In 1982, Marvel Comics Editorial moved downtown into a different world of food. “Food.” Yes, something comic freelancers think about a lot. More to the point, how can we get an Editor to pay for that food.
A large percentage of the Editorial morning was spent figuring out where to go for food and who to go with. I would remind the ardent follower of these articles about that peculiarity of publishing: Short Friday Hours. Most of the Executives fumphered and mumbled when cornered about what sort of “publishing” they did. Not exactly ashamed to say it out loud, but not ready to shout it from the rooftops. Which is surprising considering their pay stubs looked a lot like “real” publishers’…
But Executive Gold Medical Plans and breathtaking bonus packages are not a part of these gentle accounts. Neither is the coveted Expense Account meal—a wonderful part of Big Business. Why, my most exalted page rate is from writing up my tall tales and heart-stopping stories about how much business was discussed over T&E food…
“An army marches on its stomach!” – Napoleon Dynamite
Above, L-R: Editor Mike Rockwitz, Editor Ralph Macchio, Freelancer Jack Morelli, Editor Nel Yomtov.
Ex-staffers who freelanced often arranged to deliver work to the office and cadge a meal. The short Fridays were the easy ask. My bestest comrade, Jack Morelli and I both moved up north but enjoyed slogging back for some meal time with our old comrades. Jack would use his pick up truck and I would happily jump in, with freelance or not.
The line between freelancer and staffer was often blurred back then. Everybody above and me, behind, did freelance of one kind or another. Jack left staff with a contract. Which meant he was a freelancer that was still a staffer!
There were several rather nice places within a few blocks. Nothing compared to the money/amount/quality ratio like The Abbey Tavern over on 25th Street.
It was a restaurant-bar with an Irish theme, if you can’t guess. Not as obvious was that it funneled a huge number of Irish immigrants from the Aulde Heathe. Somehow, a great number of young ladies, with vibrant brogues, freshly scrubbed cheeks and waves of auburn hair, passed through these oaken gates.
Me– I always had my eye on the complimentary Irish soda bread! Jack never failed to surgically cut one of the little football shaped loaves in half and lay down a perfect layer of butter, edge to edge. I was a little sloppier because I used a fork to split the little glimpses of heaven in half…
This day—some time around Halloween judging from the startling realistic spider webs to the right—must have been special. Joining us was ex-pat Mark Chiarello—having jumped the pond to DC (better known as THEM) to be their Cover Editor Art Director.
All of us were close; most of us still are. Deciding to gather for a meal might have been a bit of trouble here and there, but this collection of ne’er-do-wells and comic bums would climb mountains of vouchers to dine together.
L-R: your faithful photographer, with camera propped up on a nearby service station, Nel’s head, then Rocky, Jack, the very Count Dante-ish Mark Chiarello and Raf. I must point out that this meal was paid for by us! No editors were hounded remorselessly to pick up the tab.
When we had enough of each other during the day, struggled with freelancers and sometimes us freelancers struggle with these jamokes—we would settle down to talk… what else? Comics.