A Good Story and a Wide Smile

BY VICTOR J. MEDINA, TUFTS STUDENT 1993-1997, ATTORNEY, PRINCETON, NJ
Some say that there is no greater wealth than living in the hearts of others. If that's true, then Tony was a rich man, by all accounts. How sad I am to know that Tony has passed on - sad for myself, of course, but sad also that more won't be touched by him. Ironically, it brings a smile to my face to see so many of my college friends sharing their memories - I am compelled to add mine.

For those who don't know or remember me, I should start by explaining that I am not, and never was, a very good actor. Frequently blinded by my own ego, I foolishly auditioned for everything under the sun, and despite never landing any role of substance, I never quite got the hint until the end of my days at Tufts that maybe I should leave the meaty stuff for those with talent. Perhaps I was treated too kindly in my freshman year when the then-Chair of the Drama Department cast me in the first production of the year, a very serious production about the Holocaust. I was put in the role not to act, but because I could play the trumpet. In any event, after one of the performances, the cast went out to celebrate the fact that Tony's residency would be renewed for another term. I was ready to bow out after the show, but Tommy Finkelstein, who up to then I was sure hated me, dragged me along and we had drinks at the Wursthaus in Harvard Square. That night, 14 other college student and I were treated to four hours of stories and laughs with Tony. It was unbelievable... I mean, what faculty member goes out for drinks with college kids not even in his show? And that was the first time I met Tony.

A few years later, I auditioned for a class in performing comedy with Tony. By that time, I had abandoned any thought of dramatic acting, but auditioned for this class because it seemed like fun. Anyone who knows him well would know that acceptance into a class taught by him was validation of your talent by Tony. I should have had more confidence going into the class, but the class list was a who's-who of actors on campus. JC. Molly. Amy. Come on, what was I doing there? When I saw that the class was comprised of real actors, I went to Tony talk to him about his oversight in letting me in. I told him that I wanted to speak with him in private and he invited me into the little room with no windows and closed the door.

After explaining that I believed there to be some mistake, he said to me this:

"Vi-i-ic...", he started. (Tony is the only person I've met who knew that "Vic" has three syllables.)

And then he lowered his chin to his chest, locked eyes with me and said, "You are quite funny, you know." I swear that his left eye twinkled on that statement. "While I'm afraid that Hamlet may be out of your reach, you can make people laugh. I would very much like you to stay in the class." After that, I was more afraid to leave than to stay. He did tell me, quite a number of times that "It wants to be funnier, doesn't it?" - as if the question needed an answer. Tony was always right, "it" does want to be funnier.

I had a couple of other classes with Tony and have vivid memories of visiting his apartment for a party, as well as lunch on campus. 5 or so years ago, I decided I wanted to go to law school. I didn't make many connections with professors at Tufts, and asked Tony if he would mind writing me a letter of recommendation. He said, "Gladly!", but made me promise to come see Macbeth. It meant a train ride from Connecticut, but there was no way I would miss it - I feared too much to be in his debt. I had a wonderful time, of course, and I got to see some friends be brilliant on stage. And though Tony and I didn't speak that evening, he caught my glaze from across the room and gave me a wide smile. I know I'm not the only one of his students to know what it's like to make Tony smile like that.

I guess my point about it all is this: Tony made me feel as though I figured into his life somehow. No matter how many things he had going on, there was something about our relationship that warranted him giving me his undivided attention. And what's amazing is that he did this with everyone. He gave everyone this personal attention and touched us all with his warmth.

I imagine he's somewhere taking turns rubbing his head and beard, muttering "yes, yes, yes" as things fall into place for him. I'm sure he's also telling a good story to someone. I know there are some I want to share with him - I hope I get to some day.