Matt always carried two books, former high school teacher and debate coach Eric DiMichele remembered. Just in case he finished one book, there was another one at hand.
Matt Sclafani, editor-in-chief and consummate reporter for The Chronicle, lost his one-year battle with leukemia Feb. 7, 1992. Today, his name floods the walls of 301 Flowers Building, and his legacy is celebrated annually through the prestigious Matt Sclafani Award, which honors yearly a reporter who shows the same integrity as Sclafani once did.
Twelve years after his death, The Chronicle remembers Sclafani, a young man who courageously sought the truth, and a former reporter who now stands as the very model of journalistic courage.
Arriving as a freshman, Matt immediately found a home in The Chronicle. Rocky Rosen, the editor of the newspaper during Sclafani’s freshman year, remembered the young writer. “There are certain freshman who just stick out as being really energetic and aggressive and sort of newsroom rats,” Rosen said. “Matt was definitely one of those.”
Nicknamed “Weasel,” Matt ascended The Chronicle ladder quickly, gaining the respect of his peers. He became editor in 1990.
Matt took the job seriously. He encouraged his writers to search out the truth, even if it was hard to come by. He was skeptical, and he was curious.
Michael Saul, a freshman writer when Sclafani was editor and the first winner of the Matt Sclafani Award, recalled, “Matt stood for journalistic courage. He was defiant, and he stood up to authority.” In 1990, Matt published an article unfavorably portraying Stanley Fish, a controversial former Duke law professor and chairman of the English department.
When Fish challenged the young editor, Matt stood by his story and his staff. The truth preceded everything else. Matt was not afraid of confrontation and embraced the complaints of his readership because complaints meant that he was doing his job right.
Sclafani was truly a debater at heart. Maybe that was what made him such a good editor. The Chronicle enabled him to search and to question. But there was a wittiness that sprung from this quest. There was a deeper love of argument.
“He enjoyed a good debate, though he usually thought he was right, and he often was,” said Jason Greenwald, a fledgling writer when Matt was editor.
In the editboard meetings, heated debates inevitably dissolved into futile arguments over who would get the last onion bagel! Matt took his job seriously, but he certainly enjoyed life.
One evening, while watching a Duke basketball game, co-worker Erin Sullivan noticed lumps on Matt’s neck and face. Over the fall break of his senior year, he was diagnosed with cancer. Ann Heimberger, Matt’s girlfriend and fellow worker at the time, was there.
“It was the only time that I saw Matt scared,” she said. “After that, he handled the disease like a superhero. He made it possible for the rest of us.”
By the spring, Matt could no longer work for his beloved Chronicle. The cancer soon spread to his liver. In his final days, however, Matt maintained an unfaltering sense of humor.
Saul distinctly remembered the somber tone in Chronicle office the day after Matt died.
“Everyone was trying to be positive,” Saul said. “The amazing thing about newspapering is that the paper still has to come out.”
In the hospital, Heimberger sat by Matt’s side. It was a peaceful death in the company of close family and friends. Saddened but undeterred, The Chronicle proceeded to print the next morning’s paper. Matt would have wanted that.
Matt will be known as the patient editor who reworked, word by word, the articles of new writers. He will be known as the steadfast reporter who stood up to Stanley Fish, and he will be known as the kind friend who, even in illness, could tell a joke. But perhaps before anything else, he will be remembered as that ambitious editor with two books in his hand, just in case he finished the first.
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