henry r. selvitella, 192?-2004
i randomly picked up a copy of the herald on the train today and skimmed past the death notices to get to the "edge" section. the name of my high school journalism teacher jumped out at me. handsome henry selvitella died on weds. afternoon, after a brief illness. since his obit was shoved fairly far down (and isn't on boston.com or the herald's online site), i feel the urge to write something here.
i first encountered handsome henry in january of my freshman year, after i had transferred to medford high from points north. surprisingly, medford hs had a widely acclaimed newspaper -- the mustang news -- which came out quarterly and frequently received journalism awards every june. at the time i inquired i felt i had arrived too late to get involved (and a misunderstanding between me, the medford transcript, and mr selvitella made me want to hang back for a while). mr s. wanted to know about how my parents were doing -- my mom (features editor, 1969-70) and dad (sports editor, 1966?). here was this tiny little man, catarcted eyes hiding behind shaded lenses, lighting cigarettes in his dark, curtained office and asking me questions in a sharp stacatto. i didn't know if i had angered him, or if he was genuinely interested in this.
it was easy to tell if mr selvitella had been angered, i would later find out. one of the school librarians compared his temper to vesuvius. his silences were icy, and would later explode into high-pitched tirades that frequently bordered on the profane. he would narrow his eyes so they looked like tiny blades as he chose the correct words with which to belittle and perfectly insult his victim. i learned to stay out of his way during deadlines, and an argument that took place at the end of my junior year almost made me break off my association with him.
though he was quick to lose his temper, he was also quick to find praise. at the close of my sophomore year, he asked me when i was planning to join the paper and continue the family dynasty. he was proud of my award-winning interview with a child actor, and gave it to his class as an example of good profiling skills.
reading his obit made me remember some of the good moments i had in his class, and the things i learned. his stories about his years of teaching and his work as a photojournalist during the vietnam war illustrated the hard, dangerous work of journalism, and further underscored his dedication to his chosen craft. he stood at about my height, and was hardly a looker, with his stubby hands, bloodshot eyes, and the staining signs of nicotine addiction that he wore like badges...but he would walk the halls with chest-puffing pride, with a strong belief in himself and in his students.
unfortunately, i will not be able to make it to the wake (i will probably not accomplish everything i need to do this weekend), nor the funeral (already losing two days of dog-sitting money next week). i hope that henry is getting the rest he never quite got in life. i will miss him.
i first encountered handsome henry in january of my freshman year, after i had transferred to medford high from points north. surprisingly, medford hs had a widely acclaimed newspaper -- the mustang news -- which came out quarterly and frequently received journalism awards every june. at the time i inquired i felt i had arrived too late to get involved (and a misunderstanding between me, the medford transcript, and mr selvitella made me want to hang back for a while). mr s. wanted to know about how my parents were doing -- my mom (features editor, 1969-70) and dad (sports editor, 1966?). here was this tiny little man, catarcted eyes hiding behind shaded lenses, lighting cigarettes in his dark, curtained office and asking me questions in a sharp stacatto. i didn't know if i had angered him, or if he was genuinely interested in this.
it was easy to tell if mr selvitella had been angered, i would later find out. one of the school librarians compared his temper to vesuvius. his silences were icy, and would later explode into high-pitched tirades that frequently bordered on the profane. he would narrow his eyes so they looked like tiny blades as he chose the correct words with which to belittle and perfectly insult his victim. i learned to stay out of his way during deadlines, and an argument that took place at the end of my junior year almost made me break off my association with him.
though he was quick to lose his temper, he was also quick to find praise. at the close of my sophomore year, he asked me when i was planning to join the paper and continue the family dynasty. he was proud of my award-winning interview with a child actor, and gave it to his class as an example of good profiling skills.
reading his obit made me remember some of the good moments i had in his class, and the things i learned. his stories about his years of teaching and his work as a photojournalist during the vietnam war illustrated the hard, dangerous work of journalism, and further underscored his dedication to his chosen craft. he stood at about my height, and was hardly a looker, with his stubby hands, bloodshot eyes, and the staining signs of nicotine addiction that he wore like badges...but he would walk the halls with chest-puffing pride, with a strong belief in himself and in his students.
unfortunately, i will not be able to make it to the wake (i will probably not accomplish everything i need to do this weekend), nor the funeral (already losing two days of dog-sitting money next week). i hope that henry is getting the rest he never quite got in life. i will miss him.