Here’s a story. Took place some time in 1980, maybe 81. Morrie Kuramoto (1921-1985) is one of the Marvel Bullpenners that few people know of or have ever heard of. He is a little more well-known after >ahem< these blogs and perhaps a few histories of Marvel. He was a Bullpenner who did all manner of things over time. Lots of time. I don’t know when he started, but he used to warn us of doom by intoning, “Shades of 57…” (a time when the business entity that was then Marvel contracted and let go of most staffers).
He could get perfect results with Scotch Magic Tape, white out and bad stats. He knew a lot of tricks.
Morrie was a character. Not a warm and fuzzy guy, but an all-bark-and-some-bite kind’a guy. He sounded a lot more gruff than he was.
He hardly ever talked about his past. The internet and all its connections seemed to have found out much more about him than I did. And I worked with him for several years.
Robbie Carosella (1953-2018), fellow stat camera operator and a person I worked alongside for several years, had opened up a world of food for me by introducing me to sushi. In that underground manner that sushi enthusiasts have, Morrie quickly learned that we both liked sushi.
One lunchtime Morrie took Robbie and I to a Japanese restaurant supply store. Located on 59 Street on the East Side, close to the Queensboro Bridge approach (uh, is that the Ed Koch Bridge these days?). I would be stunned if it was still there today—with Manhattan real estate prices for such a weird locations (10,000 cars per hour all day long… ). But this was a strange store in that, bring a wheelbarrow full of money in there and you could start a Japanese restaurant from bottom to top. Not just sushi-grade fresh fish that had been doing the backstroke in the Sea of Japan yesterday but all manner of dishes and glasses, chop-sticks, wall hangings and furniture.
We got one thing. Fermented bean curd pouches. That was it. Back we went to the office. Morrie had brought in an entire rice-cooker full of rice. Plus a few things. He slit open one side of the pouch and stuffed in the rice. Which turned out to be sweet. He squirted on some soy sauce (which he called “sho yu”) and handed it over
Robbie’s and my vagabond lifestyle is on display. This little area was right between our two doorways, a kind a alcove formed by a widening of the hallway.
We had discarded office furniture as our home away from home (I may have mentioned previously that it was common practice to wander around the Executive territories of the 9th Floor and remove any broken or thrown away furniture—never from anyone’s office, never, I swear!). Chairs with no backs (still comfy and one could be used as a footstool). An old, broken into file cabinet (no, not me this time!). Our stat camera processor chemistry in evidence. A bent but unbowed comic spinner rack (holding Morrie’s sweater). All the comforts of home.
Not prominent is that Morrie is using a stiletto to slice open a pouch. Not sure the last time it had been cleaned, but I wasn’t complaining!
Of course this was a simple yet very satisfying meal. I wish I could tell you what we talked about. As usual, Morrie never really opened up. But he was sure generous with the rice!