Birth date: Oct 23, 1926 Death date: May 7, 2026
Gerardo S. Sarduy, a devoted husband, brother, father, and grandfather passed away on Wednesday, May 7th, 2026, at the age of 99 years. Born on October 23rd, 1926, in his beloved homeland of Cuba, to Gerardo Sarduy Sr., a shop kee Read Obituary
I remember every Wednesday and Friday going to Domino's with Gerardo and my dad. I really enjoyed the jokes and stories they would tell..I learned so much from them. Best teachers I ever had. We also had great times hanging out at the Big 5, every other Thursday. The wine would seriously flow... We had some great times, and the memories will last a lifetime. He will be missed.
Escribiré en Español, como solía hablar con Gerardo, en nuestro idioma, sin rodeos, sin tapujos, con la genuina convicción de que sus consejos eran la mejor opción para mi y mi familia. De su grill probé los primeros steaks de mi vida, de el aprendí a dar los primeros pasos en este país, pero lo que nunca, nunca, olvidaré, es cuando en ese diciembre del 2011, recién llegada a USA, cuando recién nos conocíamos, firmó para hacerse responsable de mi. Y no solo se hizo responsable, sino que me abrió las puertas de su casa y las de su corazón a mi y a mis hijos.
Frases célebres se Gerardo, que usó con bastante frecuencia:
- No te quejes de trabajar que la contadora está sonando.
- El agua da gusarapos
- En mis tiempos….
- El southwest profundo para referirse al southwest profundo de Miami ajjaja
- Las cuatro letras…
Descansa en paz, tío Gerardo. Siempre te recordaremos.
The chairman of the board. My father was referred to that way by those who knew him best. I wanted to point why I used that term for him.
As long as I remember my father he was setting an example for my brother and I. He was a surgeon. A surgeon is none other than the person trying to save you when the rest of the world has given up.
He loved his family and friends as evidenced by the legendary get together at his house, at the Big 5 or just at Flannigans. He was mostly however an example as a manhood, perseverance and fatherhood. For myself, my brother and after they were born my sons. I keep recalling at the end of his life during our weekly visits as Raul, Adrian and I got up to kiss him and say goodbye, he would actually stand up to hug us and kiss us. He was in quite a bit of discomfort at this time, it would have been perfectly acceptable to stay seated, especially since we'd be back in a few days. But a wording to my father, a man stands up.
You were always the grandest man of whatever room you were in Pop.
Goodbye to The Chairman of the board, until we meet again.
Perhaps there’s not a singular memory I care to share about my Abuelo so much as a mutual phenomenon that occurred between us some 15 years ago:
It was my first semester of college. 18-19 years old and my first time away from home. The five hour trek to Gainesville might as well have been Grenada in terms of the sheer culture shock and unshakable feeling of homesickness that was so often mollified by late nights and even rougher mornings.
All the while, I would come to learn that my robust and salt of the Earth grandfather, 85 years young even back in 2011, was traversing the nation and driving across country adrift the Mid and Southwest. An impromptu road odyssey to see more of the country (and baseball parks, naturally) that had so graciously given him a chance decades prior.
Here I was, equipped with an impeccable command of English and a GPS system; there he was with little more than conversational proficiency and a road map. Yet, we were both venturing off into the relative unknown. Two Sarduy men raging against the elements—both bound by a mutual spirit of adventure coursing through our veins. “Conquistador blood” as we liked to call it.
It is that very fearlessness and gall that I will always remember him by. Language barrier and generational differences are trivial & insignificant when you’re possessed by the same impulses and DNA strands. May we continue to wage in his honor.
There are people who pass through this world quietly, and yet leave it better than they found it. Tio Gerardo was one of those people. He had a rare and special gift… the ability to make those around him feel seen and valued.
In my early 20’s I was working at Palm Springs Hospital as a medical billing tech. Tios Gerardo and Pedro were both rock star surgeons there at that time. I remember crossing paths with them many times while on a lunch break, heading to the cafeteria with nowhere special to be. They would have none of it. Their niece eating alone simply wasn't an option on their watch. Instead of a boring cafeteria lunch, I would instead be treated to a delicious meal in the doctors' dining room, with Gerardo and Pedro holding court, making sure I felt like the most important person at the table.
Gerardo understood something that many of us spend a lifetime trying to learn - that the richest moments aren't found in grand gestures, but in the simnle pleasure of good company, good conversation, and a good glass of wine.
And speaking of wine - those legendary "book club" gatherings with “los primos” were perhaps the truest expression of who Tio Gerardo was. Sure, there may have been a book somewhere nearby, but what really filled the room was the clanking of wine glasses, raucous laughter, old stories being told for the hundredth time and the irreplaceable bond shared among cousins who were like brothers.
I will miss him dearly but take comfort in the hope there is a table set for him in heaven - good wine poured, and “los primos” nearby, with all the time in the world to reminisce once again.
One of my fondest memories of my grandfather was the way he encouraged my love for music. Every single time I would visit them, not only was I ecstatic to play his Gibson, Gerardo wanted to hear me practice guitar. Truthfully, an 83-year-old man didn’t exactly care for the kind of music I was into, and admittedly, I wasn’t always drawn to learning how to play Guantanamera. But somewhere in between those differences, we found this quiet, unspoken bond through music and guitars…
I always hinted toward wanting it but it was always followed with a smile or a “keep practicing and maybe one day” type of dismissive answers… understandable, it’s the rolls Royce of electric guitars.
then my 14th bday came, I still remember the moment vividly — him parking the car, reaching into the back seat, and pulling that guitar out for me. Something out of my very own movie…
In my memory, it may as well have had angelic light shining around it. It felt sacred. It felt like a piece of him being handed down to me.I knew it was far more than just an instrument. It was his way of showing love, pride, and connection without ever having to say much at all.
I will fondly remember Sunday afternoon cookouts at my dad's place. Recipe and plan was simple enough. A few steaks on the grill, add a couple of non-offensive sides and then uncork copious amounts of wine.
We'd sit around the dining table and laugh and talk for hours. World problems were solved with ease. Baseball shortcomings were handled regularly, and all throughout, much was learned about the human condition.
He'd sit attentively at the head of the table. Diligently orchestrating the crowd like a seasoned maestro, wine glass as his baton.
Poor Arminda would eye roll uncontrollably and marvel at how West Hialeah's wine reservoir could be so depleted in one sitting. Priceless.
