Stephen Sardi

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Paul Sardi

With the SS United States being in the news so much recently, I thought I would share this picture. My parents, Paul, and I came across from England in 1961 on the SS United States, and this picture was taken either during boarding in Europe, or after arriving in New York. You can see my parents -- my mother holding Paul, and my father holding me (with my back to the camera). My mother told us in later years that we both handled the voyage 'very well'. If you look closely (toward the center of the picture), you can still make out his big brown eyes looking directly into the camera. I'm the last remaining family member still alive in this sadly not-so-good picture.

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When we were younger, Paul and I never said 'good night' to each other. Night times were busy with doing homework, working on hobbies, listening to albums, etc., and usually we were up until 2am just lying in bed and relaxing, knowing we were both there for the night. I don't recall ever making a concerted effort to 'call it a night' and say good night, specifically. When you are young, the days go by and you don't think like adults might. I thought my brother would be there forever, so the formalities of being an adult never sunk in. The problem is -- I still think of him being out there, somewhere -- with the hopes of being able to say good-bye, finally. The end was so quick, I can't remember specifics of the day -- it's all hazy now. But even though I was at the wake and funeral -- to me, he is still alive and well, somewhere out there. In my opinion, there is no such thing as closure. One minute he was here, and then -- he was not. I keep visualizing him walking up to my house and ringing the doorbell -- with that great smile and wavy brown hair. He would be angry with me for something, but then, he would let it go (as he always did) and we would be friends again. We would start up again as if nothing ever happened. I know others out there must feel the same way I do. I understand people mourning, not being able to put losses like this behind them. I won't ever be able to, since I keep seeing him as I knew him - he is a part of me that still lives on, ready to enjoy life again, doing whatever we could together for fun. I still hear his voice and have the expectancy that we will meet again. I wish I had one last day with him. We would do things together all day, and at the end of the day, I would finally say good-bye to him, and tell him that I loved him, and loved having him as my brother and friend. He would laugh at me, and call me an idiot (as he would when I waved to him when he was standing with his friends, and I was passing by -- but I would know he did that just to let me know he saw and acknowledged me). So, dear reader -- value what you have in your life. Say good night to those you love, and if you are lucky, you will have the chance to say good-bye as well when their (or your) time comes.

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When we were younger, Paul and I never said 'good night' to each other. Night times were busy with doing homework, working on hobbies, listening to albums, etc., and usually we were up until 2am just lying in bed and relaxing, knowing we were both there for the night. I don't recall ever making a concerted effort to 'call it a night' and say good night, specifically. When you are young, the days go by and you don't think like adults might. I thought my brother would be there forever, so the formalities of being an adult never sunk in. The problem is -- I still think of him being out there, somewhere -- with the hopes of being able to say good-bye, finally. The end was so quick, I can't remember specifics of the day -- it's all hazy now. But even though I was at the wake and funeral -- to me, he is still alive and well, somewhere out there. In my opinion, there is no such thing as closure. One minute he was here, and then -- he was not. I keep visualizing him walking up to my house and ringing the doorbell -- with that great smile and wavy brown hair. He would be angry with me for something, but then, he would let it go (as he always did) and we would be friends again. We would start up again as if nothing ever happened. I know others out there must feel the same way I do. I understand people mourning, not being able to put losses like this behind them. I won't ever be able to, since I keep seeing him as I knew him - he is a part of me that still lives on, ready to enjoy life again, doing whatever we could together for fun. I still hear his voice and have the expectancy that we will meet again. I wish I had one last day with him. We would do things together all day, and at the end of the day, I would finally say good-bye to him, and tell him that I loved him, and loved having him as my brother and friend. He would laugh at me, and call me an idiot (as he would when I waved to him when he was standing with his friends, and I was passing by -- but I would know he did that just to let me know he saw and acknowledged me). So, dear reader -- value what you have in your life. Say good night to those you love, and if you are lucky, you will have the chance to say good-bye as well when their (or your) time comes.

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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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My brother and I would share our dreams, especially if they seemed funny, or if something unusual happened in them. But mostly, they were wishful thinking on our part about what our futures held, things we eventually hoped we would own, or places we might visit that we had learned about in school. We learned about the Caribbean, the deep blue waters, the white sands -- and the pirate's treasure we were sure we would find if only we could get there. Our interest was heightened when we learned that Charles Island, off the coast of Milford, CT, had been a stopping point for Captain Kidd and that he may have buried treasure there, according to local legend. My brother had a dream about how one day, when he got older, he would buy Charles Island -- and he and I would go out there and find the treasure we were sure was hidden there. In his dream, he told me, the evidence was there because he found a sand dollar seashell at Silver Sands, the nearby beach. I was so caught up in his dream that I felt sure he HAD to be right, and I looked forward to it eventually happening. Of course, that could not happen. The legends were real, but we didn't stand a chance of finding anything, not even the sand dollar shell that are native to tropical waters. Charles Island has an interesting feature -- at low tide, there is a tombolo (sandbar) that allows people to walk over to the island and stay for a short while until the tide starts coming in again. We knew about this, but it's hard to be an explorer when your life is tied up in school and work. Although I've walked there in recent years, Paul and I never did, so the best he could do was admire the island from afar -- and settle for dreams of pirate gold. I don't know if we perceive when our last days and nights are upon us. I can only hope that the night before he died, my brother had a dream where his wishes came true -- where he found the buried treasure, and enjoyed the rest of his life knowing he had achieved a great accomplishment. As an adult, I've been to where he and I dreamed of going -- it is as beautiful as we both imagined. The palm trees, the white sand, the blue water -- all there. I hope his dreams that night -- April 24, 1981 -- matched the reality of the beautiful things he missed out on. During one of my trips there, I found his sand dollar on the beach -- and thought of him. Wherever he is, I hope his dreams come true.

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My brother and I would share our dreams, especially if they seemed funny, or if something unusual happened in them. But mostly, they were wishful thinking on our part about what our futures held, things we eventually hoped we would own, or places we might visit that we had learned about in school. We learned about the Caribbean, the deep blue waters, the white sands -- and the pirate's treasure we were sure we would find if only we could get there. Our interest was heightened when we learned that Charles Island, off the coast of Milford, CT, had been a stopping point for Captain Kidd and that he may have buried treasure there, according to local legend. My brother had a dream about how one day, when he got older, he would buy Charles Island -- and he and I would go out there and find the treasure we were sure was hidden there. In his dream, he told me, the evidence was there because he found a sand dollar seashell at Silver Sands, the nearby beach. I was so caught up in his dream that I felt sure he HAD to be right, and I looked forward to it eventually happening. Of course, that could not happen. The legends were real, but we didn't stand a chance of finding anything, not even the sand dollar shell that are native to tropical waters. Charles Island has an interesting feature -- at low tide, there is a tombolo (sandbar) that allows people to walk over to the island and stay for a short while until the tide starts coming in again. We knew about this, but it's hard to be an explorer when your life is tied up in school and work. Although I've walked there in recent years, Paul and I never did, so the best he could do was admire the island from afar -- and settle for dreams of pirate gold. I don't know if we perceive when our last days and nights are upon us. I can only hope that the night before he died, my brother had a dream where his wishes came true -- where he found the buried treasure, and enjoyed the rest of his life knowing he had achieved a great accomplishment. As an adult, I've been to where he and I dreamed of going -- it is as beautiful as we both imagined. The palm trees, the white sand, the blue water -- all there. I hope his dreams that night -- April 24, 1981 -- matched the reality of the beautiful things he missed out on. During one of my trips there, I found his sand dollar on the beach -- and thought of him. Wherever he is, I hope his dreams come true.

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Paul Sardi

This is a scan of Paul's class picture from 1975-6.

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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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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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Years ago, there were many similar-aged children living in our neighborhood who were looking for something to do on a lazy summer day. One favorite game was kickball -- you could generally get 6 or 8 kids to come together and form teams. As kids got older, they stopped being interested. By the time they graduated grammar school, they were done with the neighborhood games, and found other more grown-up interests. This meant that whoever was the oldest kid still willing to play became the umpire, and their word was final. By the summer of '72, Paul was the eldest in the neighborhood, and one particular Saturday afternoon word got around that lots of kids were interested in playing. I convinced him to join thinking there would be a short game with few kids involved but hoping it would be worth his while. As it turned out, about 20 kids showed up to play. We started playing around 10:30 that morning after dividing up into teams. There was never any thought of cheating, and everyone respected the fact that Paul was in charge. Around 1pm, we got hungry and took a break for lunch -- and Paul asked everyone to come back afterward, which they did. Upon arrival, they went to exactly the position or base they were on when we paused. We played for the entire afternoon, up until we needed another break for dinner. Once again, we adjourned, but then everyone came back as dusk grew. We played until dark -- then amazingly, the street lights came on and we continued to play. I don't recall the score or even who won, but the fun of having almost our entire neighborhood there and enjoying themselves was unusual, enjoyable, and memorable. The game ended later that evening when we (finally) all tired out. Paul announced the winner and thanked everyone for playing, and he made sure the kid who brought the 'really good' gym quality kickball got it back. We cleaned up the street and removed the temporary bases we had placed there so the road was back to normal. Paul would be going to high school in a few short months, so we all knew it would be unlikely he would ever participate again. Maybe that's the reason the game lasted so long -- it was a fond farewell. It was our last game. We all moved on, and most if not all of the neighborhood eventually moved out. I thought about that game, and the shortness of our childhoods. Everything we experience flies by so quickly, but that Saturday summer day-long game seemed to be telling us all something. My brother was a born leader, he was the oldest in our family and used to taking ownership -- and the rest of the kids saw that and respected him for it. I doubt any of us saw it as our last hurrah, but in hindsight that's what it was. I hope others who were there remember it as fondly as I still do.

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Yesterday (June 29th) would have been Paul's 65th birthday. While some people are considering retirement by that age, my brother was too high-energy for that -- he would have been 100% immersed in living his life. When we were kids, this event was a big deal. We would have just gotten out of school for summer recess, and Paul's birthday was basically the start of the summer for us. It was one of the few celebrations we had as family, and with four brothers all born in the summer, it made for fun times, one birthday after another. It would have been a day of playing outdoors, and then pausing for a cook-out and birthday cake later in the day. We would get each other gifts, not high in value but something we all felt compelled to do to show we cared. We were all in it -- together. It was an exciting day to look forward to, and we all did. The date was firmly embedded in our minds, since Paul was our de-facto leader. He was fun to be around, with a huge smile, a killer wit for comedy, and an inexhaustible supply of energy. You never knew what might happen next, but for sure -- it would make the day memorable. June 29th -- was one of the best days of the year. As time goes by, you start realizing the 'noises' caused by life around you -- whether problems, exciting events, family, games played, commotion -- are all part of our lives. They give our lives the gift of involvement. Yesterday -- was a very quiet day, and it came and went, like any other day. All that remains are the thoughts of what was, and what might have been.

Kristen Lee Kenny

Kristen Lee (Sardi) Kenny was born to Paul Sardi. Family, friend, or fan, this family history biography is for you to remember Kristen Lee Kenny.

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Paul Sardi's Chess Set, opened

This is his chess set, opened to show the pieces and the magnetic latch he added.

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Paul Sardi's Chess Set

Since I wrote about his chess experiences, I decided I should post a picture of the chess set I mention in the story.

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