Sari was my friend for years. After graduation, when she was a young mother and raising her kids pretty much by herself as a legal secretary, I would sit in her kitchen on Nelaview and we'd talk for hours, just as we had at Heights. She worked hard and created a life: married to the love of her life, beautiful children, and a successful teaching career. She made a huge difference in the lives of her family, students, and her community.
I met Sari when I transferred to Coventry in the middle of fifth grade. She was not quite like anyone else I'd known -- auburn hair, sharp chin, sharp eyes, sharp pencil, and sometimes sharp tongue. "You have a natural pout," she said, as she drew my caricature in seventh grade, "And your eyes are so small." Formidably talented. Vaguely raffish, with a passle of younger siblings. Her father, a once-aspiring artist, worked for the post office. Her mother was kind, but a bit other-worldly. I didn't know the word Bohemian then.
In 1978 I had a chance to show friendship and failed her. I was in the process of not so much dropping as falling out of graduate school, telling myself and everyone else that I was writing a master's thesis. In those days you hired someone to type your manuscript, and I had lined someone up, even while 90 of my 100 pages remained pristine. Sari heard about it somehow and called to ask -- no, to plead with me -- for the job. She was struggling to support her family, while I was indulging in a late adolescent identity crisis. I turned her down; I think her desperation frightened me. A failure of empathy. Of course, I would ultimately have let her down when I didn't finish the thesis; but that doesn't negate my refusal to make the gesture of support to a long-time friend.
I'm so glad to know she found happiness, financial security and a rewarding, productive life. And so sad it was over so soon.
I used to walk home with Sari from Coventry Elementary School. She was brilliant, witty, and a keen observer of others. I always looked forward to my walks with her (my other choices for co-walkers home were Sarah Cliffe and Joanne Zilsel--what an amazing group of children at that school). I thought there was such an air of sophistication about her--after all, her parents lived in an apartment, and she had her own key. I have thought of her so many times over the years, and even googled her a few times, but never found her. I'm so sorry I never reached her. I know that if I met her today, I would still want to be her friend. Such a tragedy.
I was close friends with Sari in 8th & 9th grade at Roosevelt. She was hilarious & brilliant, and a talented artist. We went our separate ways in high school, but I always thought I'd find her again some day and we'd laugh together about our young-teen selves. I'm so very sad that she's gone, and glad to read here that she was happy. A friend here in Boston has a daughter named Sari - I love having that reminder of my dear old friend.
Eda Mailman (Daniel)
Sari, there are alot of people that I don't remember, but you I do. Sorry to have lost you. Eda
Ruth Seligman (Seligman)
The most wonderful, creative person I knew. So many good times. You are a beloved treasure.
Ruth S
Alan Ness (Ness)
Sari, gone too soon.
Stephanie Berger
Sari was my friend for years. After graduation, when she was a young mother and raising her kids pretty much by herself as a legal secretary, I would sit in her kitchen on Nelaview and we'd talk for hours, just as we had at Heights. She worked hard and created a life: married to the love of her life, beautiful children, and a successful teaching career. She made a huge difference in the lives of her family, students, and her community.
Deborah Van Kleef (Van Kleef)
I met Sari when I transferred to Coventry in the middle of fifth grade. She was not quite like anyone else I'd known -- auburn hair, sharp chin, sharp eyes, sharp pencil, and sometimes sharp tongue. "You have a natural pout," she said, as she drew my caricature in seventh grade, "And your eyes are so small." Formidably talented. Vaguely raffish, with a passle of younger siblings. Her father, a once-aspiring artist, worked for the post office. Her mother was kind, but a bit other-worldly. I didn't know the word Bohemian then.
In 1978 I had a chance to show friendship and failed her. I was in the process of not so much dropping as falling out of graduate school, telling myself and everyone else that I was writing a master's thesis. In those days you hired someone to type your manuscript, and I had lined someone up, even while 90 of my 100 pages remained pristine. Sari heard about it somehow and called to ask -- no, to plead with me -- for the job. She was struggling to support her family, while I was indulging in a late adolescent identity crisis. I turned her down; I think her desperation frightened me. A failure of empathy. Of course, I would ultimately have let her down when I didn't finish the thesis; but that doesn't negate my refusal to make the gesture of support to a long-time friend.
I'm so glad to know she found happiness, financial security and a rewarding, productive life. And so sad it was over so soon.
Soheyla D. Gharib (Gharib)
I used to walk home with Sari from Coventry Elementary School. She was brilliant, witty, and a keen observer of others. I always looked forward to my walks with her (my other choices for co-walkers home were Sarah Cliffe and Joanne Zilsel--what an amazing group of children at that school). I thought there was such an air of sophistication about her--after all, her parents lived in an apartment, and she had her own key. I have thought of her so many times over the years, and even googled her a few times, but never found her. I'm so sorry I never reached her. I know that if I met her today, I would still want to be her friend. Such a tragedy.
Alexa Halberg
I was close friends with Sari in 8th & 9th grade at Roosevelt. She was hilarious & brilliant, and a talented artist. We went our separate ways in high school, but I always thought I'd find her again some day and we'd laugh together about our young-teen selves. I'm so very sad that she's gone, and glad to read here that she was happy. A friend here in Boston has a daughter named Sari - I love having that reminder of my dear old friend.
Peace, Alexa