Richard Jerome Satin

Richard Jerome Satin passed away at the age of 87 on February 5, 2026, after a brief hospitalization complicated by heart and respiratory failure. He died less than a year and a half after the unexpected passing of his beloved wife of nearly 60 years, Nancy Wenger Satin.

He is survived by his daughter, Michelle Satin Bergstein, and her husband, Howard Bergstein, and their daughters, Isabelle Bergstein, Madeleine Bergstein, and Cassandra Bergstein; as well as his son, Adam Satin, and his wife, Gunny Satin, and their children, Lasa Satin, Mila Satin, and Teddy Satin.

All of Richard’s survivors and close friends know with certainty that being reunited with Nancy meant hearing, in exquisite detail, just how delicious the egg salad in heaven is — only to hear Richard explain that he just doesn’t eat much like he used to. Undeterred in her desire to show him just how wonderful heaven is, Nancy no doubt magically conjured up “Boogie Wonderland” by Earth, Wind & Fire and said, “Well then… just dance with me!”

And he happily obliged. Heaven indeed.

Born in Brooklyn, New York, Richard grew up on the streets and playgrounds of Brighton Beach and Coney Island, where his razor-sharp wit and survival instincts were honed early. He learned quickly that winning mattered: winning at sports, especially handball, ping pong, and at track meets… winning arguments over topics both important and juvenile… winning prank wars with the authorities at Abraham Lincoln High School — stories he continued to tell with enormous delight well into his 80s.

His tenacity and killer instincts served him throughout his life, taking him far from those Brooklyn streets. He parlayed his talent in track and field into a spot on the University of Connecticut’s track team, before leaving home to serve in the United States Army, stationed at Fort Bragg in North Carolina.

After his honorable discharge, Richard worked tirelessly to build a life for himself and Nancy. When he was just 15, he read an article in Reader’s Digest about a self-made insurance titan of the 1940s, and it planted a conviction in him: if he simply worked harder than everyone else, he could build something extraordinary.

So that is exactly what he did.

He started at the bottom, cutting vinyl samples in a dim sample room at Fabric Leather Corp. in Glen Cove, New York. By sheer force of will, he escaped that room and convinced his employers to give him a shot at sales. He was a natural — the man could sell cherry popsicles to someone wearing white gloves. He traveled the world developing and selling artificial leather products for shoes and handbags.

In time, he was thrilled to become his own boss. He became co-owner and President of Bradford Industries in Lowell, Massachusetts, which specialized in the manufacture of coated fabrics for automotive airbags and other applications. His vision and leadership helped Bradford become an industry leader, serving prominent clients such as Louis Vuitton and Boeing.

Their work not only helped save countless lives in car accidents, but also produced the specialized coating used in the airbags that cushioned NASA’s Mars landing — a source of immense pride for Richard. Through the expertise he gained as an entrepreneur and manufacturer, he became an inventor as well, holding numerous U.S. patents on products unique and useful in the safety industry.

While he took satisfaction in his business success, what mattered most to him were the people he cared for at the company — many of them immigrants with little or no money, working hard to stake their own claim to the American dream, just as he had.

To those on the other side of the negotiating table, Richard was a force of nature — a lion. His family had no doubt. You needed only to hear him on a work call, or on one of the many occasions when he endeavored to help a friend through a business or personal crisis, to understand his ferocity, his deftly analytical mind, his problem-solving ability, and the confidence that came once he knew the right way forward.

It was something to see.

When a particularly complex problem forced him to dig deep, he could never hide the look on his face: the wheels turning, the fingers of his right hand twirling away as if he were conducting an imaginary symphony in his mind. More often than not, it ended with a simple declaration:

“OK. I know what I’ve got to do.”

And it was usually the right thing — even when it was the hardest of all his options.

But his family knew the deeper truth about Richard Satin: that the lion was really just a big soft cub. Whether it was taking immense joy in the accomplishments of his children and grandchildren, or lamenting the loss of Nancy, all he ever truly treasured was the love he had earned from the people with whom he shared his life.

And although his heart, lungs, and kidneys failed him during his final hospitalization, his mind did not. He spent his last days as he lived — sharing memories, love, and laughter with Michelle and Adam.

Faced with one last impossibly difficult decision in the hospital, they saw the familiar look return: the wheels turning, the fingers of his right hand twirling, as if conducting one final symphony.

Then he said, simply:

“OK. I know what I’ve got to do.”

And just a few hours later — Boogie Wonderland.

In Richard’s memory and in lieu of flowers, donations may be made to the American Heart Association.