In Memoriam
David Lee Sherman
David Sherman
1964 Yale graduation
David Sherman died on November 13, 2025 at Charing Cross Hospital in London of aspiration pneumonia. We were notified of his death by his son Jeff Sherman, Yale ’92.
As remembrances, here are posted three essays that David wrote on the occasions of three Yale reunions. When an obituary is published we will add it here.
- Video of David’s funeral service, London
- Essay, 60th Reunion Book
- Essay, 50th Reunion Book
- Essay, 25th Reunion Book
Funeral Service
January 14, 2026
David's funeral service was held on January 14, 2026, at St. Mary Abbots Church, Kensington, London, Engand.
Remembrances were spoken by the following family members:
- Amy Sherman, daughter
- Jeff Sherman, son
- Dorian Sherman, son
Here is the video of the service.
Essay, 60th Reunion Book
by David Lee Sherman
May 2024
Dear Beloved Class of Yale 1964,
In the cradle of time, our spirits convened, woven into the tapestry of Yale's hallowed halls. Once upon a distant dawn, we entered this sanctum, seekers of knowledge, disciples of wisdom. In yesteryears, our minds wandered through corridors of inquiry, embracing the kaleidoscope of disciplines that unveiled the secrets of the universe. Our hearts danced in the symphony of camaraderie, forging bonds that time's chisel could not erode. We imbibed the essence of learning, sculpting our intellect amid the mosaics of diversity and scholarly communion. Oh, the metamorphosis we've undergone since those nascent days!
Each step carved paths across the landscapes of experience, etching tales of triumph and tribulation. The seeds planted in Yale's fertile soil blossomed into multifaceted lives, mirroring the grandeur of the human spirit. Some among us emerged as luminaries, casting radiant beams across realms of innovation and thought. Others, the silent heroes, cultivated empathy’s gardens, nurturing societies with compassion and understanding. Through the tapestry of our divergent journeys, the common thread of purpose unites us — Yale, the catalyst that ignited the flames of excellence.
Yet, time's relentless cadence did not exempt us from life’s tapestry of challenges. We weathered storms, encountered crossroads, and etched resilience into the very fibers of our being. Amidst the ebb and flow, Yale’s teachings became our lighthouse, guiding us through the labyrinthine corridors of existence.
Now, here we stand, a mosaic of stories interwoven, carrying the wisdom of yore and the vitality of today. Let us not merely reminisce but continue to inscribe chapters of significance in the annals of humanity. May our journeys, like constellations in the sky, continue to inspire, guiding future voyagers through the cosmic expanse of their aspirations. And as we chart our courses anew, let the spirit of Yale endure within us, a testament to the enduring pursuit of knowledge, wisdom, and the unbounded potential of the human soul.
In the decade past, my existence has been an introspective soliloquy, a meditation upon life’s deepest essence. The walls, like silent sentinels, witnessed my contemplations, their secrets yet unmasked. Yale, my alma mater, and the bonds forged within its halls paved the path for success. Having bid adieu to the bustling corridors of life, I’ve embraced a realm suffused with literature and art, an arena I’ve long held close to my heart. The world of art auctions, the trade of masterpieces, and the embrace of Chinese art captivate my spirit. Charcoal and ink become conduits of tranquility, evoking the stillness that resonates within me. A fervent collector now, primarily drawn to contemporary Chinese art, yet occasionally moved by the vigor of young artists’ creations. I acquire what resonates deeply, aiming for others’ shared enjoyment.
In the realm of literature, my affections oscillate from Oriental to Western philosophy, interspersed with the prose of Edgar Rice Burroughs, Henry Miller, and the immersive narratives of Hunter S. Thompson.
My gaze extends beyond the canvas and pages, observing the world’s unfolding narrative, in shock and sadness but not without hope. My devoted wife Cherie, my anchor in these latter days, tends to my needs in times of incapacitation. My interactions, though confined, offer glimpses of my progeny — Jeffrey, Dorian, and Amy. Dorian, a source of boundless joy with his offspring, their bright eyes reflecting promising futures. Yet, it’s Cherie who embodies strength, more than the elegance she adorns, a guiding beacon in the labyrinth of life.
To all those of Yale, amidst the giants of this world, I recognize your stature among them. Bow Wow Wow.
Yours in contemplation and reverence ...
As ever,
David Lee Sherman
Essay, 50th Reunion Book
by David Lee Sherman
May 2014
“Search for the hero inside yourself” sang the M People. I have been searching myself for 50 years and occasionally find one, as I am sure you all must do. If you want to learn more, you must search: “Search for the hero inside yourself” and go to the YouTube clip of Motivation Music Video with the M People singing the lyrics and dozens of inspirational quotations which capture my heart and mind.
I look forward to seeing many of you heroes at our 50th.
Essay, 25th Reunion Book
by David Lee Sherman
May 1989
God willing, it is halftime. What has been going on here? In the lonely locker room of self-reflection one tries to get it straight and to pump oneself up to face pixie fate in that hoped-for second half.
Setting out from New Haven 25 years ago, puffed with self importance, fortified by layers of letter sweaters, eager to please God, Country, and Yale (for starters) one settled into the routine of trade school in New York City, and quickly became unsettled by events, then angered, then frenzied.
The frenzy among the novice lawyers at the firm which first hosted me was pervasive. All information about events of that day was suspect, and none was believed. Categorical positions were taken. Invective followed and the cherubic English matron hired to pour tea would blush and duck to avoid being creamed by crumpets thrown by one categorical-view holder at another.
Pixie fate watched as by day one drafted convertible subordinated debenture indentures and by night radical manifestoes for reform. She mercifully picked me up soon after the election in which one’s choice for President received less than one percent of the popular vote and gently put me down in a foreign land where one was less likely to do damage to oneself.
The mind relieved of frenzy became intent on observing how individuals in other cultures live with each other, with their governments and with their gods. By the time Messrs. Kaiser, Lieberman, and Macbeth blew the half-time whistle, seventeen years had been given to living and voyeuring in Asia and Europe.
Of that which has been observed some has been understood and consciously incorporated into one’s own way of living with others, with governments, and with my God. It is probable that some has been understood on a subconscious level and quietly tucked into the senses to become part of that subtle filter through which impressions are received. One has not as yet felt sufficiently confident of the correctness of any understanding of larger matters to make publication except very informally and accompanied by quantities of red wine. In the event it is probably correct that each must find his own path to understanding and even if a Golden Book of Truth were to be published it would only be understood by its author.
The means for all the motion has been my profession which has been narrowly directed to matters of business. Pleasure is derived from deals which happen and frustration from those that don’t. One now has a keen eye for pretension but a weakness for commercially doomed invention. A library of dusty bound volumes of deal documents is the monument one is making. I often wish I had learned to build bridges or boats.
As the strategy for engaging the second half evolves, decisions are made. One will not go back to school to learn to build bridges or boasts, but one does not rule out a second vocation. One will seek relief from the pressure to do something of significance by encouraging the ambition of my wife and children. My wandering will be directed to forming links among the people and places which have come to constitute my home.