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A Good Hair Day I'll never forget my interview with the owner of Graphic Originals, much less the job itself. I'd replied to an ad in the Village Voice for an "artist" - and one wet and chilly Spring day I sat before his jaded gaze, vulnerably exposing my best sci-fi/fantasy drawings, along with a few ads that I'd designed for a suburban Philly newspaper and some black ink illustrations I'd done for the Yellow Pages in California. My "portfolio" was neither professional nor seasoned, but it had lots of heart. The company, situated on the second or third floor of a damp and dusty warehouse in midtown Manhattan, was small silkscreen print shop. Connected loosely with the home furnishings industry, the primary product of this enterprise was screen-printed dreck designed to match cheap furniture. My main role was to create appealing prints depicting such scenes as cranes wading among exotic water plants and other stimulating fare. While I learned a bit more about serigraphy and made some friends, that job was truly a dead-ender. But back to the interview. My prospective employer's beehive-crowned wife was there, gawking at each page of my book and fussing like a chicken. |
When we got to my earnest Frank Frazetta-derived illustrations (which would certainly have been taken more seriously in the offices of Heavy Metal magazine), Mrs. Levy's protestations increased dramatically: "Oh, Mawty!" she exclaimed, sounding a little like Edith Bunker but with more Bronx, "I just don't see... this gentleman... oh, there's nothing heah that we could evah use..." Marty slowly raised his head and looked at her with what I believe was genuine affection in his eyes. I sensed that he was going to put an end to her clucking, but I never in a million years could have guessed what was coming. After a brief pause he said softly, "Sweethawt, did you do something diff'rent with yah hair? You look absolutely lovely today." I kid you not. This woman smiled, blushed, sat up straight, patted the grayish brown stack on her head and cooed, "Ohhh, Mawty..." and uttered nothing else the entire time I was there. I was offered the job and somehow I made it to the elevator without laughing. That was a keeper.
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