Beverly Hills High School
Class of 1970
Gary Schoenberg
Gary's Latest Interactions
Beautiful, Marcy. Thanks for sharing your memory.
Posted on: Mar 06, 2022 at 8:01 PM
Thanks, Larry.
I'd like to thank each of you for your memories of Simon. They are each poignant and beautiful. Clearly, he's left footprints (and elbows) in your souls. I didn't know Simon well. Different grammar schools and we didn't overlap much. I do remember his smile, his unabashedly pride in being Jewish. His running. Your memories make me wistful, appreciative of his impact.
Happy Birthday, Jimmy! It’s been a long journey since you first came into my life. I have treasured our friendship and all of its contours. From those egg throwing days to the time you and Richard tried to convince me not to run for student body president (kind of wish you’d succeeded, in some respects) through your children coming into my life, through your legal advice, through our neighborhood in Hillside that we call each other from, from time to time, I am so blessed to remember your parents and how your mother called you Jimmy, and God knows what else I can reference that brings you a smile.
To my friends of my youth. My good friend, Rick Leff, died of prostate cancer recently. I share his eulogy:
There is a photograph of Rick:
He is smiling. Beaming really. His eyes look warm as if he’s just thought of something really funny. He looks proud. Accomplished. Loving. And with his hair, he looks almost youthful. That was Rick for so much of his life.
He was born in Los Angeles, December 17, 1951. His parents were Betty Jane Pessin and Allan Leff. His father, Allan, was an accountant, the son of a successful builder. By about the third grade, Rick, his sister Tracy and his parents moved to Beverly Hills. He went to Beverly Vista grammar school. I knew him then. And then, he vanished. I didn’t know what happened to him. It wasn’t until high school that we connected again. I think it was our Junior year that we struck up a renewed friendship. Rick was then a much younger version of the man that he would become. He had his huge gifts; he had his challenges, but we were fast friends who talked freely and laughed together, and he became my lifelong friend for which I am immensely grateful.
During high school I would visit his family home. It was quite a place. Built by William Randolph Hearst for his mistress, the actress, Marion Davies, it was like an Italian villa. With frescoes on the walls and museum quality art. It would later be featured in the movie, The Godfather, part one. The scene of the movie director who wouldn’t give the Frank Sinatra figure a role woke up to find his prize thoroughbred horse, headless in the bed. The director screaming.
I felt, in visiting, though, it was more a museum than a home. There wasn’t the warmth between Rick and his family. It always seemed pretty toxic. He was a pretty rebellious adolescent, too.
I only learned years later that the reason he vanished one day from grammar school was that his father had died. And the family changed schools. Rick would not learn until he was eighteen that his father committed suicide after a business went bad. His step father Joe told him. Rick felt betrayed that he hadn’t been told the truth before this. I didn’t know this when we connected as friends, but I was drawn to Rick, his humor, his wit, his intelligence, his attention to the details of being a good friend, and his unfiltered honesty. I could always know what he was feeling and trust that whatever he said, he meant.
It also occurs to me now, that we both shared a bond of our families facing inarticulate tragedy when we were young. My five year old brother Peter was killed when he was hit by a car when I was ten. The reason I mention this is that both of us hadn’t been raised in families that understood the journey of mourning. They didn’t have children attend funerals. They didn’t revisit the experience and help their children process it as we grew older. Rick was only seven and the wisdom, back then, was that children didn’t go to funerals. He and his sister were farmed out to relatives. No doubt, this was especially disorienting in the wake of tragedy. His mother was a survivor. Within two years, she had joined Hillcrest country club, remarried and the family moved to the wealthier part of Beverly Hills. Rick hadn’t vanished. He’d just transferred to Hawthorne elementary school. Of course, we never talked about this back then. We didn’t know how.
I mention this, because I think it’s at the center of Rick’s surliness and volatility that he could lapse into from time to time.
I think that, unconsciously, I felt this bond with Rick: we were both “strangers in a strange land” of sorts. Rick understood loneliness, and hungered for deeper connection. He was intense. Very intense. I was, too. Maybe not as intense as Rick was; that was pretty near impossible.
Rick could be pretty cantankerous. He was easily hurt. His core self esteem, I’d say, in some respects was very high and in others, it was very low. His toes were always out there to be stepped on. And when you did, even inadvertently, watch out!
But I think I laughed more with Rick over the years than almost anyone else in my life. In one sense, he was my older brother, though we were born only a couple months apart. Rick was always a few bases ahead of me as we rounded the bases of life. He gave me advice and encouragement without being humiliating for what I didn’t know. He shared his love of food, of fine restaurants, of world travel. And these have stayed with me as a gifts, and even when, Rick lost it, which he surely did from time to time, even when he lapsed into being surly or resentful, I realized that it was a part of the total package. Rick, at an early age, was a force of nature; God help you if you tried to control or change him.
Throughout his schooling, Rick was, no doubt, a gifted student. He excelled at math and
loved reading books. All of Kurt Vonnegut, Joseph Heller’s Catch 22, Heinlein, Stranger in a Strange Land. He loved talking. Rick could carry on a conversation about almost anything. His opinions had opinions. Later in life, he would complete others’ sentences. Sometimes, he would even carry on both sides of the conversation. He had a head for details and would go off into minutia, it was sometimes, hard to keep up, but he actually was never ever boring. You see, Rick needed people. He liked to be in the center of attention. He also liked to make a positive difference in his loved ones’ lives.
In college, Rick had the special wisdom to go to not just one, but two, women’s colleges that had recently admitted men for the first time. His Freshman year he went to Pitzer in Claremont, California. Then he transferred to Bennington. I think he entered in the third year of admitting men into the class. What a plan!
It was at Bennington, his Junior year, that he met you, Susan. You were from different worlds. You would open worlds in each other. Truth be told, you found him initially pretty annoying. Now, I can’t imagine...
But annoying soon became deep conversations that led to love as friends that became 25 years of marriage, 48 years of friendship that transcended divorce. Together you brought four children into the world, Rachel, Alex, Jay and Asher. You were both loving parents. To me, Rick’s fathering was pretty much a miracle. His parents weren’t focussed on his needs.. His mother was tough. The survivor who turned off the emotional faucet and had a hard time turning it back on.
Together you travelled the world. You loved eating, and reading deeply, talking, raising children, facing life’s challenges together.
As a businessman Rick had many lives. His first job was in social work, he obtained a masters degree in statistics, which brought him a unexpected resource in social work and in life.
Rick came to want to be particularly interested in providing jobs to people. Throughout his business career, Rick was known for being good to his employees. Long before Obamacare and Vermont’s health plan, Rick made sure his employees had good wages and good healthcare. It was part of his many high standards for himself. Though I would joke with him throughout our lives, I came to understand just how deep and how principled he was.
More…
Maura,
You and Rick met online and then, on the phone. And you realized just how very much you had to talk about.
When you actually met in person you found that you were meeting the man on the phone, inhabited in his body. He was so easy to talk with. There was a strong intellectual connection, which became deeply romantic. In walked the most beautiful girl in the world, he told you later. His prayer in that moment was, “God, make her like me.”
His prayer was answered.
Plays, literature, - he lived comfortably in your world as a writer. He regaled you with stories growing up in California. How he met the Beatles. They were playing a private party at someone’s house. How he went to school with Little Ricky from I Love Lucy. He knew the stories to charm you.
And he could be quite charming. Very. He sent you flowers. Took you to nice restaurants, he was very patient. He was a great date. He took you to see the Greatful Dead after Jerry Garcia. He took you to the opera, which was your love. When he came to your home, he brought flowers for both you and Mirabel. She was nine years old then. He was great at talking with your kids. He took a deep interest in each of them. “You and your kids are a nice package,” he told you. He knew what he was getting into. They were adolescents. But, over time, of all the things that Rick did in this world, he weighed into being a father. And, in this, Rick was a heavy weight. Four biological children became eight. Mirabel, Amanda, Spencer, Sam.
You were with him to the end, Maura, caring for him, sustaining him, loving him, deeply sharing and celebrating the life that you shared.
Each of you knew Rick as a father figure. Maura’s kids joined his own and each of you were willing to share the amazing impact he had as a father.
I love Asher’s story of going with his father to Europe and discovering just how much Rick knew about art and history. And then, there was the time when you couldn’t find the tour guide that you had arranged and Rick had a meltdown and then recovered and gave you this exquisite tour of the Vatican. He helped you with your challenges in school with complete devotion and patience. He nurtured your love of literature. He helped launch you in life, each of you, and was filled with love and admiration for you.
Amanda and Jared, I know your gratitude for Rick as an important father figure in your lives. Sure, there was always tension. Particularly, at close proximity. On the other side, Rick was the anchor that you all rotated around. The foundational presence in all of your lives. The bridge to your larger family. It was Rick’s help and guidance that helped make the Kombucha business. In his final moments of his life, you felt a deep connection, Amanda. He was the parent who helped launch you. And he was Lev’s loving grandparent and what a grandpa he would be.
Jay, he guided you into law, something Rick actually regretted not going into for himself. The story is that his parents both wanted him to become a lawyer, so, of course, Rick didn’t do that. He missed, he thought, the status of being a lawyer and the options that might have opened up. And so, he wanted it for you, Jay. We’ll see where it takes you in life, but I know how immensely proud of you.
Alex, you managed to stay more distant and independent. At times, it frustrated Rick, no doubt. But he always had a deep love for you and he came to respect your accomplishments and your independence. You took his path of independence.
Rachel, I know how your father and you locked horns from time to time, like each one of you, but how he loved you. I sense that saying goodbye and talking about it is hard for you, but you were his oldest, his first, and perhaps, he cut his eye teeth as a father. You were his lifelong engaging challenge and his opportunity to grow. I know how much he genuinely cared about you and loved you.
Spencer found in Rick a rock, who would take him seriously, even when he wasn’t taking himself seriously. He was there for you at basketball games, supporting your esteem, giving you guidance. Rick always wanted better for each of you.
Mirabel, From a young age, Rick talked with his children as if they were adults. In the positive sense. He nurtured you from shy to being articulate, from reticence to empowerment. And he was a powerful presence in each of your lives. What a gift!
With Sam, Rick created an empire in just a couple of years. You were a powerful combination: his deep organizational skills and understanding combined with your entrepeneurial genius and creative force. Oh, sure, Rick could fall into resentment and be hurt. He never apologized. He’d just blow up and then come back and say, “You want to go to lunch?” It didn’t mean he was going to pay.
He would lock horns, from time to time, but he would be so loving. So proud. His caring was unlimited.
Rick was old school about talking about love. Actions were what counted to him, not just words.
And yet, as his moments in this world waned, love flowed. He was current with those who could be by him. He was forgiving and asked forgiveness. He was understanding that the end was near.
I’m sorry that I didn’t get to say goodbye. He had lapsed into unconsciousness shortly after I heard of his final decline. There were many goodbyes in his dying, each conversation, I knew, could be our last. Each moment shared was therefore holy.
I will miss you, Rick. I will miss talking with you, laughing with you, ruminating on life together. I will share your memory, your being in this world, and in mourning, I pray, each of us will let the challenge of this moment be a spiritual opportunity. May we weave his leaving this world into our being in it. May we know that life is limited and therefore precious and be presented with the opportunities to make it holy. May we talk openly, like Rick did, and want the best for others, and empower others to pursue their dreams. Where he was compassionate, loving and giving, may we be inspired to be more compassionate, loving and giving.
Zichono Livracha! May his memory be a blessing for each of you.
I didn't know Gary Soifer well. He was in Senora I can't remember her name's Spanish class. I liked him. He had a good sense of humor and periodically would seem friendly and connectable. His death made me want to know more...this is what I found: it is clearly vetted by the family, so I'm sharing it:
Dr. Gary Michael Soifer, 66, of The Woodlands, Texas, passed away on July 17, 2019 at home in the company of his loving family.
Gary was born in Detroit, Michigan on January 27, 1953 to Yale and Phyllis (Grosberg) Soifer. The family relocated to California when he was a small child and he grew up in Los Angeles. He graduated from Beverly Hills High School and received his bachelor's degree from UCLA. He then attended the Southern College of Optometry in Memphis, TN.
It was in Memphis that he met and married his wife DiAnn (Hyde). They moved to Texas in 1980, where he began his career at TSO in Willowbrook. Shortly after, he moved on to his own practice at Sears Willowbrook, where he maintained an office for 30 years. During this time, he said his greatest accomplishment in this life, and his greatest joy, was the birth of his son Aaron, in 1995. He left the Willowbrook location in 2013 and continued to work part time in The Woodlands and surrounding areas for as long as he could. In his free time, he dabbled with coin and art collecting, golfing, enjoying a fine restaurant and happily arguing with his friends.
Gary is survived by his wife DiAnn, son Aaron Gregory Soifer, mother-in-law Carolynn Hyde and his beloved cousin Hillary Grosberg Stone, among many others.
A Celebration of Life is planned on August 3, 2019 from 3:00 - 6:00 p.m. at Forest Park The Woodlands Funeral Home. Friends are invited to come share a happy memory or just visit with the family.
In lieu of flowers, the family has requested that those desiring can visit www.nationaljewishmemorialwall.com and click on Plant a Tree to donate in his memory, or donate to the charity of your choice.
Bruce was a friend at Beverly Vista. He had a wry sense of humor and a kindness mixed with vulnerability that made him an "old soul" young. I don't know what happened that he lived such a short life, but I miss him. Anyone know something more?
Rick (Harry) Trotter was one of my oldest friends. We grew up on the same street (Oakhurst Drive) and were but 5-6 houses away. I loved Rick. He had a really, really different background from us. HIs father Duke was a huge man, a professional athlete, who loved Rick, his only son, deeply. Rick and I grew apart. We were in different classes and, for the age, different worlds by the time we hit high school. But when I think about him, I feel like he was one of my ideal brothers. He was one of the few that I knew who went to Southeast Asia and served. I was away at college when I got the news that he had died, and it felt like I was losing another brother. I think I heard that it was cancer and it was something like exposure to Agent Orange. I remember his heart, his goodness. His father knew he was dying, but couldn't face the pain. I miss Rick and wonder if there are others out there who knew him even better than I did and could fill in the gaps.
Gosh, I miss Jeri Lou Banks. My parents played bridge with her adoptive family. Her eyes sparkled and she was always so genuine. Grammar school crush became High School in different worlds. So, it was the tenth reunion that I remember her vividly. She and Bob gave me a ride home and it was clear that they shared such a special love. I heard that she died what seemed shortly thereafter. So sad not to have encountered her sparkling, warm, genuine, vulnerable person since. Remembering her warmly.
Guess we are birthday twins. Who knew? You’re younger though...