Waithe, Orville Leon

Waithe, Orville Leon
20 Nov

Orville Leon Waithe, age 82, of Seclusion Gardens, Black Rock, St. Michael and formerly of 7th Avenue, New Orleans, St. Michael, retired Ramp Supervisor of Seawell Air Services and Director of Aircraft Cabin Services, Companion of Jesrene Harvey, Father of Betty Baptiste, Tony Mayers and Orville Bailey all of the U.S.A., Marilyn and Ricardo Harvey, Beverley Worrell-Price and the late Sherylanne Sargeant, Grandfather of Sherelle and Shondelle Harvey, Kimberly Worrell and six others, Great-grandfather of four, Brother of Olga Jordan of the U.K., Beverley Waithe of the U.S.A., Joan and Nancy Waithe, Uncle of Patricia Waithe of the U.S.A., Arthur Moore of Canada, Annette Waithe and many others, Father-in-law of Michael Price, Edward Baptiste and Patrice Mayers both of the U.S.A., Relative of the Waithe, Phillips, Jordan and Dowridge families, Friend of Carl Brathwaite of the U.S.A., David Straker, Ivan Simpson, Phyllis Corbin and many others .

The funeral of Orville Leon Waithe leaves Downes and Wilson Funeral Home, Eagle Hall, St Michael on Thursday, November 23rd, 2017 at 8:30 a.m. for James Street Methodist Church, Bridgetown, St. Michael, where relatives and friends are asked to meet at 10:00 a.m. for the service, followed by the interment at the Westbury Cemetery.

The Organist is asked to attend.

Wreaths may be sent to Downes and Wilson Funeral Home no later than 8:00 a.m. on Thursday.

Relatives and friends may pay their last respects at Downes and Wilson Funeral Home from 4:00 p.m. until 6:00 p.m. on Wednesday.

Condolences may be sent to: www.downesandwilson.com

  • Do Not Go Gentle Into That Good Night
    Do not go gentle into that good night, Old age should burn and rave at close of day; Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   Though wise men at their end know dark is right, Because their words had forked no lightening they Do not go gentle into that good night.   Good men, the last wave by, crying how bright Their frail deeds might have danced in a green bay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   Wild men who caught and sang the sun in flight, And learn, too late, they grieved it on its way, Do not go gentle into that good night.   Grave men, near death, who see with blinding sight Blind eyes could blaze like meteors and be gay, Rage, rage against the dying of the light.   And you, my father, there on the sad height, Curse, bless, me now with your fierce tears, I pray. Do not go gentle into that good night. Rage, rage against the dying of the light.