C. Kevin Synnott "I grew up in Cheshire"
- Richard Smith
- Feb 4
- 4 min read
Updated: Mar 11
Many of you will remember the name Kevin Synnott, or maybe you remember the stories he used to share—the ones that made you nod, smile, and think, “Yep, that’s exactly how Cheshire used to be.”
Kevin—Charles Kevin Synnott, to be formal—passed away on January 1, 2026, at the age of 80, after a courageous battle with glioblastoma. But if you grew up in Cheshire, you know that Kevin was never really formal. He was one of us.
Kevin was born in Waterbury to Charles Martin Synnott and Margaret Carolan Synnott, but Cheshire is where he was raised and where his heart always lived. A proud graduate of Cheshire High School, he went on to Post College, earned a master’s degree from the University of Hartford, and later a second master’s and a doctorate from UConn. His academic resume was impressive by any measure—he taught at Albertus Magnus, Springfield College, Rhode Island College, Eastern Connecticut State University, and more—but Kevin never wore his accomplishments loudly.
What he did wear proudly was his love of teaching, writing, and making people laugh. And laugh he did—often, and usually at just the right moment.
Kevin was also a Vietnam-era Army veteran, a fact he didn’t talk about much, but one he carried with quiet pride. In later years, he and his beloved wife Regis Delaney Synnott, his partner of 40 years, made their home in Hampton, where Kevin was a parishioner of Our Lady of Lourdes Church. Still, no matter where he lived, he never stopped being a Cheshire kid.
If you were part of local history groups—or especially "I grew up in Cheshire"—you probably remember Kevin’s posts. He had a gift for turning memories into little time machines.
He often wrote about growing up at the corner of West Main and Grove Streets in the 1940s and ’50s. He remembered the building across the street that housed the West Cheshire Post Office and Cruess’s Grocery Store, where his mother—raising four kids on her own—would buy the family Thanksgiving turkey. Kevin didn’t romanticize it; he honored it.
And then there were his stories about The Notch. Like so many Cheshire kids, Kevin and his brother Neil practically wore out the road getting there—walking down Moss Farms Road, biking down Mountain Road—just to grab comic books from that familiar stack near the door. In the winter, he remembered ducking inside during blizzards, warming up with hot chocolate, and feeling like the store was part clubhouse, part sanctuary.
Thanksgiving always brought another memory: Kevin and Neil heading to the Cheshire High School football game, then walking home to a meal that had to include homemade stuffing made with Wonder Bread. Simple, perfect, unforgettable.
And if you were lucky enough to know Kevin personally—or if you were one of his students—you may still have one of his famous “Kevin Bucks.” Those little tokens of appreciation were handed out sparingly, and people held onto them for years. A Kevin Buck wasn’t about value; it was about being seen.
Kevin is survived by his wife Regis; his sisters Carol Buckley (and her husband Dennis) and Monica Synnott; his brother-in-law Thomas Delaney (and his wife Leslie); his sister-in-law Kathleen Richards (and her husband Stan); many nieces and nephews; and a wide circle of friends who stood by him to the very end. He was predeceased by his brother James Neil Synnott, whose name came up often in Kevin’s stories—always with love.
Kevin showed us that you can earn degrees, teach at universities, publish research, and still be the kid who remembers comic books, hot chocolate, and Thanksgiving football.
He never forgot where he came from—and Cheshire won’t forget him either.
Good morning family members and friends,
I am filled with gratitude as I reflect on past Christmases.
The Cat with The Cheshire Grin
Years ago, we had a cat we both loved dearly named Perceval, also known as Perce-evil. He would jump up and hang off my butt when I was wearing nice slacks, but never when I was wearing dungarees. He also jumped up and grabbed the door frames and would slide down scratching the wood. That really bothered my wife Regis. I would take him to the side out of hearing range from Regis and tell him how proud I was of him because he could jump so high. I remember one evening when the family was relaxing watching television; I was in my recliner; Regis was on the sofa; and Percy was on her lap. She was looking at him lovingly rubbing his belly while he purred loudly. She looked over to me and said, “You know if he was a dog, we would both be dead.” Truer words were never spoken. One Christmas we bought him a beautiful scratching post for more than 100 hundred dollars. He thoroughly enjoyed playing with the wrappings, the bow, and the box for weeks. When I die, I want to come back as my cat.
Take care!
If you wish to read C. Kevin Synnott's postings in "I grew up in Cheshire" Facebook group.
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