Sheila was a daughter sister aunt mother and wife. She always had kind words to say about others she wore long dresses and always had a smile on her face no matter what she was going through, when she was little she had a guinea pig . She loved Christmas and all the Beethoven movies. Planted her tree forevermore she is standing with angels and found the peace she was looking for.

Brian there are so many memories that will remain with us forever you were a wonderful loving strong Uncle Son and Brother. Smile for all heart of gold one of the best this world could hold. Spread your wings and fly your a beautiful angel in the sky. Your heart or door would open up to anyone such a kind caring person with a big heart, we know you are set free and in a the most beautiful place looking after everyone.

Brian name blessing
My mouth spoke wisdom and the meditation of my heart gave understanding

David was a son father uncle and grandfather and a very talented musician he taught himself how to play guitar at a young age, and he loved jamming out to his favorite songs and learning new tunes also a great chef. He was kind very funny he can make any one laugh he had two little dogs that he loved. He worked in drywall and carpentry, and he was smart and he always stood up for what was right in God's eyes he always helped family and would give you advice. David closed his eyes for the last time the memories we all shared will always live on just like his soul. When we look up at the stars in our hearts we will hold him close.
Psalm 91

Arthur M. Cohen, UCLA professor emeritus of education and pioneer of the field of the field of community college studies, died Friday morning, 12/25/20. He was 93 years old.

Eulogies/memorials follow:
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Eulogy at Hillside Memorial Park and Mortuary
By Son Bill Cohen

I have a few things to say about this place, Hillside, as an alternate little world for us. My stepmother, Flo, whom quite a few of you knew, is here. My natural mother is here. My stepfather is here. Undoubtedly some of your loved ones are here. And now my father, Arthur Cohen is here. I might end up here myself one day.

Our little world in West LA is intact right here. It's not going to change. And some of us, including myself, don’t want our little world to change. Long-term, right here is the museum of the memory of our little community.

Now we’re here to honor and say goodbye to my dad, Arthur Cohen. One thing someone pointed out to me is how many of you here consider yourself among my dad’s extra special friends. And you were. It’s a testament to my dad to get to have so many extra special friends. Some people don’t have many special friends at all. I’m glad you all are here and make up this little community. It meant a lot to my dad.

My dad and I go back a long way. As a boy, he would take me to the construction sites he managed, and I met a group of tough, hell raising roofers and carpenters that he sometimes had to bail out of jail in the middle of the night. Here’s an early memory: It's 7am, and we’re on the front bench seat of a 56 Ford pickup. On the left is my dad at the wheel, I’m in the middle in the era before seat belts were invented, and we have picked up a member of the construction crew. He’s on the right. Pulls out an unopened fifth of whiskey, turns it upside down over his head and guzzles 7/8ths of the bottle in one gulp, and passes it to my dad. My dad carried a rifle in his pickup, liked to go what he called “bunny busting,” aka hunting, and at one time owned several large Mack Trucks. He went skinny dipping in the ocean whenever he could get away with it, while my mom sat on the beach utterly appalled. He smoked huge Cuban cigars. He once injured his back by picking up and carrying a refrigerator. Almost cut his leg off with a machete while trimming a tree. After a full day of laying heavy concrete block in the scorching Miami sun, he went to night school. Once class at a time, for eleven years to get his Masters. He saved up, then moved a family of six to Tallahassee and got his PhD in two years.

We moved to LA in 64 because my dad got a job at UCLA. My dad’s major hobby was drinking, but he met his match in B. Lamar Johnson and his circle. It seemed like my parents had a lot of parties. Pretty much if you crossed the threshold of our house, they knew what you drank, they had it in stock, and they would hand it to you right at the door. Only then would you walk into the living room. These were the days when guests would get so drunk, they would put lampshades on their heads, and would walk into my mom’s paintings. I noticed that my dad hardly ever said anything. He liked to be around a lot of people, but he just liked to listen or be there. He did not have to be the life of the party. More like a silent cat that sat five feet away from another silent cat under a car. In our teenage years, my brothers and sisters and I spent just about every night in a living room full of card players in a mini tournament, just like the bridge club he went to. As a life master of bridge, he was a formidable card player. He flew continuously around the country and around the world going to lectures and conferences. He would even take a plane to help someone with a construction project. That’s a lot of socializing for a guy who said almost nothing in a group.

When I was young, my mom would show me a picture of my dad, or a book he wrote, and she would say to me, “See this? Your dad’s a great man.” She even had bronze sculpture made of his head – a portrait bust. But in our whole large house in Westwood, outside of his clothes, 100% of his belongings fit in the smallest top drawer of one dresser.

Throughout my life my dad was always there for me. And believe me, as a member of the Psychedelic Generation, I was a little rebel and I was a handful. He had an unusual amount of control over his temper to be able to rescue me from my antics and I have to thank him for it. He was a very quiet, serious guy, but you couldn’t have a better dad, or friend. I am sorry to lose the major person in my life.

After I grew up, I visited with my dad very often. Almost every time he left my house, or I came home from his house, I would find a little note he wrote, thanking me for the visit. He really appreciated the connection. Just as he appreciated being with all of you.

Well, one day we will probably be together here again, to remember our little community.

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Art Cohen Continuing Memorial
by Carrie Kisker
In 1964, upon receipt of a doctorate in higher education from Florida State University, Art took his first and only professional post as professor of education at the University of California, Los Angeles, where he remained until he retired in 2004. Much has been written about his time in UCLA’s Moore Hall—indeed in 2007 an entire volume of the Community College Review was dedicated to “The Scholarly Contributions of Arthur M. Cohen”—but highlights include the establishment of the ERIC Clearinghouse for Community Colleges in 1966, the launch of Jossey-Bass’ New Directions for Community Colleges series in 1973, the creation of the Center for the Study of Community Colleges in 1974, and the numerous books and widely-cited research reports he published on the community college enterprise, both on his own and with his beloved wife and colleague, Dr. Florence B. Cohen (1923-2014).

Art Cohen was a prolific scholar: 21 books; more than 80 book chapters, journal articles, and essays in edited volumes; and still more conferences papers, journalistic pieces, and research reports for the Center for the Study of Community Colleges than is possible to count. Indeed, as his former students and community college scholars Dr. Jan Ignash (retired vice chancellor for academic and student affairs, State University System of Florida, Board of Governors), and Dr. Jim Palmer (professor emeritus at Illinois State University) wrote in 2007, “The fact that today we can even speak of ‘the field of community college studies’ is in large part due to the work of Arthur Cohen. He was interested in the community college at a time when it was finding its place within the U.S. system of higher education institutions, perceived by some as the ‘stepchild’ of higher education, by others as an extension of secondary education, and by still others as ‘career academies.’ Cohen helped shape the perception—and acceptance—of the community college as a true collegiate institution.”

Art’s most indelible mark on the field, however, was his impact on students—and he considered all of us his students, whether yours was one of the nearly 75 dissertations he chaired, or if he simply commented on your seminar paper or conference presentation. With an historian’s memory for dates and facts, and an unabashed distaste for pretentious or overly theoretical language, Art was consistently candid (occasionally gruff!), sometimes critical, yet always fair. Compliments from Dr. Cohen—for no one who had not yet earned their doctorate had the right to call him “Art”—were high praise indeed, as they were not issued unless they were earned. But when a compliment was handed out… you really knew you had done something right.

Perhaps the most striking illustration of Art Cohen’s impact on the field is the number of students whose career trajectories began like Carol Kozeracki’s (dean of academic affairs at East Los Angeles College), who acknowledged that “having entered UCLA’s Graduate School of Education… I had no understanding of the significance of community colleges’ role in higher education, and certainly no interest in focusing my research or career prospects on these institutions.” Or Leslie Purdy’s, president emeritus of Coastline Community College, who wrote that “When I enrolled [in the doctoral program at UCLA]… I was not very familiar with the mission and practices of those institutions. However… it did not take me long to be drawn to Art Cohen’s teaching about, research on, and passion for community colleges. Little did I know then that I would spend my entire professional life working in community colleges, applying many of the ideas and concepts I learned from him in graduate school.”

Like Drs. Kozeracki and Purdy, who went on to become community college leaders, Art inspired several generations of UCLA graduate students to become community college administrators, university faculty, state-level education policy officers, and independent researchers. And beyond Art’s graduate students at UCLA, there are the thousands of community college faculty and administrators and higher education policymakers who read one of six editions of The American Community College (first published by Jossey-Bass in 1982, last published in 2014), The Shaping of American Higher Education (1998 and 2010), or the many other publications by Cohen and Brawer. It is safe to say that Arthur M. Cohen will remain one of the most recognizable and respected names in higher education for many decades to come.

In addition to his professional work, Art was a proud husband, father, grandfather, and great-grandfather; an ardent gardener; a master mason; an Italophile; and along with his wife Florence, a passionate collector of art, particularly sculpture. Upon Florence’s death in 2014, Art donated their entire sculpture collection to the Luskin Conference Center at UCLA, where seven abstract sculptures by Minoru Niizuma, several from prominent sculpture artist Jack Zajac—with whom they became good friends—and others by Sorel Etrog and Dimitri Hadzi are on permanent display.

Arthur M. Cohen will be remembered fondly by fellow members of the Council for the Study of Community Colleges, many of whom are his former students, and all of whom hold the greatest admiration for him and the body of work he created and inspired.

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Erlinda, fondly called Tita Lyn by her former students and Ate Lyn to her younger siblings has left us on the wee hours of Christmas Eve. After experiencing a debilitating stroke four years ago, she hanged on for a while. She was a strong woman and did not give up easily. We surmised that she wasn’t ready then. Her mission for sure was to prepare her loved ones for her inevitable departure. After all, she was the leader of the pack of seven siblings still living in the Philippines. Since their eldest sister lives abroad, Mama Lyn had to be the driving force and comfort for them. They have always looked up to her for direction and guidance. Most of our Uncles and an Auntie who were younger have gone ahead to join the Lord. Finally, on a holiday, she left on her own accord presumably to meet up with her husband who passed away early this year. The day after Christmas was their wedding anniversary. We are certain that she had a date with him. Although they’ve had some rough moments as retirees due to proximity at home plus age-related ailments slowly settling in, they were inseparable, nonetheless. It was no surprise to us that she followed him only after a few months.

In the academic world, she spent decades mastering her craft. But one can say she had that innate talent in engaging people considered invaluable as an educator. She was revered as a consummate Filipino teacher who can wow her audience with stories mostly personal ones while speaking in our traditional national language. After all, she was a Filipino professor all her life. Her students found the subject very challenging. But she made them love it eventually. She was a planner who had the passion for orchestrating major events like songwriting and choral contests to celebrate Linggo ng Wika (Language Week). Lastly, she was a writer/ publisher that created short stories and encouraged her students to imagine and author their own to be compiled with hers. Those books were in fact used as textbooks for the school.

In the age of digital technology, Mama Lyn stubbornly but endearingly wrote long hand in her educated cursive fashion. Before she lost her hand's mobility, she would still send snail mail to everyone across the world when e-mails were the norm. That was her way to make them feel her personal sentiments. Without a doubt, people looked forward to seeing her familiar scrawl on the envelope. She would have said “being busy” is just an excuse. Taking the time to call or write clearly shows how you value that person.

Erlinda has touched peoples lives in many ways. In the last four years until the very end, her caregivers had a love and hate relationship. For sure she was frustrated feeling helpless especially for somebody who wanted to be in control most of the time. Beneath the tough exterior, she had a charitable and loving heart and we will always cherish that best part of her. We will miss you Mama.

“Your life was a blessing, your memory a treasure, you are loved beyond words and missed beyond measure.”

Terry Garate, mother of five and longtime member of St. David's Episcopal Church in Clairemont, died peacefully Dec. 10 with family members at bedside. She was 87.

Terry was known for her irreverent sense of humor, over-the-top frugality, passionately liberal political views, love of crafting, advocacy for children and the less fortunate, and her golden, five-octave-range singing voice.

Though Terry lived most of her life in San Diego, she remained fiercely proud of her English roots throughout life. She could recite lewd versions of English folk songs; make lemon curd, Shepherd's pie and English pancakes; and lead boisterous English singalongs for anyone who cared to join in.

Born in the Kensington neighborhood of London in 1933, Terry was the youngest of three children, raised by her father, Maurice Lewis, a London print reporter; and mother Frances Fairs, a classically trained pianist. For a time the family lived across the street from the famous British Museum, which employed Maurice's brother Alken, an archeologist involved in the discovery of Tutankhamun's tomb in Egypt.

One of Terry's earliest memories was sitting on Dad's lap, with the "Two Hounds" (brothers Bobby and Carol, the latter named after the Romanian monarch who had befriended Maurice) nearby, finding great hilarity in the manic ramblings of a pre-war Adolph Hitler on the family radio.

But family life would be altered forever in 1940 during the London Blitz, when a German bomber dropped its payload after the "all clear" signal had been announced, killing Maurice and Bobby and maiming Frances. Terry survived only because she and Carol had come down with measles and quarantined with relatives. For the rest of her life, Terry could hardly recall this event without grief.

Frances then married Dick Foster, an Anglican priest, whose ministry kept the family on the move throughout North America, including Detroit, where Terry graduated from high school, excelling in track and chorus. Other stops included Ontario and Vermont, where Frances died of complications from her injured leg.

Terry eventually wound up in South Florida, where she caught the attention of Peter Garate, a young professional jai alai player from the Basque region of Spain. The Garates married and headed west to San Diego in the late 1950s, and eventually purchased their Clairemont home in 1965. The family joined St. David's soon after, a membership Terry would maintain the rest of her life.

As a young mother, Terry enjoyed leading her children on hikes throughout San Diego's canyons and tidepools and campouts at La Jolla Indian Reservation, leaving them with a love and respect for nature at an early age. When her children were old enough for organized sports, Terry volunteered as scorekeeper for North Clairemont Little League, headed the Red Cross Backyard Swim program at Walt Whitman Elementary, and joined a successful fight against opportunistic developers to keep the former Gershwin Elementary property dedicated for family recreation. Later in life, Terry would make many friends among the morning regulars who walked their dogs at the spot known today as Gershwin Park.

Terry often remarked how her home was so often overrun with "wall-to-wall children," including around Christmas time, when Terry would show kids how to make wreaths from computer cards, edible gingerbread houses and other do-it-yourself projects converting scraps to gifts. Many neighborhood kids got their first experience Christmas caroling with Terry, ever-willing to share and express the joys and charm of England.

After her divorce in the mid-1970s, Terry found peace and fulfillment in San Diego's thriving piano bar scene. She worked for a time at the Caliph and Shelter Island Inn, and became well-known at the Gypsy Cellar, Red Fox, Salerno's and Westgate Hotel. Well into her 80s, she still made regular visits to Albee's and Shooters, where a now frail, wheelchair-bound Terry could still take a mic and reduce a crowded, noisy barroom to pin-drop silence.

After her children had grown, Terry offered her spare bedrooms to the Couchsurfing organization, filling a guestbook with new friends throughout the world. One visitor named Bruno, a neuroscientist from Brazil in town for a convention, returned the favor and arranged a front-row seat for Terry during Rio Carnival.

Terry also made several trips to Spain. Even after her ex-husband's death, Terry maintained remarkable relationships with Javier, Peter's brother; Javier's wife Maria Teresa, and their four children, Ana, Yolanda, Xabichu and Maite. One such trip to her Spanish family in Barcelona included granddaughter Nicole, who at first resented her Nan's stern reminders to chronicle the journey because "You'll appreciate it one day." Though many journal entries began with "I'm only writing because Nan's making me," Nicole now admits -- as was often the case -- Terry was right.

Mindful of the shortages and rationing during wartime England, Terry was instrumental in launching the St. David's Food Pantry and became one of its most dedicated volunteers, collecting surplus food from supermarkets and sorting and distributing goods to the community.

Terry accepted her declining health with dignity, refusing to engage in self-pity. When asked how she was, Terry enjoyed responding with her catchphrase, "Mean and ornery, as usual." She often said learning to take life less seriously, laugh at herself and "be outrageous" was one of her most significant life lessons. Almost equally satisfying -- fulfilling a vow to live long enough to vote Donald Trump out of office.

In recent years, with her mobility reduced, she became a master crafter on steroids. She spent many hours a day in her chair, usually with MSNBC on television in the background, producing dozens of bottles decorated with colored lighting, cardboard quilling, beads and carefully designed odds and ends enthusiastically collected by friends at church.

Terry leaves behind dozens of boxes of stuff her children have no idea what to do with, but they're grateful Terry's friends helped with her creative outlets.

Terry's kids are also grateful to the clergy and Grey Brigade at St. David's, as well as fellow members of the choir. As Terry's health and voice faltered late in life, singers helped out with transportation to Thursday practice, saved a spot on the choir platform for Terry's wheelchair and helped her work out snafus while fumbling to join choir practice via Zoom.

Terry is survived by her five children, Ana, Paul, Tony, Javi and Lisa; five grandchildren, Nicole, Derek, Ray, Brad and Megan; and one great-grandson, Dakota.