Nancy Mandeville

"You're welcome. I'm glad that I have them to share. Paul was an..."

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Jun 29, 2024 1:17 PM

Today is Paul's birthday
"Today, June 29, 2024 would have been Paul's 66th birthday. I wanted to Honor him by sharing these home..."

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Jun 29, 2024 12:59 PM

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Jun 29, 2024 12:55 PM

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Jun 29, 2024 12:43 PM

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Paul Sardi in Halloween costume

Paul loved having fun. He wanted his costume to be very scary so he did the makeup himself. When little kids saw him and were afraid, it made him laugh so much.

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Paul Sardi in Halloween costume

Paul and I decided to dress up for Halloween. I'm not sure what he was supposed to be, but it was a scary look for sure.

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Paul Sardi

Here's Paul posing for the camera and showing off his muscles! Taken in my yard in Devon, CT. I wish the pole in the background wasn't there.

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Paul Sardi

This is a picture of Paul with a kitten he got for me. I don't remember where he got it and unfortunately my mother wouldn't let me keep it. This picture was taken in my yard in Devon, CT and that is my dog J.J. with Paul.

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Kathy Pinna

I'm a Founder of AncientFaces and support the community answering questions & helping members make connections to the past (thus my official title of Founder & Content and Community Support ). For me, it's been a labor of love for over 20 years. I truly believe with all of my heart that everyone should be remembered for generations to come. I am 2nd generation San Jose and have seen a lot of changes in the area while growing up. We used to be known as the "Valley of Heart's Delight" (because the Valley was covered with orchards and there were many canneries to process the food grown here, which shipped all over the US) - now we have adopted the nickname "Capital of Silicon Valley" and Apple, Ebay, Adobe, Netflix, Facebook, and many more tech companies are within a few miles of my current home in San Jose (including AncientFaces). From a small town of 25,000, we have grown to 1 million plus. And when you add in all of the communities surrounding us (for instance, Saratoga, where I attended high school, living a block from our previous Mayor), we are truly one of the big cities in the US. I am so very proud of my hometown. For more information see Kathy - Founder & Content and Community Director
My family began AncientFaces because we believe that unique photos and stories that show who people are/were should be shared with the world.

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Stephen Sardi

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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Today, June 29, 2024 would have been Paul's 66th birthday. I wanted to Honor him by sharing these home movies I have. Although they are very short clips, it is wonderful to see him smile and having fun. I feel as if I can reach out and touch him. It brings him back to life for a few moments. Paul was always fun to be around. Even if I was teasing him about his bright blue Nike shoes, he would laugh too.

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Paul and I were trying to do some trick photography. He was holding the kitten, then it disappeared, and then it reappeared. He was really having fun! As you can tell by the smile on Paul's face, he loved to have fun! I'm so glad I have these little clips. It brings him back to life for a few moments.

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June 29, 2024

Paul Sardi

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June 29, 2024

Paul Sardi

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Paul and I (Nancy Di Federico Mandeville) in my front yard playing with the kitten Paul got for me.

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Paul Sardi in Halloween costume

Paul loved having fun. He wanted his costume to be very scary so he did the makeup himself. When little kids saw him and were afraid, it made him laugh so much.

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Paul Sardi in Halloween costume

Paul and I decided to dress up for Halloween. I'm not sure what he was supposed to be, but it was a scary look for sure.

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Paul and I were the closest members of our family -- he was less than 14 months older than me. Whatever he did, I did -- so when he joined the Scouts, so did I. Our best times together were during summer camp at Camp Sequassen, where we could enjoy a week (or two) camping and vacationing from our paper route. Some of my best memories surround the things we did together then that we won't have a chance to ever do again -- the long hikes, the athletic competitions with the other Troops, and the morning canoe rides on West Hill Pond -- in the early morning when the sun was just rising, and there was a beautiful mist on the water. We were young and our lives stretched in front of us, but we could not have realized that he had so little time left to live. It took me many years to be able to write this -- I still think of him every day and remember fondly all the good times we had, and the things we did together as brothers and friends. I wonder what he would have been like had he lived, how much he might have accomplished using his artistic skills, and what it would be like to still have my big brother.

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Paul and I joined a few other older scouts that had moved on to high school for a last outing -- we would hike part of the Appalachian Trail. We started in New York State, and walked across Connecticut into Massachusetts. During that hike, we camped in tents we carried with us. One night, it rained very hard and our tents filled with water, so sleep was pretty much impossible. He and I sat on the bank of a nearby river and managed to build a small fire. We spoke of things yet to come -- that no matter what, we would be friends and do everything together in the future. We completed that hike, but it was the last time we would do anything like it. That year (1974), Paul started working at Perry's Restaurant and I joined him in the summer of 1975.

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In the late 1960's, Paul and I both needed bicycles to get around in our lives. It was a bigger need back then -- today, most families have more than one car -- but for our family, there was only the one car, and my father took it to work every day. Without a bike, we couldn't do much. Paul went to a bicycle store and brought home a brochure showing his perfect bike: a yellow 10-speed Schwinn Continental. It was his dream, but the price was steep: $115 -- a huge amount for a 10-year old. The same purchase today (in 2024) would be nearly $1000. But he had his heart set on it, and he started saving every dime. Despite no encouragement or help at all, he somehow managed to save it up and went back to the store to buy it. I never saw a person more proud of something he had worked so hard to earn. He rode it for years, until he finally got a car and the bike was less useful. But, he was so proud of that bike, and took such good care of it. After Paul died, my younger brother got the bike -- and years later, I saw it in his basement. My parents wouldn't have seen any value in keeping it. Seeing it reminded me of how very proud I was of his achievement, and how much it meant to him. They went everywhere together, and when he was coming home from work at night in the summer, I could hear the 'tick tick tick' of the gears while he was coasting down Loomis Street, getting ready to park the bike in our garage. The bike looked lonely. I'm not sure what came of it since then, but it meant so much in such a short life.

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To anyone in the future who might read this -- you might wonder, why am I writing about my brother this way? We were never a close family, but among us, I was closest to Paul. He and I did everything together, so I experienced much of what he did and knew his thoughts and feelings. I don't see any other way for the world to know who this young man was. And, even though this is on the internet, who knows who will ever read it -- but it makes me feel better to know that at least some aspects of his life won't be forgotten forever. The day Paul died was a sunny April Saturday. Earlier that day, my father-in-law had asked me to help him install a range hood. I told him I expected to be at their house by around 2pm. But, my wife Dawn and I were running late, and we didn't actually get started to go there until about 2:30. I went out to my car and opened the hatchback to put my toolbox in, not noticing anything unusual. We got in the car and started driving, but at 2:30, the car filled with the intense sweet smell of flowers -- like being in a room filled with thousands of blooms. I immediately pulled over -- thinking 'What is THAT?'. I got out thinking maybe I had lost a hose and the radiator fluid was leaking onto the engine -- the only thing I could think of with a sweet smell. But outside the car, nothing was wrong. The smell completely passed in a few minutes. We continued to our destination and completed the job, and got back home that afternoon around 4 pm. The phone rang -- it was my youngest brother telling me that Paul had died in a motorcycle accident. I asked what time, and he told me 2:30. Since then, I have seen this as a sign that Paul wanted me to know what had happened in his final moments. Before he died, Paul had gotten a divorce. He needed a place to live, so he approached my parents asking them if he could move back into the house they owned. They told him no. With nowhere else to go, Paul rented a backroom in a house somewhere in New Haven. He was working two jobs to make ends meet. He was alone. It says in his obit that his address was Loomis Street. That is not correct -- he was not welcome to move back in there, into basically a big empty house. If he had, he might still be with us today, but my parents were not inclined to help their male children. We were on our own. I am not a religious person, but I believe somehow Paul wanted me to know what he was going through in his final moments. My wife experienced the same event the way I did, so I know I wasn't imagining things. Even almost 40 years later, this all sticks in my mind. Along with the great memories are the sadness of what might have been had decisions been made just a little bit differently.

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Over the past 40 years, I've considered that my brother did not live long enough to have ever been 'the best' at anything. He was never on a championship team, never won a chess tournament, never received the top prize in an art exhibition. But -- he was best at something during his grammar school years. At Lenox Avenue School, when Paul was in 5th grade (1968-1969), there was a 6th grade teacher named Ms. Jenkins. She was tough -- tough with the kids, and a tough teacher. Both Paul and I were desperately worried about getting her in 6th grade. When the time came -- Paul got her as a teacher. Since he went first in everything among us brothers, he would find out first-hand what it was like to be taught by this imposing lady. One of her assignments was to select a country -- about one a month -- for the students to report on. There was an outline to follow, but no real 'quality' requirement -- that was entirely up to the student. Since my brother was an artist, a really good one, he not only completed the report with great content, but also -- for each one -- created a cover made of slightly-yellow oaktag paper. He would hand-draw a representative cover picture for the country in the report. When assigned the Soviet Union, Paul drew a gorgeous picture of the St. Basil's church, showing the unique spires. He also showed the buildings that make up the Kremlin -- but nearby, he had written, in his great calligraphy, 'The City of Kremlin'. Unfortunately, this is not accurate --it is simply called 'The Kremlin'. But Ms. Jenkins not only gave the report an A+ (as all of his eventually received), but she didn't want to mark-up his report by actually writing the grade on the cover. She inserted a piece of paper behind the cover with the grade, and the correction. It turns out Ms. Jenkins was not mean -- she just wanted and respected quality efforts. She saw in Paul what she wanted from her students. Paul did this not because he was directed to -- but simply because it was his way. He had the talent and he used it. These must have meant something, even to my mother -- her famous line being 'What do you want -- a medal?" to remind us that our accomplishments weren't really all that good and undeserving of her pride in us. But -- we found that she saved all of the reports anyway, so maybe even she was impressed. After my brother died, my mother called Ms. Jenkins and told her what happened. Ms. Jenkins told her that Paul "was the best student she ever had." That was Ms. Jenkins' last year teaching -- she retired the following year, so I never experienced her as a teacher myself. Thanks to my brother, I would have known what to expect -- just do your best, and somebody out there will respect your effort and maybe even give you praise for a job well done. To this day, that lesson has stayed with me. He was worried, but ultimately he benefited from his relationship with her. I don't know where any of those beautiful reports are these days -- my parents are both gone, and likely the reports are as well. Many years ago, I used to look at them in awe at the quality of talent they contained. After Paul died, the things in life he valued were buried with him, and everything else was given away. I do have his chess set to remind me of the endless days when that was (pretty much) the only thing we had to keep us entertained. I miss those days and sometimes think about the effect of his 6th grade lesson in my life.

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When Paul and I still lived on Loomis Street, we were expected to go to church every Sunday. Since we had a paper route, either he or I would need to deliver the Sunday paper very early. After that, we would come home and get ready for church (9:30 Mass). Both Paul and I were altar boys, and my typical week was to serve the 7am Mass every weekday before going to grammar school, in addition to going to church on Sunday. There were times in spring and summer when the lure of beautiful weather was just too much. Instead of going to Mass, we would walk by St. Ann's church (making sure people saw us) and continue straight past, heading down Naugatuck Avenue to Silver Sands beach. At the time, there was an Ann's Newfield Bakery right next to the beach -- that's where we headed. We bought cream puffs and sat along the wall, watching the waves, the birds, the wind, and enjoying the sun on our faces. It was great -- we talked about all kinds of things, but we also knew that eventually these little naughty trips to the bakery instead of church might catch up with us. But -- they never did. We didn't do it often, so it was a welcome break and a chance to enjoy life at the Silver Sands shore, even for a short time. When the time was up, we walked back and mingled with people leaving the service, making sure people saw us leaving. I don't regret any of those little side trips. It was our little secret, and something we both enjoyed that made us closer as brothers. Now looking back and realizing how short his life turned out to be, I recall relaxing and spending our time together with fondness and yes, a small smile on my face.

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Our entire family went on a vacation to Niagara Falls, Canada, in the summer of 1968. As it turned out, even though my youngest sister was not born yet (our mother was expecting that December) -- it would be the only time we went on vacation together as a family. It's also the farthest from home my brother ever traveled and the only time he ever left the US after arriving as an immigrant in 1961. The itinerary took us first to Old Forge, NY, where we went to the Enchanted Forest Theme Park (I'm not sure it even exists anymore). I don't remember much about the actual place, but the night before we went there is very clear in my mind. Back then, our father worked second shift at the Avco-Lycoming factory, so he slept until later in the morning and came home at night after we were in bed. Aside from weekends (if he wasn't working overtime), we really didn't interact with him that much. On this trip, though, he was free in the evenings. One night there was nothing to do, and we were going to the park the next day, so my father, Paul and I went into the back of the hotel room where my father came up with a game for us -- he combined two decks of cards for a mega-version of War. We thought that was the *coolest* thing, and the game took hours. We had a blast, the three of us. Ironically, it's the thing I remember most about the whole trip. Sitting there, playing cards with my older brother, with our father's full attention. It had never happened before, and as fate would have it -- it never happened again. Paul and I talked about 'the game' in the years after. It's funny how such a simple thing became legendary in our minds. Eventually, we didn't speak much about it as we matured and other events became more important to us. But I'll always remember the feeling of being together with my brother that night.

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I've mentioned before that Paul and I were in Boy Scouts together (Cub Scout Pack 14, Boy Scout Troop 71 in Milford). During our time in the troop, we were encouraged to earn the highest rank -- Eagle Scout. At the time, a scout needed to earn (something like) 21 merit badges, and there were many to choose from. Some were mandatory, but the rest were discretionary. You tended to select those you felt most comfortable learning about. The traditional badges were earned by almost all scouts (Camping, First Aid, Cooking, etc.) For some reason -- Paul wanted to go after Corn Farming merit badge. It was so unusual for our geographic area that the counsel didn't have an adult to review performance and sign off, a necessary step to actually receiving the badge. That didn't stop Paul -- he told our Scoutmaster (Mr. Gourdier) that he planned to do it, and got it approved. I think Mr. Gourdier wasn't 100% sure Paul *wasn't* kidding, but since he treated us all like adults, he assumed Paul meant it and told Paul he would find the right person to sign off on the badge Where we lived, our house had no real property on which to grow a crop like corn. But behind us on Fairview Street, our neighbor Mr. Lauridsen and his wife had a large plot of land they used for farming and growing flowers. Paul went over there and discussed his plan with Mr. Lauridsen -- who was very happy to try this experiment with Paul and was very encouraging. So -- from around May until late summer, Paul went over there and learned how to grow corn. It was exciting and fun to see, and he never lost confidence that it would happen. When the time came, the man required to sign-off on the badge visited and reviewed the 3 rows of corn my brother had planted and nurtured all summer long. The man asked many questions, but the end result was -- Paul received the badge. I remember looking at Paul's sash (where Scouts are required to sew their actual badges when received) in order to display them at more formal events. You could see all of Paul's 'regular' badges, but then you'd see the unusual one with three ears of corn on it as well. He was proud of that badge -- nobody ever asked him about it, but I remember Mr. Gourdier being very pleased to see it be awarded to him. I remember his astonishment at the choice, and more importantly, that Paul had followed it through to success. Neither Paul nor I made it to Eagle Scout. Generally, those that achieve that lofty goal do it with the motivational and enabling support of their parents. We didn't have that, so we hobbled along doing what we could until we ran out of time. My brother taught me something very important -- to be motivated and do what you want to do, even if everyone else thinks it strange. You might not even get any help in achieving the goal -- but just stay with it. My brother was fortunate to have adults who really cared in his life. Both Mr. Lauridsen and Mr. Gourdier are both long gone, but they were key figures in my brother's short life. I'll always remember them, and thank them for treating my brother with respect and giving him the mentoring support he deserved.

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Paul Sardi

This is the back of the Sardi family headstone. When Paul and I were growing up, one of our favorite albums was 'Dark Side of the Moon' by Pink Floyd. We must have listened to it hundreds of times.

One night, in a reflective mood, Paul told me that if anything happened to him, he wanted this verse from the album on his headstone. At heart, he was a poet and for some reason, he found this verse particularly appealing.

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