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Count me among those who were glad Henry had started his own business. After transferring from Northeastern University, I received my journalism degree from Emerson College in 1990, which until recently was probably the worst time since the Great Depression to look for work. The job market at the time was, in a word, weak. And I had no real experience, save for a brief three months at the Ledger during my Northeastern days. Still, Henry liked the fact that I’d spent some time in his old stomping grounds, and that I was a North Quincy High School graduate who’d grown up in the city. More than a year after I earned my diploma from Emerson, he offered me a job, and I went to work for him and his son, Bob, the newspaper’s editor.
Having covered a City Council meeting on my very first day, I received a compliment from Henry on my second: “Your stuff reads pretty well, Mike.” But this was a gentleman who generally wasn’t known for being warm and fuzzy, and it was sometimes difficult to relate to him. In retrospect, it was largely a generation gap. He was a World War II veteran who banged out copy on a vintage Royal typewriter; several of his staffers, who all used computers, were born during the Vietnam War or later. I’ll never forget the time he proclaimed, “Presley and the Beatles ruined music.” I’ve nothing against the Big Band-era songs he preferred, but it would be an understatement of monumental proportions to say I disagree.
Many of the folks Henry hired enjoyed continued success in the business. Among those who worked at the Sun before I did were Milton Times Publisher Pat Desmond and a photographer who went on to shoot covers for Time magazine. One of my former co-workers is now an editor for Major League Baseball’s Web site, and another created the popular site known as Cold, Hard Football Facts.
Me? This is my third newspaper job since the Sun days. There were also a couple of PR gigs and a weekend position at the former WJDA Radio. I’ve remained in touch with pretty much all of my old Sun co-workers, including the folks who are still there.
On Feb. 6, I stopped by the Sun office to say a quick hello to Bob. We chatted for about two minutes and I left, without bothering to look for his father. Henry apparently worked a full eight hours that day, but later checked himself into Quincy Medical Center because he wasn’t feeling well. He died the next day at the age of 84.
In the end, it’s safe to say he’d forgotten more about newspapers than I’ll ever learn. But one thing I’ll never forget is the gift I received from him in 1991. He gave me my start, and for that I will be forever grateful.

J. Michael Whalen
Editor