Donna Farley

I'm from England, but lived the majority of my life in the US. I've traveled the world as part of corporate America, and have enjoyed interacting and learning from other cultures. As you can tell -- I'm not a writer, but I do have many fond memories. Ever since I was a child, I've felt that cemeteries should be respected as repositories of lives, in some cases lived long before we are born. The stories deserve to be told and remembered, but in most cases, the mute stones don't tell them. I resolved to try to use whatever skills I had to tell the world about my older brother, who wasn't famous but meant the world to me.
I live here in CT with my fantastic wife -- my successful children and my two cute grandchildren live locally.

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Paul Sardi Jun 29, 1958 - Apr 25, 1981 New Haven, Connecticut, United States

Paul was a fun person with an amazing personality. He enjoyed living life fully, and was a great brother and friend to many of his classmates and acquaintances.

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When Paul and I were very young (6 or 7), our father taught us how to play chess. For a long time, when we played against him, we lost; and Paul and I playing against each other -- well, we were evenly matched (both just learning). My father wouldn't 'just let us win' because he said we would never learn that way. Eventually, Paul found that he had classmates in grammar school who had also learned how to play chess. He would play them during lunch, and anytime he lost -- he vowed to get better. He went to book stores and purchased anything he could find that gave grandmaster insights into the best ways to play chess. As time went by, he got better and better. We used to go to tournaments hosted by local hotels. He did very well in those, never entirely winning, but not doing too poorly, either. One year, a grandmaster held a tournament at the Connecticut Post Mall, and played 100 simultaneous games -- my brother was one of the 100. Amazingly, he didn't win, but he was offered a draw (neither player wins or loses) -- quite an achievement for an 11-year-old. His prize -- he got to keep the chess set he played on against the grandmaster. I've mentioned that Paul and I were Boy Scouts. One year at camp, one of the counselors was (unbeknownst to us) the captain of the Yale Chess club. On Friday night during the week, the counselor offered to play chess against anyone who wanted to play. Of course, he beat everyone -- except my brother. They fought it out until the end -- I don't recall who finally won, but the counselor was so impressed with my brother's game that he asked if they could stay in touch when the camp season ended. Paul was a member of the JLHS Chess Club during high school, and I knew it gave him a chance to use the intellectual skills required to play serious games of chess with his peers, into which he had committed so much time and effort. He was also a member of the USCF (United States Chess Federation) with a rating of ~1600 based on tournament play. One day, my brother asked my father for a game. They played a very tough game -- and my brother won. Sadly, once Paul won, my father said he would not play against him again because my brother had proven himself to be the better player. I can recall Paul asking him to play after that, and my father declining repeatedly. Paul was quite bitter about our father not being willing to play him anymore -- he never quite understood the rationale. For some time, he would ask and try to be very 'friendly' in his approach -- but as time went by, he started realizing that our father absolutely intended to never play him again. I felt bad for him, because Paul wouldn't have gloated if he won -- he just wanted the comradery. Unfortunately, I did the same thing -- after a while, I never (or hardly ever) won. He was just so superior a player that I had no hope of winning. But maybe I just wasn't into it as much as he was, so we played once in a great while. I look back at this and realize there was a time when we played -- for the last time. I wouldn't have known it back then, but I feel sad that he wanted to spend time with me but I just couldn't stand to keep losing. I should have just played for the fun of it. I'm sure our last game ended in his victory. When he died, I requested the chess piece and the word 'checkmate' be added as symbols on his headstone. They weren't originally there -- it was never clear to me if my parents understood how much the game meant to him. It was a word I had heard him say many times as I lost the game, so, for me -- I felt his headstone would say *something* about who he was in life. To be sure -- his playing was never about 'I'm better than you'. It was the fun and excitement of playing, and even when he lost, he felt like he had gained something in return. In later years, when we played and I (infrequently) won -- he would tell me that I had played very well and used techniques that were smart, and 'not out of the books'. High praise from such a talented player. I have his last chess set -- when he died, I asked for it because it was so important and meaningful to him. It is a simple, low-cost, fold-in-half set with internal storage for the pieces. He must have disliked its ability to open too easily (there was no latch), so he added a magnetic catch to hold the halves together when closed. The workmanship wasn't great, but the catch he added still works almost 50 years later. For years, I've opened the set to hold the pieces, remembering when he offered to play and I said I wouldn't -- these days, I would be very happy just to lose.

Paul Sardi

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AncientFaces

This account is shared by Community Support (Kathy Pinna & Daniel Pinna & Lizzie Kunde) so we can quickly answer any questions you might have. Please reach out and message us here if you have any questions, feedback, requests to merge biographies, or just want to say hi!
2020 marks 20 years since the inception of AncientFaces. We are the same team who began this community so long ago. Over the years it feels, at least to us, that our family has expanded to include so many. Thank you!

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