2008 Woodie Awards
Introducing Harry Morgan
By: Paul Maximilian Bisca
Issue date: 11/2/07 Section: Opinion
Perhaps the feeling we immediately experience when faced with the disappearance of a loved one is that of sheer perplexity, caused by the sudden realization that we must speak in the past tense about an individual whose non-existence is difficult to accept. Once this feeling subsides, however, questions of a different nature come to the fore: how did I first meet this person? What do I best remember about him? What is the great message of her life? Did I give back to him as much as he did to me? When we last met, did I let her know how much she meant to me?
This past Tuesday, Oct. 30, 2007, I learned that American journalist Harry Wayne Morgan died in the county hospital of Timisoara, Romania. He had been under lung treatment for three weeks and doctors were optimistic, but just as his recovery seemed certain, his heart gave up. He was 73 years old and during the last four of those years, we got to know each other.
My encounter with Harry came at a time when my life was riddled with question marks. I was then a high school senior looking to continue my education in the United States after having lived here as an exchange student. Which colleges to chose? Could I get any scholarships? Do I have a chance? - these dilemmas became all too familiar. Through a friend of a friend of another friend, I ended up on Harry Morgan's doorstep with the hope that he might have some answers to my puzzles. What I received from him was much more than I could have possibly asked for.
His first gift was a brochure about a small liberal arts college in St. Paul, Minn, named Macalester. He had worked here from 1960 to 1964, and said I should apply because this place would give me the intellectual grounding and worldly exposure that are crucial in the formative years of a young man.
His most valuable gift, however, was his friendship. This meant hours of summer conversations with a man whose life can be described as nothing short of extraordinary.
More than anything else, Harry was a journalist. As such, he insisted that writing is a deeply personal act, that regardless of the topic under scrutiny, one should always treat it with gentility and respect. Moreover, he believed that it is not necessary to travel the world in search of ground-breaking stories, for each small, forgotten, town in the middle of nowhere has its own grand narratives waiting to be discovered and recited. Yet his job as a reporter for Reader's Digest took him to 105 countries; in the pictures which decorated his living room, he stood side by side with people who made it into the history books: Mother Theresa, Indira Gandhi or Eleanor Roosevelt, to name a few. He came to Romania in the 1970s to interview President Ceausescu, but returned to start the first cultural exchanges between Americans and Romanians. After Ceausescu's regime fell in 1989, he helped start the Journalism program at the University of Bucharest, then moved to do the same at the University of Timisoara.
This past Tuesday, Oct. 30, 2007, I learned that American journalist Harry Wayne Morgan died in the county hospital of Timisoara, Romania. He had been under lung treatment for three weeks and doctors were optimistic, but just as his recovery seemed certain, his heart gave up. He was 73 years old and during the last four of those years, we got to know each other.
My encounter with Harry came at a time when my life was riddled with question marks. I was then a high school senior looking to continue my education in the United States after having lived here as an exchange student. Which colleges to chose? Could I get any scholarships? Do I have a chance? - these dilemmas became all too familiar. Through a friend of a friend of another friend, I ended up on Harry Morgan's doorstep with the hope that he might have some answers to my puzzles. What I received from him was much more than I could have possibly asked for.
His first gift was a brochure about a small liberal arts college in St. Paul, Minn, named Macalester. He had worked here from 1960 to 1964, and said I should apply because this place would give me the intellectual grounding and worldly exposure that are crucial in the formative years of a young man.
His most valuable gift, however, was his friendship. This meant hours of summer conversations with a man whose life can be described as nothing short of extraordinary.
More than anything else, Harry was a journalist. As such, he insisted that writing is a deeply personal act, that regardless of the topic under scrutiny, one should always treat it with gentility and respect. Moreover, he believed that it is not necessary to travel the world in search of ground-breaking stories, for each small, forgotten, town in the middle of nowhere has its own grand narratives waiting to be discovered and recited. Yet his job as a reporter for Reader's Digest took him to 105 countries; in the pictures which decorated his living room, he stood side by side with people who made it into the history books: Mother Theresa, Indira Gandhi or Eleanor Roosevelt, to name a few. He came to Romania in the 1970s to interview President Ceausescu, but returned to start the first cultural exchanges between Americans and Romanians. After Ceausescu's regime fell in 1989, he helped start the Journalism program at the University of Bucharest, then moved to do the same at the University of Timisoara.
Viewing Comments 1 - 2 of 2
William
posted 1/07/08 @ 8:32 PM CST
He is my grandpa
Dan
posted 3/10/08 @ 10:37 PM CST
I'm so sad to read this. I had the privilege of being his student in the late 90s in Romania. An amazing person, who taught us so much!
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