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Elizabeth Sciabarra (“Ski”): A Celebration of Life (Video)

This presentation was edited, in chronological order, from a collection of videos taken by Frank R. Harrison on May 6, 2023 in the auditorium of Brooklyn Technical High School for “A Celebration of Life“, a tribute to my sister, Elizabeth Ann Sciabarra (aka “Ski”). I’ve also added the full slate of on-screen tributes from that celebration, featuring: Pamela Taylor Hurst, NYC Public Advocate Jumaane Williams, Deirdre DeAngelis D’AlessioKaren DiTolla, Congresswoman Nicole MaliotakisRose De PintoJoel KleinErnie Logan, the Brooklyn Tech Chorus, and Valmira Popinara.

This isn’t a perfect transfer by any means, but I’m happy that it is now being made available to all those who were unable to attend.

In his heartfelt remarks, Charles Pomaro pointed out that my sister was sometimes referred to as “Queen Elizabeth.” In truth, because she was born in 1952, the year in which Queen Elizabeth II ascended the British throne, some of her own relatives had taken to calling her “Queenie” when she was a child. So, it was rather ironic that this celebration was held on May 6, 2023, the date of the coronation of the Queen’s son, Charles III.

In keeping with that spirit, all I can say is: Long live Ski! And long may her love reign.

I know in my heart that she would have been so moved by this outpouring of admiration, respect, and affection—and even by its Michael Jackson touches, since MJ was one of her favorite artists.

Thanks again to everyone who made this event possible, for providing us with a glimpse into the depth of my sister’s love and the breadth of her impact. Check it out on YouTube.

Also, see this tribute posted by the Brooklyn Tech Alumni Foundation …

Elizabeth Sciabarra: A Tribute

“What you leave behind is not engraved in stone monuments, but what is woven into the lives of others.” – Pericles

On Saturday, May 6, 2023, Brooklyn Technical High School and the Brooklyn Tech Alumni Foundation hosted a wonderful tribute to my sister, Elizabeth Sciabarra (aka “Ski”). It was attended by a few hundred people and streamed to thousands.

Below is a video montage celebrating Ski’s professional life in pictures. I’m especially delighted by the use of the R&B dance track, “A Night to Remember“, as its musical backdrop. I remind folks that, back on October 17, 2021, when my sister was near death and nonresponsive for 12+ hours, I played this song for her, knowing it was one of her favorites. Within a few moments, I saw her gradually emerging from the darkness as she began to sing along, a tear slowly making its way down the side of her sweet face. I’d later joke that while Lazarus may have had Jesus, Liz had Shalamar. She’d go on to live another 13 months, fighting gallantly, as she always did, against all odds.

My sister’s fight ended on the evening of November 26, 2022. But her impact on the lives of countless others has lived on—and the May 6th tribute provided a fitting glimpse of that impact. (I will provide a link to the streaming video of the ceremony as soon as it becomes available.)

For an audience perspective on the event, check out this compendium of clips from Frank R. Harrison in 9 parts: Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4, Part 5, Part 6, Part 7, Part 8, and Part 9.

On behalf of my family, I’d like to extend my deepest appreciation to the many people who planned and coordinated this project. A special shout-out to those who appeared in various capacities, including emcee Marc Williams, Mathew M. Mandery, Jim DiBenedetto, Pamela Taylor Hurst, NYC Public Advocate Jumaane Williams, Joe Kaelin, Charles Pomaro, Deirdre DeAngelis D’Alessio, Karen DiTolla, Congresswoman Nicole Maliotakis, Rose De Pinto, Joel Klein, Randy Asher, Ernie Logan, David Newman, Valmira Popinara, Alumni Foundation President Denice Clarke Ware, Alumni Foundation Executive Director Courtney J. Ulrich, Lisa Trollback, and Carol Cunningham, who led a concluding “Legacy Cheer”. And for their wonderful contributions in dance and song, our cheers to the Lady Dragons, the Jazz Band, and the Chorus, which performed the Tech Alma Mater, the lyrics of which were always dear to my sister’s heart.

My love and thanks to everybody who made this unforgettable Celebration of Life possible.

Elizabeth Sciabarra, Warrior

So many wonderful tributes have been posted about my sister, Elizabeth Sciabarra (aka “Ski”), not only throughout her life and illness, but in the aftermath of her death on November 26, 2022. A lifelong educator, she had an immeasurable impact on countless numbers of people, be they students, colleagues, friends, or family. She has been praised as a gifted teacher and leader, a strong, yet caring coach, a humane and empathetic advisor. Every testimony provides yet another vantage point on the truly organic whole that comprised every aspect of my sister’s remarkable life.

We are a little bit more than two weeks away from a Ski Celebration that will take place at Brooklyn Technical High School on May 6 (3-5 pm). Those who are interested in attending the event either in-person or virtually, should register here.

Don’t hold anyone at Tech accountable for this post; I take full responsibility for it. Today, I’d like to share some stories of which few people are aware. These stories come with a PG-13 rating: Though I’ve been careful to substitute a “&” for every questionable “u”, there’s no doubt that the language here may not be suitable for all audiences. But I don’t want to sanitize the fierce quality that was my sister’s wrath. If you pissed her off, threatened the people she cared about, or stepped over any of her definable boundaries, look out! She was a Warrior—in defense of her bodily autonomy, family, home, and social justice.

The Bar Incident

One night, she was out with friends at a bar and was having a nice time. As she leaned over the bar stool, some guy behind her apparently touched her, uh, behind. She turned around and asked, “What’s up buddy?” The guy apologized and said, “Oh, I’m sorry.” She gave him The Look.

A minute later, that same guy brushed up against her yet one more time. “Hey,” she shouted, “watch your hands!”

The guy just ignored her. But my sister was steaming.

A few moments passed … and the guy grabbed my sister’s butt. She turned around, full fisted, and clocked him so hard in the face, he went down with a broken, bloody nose. Bedlam ensued and she was escorted from the bar.

The guy declined to press charges.

Score: Ski, Warrior in Defense of Bodily Autonomy, 1; Sexual Harasser: 0

The New Year’s Eve Incident

Some years ago, I was DJ’ing a New Year’s Eve party at a local catering hall. Some drunk guy came stumbling in with his girlfriend two hours after the Times Square Ball Drop and had missed the promised “champagne toast” at midnight. He demanded his champagne, but I told him it was too late. He grabbed me by the throat, threatening to “hurt” me. I kind of backed off, and let it go. Moments later, when I told my sister of the incident, she bolted after the guy and cornered him on a stairwell, screaming: “You threatened my brother! I’ll kill you!” When his girlfriend started to laugh, she turned to her and yelled: “And you—you f&cking bimbo! Shut the f&ck up!” She called security and had the two of them removed from the premises.

Score: Ski, Warrior in Defense of Family: 1; Drunk Jerk and Girlfriend: 0

The Apartment Incident

A few years later, something rather odd happened at our apartment. No matter where we’ve lived in this neighborhood, it was always a rental on the second floor of a two-family house. This story takes place in our current apartment, where I have been living since 1986. It was the late 1990s, and our trusted dog, Blondie, a Chihuahua-mix with a Napoleon complex, often barked menacingly at strangers near and far. But she was very loving to all those she trusted.

One afternoon, my brother Carl called us—he only lived a few doors down—and told us that he’d be coming over for a cup of coffee. My sister was in her bedroom, straightening up, and I went downstairs and unlocked the door so I could return to working on my computer. The entrance door to our apartment was to my back, and I expected my brother to enter at any moment. Not a minute later, I heard the door open downstairs and I heard someone walking up the steps to our place.

Blondie suddenly became maniacal. She was barking as if the apartment were under siege. “Blondie! Blondie! Stop! It’s Brother!!!”, I hollered. “Come on in, Bro!” And I returned to my computer screen.

The door opened behind my back, and the dog simply lost it! She started lunging. I turned around and it was not my brother. It was some strange man, whom I’d never seen on our block or in our neighborhood, mumbling to himself. Blondie started nipping at his heels. Being ever the diplomat, I looked up at him and exclaimed: “Sir, can I help you? Who are you? I think you’re in the wrong apartment, sir.”

The dog’s barks were now deafening, as the guy walked into our bathroom and started cleaning his hairbrush in our sink. And I’m still trying to be gentle: “Sir! Sir! I think you must be lost. Who are you looking for? I don’t think you’re in the right place.”

Well.

My sister came out of the bedroom and started screaming: “What the hell is going on out there?” The dog had gotten positively violent by this point, as my sister moved toward the bathroom. She was shocked to see this strange man over our bathroom sink. Diplomatic negotiations had broken down. “Who the hell are you?” She grabbed him by the collar of his shirt, opened the apartment door, and forcefully pushed him down the stairs: “You need to get the f&ck out of here!!!” As he departed, my sister locked the door behind him and marched back up the stairs. When she entered the apartment, she gave me The Look.

 “What are you, crazy?! Why were you trying to reason with the guy? You don’t know this guy! You don’t know what he was capable of! What the hell is wrong with you?”

I meekly returned to my seat. A few moments later, my brother rang the bell, and I went down and let him in. Blondie was calm. A re-telling of the story, however, elicited such uproarious laughter that we could hardly catch our breaths.

Score: Ski, Warrior in Defense of Home, 1; Intruder: 0

The Car Incident

Many of my sister’s students have celebrated the fact that she gave a voice to the young women at Brooklyn Tech, an all-male school up until 1970. Having started teaching at that school in 1972, she would go on to coach its cheering squads and took its dance teams all the way to national championships.

She was also known to accompany kids from the school to the subway stations when the high-crime Fort Greene area of Brooklyn had more in common with the “Fort” than the greenspaces of its famous park.

Early in her tenure as principal of New Dorp High School on Staten Island, while she was on stage speaking during an assembly presentation, some kid opened the back door to the auditorium and announced: “She’s a bitch!” She raised her fist in the air and owned it: “Yes I am!”—to applause.

She also went out of her way to ride the buses on various occasions with African American kids all the way to their Stapleton and St. George neighborhoods, to send a message to anyone who might want to target students for taunting or bullying.

Racial problems were certainly not endemic to Staten Island, however. In the early-to-mid-1980s, our Gravesend section of Brooklyn was far less integrated than it is now, populated predominantly by whites of Italian and Southern European descent. As Wikipedia reports, back in 1982, African-American “transit worker Willie Turks was beaten to death in Gravesend by a group of white teenagers.” On Christmas Day 1987, “white youths beat two black men in the neighborhood in an apparent ‘unprovoked attack’,” which led to protests in January 1988 by the Reverend Al Sharpton, who “led 450 marchers between Marlboro Houses and a police station, and were met with chants of ‘go back to Africa’ and various racial epithets from a predominantly white crowd.” In 1989, in the wake of the murder of Yusef Hawkins, black protestors were welcomed to the neighborhood by whites who held up watermelons, while hurling obscenities and bricks at the demonstrators.

It was in this lovely atmosphere of cosmopolitan tolerance and racial harmony that my sister decided to invite a group of mostly African American cheering squad members to our apartment on a sunny Saturday afternoon. The mood was festive, and everyone had a great time. But we saw some young white punks across the street from us who were not very pleased. Under her breath, Elizabeth said to me, “These sc&mbags better not make any trouble with my girls here.” At the end of the day, she made sure that all of them got home safely.

The next morning, I walked out to get the Sunday papers. As I passed our car, I couldn’t believe my eyes. Every window had been bashed in, the glass splattered both inside and outside the car. I walked upstairs and calmly informed my sister what had happened. She was uncontrollably enraged. We both knew who had perpetrated the deed. Looking out the front window, she saw one of the obvious culprits who was visibly irate the day before at the sight of black kids entering our apartment. Nothing could hold her back. She flew down the stairs and stomped across the street, fuming, as a crowd began to form. She went straight for their ‘leader’.

“You! You!” – going full throttle right up to the guy’s face. “You bashed my windows in! You motherf&cker!”

“Ay, ay,” the guy said, clearly shaken. “Watch it, lady. I know people!”

“I know people too!” she shouted. “And they’re gonna break your f&cking legs if you touch my car again!”

The crowd went completely silent. I was right behind her. And we both turned around and went back upstairs.

The black kids would return to our home many times thereafter. And nobody ever touched our car again.

Score: Ski, Warrior in Defense of Social Justice: 1; Bigots: 0

Four incidents. Four victories. One TKO. My sister was a champ in the boxing ring of life!

Postscript (21 April 2023): See Facebook for comments. On Facebook, I added this point:

I just wanted to thank everyone who has reacted, posted, or dropped me a note. I added a postscript to this thread, which I repeat here to highlight it:

It is not without some irony that 28 years ago on this date [April 21, 2023], my mother—Ann Sciabarra—passed away after a five-year battle with lung cancer. She was an incredibly strong woman. The apple(s) didn’t fall far from the tree. We all inherited some of her toughness and loads of her empathy. My sister was definitely my mother’s daughter. For a hilarious vignette in memory of my mom, which illustrates the point, check out this post from Mother’s Day 2021 [also on Facebook].

Elizabeth Sciabarra: A Celebration of Life

In honor of my sister. Register here for the event on May 6, 2023.

Elizabeth Sciabarra Tribute at BTHS Homecoming

This was presented on Day 1 of the Brooklyn Tech Homecoming … in honor of my sister. It brought tears to my eyes. I miss her so much. Thanks to Iris Cumberbatch for recording this and putting it on Facebook (video link).

Elizabeth Ann Sciabarra, RIP

September 2, 1952 – November 26, 2022

My sister Elizabeth Ann Sciabarra—Ski to the thousands of students whose lives she touched as an educator for half a century—died at 8 p.m. tonight after a two-year long bout with many serious health issues. Her passing came quite shockingly after a steep decline over the past week.

Ski was the recent recipient of the Lifetime Achievement Award at a gala marking the one-hundredth anniversary of the opening of Brooklyn Technical High School [YouTube link]. She was fortunate enough to view the YouTube video of this presentation this past week and was very deeply moved; I think that it provided a poignant coda to her lifelong, passionate commitment to the education and well-being of young people.

Back in 2010, before she’d go on to become Executive Director of the Brooklyn Tech Alumni Foundation, she retired from the NYC Department of Education—after a professional life that took her from teacher and coach to assistant principal at Tech, principal at New Dorp High School on Staten Island, deputy superintendent and founding CEO of the Office of Student Enrollment at the DOE. At that time, I had the occasion to speak at her retirement dinner. I highlighted one of my sister’s favorite quotations, which she often used at various commencement exercises. It could just as easily and appropriately speak to her own impact and legacy. Noted historian Rina Swentzell (1939–2015) of Santa Clara Pueblo said:

“What we are told as children is that people, when they walk on the land, leave their breath wherever they go. So, wherever we walk, that particular spot on the earth never forgets us, and when we go back to these places, we know that the people who have lived there are in some way still there, and that we can actually partake of their breath and of their spirit.”

In every place she has been, with everyone she has worked, all those students she has taught, advised, assisted, coached, all the teachers, assistant principals, principals, parents, community partners and others with whom she has interacted, not to mention her dear friends and beloved family—all these have been blessed to partake of her very strong spirit.

Wherever she has walked, people will be hard pressed to forget her and her impact on their lives.

I once told her that she may not have had kids of her own, but she mothered literally thousands of kids, whose lives were forever changed by their encounters with her. Indeed, as a caring educator, in the eyes of those kids, my sister flew around the city of her birth, the city she was so proud to call home, with a huge “S” on her chest, which could have stood for “Sciabarra” or “Ski”—or even “Superwoman.”

For me, however, that “S” always stood for “Sister,” which means more than that one word can ever convey.

Indeed, as siblings, we lived together for as long as I’ve been alive. She was more than my sister. She was my friend, my confidante, my partner-in-crime, my advisor, my guide, not only for all things academic but for life itself. As someone who struggled with chronic, congenital medical issues, I could never have made it without her loving support and encouragement. She was my strongest advocate and fiercest defender.

Even over the last month, as she struggled with increasingly difficult medical complications, she was elated as I completed the copyediting and formatting of the last essays for the 2023 grand finale of The Journal of Ayn Rand Studies. She gave me a fist bump when I told her, “It’s done!” As a lover of music and dance—and boy did she have rhythm [YouTube link]—she was also privy to all the “Songs of the Day” that I had already lined up for the upcoming holiday season, my projected January 2023 fifteenth-anniversary tribute to the “Breaking Bad” franchise, and my annual Film Music February Festival. And so, those songs will be posted, no matter what, with added poignancy.

There wasn’t a holiday she didn’t embrace or celebrate in grand style. She was even able to glimpse the Christmas decorations I put up the day after Thanksgiving. I know that it brought her peace and joy even as she fought bravely against the agony and pain that were consuming her body.

Tonight, my heart is shattered. I am comforted only because she is finally out of pain and that she died with dignity in her own home—by the grace of the generosity of the multitude of people who contributed to her #GoFundSki campaign. For all that love and support, our family expresses a profound depth of appreciation.

My brother Carl, my sister-in-law Joanne and I ask for privacy at this time. We will announce a more public memorial at an appropriate time and place, which will be held sometime in 2023.

I will always love you, my Bitty.

A Happier Time, late 1980s

See Facebook condolences.

Postscript (29 November): There is a poignant tribute to my sister by Rep. Nicole Malliotakis (NY) on Facebook.

In addition, I was interviewed by Annalise Knudson of the Staten Island Advance this morning, before attending my sister’s funeral, and I was very touched by this wonderful article detailing my sister’s legacy as an educator. See here. And also see this tribute from Tim Bethea.

Postscript (12/22/22): My deepest appreciation to the literally THOUSANDS of people who reached out and expressed their love and support during this difficult time. I am truly blessed. As is the memory—and legacy—of my dear sister. Thank you from the bottom of my heart.

Postscript (2/14/2023): I was informed this morning that a tribute to my sister was posted on UFT Honors.

Elizabeth Ann: Long Live The Ferret—and My Sister!

Whatever your views on cloning endangered species (we’re not talking about bringing back the dinosaurs, here, a la Jurassic Park!), I have to admit that both my sister—who is dealing with her share of health issues—and I got a bit of a thrill from this story about “the first of any native, endangered animal species in North America to be cloned.” A black-footed ferret, Elizabeth Ann was born on December 10, 2020, two days before my sister came home from a difficult one-month stay in the hospital.

As it happens, my sister’s name is Elizabeth Ann Sciabarra. My sister has been emboldened by her namesake’s birth. We all hope that her recovery mirrors that ferret’s fortune!

Three Cheers to Two Elizabeth Anns!

Daffodils, Shamrocks, Loss—and Love

For those who knew my sister, Elizabeth Sciabarra (aka “Ms. Ski”), it comes as no surprise that she knew how to celebrate a holiday. Even at work, she’d drive the staff crazy decorating the office for every holiday imaginable. At home, it was the same. There was barely a holiday we didn’t commemorate with Uber-decorations.

We weren’t Irish. Not by a long shot. Still, the shamrocks came out in the weeks before St. Patrick’s Day. It didn’t take much effort because like her, I too enjoyed such festivities. And I’m a creature of habit, a keeper of ritual.

For the past 40 years or so, one of those rituals was me walking through the door, sometime in early March, with Daffodils. They were among her favorite flowers (violets being another). But Daffodils were special at this time of year because they were, in these parts, among the first signs of spring. Of life.

My sister died on November 26, 2022. And there isn’t a day, dare I say, there isn’t an hour that goes by when I don’t think of her. We lived together for 3 months less the 63 years of my whole life.

I am no stranger to loss or to grief. I lost my Dad when I was 12 years old, my Uncle Sam, who was like a second father to me, in 1994, and my mother, who died after a 5-year battle with lung cancer, in 1995. Not to mention too many relatives and friends to count (and three beloved pets). Every loss has been accompanied by a unique, if familiar, form of grief. I know all too well the ‘stages’ of that grief, and I’m not the kind of guy who disowns his emotions. I mean, show me a touching Hallmark commercial around Christmastime and puddles of tears form beneath me!

I’ve been very gentle with myself over these last 3+ months, as I deal with a loss unlike any other—more devastating than any I’ve ever experienced. I can’t even begin to properly thank the number of special people who have reached out to me with love and support to get me through some of my most difficult days. The sadness can engulf me with the slightest of triggers: a note discovered, an old birthday card, a photo, a place we dined at, or shopped at, a piece of music, a film or television show we routinely watched together.

And so, as I walked along the street the other day, I came upon our neighborhood corner flower stand, and outside sat a bunch of Daffodils. My eyes watered instantaneously. I wasn’t going to pass up this opportunity. I brought them home—to an empty apartment; she was not here to tell me how much she loved me or how beautiful they were or to give me a peck on the cheek to thank me for having gifted us this harbinger of spring.

So, I placed those Daffodils beneath a shining Shamrock, and turned on the lights, and this creature of habit cried … tears of sadness, tears of joy. Because ultimately, these are the rituals that keep her memory alive in my shattered heart. I also know that spring is just around the corner. And, indeed, hope springs eternal.

I love you, Bitty, always …

Check out the Facebook discussion.

#GoFundSki !!!

Nearly two years ago, in November 2020, my sister, Elizabeth Sciabarra—“Ms. Ski” to her students—nearly died. She has gone through agonizing hell for two years now, through surgeries and crippling illness. By October 2021, near death again, she was placed on in-home palliative care, under the assumption that she would not last six months. She confounded medical authorities and now must be re-certified for palliative care every two months because she refused to die on Medicare’s schedule.

With my sister living on a pension, Social Security, and dwindling savings, ineligible for Medicaid, we began a #GoFundSki campaign on March 25, 2022. As a testament to the impact she made as an educator of fifty years, influencing the lives of thousands of people, we exceeded our $150,000 goal within ten days. That money was designed to keep my sister at home, with the assistance of 24/7 home health aide coverage. We projected expenditures of approximately $15,000 per month on aides and other non-insured supplies to turn our home into a hospice. Unfortunately, $15,000 could not even cover our home health aide assistance; with supplies and other necessities, we have been averaging $20,000 per month, as inflationary pressures rose across the board. Nevertheless, our #GoFundSki campaign raised enough money (clearing $165,000+) to sustain my sister thru January 2023.

It was to my sister’s profound embarrassment that we had to pitch a #GoFundSki campaign to begin with. But at this juncture, we are faced with some very tough decisions. My sister is stable and has a strong heart. With a very strong will to live, she has no intention of dying anytime soon. Once the current money runs out, we will have no choice but to place her in a Medicare-insured inpatient hospice—as long as that choice is open to us and that she is not de-certified from palliative care simply because she’s outlived Medicare guidelines.

It is our conviction that my sister has survived this long precisely because she’s been at home getting loving, superlative, top-notch care that she would never have gotten in any inpatient facility, be it a hospice or a nursing home.

We are therefore raising our #GoFundSki goal to $325,000, which means that we’re hoping to clear an additional $160,000 with this extended campaign to cover her care way beyond January 2023. To be blunt: If Ms. Ski outlives the additional finances raised for her, we will not extend our #GoFundSki campaign. And difficult choices will be made for her.

We have updated this campaign several months before the current money runs out and do not presume that we will be able to raise the same amount of money we asked for at the end of March 2022. But this goal has been set—and we will be eternally grateful for anything we can raise toward meeting it.

Fully aware of the increasing economic pressures that have impacted so many people throughout this country, we thank every single person who has already contributed to my sister’s welfare—and all those who might still be able to contribute.

Sincerely,
Chris Matthew Sciabarra (on behalf of my sister)

Posted to Facebook.

#GOFUNDSKI

Ms. Ski celebrated her 70th birthday on September 2, 2022

Ski Visits II

The “Ski Visits” continue! My sister Elizabeth “Ms. Ski” Sciabarra and I wanted to extend our love and appreciation to two very dear friends—who stopped by today to say “Hi” and spread cheer: Rose De Pinto and Barbara Esmilla.

(L-R) Rose De Pinto, Elizabeth Sciabarra, Barbara Esmilla

Postscript (15 July 2022): And another dear friend stopped by today to see my sister: Ron Mangano, whom my sister has known for over 30 years, since her days as a principal at New Dorp High School.