Dermott Hill, from a 2015 illustration I did, "like a settin' sun."
Dermott grew up on Rockway Avenue where he attended St. James, Madison, Horace Mann, and graduated from Lakewood High. He was an unbelievable artist whose stand out was pencil drawings, he was also an amazing piano player. For those who had the rare opportunity to see his work or hear him play it was pure genius. However, he ran afoul early in his life to Heroin, and battled it and I mean battled it the rest of his life. Sadly this cut drastically into everything else he tried to do.
In his mid-life he became a much requested private bartender at Stouffer's Inn on the Square, where he worked for decades. Bartender to the stars.
Dermott was a carefree, loving, good soul. In his early days he fought to save the old Detroit Bridge from the wrecking ball; the Sun Papers had declared him a "A Modern Day Don Quixote." He had always seen the bridge as not just a historic symbol of Lakewood, but a place to celebrate life, art, love and song. Many a girl went out on a date, only to be taken to the Detroit Bridge, where they were wined and dined underneath it.
I had the pleasure of meeting Dermott in grade school art class at the Cleveland Museum of Art. I want to say it was second or third grade. They had us buy crayons for the drawing class. On the first day the teacher asked us to break them in half, a very young Dermott, replied "F*** No!" He was easily the most talented artist in that class, and the teacher soon learned to love him. Later on like DaVinci he would collect animals that had been killed by cars, dissect them and draw their muscles, organs, etc. often keeping a refrigerator of them, right next to mom(Sheila) and dad's(Noel's) fishsticks, and ice cream. His parents had come to Lakewood straight from Ireland, and were part of a close knit and often related clan of Irish that had settled in Lakewood in the 30s and 40s. His father was the watchmaker, repairman at May Company until it closed, and would fix watches out of his home until he died. Like Dermott, a true artist of his craft.
Perhaps this was his greatest asset and greatest downfall: He was a very lovable character and once he was in your heart, he was nearly always in your mind. You could not help love running into him and trying to help him, then he would lose the battle again, fall off the wagon, and his life would be in utter turmoil yet again. People who are loved and appreciate are often surrounded by enablers that allow them to fall back into the worst situations.
In recent years Dermott lived on Madison and would walk Detroit Avenue, but rarely on the new bridge which he loathed. He spent a lot of time at the Library, Burger King, Lakewood Park, and just being around.
Dermott walking by Erie Street Cemetery on East 9th across from Jacob's Field.
He is survived by his sister Noreen, and many cousins that shall remain nameless at this point.
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