He bet on the girls he could get with majorette, Jeanie B. After a date to see the Delfonics, Cully strutted the school halls with the cutest cheerleader, North Carolina transfer, Ida P. A few fellas filled out their fiercely loyal friend group; there was Jeffry, Skeeter, Henry, and Lloyd. They played billiards in the basement and flooded the field after Friday night football games. When in white neighborhoods, Cully cued a call, “Say It Loud!” They roared their response, “I’M BLACK AND I’M PROUD!”

During Cully’s sophomore year, his mom suffered a major heart attack that initiated two decades of her health decline. His first nephew, Larry Jr., was born, and Marion renovated their home to take in the teenage mom and her new grandbaby. Larry Sr. fell in love with Terry, his classmate who grew up on the White side of town. Together, they trauma-bonded and heightened their heroin use. Larry Sr. became more sinister, stealing to support his addiction. Cully’s casual use hadn’t caught up to him yet.

Shortly after his senior year, he had a son with his high school sweetheart, Ida. Her family was profusely protective and saved her from his vices, which caused a rift in their relationship. He wanted to get away and support his son at the same time. He responded to an employment advertisement from a rapidly expanding communications company. Cablevision was experiencing exponential growth as the network era of television was in its twilight years and cable networks were revolutionizing home entertainment.  An innovative tech guru before his time, Cully leaned into his love of cameras, CB radios, stereo, and video equipment while working on installations. He capitalized on his Cablevision career and captured countless images across the country and Canada.  He lived and worked in Baltimore, Atlanta, Philly, and some midwestern cities. He called home long distance, wherever he was in the world. The voice on the other end always teased, “You a white boy for working in them Minnesota mountains!! Couldn’t be me!”  He laughed loudly. Cully couldn’t wait to come home to sit at the foot of his mom’s bed and spill all his stories from sunrise to sundown.  

Every paycheck, he brought Kim a new color Converse. He stepped in as a surrogate father for his nephew and new niece while Larry Sr. did a decade-long stint in prison. He was the fun uncle who would light up the sky with fireworks on the 4^th of July, umpire baseball games in the backyard, and set up outdoor screenings for the Sugar Ray Lenard fight.

In the early 80s, he met his latest love, another southern belle—Ree the red-boned Georgia peach. They bonded over childhood trauma and their stillborn baby. They were longing to expand their family. Ree delivered their rainbow baby in Atlanta, May of 1983. Cully quit Cablevision, and the couple moved back to Long Island soon after. Cully charmed his way into a cache of work wives at Long Island Developmental Center. He was one of the few men who worked in the state-operated facility as a therapy aide for people living with intellectual and developmental disabilities. A position he was uniquely prepared for by being blessed with a son with cerebral palsy and twin aunts who were born with developmental disabilities. Though he prided himself on being a provider, Cully and Ree’s relationship struggled to survive. Cully was a chameleon capable of being benign with the boys but bullied and beat women behind closed doors.

Towards the end of the 80s, the beloved Block became an open-air drug market. Larry Sr. overdosed in their Breslau Gardens home New Year’s Eve 1986. Terry was murdered on Thanksgiving Day 1988. Glossie had a heart attack at home alone in Ronek Park in 1989. Cully couldn’t recover. He self-medicated an undiagnosed depression as the life he wanted slipped away. He battled with bouts of sobriety and short stints in treatment centers, but by then, it was too late. AIDS had become the hidden horror story of Amityville; Cully lost four female cousins and an unknown number of friends in the early era of the epidemic. 

Cully repeatedly fell ill during his final months. He returned to his childhood home; Kim helped as a caregiver. Following a fall, Cully was admitted to Good Samaritan Hospital five days after his 37^th birthday. He transitioned to be with his ancestors less than two weeks after being hospitalized. In his last days, his sister kissed his forehead, his friends held his hands, and his daughter stood at his feet to say their goodbyes.

His funeral service was hosted by his high school friend, William Morse, director of J.F. Goode Funeral Home in North Amityville. Mr. Morse respectfully covered Cully’s face with mesh netting intended to protect people in the early days of the public health crisis. Cully was interred at Pinelawn Memorial Cemetery, where four generations of family are laid to rest. Cully Singletary is survived by his son, Darius, his daughter, Jewell, and a granddaughter whom he would adore. Antoinette Irene is already following in her grandpa’s lens caps and has shown early interest and skill in photography.