Around Town

Details: Written by: Joanne Wallenstein; Published: 14 September 2026; Created: 14 September 2026; Last Updated: 14 September 2026; Hits: 91

Scarsdale officials marked the 25th anniversary of the September 11 attacks with a solemn ceremony at the Public Safety Building at 8:30 am on 9-11-26. Reminiscent of the day of the event, it was a warm, clear September morning, Police, firefighters, religious leaders, members of the Village Board, School Board and Village staff all participated in a moving tribute to the almost 3,000 people who lost their lives on that day – and to more who suffered from 9-11 related illness in the subsequent years.

The event opened with music from the bag pipes, followed by a drill by the Scarsdale Color Guard. The ceremony was led by Fire Captain Francis Sheehan with remarks from Reverend Kelly Rogers, Rabbi Jonathan Blake and Scarsdale Mayor Justin Arest. Scarsdale High School vocalists Abigail Loeser sang The Star Spangled Banner and God Bless America, wreaths were presented and Sheila Gorham ended the ceremony with a mournful rendition of Danny Boy, accompanied by the guitar.

Here are remarks from Scarsdale Mayor Justin Arest and Fire Captain Francis Sheehan.

Mayor Justin Arest

Twenty-five years ago today, 2,977 people went to work, boarded airplanes, reported for duty, kissed their families goodbye, and never came home.

We gather first and foremost to remember them. We remember the lives that were taken, the families that were forever changed, and the countless empty places at dinner tables, birthdays, weddings and graduations that followed. And we remember the extraordinary courage of those who ran toward danger.

Firefighters climbed stairwells as others came down. Police officers, EMTs and ordinary citizens stayed behind to help strangers. Many knew the danger and went anyway.

And we remember those who survived that day but whose service and exposure ultimately cost them their lives in the years that followed.

To the first responders with us today, and to all those who serve our community: thank you.

What you are willing to do for people you may never have met represents something fundamental about who we are as a country.

For so many of us, September 11 is deeply personal. We remember where we were, what we saw, who we worried about, and the stories of that day that will stay with us for the rest of our lives.

But twenty-five years is a long time. Every child in our schools today was born after September 11, 2001.For them, September 11 is history rather than memory.

For us, that creates a solemn responsibility.

We must make sure they know what happened. We must tell them about the people we lost and the people who showed extraordinary courage. But we must also teach them something larger.

Freedom is not free.

The ability to live openly, to worship as we choose, to speak our minds, to disagree with one another, and still to remain one people is not guaranteed simply because we inherited it.

It can be lost.

The terrorists who attacked us twenty-five years ago sought not only to take innocent lives, but to attack our country, our freedoms, and our way of life.

So when we hear voices today that traffic in hatred and extremism, as we do, we cannot become accustomed to them, and we cannot be silent in the face of them.

September 11 showed us the terrible consequences of hatred and extremism. But it also reminded us why this country is worth defending: because in one of our darkest moments, we saw the extraordinary courage and decency of the American people.

On that terrible morning, people did not stop to ask one another about religion, politics, race or where their families came from. They helped one another. They carried strangers. They stayed behind.
Some gave their lives for people they did not know.

That is the America we inherited. And that is the America we must leave to those who come after us.

So today, we honor the dead. We honor those who ran toward danger. And we make a promise: that twenty-five years from now, and for generations after that, our children and their children will still remember those we lost, still know what happened, and still understand that the freedoms they inherited must never be taken for granted.

May we never forget.

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Fire Captain Francis Sheehan

Twenty‑five years have passed since the attacks of September 11, 2001, a full quarter century. It is long enough for time to create distance, yet not long enough for the grief to loosen its hold. Many of us can still recall, with absolute clarity, where we were the moment the towers were struck. Those memories remain vivid, immediate, and unshakable.

But this milestone also reminds us how quickly generations turn. Last year, our department welcomed a firefighter born after 9/11. His presence is not a novelty; it is a marker of time. It signals that the responsibility to remember is shifting from those who lived through the day to those who know it only through the stories we preserve, through the vigils we hold.

Today, I reflect on the passing of time and on grief itself. What becomes of collective memory when it is carried not by experience, but by inheritance? Although a quarter century sounds distant, the visceral weight of grief and longing remains for many Americans.

Two years ago, at the Westchester County 9/11 service, I listened to families speak about loved ones lost on that day and loved ones lost in the years since to 9/11‑related illnesses. That very same week, I lost my wife and my mother in a separate tragedy. In an instant, I was no longer standing at the edge of others’ grief, I was living inside it.

Two years later, I know that time does not gradually purge grief. It silently shouts in the background, breaking into the foreground when you least expect it. An empathetic observer of grief remembers on anniversaries, on days like today. A bearer of grief carries it with them day in and day out, until their last breath.

In that grief, victims of 9/11 still walk among us twenty‑five years later. Their grief has not expired; it continues through them, and through all of us who gather here.

On this twenty‑fifth anniversary, we honor both memory and continuity. We honor those who remember, and those who carry the memory forward. We stand together, observers of grief, bearers of grief, and those who have inherited its lessons, united in ensuring that the meaning of this day endures.

Twenty‑five years later, the distance may grow, but the responsibility does not. We gather here to affirm that the lives lost, the sacrifices made, and the grief carried across generations will never be allowed to fade. Not while we are here to remember. Not while we are here to bear witness.

As we conclude today’s observance, we turn to a musical reflection that has long accompanied moments of remembrance. Danny Boy carries both sorrow and love in its melody, and today it honors the families who continue to bear their grief, and all who hold the memory of September 11th close. Please welcome our vocalist, Sheila Gorham, who will close our ceremony with Danny Boy.

Details: Written by: Joanne Wallenstein; Published: 09 September 2026; Created: 09 September 2026; Last Updated: 09 September 2026; Hits: 606

Melvin (Shep) Shapiro
December 14, 1928 – September 18, 2025

Melvin Shapiro, a beloved husband, father, grandfather, and great-grandfather, passed away on September 18, 2025, at the age of 97. To his family, he was affectionately known as Shep.

A longtime resident of Scarsdale, New York, Shep lived a full and meaningful life centered on family, devotion, hard work, and an appreciation for the many pleasures life had to offer.

Shep was the devoted husband of Linda for 52 years. Their marriage was a lasting testament to love, companionship, and commitment. Linda was at the center of his world, and together they built a family and a lifetime of cherished memories.

Melvin proudly served in the U.S. Army Reserve from 1950 to 1956 in the Quartermaster Corps, the branch responsible for logistics and supplies. The work suited his natural strengths in organization, responsibility, and business making sure people had what they needed, when they needed it. He maintained active reserve status during those years but was never called to extended active duty. He received an Honorable Discharge and remained proud of his service to his country.

Shep loved food. Good food was one of life’s great pleasures for him, but food was also one of the ways he showed his love. He remembered what the people he cared about enjoyed and found a way to make them happy. When his daughter Steffie took especially good care of him, Shep would show his appreciation in his own unmistakable way: “Steffie, let me take you to Gus’s for lobster.” Gus’s was their favorite, and Shep knew how much Steffie loved lobster. For him, taking someone out for a favorite meal was more than dinner, it was an expression of gratitude, affection, and love.

Shep also had a wonderfully dry sense of humor. His jokes were often simple, perfectly timed, and delivered with a completely straight face. As the grandchildren headed toward the pool to swim, he might call out, “Don’t get wet.”

Classic Shep.

It was the kind of joke that was unmistakably dry, unexpected, and somehow hilarious. Those little moments became the family stories that will keep his spirit alive.

Shep adored his grandchildren Brittany, Laura, Alex, Ryan, Georgia, Shane, and Zoe and took enormous pride and joy in each of them. His great-grandchildren, Sophia, Jacob and Ella brought him another generation of love and happiness.

One of the family’s favorite memories from his final year was a game of blackjack with Steffie. It was another perfect Shep moment: a little competition, good company, and time spent together. He loved being with his family and knew that the ordinary moments often became the ones everyone remembered most.

Shep’s life was defined by his devotion to Linda and his deep love for his family. He brought a sense of steadiness, humor, warmth, and generosity to those around him. He appreciated good food, good tennis, a good game, and, above all, the people he shared them with.

He is survived by his beloved wife, Linda; his daughters, Steffie and Karen; his grandchildren, Brittany, Laura, Alex, Ryan, Georgia, Shane, and Zoe; his great-grandchildren, Sophia, Jacob, and Ella; and extended family and friends who loved him dearly.

Shep’s life was long and full, and his family will miss his presence, his humor, and those perfectly timed “Shep-isms” that could turn an ordinary moment into a lasting memory.

They will remember a man who loved family, laughed often, enjoyed a great meal, and showed his love in his own special way sometimes with a joke, sometimes with a game of blackjack, and sometimes with an invitation for lobster at Gusses.
Classic Shep. Always.

The family will honor him privately one more time: September 17, 2026

Details: Written by: Andrea Seiden; Published: 01 September 2026; Created: 01 September 2026; Last Updated: 01 September 2026; Hits: 773

tissues After months in the NICU, our son Gregory, who had been born prematurely, was finally discharged from Cornell to grow and thrive at home.

Frankly, I was a nervous wreck.

Greg was not completely out of the woods. He came home attached to a monitor to make sure he did not experience any “bradys”—episodes when his heart rate would suddenly drop and he could turn blue. The medical staff took this possibility remarkably in stride. They assured me that if it happened, a little gentle stimulation would usually get him going again. They made this sound perfectly reasonable.

At 12 weeks old, we faced another question: Was Gregory finally ready for his circumcision? Was he big enough? If we waited too long, would the procedure be more painful? This was a baby who had already been poked, prodded, monitored, tested and examined for months. The last thing I wanted to do was subject him to one more unnecessary trauma.

After much deliberation, including consultation with our own parents, who were doctors, we got the all-clear. Medically, Gregory was ready.

But I wasn’t.

I was now facing what seemed to me the insurmountable task of hosting a brit.

Mark and I had just moved to Scarsdale, and with the exception of our real estate broker, we had yet to make a single friend. This did not mean, however, that the brit would be a quiet affair. I knew Mark’s family and their friends from Long Island would not miss the opportunity to wish us well. They would come to what they considered “the country” in droves, bearing toy ponies, blankets and those wonderful wooden toys with GREG painted across them in enormous bubble letters.

Of course they meant well.

But the thought of a room full of men and women—many of them physicians who practiced with Mark’s father—leaning over my tiny premature baby the size of a Cornish hen with mouths full of chopped liver, commenting on the surprisingly impressive size of his schmeckel for a little preemie, or joking that the mohel worked for tips, was more than I could handle.

Hadn’t this little guy suffered enough?

I could already picture my father and father-in-law proudly holding this tiny survivor on a small bed pillow place on their laps while the mohel stuffed wine-soaked gauze into his mouth to prevent him from crying brought me to tears.

For months at Cornell, I had relinquished control of Gregory to an extraordinary team of doctors and nurses. I had trusted them because I had no choice. Now that he was finally home, I wanted to take a little control back.

So, in what I can only describe as an act of Jewish maternal defiance, I made a decision:

There would be no whitefish; no chopped liver; no onions; not even a bagel. There would be no food that looked as though it had been served at every brit since the Book of Exodus.

After three months of monitors, doctors, alarms, medical terminology and wondering what the next crisis might be, chopped liver was one crisis I actually had the power to prevent.

I wanted something fresh. Healthy. Modern.

Perhaps I could not control whether my three-month-old would have a brady, but, I could control the buffet.

There was only one problem: I had just moved to Scarsdale and had absolutely no idea where to find it.

So I drove around town on a mission. Eventually, I found myself in the Golden Horseshoe shopping center, where I discovered a small catering shop called Standing Room Only—SRO. I walked in.

And then, after holding myself together for months, I completely fell apart.

I told Sharon, Jack’s partner at the time, about the previous three months: trying to care for my little two-year-old while spending my days visiting a premature baby in the hospital, never entirely certain whether he would pull through or whether he would come through it all unscathed. I shared how worried I was about my son Josh who had completely reverted back to a high-pitched baby talk, would feel completely abandoned by his mother.

Sharon handed me Kleenex. She listened. At some point she even helped me adjust a completely useless breast pad (never did get any breast milk in), which tells you something about both my condition at the time and the intimacy of our relationship approximately 20 minutes after meeting.

And while I cried, she fed me. Chicken salad. Pasta with mozzarella and basil. Apple cake.

I remember feeling as though I were a little bird who had been starving and suddenly someone had noticed.

By the time I left, there was no question.

“You are catering my son’s brit.”

The following week, SRO arrived with everything beautifully arranged on trays and decorated with their signature flower buds. The food was delicious. The presentation was beautiful.

And Standing Room Only had a customer for life.

Over the years, I came to depend on SRO for parties, holidays and special occasions. I always knew the food would be wonderful and the presentation beautiful—right down to the hummus served in a red pepper surrounded by jicama sticks and other more familiar veggies.

When we renovated our kitchen and were unable to cook for several months, this was long before Uber Eats or the endless meal-delivery services we have today. SRO delivered a perfectly balanced dinner to us every evening.

Eventually, our kitchen was finished and I was finally able to cook again. My sons were not nearly as excited about this development as I was. They made it quite clear that they preferred the grilled salmon, pastas, chicken and mushrooms that had been arriving every night. Apparently, during the renovation, they had become accustomed to a certain standard of living.

But what I loved most was going into Standing Room Only and visiting with Jack and the staff. If Jack wasn’t too busy preparing an order for a party or a shiva—or sitting at his desk by the big window trying to conquer a mountain of paperwork—we would talk. About cooking. The latest Broadway show. Innocent Scarsdale buzz. Children. Life.

Most recently, I brought my grandchildren in to meet Jack on our way back from Community of Play which is located above the store.

Of course, Jack reacted as though they were the two most gorgeous toddlers he had ever laid eyes on. And, we became nostalgic about how quickly the years had passed, and we laughed about Gregory’s rather auspicious introduction to Scarsdale. I wasn’t aware of the fact that Jack was contemplating shuttering his store.

I also reminded Jack—as I always did—that I was one of his very first customers.

I recently read on Facebook how grateful Jack was to have spent the last 35 or so years in Scarsdale and to have been part of this wonderful community.

I am so glad he feels that way.

But I also hope he knows that gratitude goes both ways.

For so many of us, Standing Room Only was never simply a place to order food. Jack and SRO were there for the celebrations and the milestones, the holidays and the ordinary Tuesday nights. They fed us when our kitchens were under construction, when our houses were full of guests, when we were celebrating, and when we were grieving.

And in my case, they were there when I was a terrified young mother who had just brought a very small baby home from the hospital and was trying desperately to believe that everything was finally going to be all right.

Sharon gave me a Kleenex and some chicken salad. Jack and SRO gave me something I didn’t yet know I needed: my first feeling of being taken care of in my new community.

Thirty-five years later, I walked through that same door with my grandchildren.

I hope whoever takes over Jack’s Weaver Street space has his creativity and business sense. But even more, I hope they understand what made Standing Room Only so special.

You can learn how to make good chicken salad. But heart and soul are much harder to replicate.

We will miss you, Jack.

Details: Written by: Joanne Wallenstein; Published: 26 August 2026; Created: 26 August 2026; Last Updated: 26 August 2026; Hits: 606

JordanCopeland (The following comments were made by Jordan Copeland at the August 24, 2026 meeting of the Board of Education)

I've spoken about the Guidelines for Student Expression twice before, so tonight I want to focus on binding legal precedent that I think presents a serious problem with the guidelines.

As reiterated by the Second Circuit, which covers Scarsdale, in Guiles v. Marineau (2006), if student speech is school-sponsored, Hazelwood gives the District broader authority to regulate it for legitimate educational or pedagogical reasons. But for a student’s personal expression that isn’t vulgar or subject to another recognized exception, Tinker applies, and the District generally needs a reasonable forecast of material and substantial disruption. Hazelwood applies “only when the student speech is ‘school-sponsored’ or when a reasonable observer would believe it to be so sponsored.”

That's important because the proposed guidelines appear to use a different test. They don't ask whether the speech is school-sponsored. They ask whether the activity is school-sponsored and whether the student is an "active participant.” Those are two different standards in important ways.

Examples of school-sponsored speech that can clearly be regulated under Hazelwood are a student's article in the school newspaper, a student's lines in a school play, or an approved graduation address. But a student's personal political button while displaying artwork at an exhibition doesn’t become school-sponsored speech because the student is an "active participant." Neither is a football player's kneeling as a silent political gesture, or a student's political clothing at prom. No reasonable observer would think the District was speaking through that student's button, gesture, or clothing; the school did not sponsor those expressions and they could not reasonably be viewed as bearing the school's imprimatur.

Guiles is particularly relevant because it highlights this distinction. A student wore a political T-shirt to school and was disciplined. The Second Circuit held that Hazelwood didn't apply because the school didn't sponsor the shirt and the shirt couldn't reasonably be viewed as bearing the school's imprimatur. It therefore applied Tinker and held that the school violated the student's First Amendment rights because there was no substantial disruption.

So there's a very specific question that you should have answered to your satisfaction by District counsel before proceeding with these guidelines: What is the legal authority for replacing the Second Circuit's distinction between school-sponsored speech and personal student speech with a distinction based on whether the student is an "active participant" in a school-sponsored activity?

If you don’t get a satisfactory answer to this, I think you should directly harmonize the guidelines to the appropriate legal standard so the District is on stronger legal ground.

Best,
Jordan Copeland
45 Woods Lane

Details: Written by: Joanne Wallenstein; Published: 12 August 2026; Created: 12 August 2026; Last Updated: 12 August 2026; Hits: 3288

SproutsInterior Sprouts Farmers MarketWithout a market in Scarsdale Village, it often feels like we have limited options for groceries. That will be changing soon when DeCicco’s opens their new “Piccolino Market” in Scarsdale. We stopped by and saw a full crew at work at the store. The exterior windows are in and workmen appeared to be making progress on the interior. Fingers crossed for an opening this fall.

Sprouts Farmers Market

Meanwhile – another market is opening on Central Avenue in the space previously occupied by BEST Market at 393 N. Central Park Avenue in Hartsdale. And this one has a scheduled opening date… Friday September 4, 2026.

Sprouts Farmers Market combines the best of a farmers market with the convenience of a neighborhood grocery store. Dedicated to helping people live and eat better, the retailer offers the season’s freshest, most delicious produce at the heart of the store – all sourced in partnership with local and regional farmers. Sprouts opened its first New York state store earlier this year in January in Centereach Long Island.

From healthy proteins such as no anti-biotics ever chicken to $5 Sushi Wednesdays and its famous $5 sandwiches, Sprouts welcomes exploration and discovery in every aisle.

They offer fresh produce, meats, fish, dairy, prepared meals and more. And from what we can see online, the prices look reasonable!

CaprettaConstruction at Capretta

And in Scarsdale Village, in the space previously occupied by the Japanese Restaurant Akai, the Z Hospitality Group is launching Capretta, a new chef-driven modern Italian restaurant at 57 Spencer Place, Scarsdale. We don’t know much about what’s in the works, but we do know that it will be an Italian restaurant from the same group that runs Aurora in Rye, and Terra and Mediterraneo in Greenwich and a few restaurants in New Canaan. We stopped by and saw construction in process on a colorful tile floor -- and hope that the new restaurant will open soon enough to greet you when you come back from your summer vacation.

DeCiccos Construction is in process at Piccholino - the new market in Scarsdale.