maintained her style with the help of her children, grandchildren and Manana, her caregiver. For a fiercely independent woman, it was hard to adjust to being totally dependent. Until a short time before her death, she still read the Wall Street Journal, Financial Times, New Yorker and, of course, books. When her time to leave did come, she fought fiercely. Even in her sleep, she hovered between worlds, as though arguing with the angel of death. It reminded me of stories of Moses who, they say, fought the angel of death, defeated him and, in the end, God himself came to take him. Esther Sperling loved her family and home, the red, climbing roses that adorned the garage and entrance to her house, the little gardens her sons would create for her. Physically and with strength of character, she made a simple house on the corner of Main and Center streets a home of the heart to countless souls who sought the warmth of her world.

--Linda Livni

Esther Lasker Sperling died Nov. 24, 2009, at her home in Greenport. She was 102. For many years, she served on the Board of Trustees of the Floyd Memorial Library and was an officer of the Shakespeare Club. She was generous in her contributions to Congregation Tifereth Israel, the library, and Eastern Long Island Hospital. She is survived by her sons, Kenneth of Austin, TX, and Jonathan of McLean, VA; five grandchildren and two great-grandchildren. She was interred with her late husband at Long Island National Cemetery on Nov. 27. A memorial service will be held in 2010.

Esther Sperling was a kind, gracious, and gentle lady. She was also a true intellectual, devouring good music, literature, and current news on world events. A genteel lady, she lived according to a set of rules that has gone out of fashion in this let-it-all-hang-out age of ours. But she was born 102 years ago, when gentility was intimately linked with respectability.

So, to be proper, please sit down with a cup of tea or, if it is that time of day, a glass of sherry, and let's remember Esther Sperling. When Dr. Nathaniel Sperling returned home from military service after WW II, he wanted to be a simple country doctor. In 1945, Dr. Sperling established a medical practice in Greenport, and Mrs. Sperling was his secretary, office staff, assistant and helpmate. At their home in Greenport, you could drop in at 7 a.m. and find Mrs. Sperling fully and fashionably dressed. Who knew when someone would come to the door with an emergency? Or when a patient who had more potatoes than money would bring a bag of produce? Or another might arrive with delicious, homemade pumpkin pies? This activity continued even after Dr. Sperling died, leaving her widowed when she was only in her 60s.

When early visitors came, she would share her favorite breakfast at her kitchen table -- tea and apple cake -- along with confidences, politics or a good gossip, always with the assurance that anything said was "dead in this room," she would say. Afternoon visitors, on the other hand, were received in the living room with a glass of sherry.

Visits from her family were special events, anticipated many days in advance with nervous excitement. She had to make meat loaf and chocolate pudding for Kenneth, and make sure the house was ready when Jonathan and his family arrived from overseas. She fully enjoyed the social occasions that accompanied family visits because they brought fresh air, vibrant conversation, and new perspectives.

A good listener

Whether family or friend, or friend of a friend, Mrs. Sperling listened, sympathized, advised, and supported. She remembered the smallest details so that if the next visit happened to be months later, she could take up the story line without a blip of hesitation. She remembered not only her friends' children, but the children of children her husband had delivered -- which of them had married, divorced, had families of their own, graduated from school, lost jobs, found jobs.

From heels to hat (particularly her husband's black fedora worn at a jaunty angle), whether for lunch at the Coronet or the Rhumb Line or shopping at the IGA, she was always classically dressed. She'd eagerly try out every new culinary venture in town -- or out of town when her dining partner had a car. (Mrs. Sperling never had a driver's license, although she would sit in her husband's car when that radio was the only one with a clear signal from WQXR.)

Her world was not limited to Greenport. She and Dr. Sperling toured Europe and points east. She visited her family in exotic postings - Tunisia, Indonesia, Singapore -- or traveled with friends, bringing back memories, souvenirs, customs and treats. One I remember was from Indonesia -- a clove-flavored cigarette, which she savored. One cannot speak of Esther Sperling without mentioning her weaknesses: she cherished gifts, including cartons of Dunhill or Cartier cigarettes, beautiful tins with exotic teas, grand boxes of fine chocolates, bottles of vintage sherry, and perfume. Meals at her house were special. Guests and festive occasions called for the full treatment in the dining room. As a child, I remember how she would invite my sister and me for dinner when our parents were in Florida. It was there that I first tasted roast lamb with mint jelly -- so exotic -- served on lace tablecloths with crystal, silver and china. When there were several guests, porcelain place markers were added. Although I considered her a gourmet cook, she insisted that she didn't really care for cooking. Nevertheless, she was most creative; once she told me her secret recipe for poaching salmon in the dishwasher.

A sad realization

When she broke her hip, she knew she would never go up the stairs again, would never sleep in her own bed. Her new bedroom was the office waiting room. (How often I sat there waiting for the doctor.) She often felt that she had outlived her time, yet she never lost her sense of propriety. She received guests and made them feel special no matter how badly she herself felt.

The last decade of her life presented a challenge, but she

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