HERLINSKY Victor J. Sr., 82, died quietly surrounded by his family at his home in Mahwah, NJ on Friday, August 14 after a long battle with Parkinson's disease. Born in Ukraine on July 10, 1927, he lived in Germany and Brazil before immigrating to the United States in 1956. A long-time resident of Upper Saddle River, he was one of the founding partners of 4-H Brothers, a trailer-body manufacturing and repair company based in Wallington. An avid sports enthusiast, Victor was a golden glove boxer while living in Munich, Germany, a semi-professional soccer player in Brazil, and a member of the Ukrainian Carpathian Ski Club. He also excelled at tennis and was awarded a lifetime membership to the Nutley Tennis Club and the KLK Ukrainian Sports Club.He is the son of the late Adam Herlinsky and Augusta Trubiken. He is survived by his loving wife of 44 years Irene (Chornodolsky), son Victor Jr. and his wife Kimberly of E. Rutherford, NJ, daughter Donna and husband John, and their two daughters Larissa and Alexa of Ridgewood, NJ. He leaves siblings, Tamara, Ivan, and Walter and was predeceased by siblings Roman, Adam, and Eva.Visitation to be held on Sunday, Aug. 16 from 2-4 and 7-9 PM at the Van Emburgh-Sneider-Pernice Funeral Home, 109 Darlington Ave., Ramsey. Funeral Mass will be held on Monday, Aug. 17 at 10:00 am at the Church of the Presentation, 271 West Saddle River Rd., Upper Saddle River, followed by a burial ceremony at the Ascension Cemetery, 650 Saddle River Rd. Monsey, NY. In lieu of flowers, memorial donations can be made in Victor's memory to the Valley Home Care Hospice Program, 15 Essex Road, Paramus, NJ 07652. 201-291-6000.
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1 Entry
ruby klein
August 15, 2009
Death, be not proud
Death, be not proud, though some have called thee
Mighty and dreadful, for thou art not so;
For those whom thou think'st thou dost overthrow
Die not, poor Death, nor yet canst thou kill me.
From rest and sleep, which but thy pictures be,
Much pleasure; then from thee much more must flow,
And soonest our best men with thee do go,
Rest of their bones, and soul's delivery.
Thou art slave to fate, chance, kings, and desperate men,
And dost with poison, war, and sickness dwell,
And poppy or charms can make us sleep as well
And better than thy stroke; why swell'st thou then?
One short sleep past, we wake eternally
And death shall be no more; Death, thou shalt die.
By John Donne
The Poetry Foundation
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