Heller on Heller

Heller was a double-edged sword of a name. It was demonstrative (proud) and blasphemous (embarrassing). Other surnames were lyrical; some were poetic, but mine was a verbal command with certain negative connotations (if indeed you believed in Hell). Nonetheless, whenever I was called down to the principal, which was to say so often I had my own chair and desk in Mrs. Spellman’s office, I’d dread the sound of “Mr. H-E-L-L-E-R, get down to the principal now!” I didn’t have to even hear the rest, “H-E-L-L-E-R,” said it all; it was as though the teacher spoke in letter spaced all-caps Railroad Gothic. How I wished my name was more lower-case, like Smith, Jones or Boone.

But this story is not about me; rather it is about another Heller (in upper and lower sans serif) and Vignelli (in Bodoni). In fact, Massimo Vignelli lifted the yoke of H-E-L-L-E-R off my back. Free at last!