Morris “Rabbit” Loftin was born on January 16, 1946 in Brooklyn, New York and made his transition on April 17, 2022 at the Schulman & Schachne Institute for Nursing and Rehabilitation in Brooklyn, New York. He was the eighth of eleven children born to the late Douglas Loftin and Idabelle Loftin (Dixon).
He was raised in a Christian home along with his siblings by his parents. His father affectionately called him Rabbitt, however, no one remembers why. Morris was enrolled in the New York City Public School system, he attended PS 45, JHS 117 and a Vocational Trade School where he studied furniture upholstery. While attending high school he worked at the neighborhood grocery and delicatessen of Joe and Dotty Russo where he discovered he had the gift of gab and great customer service skills, interacting with the public. He also briefly worked for the Parks Dept. This position was a stepping stone for his next position as a community advocate and peace maker where he befriended many residents and business owners in his community. Everyone loved his friendly and outgoing demeanor and spoke about hearing him before you could see him as he was always singing. (LOL). He never sang a complete song, just the first two or three lines, and everyone knew he didn’t know the words to his favorite songs. Sam Cooke was one of his favorite artists. Morris left this position but never lost the many friends he made and that still speak fondly of him in addition to those he met throughout his journey.
Morris met Linda Gibson, who later became his wife on September 7, 1968. He was a committed and caring husband to Linda for 53 years. Morris was a committed father to his two sons, William and Morrice, and a doting grandfather to his two grandsons, Jeremiah and Jayden.
Lots of beautiful things can be said about Morris. He was a person with a phenomenal sense of humor. He saw the joy and humor in everything and if there was none, he put it in everything because he brought some with him. His attitude and smile was contagious and his antics never got on your nerves unless you were his sister. (LOL) Instead he pulled you in and you had to end up smiling. He loved children and animals and both flocked around him like he was The Pied Piper. The residents of Franklin Avenue once called him “Cat Man” because every night he’d walk to Franklin Avenue and Pacific Street and feed the stray cats in the neighborhood. He had special names for each of his little nieces, nephews and their friends. He would run into the house calling for Theodore, Simon and Alvin with bag of mini-ice cream sandwiches and gave them out as each one anxiously awaited their turn. He formed a miniature doo wop group comprised of his five and six year old nephews and taught them the background and the first few lines of a song. The children loved him, and still do, now that they’re adults. He always had a funny story about something crazy that happened and they believed it. Morris loved sweets, especially chocolate cake. Every year up to 2002, he would coax his mother into baking his favorite chocolate cake, reminding her (as if she could forget) that he was her baby boy and he deserved it. All of his other siblings stopped getting their homemade birthday cake when they reached adulthood, but not Morris. He was Nana's baby boy until she made her transition on April 9, 2002.
In 2012 Morris’ health declined starting with a triple bypass surgery. He always read his bible everyday and each time he went into the hospital he always told Linda to bring his bible to him. As time went on Morris’ health continued to get more debilitating especially these past two years.
Morris will be sorely missed and his vivacious and enthusiastic lifestyle by all that knew him and loved him, even his acquaintances.
Morris leaves to cherish his memory his wife Linda, two sons, William and Morrice, two grandsons, Jeremiah and Jayden, one brother, Douglas, five sisters, Mable (Melvin), Beatrice, Arlene, Selena and Wanda. Morris’ parents and four siblings, Helen, Elaine, Maxwell and Harold predeceased him in death.
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