It was 25 years ago this week that my dear friend, Sandy Blecher, passed away. She was only
47.
She and her husband, Shelly, has just returned 2 weeks earlier from their 4th or 5th trip to
Italy. Sandy loved everything Italian: the art, museums, the food and especially the people.
There probably wasn't a gallery or museum in Rome, Florence, Milan or Venice that failed to
get her attention. She worshipped the great painters and was a virtual encyclopedia when it came to art history or, for that matter, just about any other subject under the sun.
She was born in Philadelphia, one of 3 children - 2 girls and 1 boy. Her brother, Barry, was treated as royalty - a prince - while Sandy was relegated to the role of no one in particular. As
a female, it was expected that she would marry young and be a housewife. Pretty typical for a girl of her generation, although she did attend Temple Univ. for a year before she met and married Shelly.
That marriage took place when Sandy was only 19, one year after she had met Shelly who
claims that Sandy proposed to him after only 6 weeks of dating. I believe Shelly because Sandy used to tell hysterically funny stories about her parents and how warped they were and how she
couldn't wait to get out from under their influence and control.
Once married, her parents refused to pay for her college tuition and thus ended the formal
education of one of the most intelligent people I've ever known.
I don't recall how Carol (my former wife) and I met Sandy and Shelly. I do remember falling
totally in love with Sandy the very first time the 4 of us got together. Funny, articulate and self-
effacing, she was the perfect foil for her husband Shelly's comedic riffs. She was Gracie Allen to
George Burns, dumb like a fox and quick with a retort.
Carol and I would often visit Sandy and Shelly at their home in Silver Spring, Md. It was
the late 1960s and the 4 of us would go downstairs into their large den and smoke a lot of weed
while their 2 young daughters, Debby and Nina, were asleep upstairs (so we thought). In fact,
they were sitting at the top of the stairs half hysterical that their parents would be arrested and thrown into jail (along with Carol and me) because in school they were told that mj was an
illegal substance and its users should be locked up for life. Fortunately, for us, they never turned us in.
Sandy was petite, less than 5' tall. She wore her dark hair short and was always in cutoffs.
At least that's how I remember her. She was also a heavy smoker and it was probably that habit that caused the lung Cancer that killed her. Back then, just about everyone, including
myself, smoked; this was long before cigarette packs carried warning messages. I can't think
of a single other 'vice' that Sandy was guilty of. She took care of herself and only indulged her husband and children, never herself. Physically, I used to think of her as the Jewish Teresa
Brewer, a popular vocalist back in the 50s and early 60s. Pert and pretty.
Sandy worked for years at the National Building Museum in downtown D.C. as the special
events coordinator. It was a perfect match. Surrounded by the art that she treasured and other nearby museums and galleries, she loved her work and those who worked with Sandy adored her.
I remember when Carol called me in Los Angeles where I had moved in 1979 to tell me the
tragic news that Sandy had died. I recall exclaiming, "What are you talking about? She and Shelly just got back from Italy." This was true. As it turned out, Sandy had been complaining
of headaches and shortness of breath before this last trip, but nothing, I'm sure, could have
kept her from taking it.
Soon after their return from Sandy's beloved Italy, she was admitted to a nearby hospital.
She passed away 3 days later.
She lived long enough to see the birth of her first grandchild, Joshua. Her oldest daughter,
Debby, who had married and moved to North Carolina, returned to DC with her husband Steve
and baby son and moved in with Shelly. She and Nina kept a close eye on their father - out of love.
Sandy didn't live to see the birth of her other 3 grandchildren. Both Debby and her lovely
sister, Nina, live in the area and remain extremely close to their father. I can only imagine
the pain that Shelly has carried all these years (He never remaried).
Sandy was unique. Intelligent, funny, caring, loving, both sarcastic and sentimental, it is
impossible to think of her and not smile. She would only be 72 this year. Her life was cut way too short, but she left behind so many people with loving and fond memories of their time with her.
I am fortunate to be among that group.
A wonderful portrait of Sandy!!
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