Posts Tagged ‘New York’

I was in advertising. Yes, like Mad Men.

Monday, January 30th, 2017

The fall of 1980 was a pivotal moment. After a series of misfortunes, my wife and I moved to New York City with the advice of an epidemiologist at Massachusetts General Hospital: Move to New York City and pit your minds against the best and brightest. Leave misfortune behind in Boston. We took his advice, and my wife, who was a successful designer in Madrid, created placemats in the Big Apple that were bright and original and she caught the niche in an exciting market.

On the contrary, bad luck followed me like an orphan dog. I had written two novels, one of which was judged ‘bright and original,’ by Harcourt Brace Jovanovich and made it through various editorial meetings at St. Martin’s Press. Previous employment included Johnson and Higgins, two brokerage firms (Blair & Co, E. F. Hutton).

I pursued copywriting with Young and Rubicam. They had judged the Inter Ad contest at Thunderbird, a.k.a. The American Graduate School of International Management, where I was Marketing Director of the wining InterAd team’s presentation. Young & Rubicam and Ogilvy and Mather expressed interest. SSC&B offered to make my Ad boards. I also interviewed Brokerage firms and was scheduled for two training classes. The job was a critical issue with a wife and a newborn baby.

(more…)

US Author Recalls Madrid’s Carabanchel Prison

Sunday, April 17th, 2011

January 1964. The cold permeated through the wool sports coat, the cotton shirt, the pullover sweater and the light wool slacks and sox, and I tugged the grey wool blanket more tightly over my shoulders. It would be hours before I could open the single window to the sun’s warmth. Warmth was not a consideration in a high-security lockup that was built by political prisoners for political prisoners.

I had spent the night reading by the light of a single glass bulb until I hunkered into a tightly drawn ball, where I spiraled downward in deep slumber until emerging back home in full color on a hot summer’s evening. I was about to share dinner with my parents and younger brother. Before me was a delicious charbroiled hamburger on a sesame bun with slices of Bermuda onion, summer tomato, and copious condiments. There were also ample servings of buttered corn-on–the-cob and Mother’s delicious potato salad.

In the other place, Moorish Trumpets blared and metal doors slammed against the wall in my corridor. The sound of military boots moved toward my cot. In moments, I felt the pressure of a boot pressing downward against my rump… ‘This could not be happening. I was safe at home.’ When I looked upward, there were green uniforms and a brown wooden paddle, inches above my face.

(more…)