Poking A Dead Frog Part 8

On the other hand, the truth is that if you've got a group of funny friends and you make videos, these videos will be found. Funny or Die has workers that only look for funny videos. The studios, and the networks, they're all looking for good comedy. It can easily be found now. So that can only be a good thing.

How would you like your movies to be remembered?

As a kid, I just loved watching the Marx Brothers and the Three Stooges and seeing that kind of wild, anarchic craziness. I remember thinking, Oh, my G.o.d, someone else gets that feeling! I found that really hopeful. When you're a kid, you just want to throw bottles against a wall. I would love it if my movies played like that. I would love it if in twenty-five, thirty years there are kids watching these movies on Sat.u.r.day afternoons, and they can't believe what they're seeing. That, to me, would be the best-if these movies had that same kind of anarchic, crazy, head-over-feet kind of quality to them. I think the role of comedy is to break down all those barriers we put around ourselves.

Any last words of advice for those writers who are just starting their careers?

I would say that there are a lot of books out there about how to make it, how to audition, and a lot of these books talk about making connections and networking. It's all about who you know. That's actually the biggest mistake a lot of people make. It's really about jumping in and doing it, and just starting to write, starting to make sketches and movies, and just putting them up on the Internet no matter who or where you are. You just have to start doing it-even if you're not getting paid.

How much of success is just sticking with something? It seems that every comedy writer I know has at least one very funny friend who potentially could have made it as a comedy writer if they had only decided to take-or just stay on-that particular route.

I think most of life is just about the choices you make. I don't think there are these special, glowing skills people have. If you or I, at age six, decided that we were going to become swimmers, I'm not saying we'd go to the Olympics, but we would have become pretty d.a.m.n good swimmers. There's no question that I had friends growing up who were funny as s.h.i.+t. I had a friend who made me laugh harder than anyone. I had another buddy who could have easily been a comedy writer. This guy and I created a fake newsletter in high school that we sent out to fellow students. We created a fake organization; I think it was called Children of the Const.i.tution. It was like an underground newsletter making fun of all of the a.s.s-kissers in our school. He ended up becoming an actuary. Another very funny friend now sells rare books.

All these guys could have made a career out of writing comedy. Part of success is just starting something, working toward a goal, and then living long enough to achieve it.

I suppose that ego also plays a part. Some sense of self-regard that says, I can do this just as well as anyone, so why shouldn't I give it a try?

For me, it wasn't a great burst of "I'm funny!" It was a very slow easing into it.

You usually struggle in the dark for years and years. The trick is that if you love it enough you'll keep going. For people who don't truly like it, those are the people who usually fade away. Those are usually the ones who say, "I wanna be famous. I want everyone to look at me." That type of person weeds itself out at a certain point.

Is that a common sentiment you hear from wannabe comedy writers? "I want to be famous"?

It's the most common mistake out here in Hollywood. The biggest mistake is that people go into comedy solely for the money. It's just a dead end-always. People will ask me, "How much do you get paid?" Or, even more annoying, I'll hear, "It's all about who you know." That kind of approach. I hear it thousands of times. But it's not true. There are corporations out here that want to make money. If you're good, they will find you. You could be in North Dakota putting videos on YouTube. If you're funny, believe me, Funny or Die will find you. It's not about who you know at all. That only happens once things begin to percolate, and that happens naturally.

There are two kinds of people in comedy: those who just really love doing it, which is how my group sort of started. We just loved doing it. We weren't making any money. We would have kept on doing it as long as we could have gotten away with it. I'd still be doing it in Chicago. I'd be teaching improv; I'd be making twenty-four thousand dollars a year. It was never about any kind of money or fame or success. We just loved doing it. And then there's the type of person who gets into comedy thinking, I'm going to make it. I'm going to break big! And that is not the att.i.tude to have. There are some people who can have that att.i.tude and still make it, of course, but most won't.

I heard [the basketball player] Kobe Bryant talking the other day about NBA players who love the game versus those players who love the lifestyle the game brings to them. And Kobe felt that that was what separated the great players from the okay players. Athletes who really love to play are the ones who do well, and the athletes who kind of like it, but really want to be successful, well, that's a much harder road to go down. So you just have to make sure you really love it. I think that holds true for most professions, including writing humor.

More than anything, though, I've found through the years that a lot of people try and set rules when it comes to comedy. The second you start believing that, you are f.u.c.ked. They say, "This is the way it is." But these are just general guidelines. The whole basis of comedy is surprise and shock. It has to be. So take all of the rules I just gave you and ignore them. Create comedy that breaks all of the rules. In the end, that's the most exciting stuff. So, yeah, my last words of advice would be, "f.u.c.k me."

ULTRASPECIFIC COMEDIC KNOWLEDGE.

A List by BILL HADER Two Hundred Essential Movies Every Comedy Writer Should See Here's a list of movies that I find funny and that I think every comedy writer should see. Some of these movies will be obvious (Airplane!), others curious (Eyes Wide Shut), but it's a personal list, so I don't know what to tell you. I've learned a lot from watching movies over the years-when it comes to both writing and acting-and I've found that these films, in particular, were the most influential. I tried to keep the list to movies that can easily be found on Netflix and the like. Enjoy!

9 to 5 (1980) 1941 (1979).

Abbott and Costello Meet Frankenstein (1948) Ace in the Hole (1951) The Adventures of Baron Munchausen (1988) After Hours (1985) Airplane! (1980) Amarcord (1973) American Graffiti (1973) An American in Paris (1951) Animal Crackers (1930) Annie Hall (1977) The Apartment (1960) Army of Darkness (1992) a.r.s.enic and Old Lace (1944) Back to the Future (1985) The Bad News Bears (1976) Bananas (1971) The Band Wagon (1953) The Bank d.i.c.k (1940) Barton Fink (1991) Beetlejuice (1988) Being There (1979) Best in Show (2000) Better Off Dead (1985) Big Deal on Madonna Street (1958) The Big Lebowski (1998) The Birdcage (1996) Blazing Saddles (1974) The Blues Brothers (1980) Boogie Nights (1997) Born Yesterday (1950) Bottle Rocket (1996) Boudu Saved from Drowning (1932) Brazil (1985) Broadway Danny Rose (1984) Bullets Over Broadway (1994) The 'Burbs (1989) Cabin in the Sky (1943) Caddyshack (1980) Catch-22 (1970) The Circus (1928) City Lights (1931) A Clockwork Orange (1971) Closely Watched Trains (1966) The Cocoanuts (1929) Coming to America (1988) The Court Jester (1956) Crimes and Misdemeanors (1989) Dames (1934) A Day at the Races (1937) Dazed and Confused (1993) Design for Living (1933) Dirty Rotten Scoundrels (1988) Down by Law (1986) Dr. Strangelove (1964) Drag Me to h.e.l.l (2009) Duck Soup (1933) Ed Wood (1994) Election (1999) The Evil Dead (1981) Evil Dead 2 (1987) Eyes Wide Shut (1999) Fargo (1996) Ferris Bueller's Day Off (1986) The Fireman's Ball (1967) A Fish Called Wanda (1988) The Foot Fist Way (2006) The Fortune (1975) Four Lions (2010) Gates of Heaven (1978) The General (1926) Get Shorty (1995) Ghostbusters (1984) The Gold Rush (1925) Good Morning (1959 The Goonies (1985) The Graduate (1967) Grand Illusion (1937) The Great Race (1965) The Groove Tube (1974) Groundhog Day (1993) Hail the Conquering Hero (1944) Heaven Can Wait (1943) His Girl Friday (1940) Horse Feathers (1932) The Hudsucker Proxy (1994) I Vitelloni (1953) I Wanna Hold Your Hand (1978) I'm Gonna Git You Sucka (1988) The Incredibles (2004) It Happened One Night (1934) It's a Gift (1934) It's Always Fair Weather (1955) The Jerk (1979) Jules and Jim (1962) The Kentucky Fried Movie (1977) The King of Comedy (1983) Kung Fu Hustle (2004) L'Atalante (1934) The Ladykillers (1955) The Last Detail (1973) The Lavender Hill Mob (1951) Let It Ride (1989) The Life Aquatic with Steve Zissou (2004) The Life and Death of Colonel Blimp (1943) Little Murders (1971) Lolita (1962) The Long Goodbye (1973) Lost in America (1985) Love and Death (1975) Loves of a Blonde (1965) M*A*S*H (1970).

The Man in the White Suit (1951) The Man with Two Brains (1983) A Matter of Life and Death (1946) The Merry Widow (1934) Midnight Run (1988) The Miracle of Morgan's Creek (1944) Modern Romance (1981) Mon Oncle (1958) Monkey Business (1931) Monsters, Inc. (2001) Monty Python and the Holy Grail (1975) Monty Python's Life of Brian (1979) Mr. Hulot's Holiday (1953) Mr. Mom (1983) Mystery Train (1989) The Naked Gun (1988) Nashville (1975) National Lampoon's Animal House (1978) Never Give a Sucker an Even Break (1941) A Night at the Opera (1935) Noises Off (1992) One, Two, Three (1961) Orgazmo (1997) Our Hospitality (1923) Out of Sight (1998) The Palm Beach Story (1942) Parenthood (1989) Pee-wee's Big Adventure (1985) Play Time (1967) The Player (1992) The Princess Bride (1987) The Producers (1968) Punch-Drunk Love (2002) Radio Days (1987) Raising Arizona (1987) Real Life (1979) The Royal Tenenbaums (2001) Ruggles of Red Gap (1935) Rushmore (1998) Safe Men (1998) Salesman (1968) Schizopolis (1996) A Serious Man (2009) Shaolin Soccer (2001) Shaun of the Dead (2004) Sherlock Jr. (1924) Shoot the Piano Player (1960) The Shop Around the Corner (1940) Short Cuts (1993) Singin' in the Rain (1952) Sixteen Candles (1984) Songs from the Second Floor (2000) South Park: Bigger, Longer & Uncut (1999) The Squid and the Whale (2005) Stranger Than Paradise (1984) Stripes (1981) Sullivan's Travels (1941) Take the Money and Run (1969) Talladega Nights (2006) Team America (2004) This Is Spinal Tap (1984) Three Amigos! (1986) Time Bandits (1981) To Be or Not to Be (1942) Toy Story (1995) Toy Story 2 (1999) Toy Story 3 (2010) Trading Places (1983) Trouble in Paradise (1932) Twentieth Century (1934) Unfaithfully Yours (1948) Up (2009) Used Cars (1980) Vernon, Florida (1981) Waiting for Guffman (1997) A Wedding (1978) Wet Hot American Summer (2001) What's Up, Doc? (1972) What's Up Tiger Lily? (1966) The White Sheik (1952) Withnail and I (1987) You Can't Cheat an Honest Man (1939) You Can't Take It with You (1938) You the Living (2007) Young Frankenstein (1974) Zelig (1983) Zero for Conduct (1933)

PURE, HARD-CORE ADVICE.

SCOTT JACOBSON.

Writer, The Daily Show, Bob's Burgers There's a hierarchy of television comedy writing jobs, and like most hierarchies (the ones you'll find within troops of orangutans, say, or pods of HuffPo commenters) it's brutal and a little ridiculous. You see it reinforced in the att.i.tudes of your fellow comedy writers: Work for a smart, boundary-pus.h.i.+ng late-night show? Good for you, kid. Think of it as a fun stepping stone. Work on a featherweight multi-cam sitcom starring five hot people pretending to be romantically inept? Congratulations! You have arrived.

There are plenty of exceptions. A job writing for, say, Sat.u.r.day Night Live is more glamorous and carries more cachet than your average sitcom job. And status aside, any working comedy writer is just grateful to be employed.

But comedy writers on late-night shows often aspire to be sitcom writers, for the simple reason that the sitcom world offers more room for professional growth and the potential for bigger royalty checks. Some of the smartest, most charismatic and talented writers I've known have been late-night comedy lifers. They'd like to get hired on a sitcom that insults their intelligence and stuffs them firmly behind the camera (on some late-night shows writers get the chance to perform on-air), but it's a difficult leap to make. Sitcom writers guard their territory with the jealousy of people who know there aren't enough jobs to go around. And there really aren't enough jobs to go around.

Which is easier, writing for a late-night show or a sitcom? If you had asked me right after I started my sitcom job after five years at a late-night show, I would have said sitcoms are easier. The average workday at a late-night show is fast-paced and stressful. You are, after all, turning around material for a program that airs that night. Days at a sitcom can sometimes be just as demanding. But other days-often the ones spent breaking stories-can feel downright leisurely. To an outside observer they look a bit like closing time at an opium den. Writers lounge on couches, staring at a bulletin board with index cards tacked to it and tossing out half-baked ideas. One or two people fall asleep. Snacks are available.

But appearances in this case are deceiving. When I made the jump from late-night to scripted I was what you'd call inexperienced at writing sitcoms-or, if you were being less charitable, awful at it. I was c.o.c.ky because I had a.s.sumed that years of watching half-hour comedies would make writing for one an intuitive exercise. I'd given a bit of thought to writing interesting characters but hadn't troubled myself with the intricacies of story structure beyond getting high once and talking to a friend about Joseph Campbell.

What I now realize is that those slow-paced story days, as numbing as they can be, are really when all the mental heavy lifting happens. Joke-writing days are fast-paced, but they're a much more mechanical exercise. On a good day, jokes are easy. You can churn 'em out. A satisfying story that serves the characters while building the world of the show and hitting all the network-mandated precommercial emotional crescendos-that's something that takes painstaking work.

So . . . which is the better gig for the comedy writer, sitcoms or late-night? My cop-out answer is that both are challenging and desirable in their own way. And while one tends to pay more than the other, both pay roughly a zillion times more than subst.i.tute teaching, which is what I was doing before I got my first comedy job. So let's just say the system works and leave it at that.

BRUCE JAY FRIEDMAN.

During his five-decade (and counting) writing career, Bruce Friedman has published eight novels, four story collections, numerous plays, and such screenplays as Stir Crazy (1980) and Splash (1984), for which he was nominated for Best Original Screenplay.

Though he never became a household name, Friedman has many famous admirers and friends. The G.o.dfather author Mario Puzo once described Friedman's stories as being "like a Twilight Zone with Charlie Chaplin." Neil Simon adapted Friedman's short story "A Change of Plan" (originally published in Esquire magazine) into a 1972 movie blockbuster, The Heartbreak Kid, directed by Elaine May and starring Charles Grodin and May's daughter, Jeannie Berlin. Steve Martin, who turned Friedman's semiautobiographical book The Lonely Guy's Book of Life (1978) into a feature film in 1984, provided a back-cover blurb for Friedman's story collection, Even the Rhinos Were Nymphos (2000), that perfectly, if sarcastically, summarizes the sentiments of so many of his contemporaries and would-be imitators: "I am not jealous."

In 1962, while working full-time as an editor of various men's magazines, Friedman published his first novel, Stern, which is widely considered to be his masterpiece. The book, which Friedman wrote in a mere six months, when he was in his early thirties, tells the story of a man who leaves the city for the suburbs, only to discover his new home is far from the tranquil residential development of his imagination. He's attacked by neighborhood dogs. He develops an ulcer. His family is hara.s.sed by an anti-Semite, who, during one altercation, pushes Stern's wife to the ground. The reader never learns Stern's first name.

Born in the Bronx in 1930, Friedman's initial ambition was to become a doctor-at first. Switching gears, he ultimately decided to earn a bachelor's degree in journalism from the University of Missouri. But his true literary education came while serving as a first lieutenant in the United States Air Force, from 1951 to 1953. According to Friedman, his commanding officer suggested he read three novels: Thomas Wolfe's Of Time and the River, James Jones's From Here to Eternity, and J. D. Salinger's The Catcher in the Rye. After consuming these novels in a single weekend, Friedman realized that he wanted to attempt to write fiction for a living.

Along with Kurt Vonnegut, Friedman is often credited as being one of the pioneers of "dark comedy." In 2011, Dwight Garner, a book critic for The New York Times, wrote that Friedman's The Lonely Guy's Book of Life "makes low-level depression and inept.i.tude seem stylish and ironic, almost a supreme way of being in the world." From plays like Steambath (1970), in which it's revealed that a Puerto Rican steam-room attendant is G.o.d, to short stories such as 1963's "When You're Excused, You're Excused," in which the main character tries to convince his wife to let him skip Yom Kippur to work out at the gym, Friedman's take on humanity is bleak, but always amusingly realistic.

In his foreword to Black Humor, an anthology he edited in 1965, Friedman argued that the thirteen writers presented in the collection weren't just "brooding and sulking sorts" determined to find levity in the world's misery. Rather, they were "discover[ing] new land" by "sailing into darker waters somewhere out beyond satire." Not surprisingly, the very same sentiment could be used to describe Bruce Jay Friedman.

I've read that you don't like to be known as a humorist.

I don't, especially. James Thurber, Robert Benchley, S. J. Perelman-they are the great humorists. They set out to make you laugh. That's never my intention, although it's often the result. As a writer, I couldn't possibly be more serious. Sometimes the work is expressed comedically. The hope is that it's unforced and doesn't seem worked on, which, of course, it is.

So you agree with Joseph h.e.l.ler that humor isn't the goal, per se, but the means to the goal?

I'm not comfortable with the idea of "using" humor to achieve a purpose. I can't imagine Evelyn Waugh, while writing [the 1928 satiric novel] Decline and Fall, saying, "I think I'll use a little humor here." But there's a theory that a writer can't make a claim to greatness unless there's a streak of comedy in his work. There may be some truth to that.

I'm not much good at jokes, can't remember them. However, once upon a time, I volunteered to be the master of ceremonies at a sorority event at the University of Missouri, which I attended in the late forties and early fifties. The mic went dead after about six jokes, all of which were borrowed from a Borscht Belt comedian. One was, "I don't have to be doing this for a living, folks. I could be selling bagels to midgets for toilet seats." The room was filled with gorgeous women who began to talk among themselves and to cross and uncross their legs.

I became rattled and shouted out, "Will you please quiet down? Don't you see I'm trying to be funny here?" I then fainted. Someone named Roth helped revive me. "What did you have to faint for?" he asked. "You were terrific."

In 1965, you put together Black Humor, a collection of short stories featuring such writers as Thomas Pynchon, Terry Southern, John Barth, and Vladimir Nabokov. In the foreword, you coined and popularized the term "black humor." You've since said that you feel somewhat stuck with that term.

I do. I hear it all the time, and it makes me wince. Essentially, it was a chance for me to pick up some money-not that much, actually-and to read some writers whose work was new to me.

In retrospect, a more accurate term would have been tense comedy-there's much to laugh at on the surface, but with streaks of agony running beneath. I had no idea the term black humor would catch fire to the extent that it did-and last this many years. The academics, starving for a new category, wolfed it down.

What similarities did you notice among these "black humorist" writers' works?

Each one had a different signature, but the tone generally was much darker than what was found in most popular fiction at the time. There was a thin line between reality and the fantastical. Their works featured ill-fated heroes. It also confronted-perhaps not consciously-social issues that hadn't been touched on. Pressed to the wall, I'll use a term that's sickeningly in vogue today: It was edgy.

Why do you think the term "black humor" became so popular, so quickly?

It's catchy, and that's appealing to publishers, critics, academics. Some of it may have had to do with the political and social climate of the mid-sixties. The drugs, the Pill, the music, the war-comedy had to find some new terrain with which to deal with all of this. I imagine each generation feels the same.

After the book was published in 1965, my publisher threw a huge "Black Humor" party-I still have the invitation-and the whole world showed up. I recall Mike Nichols and Elaine May having a high old time. The "black humor" label started to get reprinted and quoted after that party, and it never stopped. Ridiculous.

When did you begin writing your first novel, Stern?

In 1960; it took about six months. I had been trying to write another book for three or four years, but it never came together. Certain notions aren't born to be novels. I figured that out-at great expense. I wrote Stern on the subway and train to and from work. I wrote it in a heat, like I was being chased down an alley.

Stern seems like a break from the type of books that came before it. It seems more ethnic; more psychoa.n.a.lytic. The main character is an anxiety-ridden Jewish nebbish who feels taken advantage of by his Gentile suburban neighbor. The book was very influential for a lot of writers, including Joseph h.e.l.ler, Nora Ephron, Philip Roth, and, later, John Kennedy Toole, the author of A Confederacy of Dunces, who called it his favorite modern novel. When you were working on it, did you feel as if you were working on something new?

I was simply trying to write a good book-and an honest one-after struggling with a book that kept falling apart. I was living in the suburbs and feeling isolated, cut off from the city. I constructed a small and painful event, and I wrote a novel around it-a man's wife falls to the ground, without any underwear, and is seen by an anti-Semitic neighbor. I hoped the book would be published and that afterward I wouldn't be run out of the country. I'm quite serious. I thought I'd hide in Paris until it all blew over. Such ego. It's not as if I had a dozen book ideas to choose from. Stern was the one I had-the story felt compelling-and that's the one I wrote.

This main character was not your typical macho, male literary hero; he was fearful about many things, including s.e.x.

I certainly had that side at the time. All writing is autobiographical, in my view, including scientific papers.

Stern was a book that was in direct contrast to the short stories I had written up to that time. I'm told that it was a departure from much of the era's fiction. The New Yorker literary critic Stanley Edgar Hyman called it "the first true Freudian novel." It only sold six thousand copies. The editor, Robert Gottlieb, who edited Catch-22, which was published just before Stern, told me that they were the "right copies." I remember wondering what it would have been like if it sold a hundred thousand wrong copies.

The only book that had a distant echo was Richard Yates's Revolutionary Road. And, of course, John Cheever's stories, which touched on suburban alienation in New England.

Do you think that Stern influenced Revolutionary Road, which was written around the same time?

I doubt it, but I do know that Yates was aware of it. I knew Yates when I was working as an editor in the fifties and sixties, at the Magazine Management Co., which published men's adventure magazines. He just showed up without explanation for a few weeks, this man with a handsome and ruined, disheveled look, and attached himself to our little group-and then he disappeared. From time to time he'd call me from the Midwest to ask if I could get him a job. It annoyed me that he thought of me as a publisher or producer. Never once did he acknowledge that I was a writer. But I later learned that Stern was one of the few novels that he taught in his writing cla.s.ses.

Yates had a difficult life. He was a major alcoholic, and he always struggled for money. In other words, your basic serious novelist.

It's a shame that Yates's life was so difficult. He was a brilliant writer, and a very funny one.

I agree. He was a gifted man-his writing was pitch-perfect-but he probably had a demon or two more than the rest of us. He'd complain that if Catch-22 hadn't been such a big hit, Revolutionary Road would have been a bestseller.

There was an incident in which a few writers and editors, including myself, went out for a drink in the early seventies, and Yates joined us. He drank so much that he collapsed and fell forward, hitting his head on the table. My secretary at the time, who hadn't paid much attention to him, pulled him to his feet, and off they went together. I never saw either of them again. They ended up living together.

Tell me about your experience editing adventure magazines in the 1950s and 1960s for the Magazine Management Co. What were some of the publications under the company's umbrella?

There were more than a hundred, in every category-movies, adventure, confession, paperback books, Stan Lee's comic books. Stan worked there for years and years. The office was located on Madison Avenue in Midtown Manhattan. I was responsible for about five magazines. One was called Focus. It was a smaller version of People, before that magazine was even published.

I also worked as editor of Sw.a.n.k. Every now and then the publisher, Martin Goodman, would appear at my office door and say, "I am throwing you another magazine." Some others that were "thrown" at me included Male, Men, Man's World, and True Action.

Sw.a.n.k was not the p.o.r.nographic magazine we know today, I a.s.sume?

Entirely different, and I don't say that with pride. Mr. Goodman-his own brother called him "Mr. Goodman"-told me to publish a "takeoff" on Esquire. This was difficult. I had a staff of one, the magazine was published on cheap paper, and it contained dozens of ads for automotive equipment and trusses, which are medical devices for hernia patients.

When I was there, it wasn't even soft-core p.o.r.n; it was flabby p.o.r.n. There was no nudity, G.o.d forbid, but there were some pictures of women wearing bathing suits-not even bikinis-and winking. There were also stories from the trunk-deep in the trunk-from literary luminaries such as [novelist and playwright] William Saroyan and Graham Greene and Erskine Caldwell [author of the novel Tobacco Road]. When sales lagged, Mr. Goodman instructed me to "throw 'em a few 'hot' words." Nympho was one that was considered to be arousing. Dark triangle would be put into play when the magazine was in desperate straits. We once used it in an article called "The Rock-Around Dolls of New Orleans."

In doing research for this interview, I read issues of these magazines and found many of the articles to be incredibly funny and entertaining.

We tried to keep to a high standard, within the limits of our pathetic budget. Some awfully good writers pa.s.sed through the company. The adventure magazines had huge circulations and were mostly geared to blue-collar types, war veterans, young men-up to one million readers, with no paid subscribers. But their popularity faded when World War II vets grew older and more explicit magazines became readily available. The only reader I've ever actually met in person is my brother-in-law.

Were these types of magazines called armpit slicks?

Only by the compet.i.tion. They were also called jockstrap magazines.

Believe it or not, there was a lot of status involved. True magazine considered itself the Oxford University Press of the group and sniffed at us. We, in turn, sniffed at magazines we felt were shoddier than ours. There was a lot of sniffing going on.

We published a variety of story types. People being nibbled to death by animals was one type: "I Battled a Giant Otter." There was no explanation as to why these stories fascinated readers for many years.

"Scratch the surface" stories were also a favorite. These were tales about a sleepy little town where citizens innocently go about their business-girls eating ice cream, boys delivering newspapers-but "scratch the surface" of one of these towns and you'd find a sin pit, a cauldron of vice and general naughtiness.

The revenge theme was popular, as well-a soldier treated poorly in a prison camp, who would set out to track down his abuser when the war ended. And stories about G.I.s stranded on Pacific islands were a hit among veterans-especially if the islands were populated by nymphos. "G.I. King of Nympho Island" was one t.i.tle, I recall.

Sounds convincing.

Mr. Goodman always asked the same question when we showed him a story: "Is it true?" My answer was, "Sort of." He'd take a puff of a thin cigar and walk off, apparently satisfied. He was a decent but frightening man.

Walter Kaylin, a favorite contributor, did a hugely popular story about a G.I. who is stranded on an island and becomes its ruler. The G.I. is carried about on the shoulders of a little man who has washed ash.o.r.e with him. There wasn't a nympho on the island, but it worked.

Who, by and large, wrote for these magazines?

Gifted, half-broken people-and I was one of them-who didn't qualify for jobs at Time-Life or at the Hearst Company. I don't think of them as being hired, so much as having just ended up there. In terms of ability, I would match them against anyone who worked in publis.h.i.+ng at the time. We just didn't look like the cover models for GQ.

Walter Wager was a contributor, and he went on to write more than twenty-five suspense novels, including, under a pseudonym, the I Spy series. He had a prosthetic hand that he would unscrew and toss on my desk when he delivered a new story. Ernest Tidyman worked for the company; he wrote the Shaft books and the first two movies. Also, the screenplay for The French Connection.

In the early sixties, I was editing Sw.a.n.k when Leicester Hemingway-p.r.o.nounced "Lester"-came barreling into my office. He was Ernest's brother, and he looked more like Ernest than Ernest himself. He called Ernest "Ernesto." He was bluff and cheerful and handsome in the Clark Gable mold. He had gotten off a fis.h.i.+ng boat that very day and wanted me to publish one of his stories. How could I say no? This was as close as I'd ever get to the master.

He left. I read the story. The first line was "Hi, ho, me hearties." It was totally out of sync with what we were doing, and it was unreadable. I remember it being called "Avast." So, I was in the position of having to turn down Ernest Hemingway's brother.

A few years later, I went to a party given by George Plimpton, and I met Mary Hemingway, the last of Ernest's four wives. I told her that I'd had the nicest meeting with Leicester. "What a wonderful man he is."