First time I met Julie Schwartz was 1970 in the DC offices, which were then located at 909 Third Avenue in New York. That was a scary building, more appropriate for an investment firm than a maker of comic books, and the halls were austere and very corporate. You either wore a tie there or felt like you should be wearing one. Julie shared a tiny cubicle with fellow editor Dick Giordano and they each had one chair for a guest. If one of them had two visitors at the same time, he had to borrow the other guy's chair. Julie did this to accommodate my then-partner Steve Sherman and me, then he began pulling out photos to show us…mostly group shots of old-time science-fiction writers. He seemed a bit miffed that I couldn't identify Henry Kuttner or Edmond Hamilton from their pictures, but he invited us to lunch. With the same commanding authority with which he assigned deadlines, he told us to "be back here at 12:30 on the dot." Then he went off to conduct his duties, which seemed then to consist of striding through the DC corridors, rattling change in his pockets and making curt remarks to everyone he encountered.
12:30 on the dot, we were back at his door and by 12:31, he was leading us through a labyrinth of underground tunnels and subway paths to what he kept telling us was his favorite place to eat. I wrongly assumed that this might have something to do with the food there but instead, it had everything to do with the legs of the waitresses. The meal (I had roast beef and rice that I'm still digesting) was mediocre but the servers were all young, cute and dressed in perky little maid's outfits. To Julie, this was the essential purpose of lunch…and lest he sound like a Dirty Old Man here, I hasten to add: The waitresses loved him. They flirted, they hugged him, and one in particular put on a little show, bending over way more than necessary when she cleared dishes around the man. In later years, no matter how old he got, you'd see this charm in action. If you wanted to find the best-looking woman at any comic or science-fiction convention, just locate Schwartz and look who had his arm.
In later years whenever I went back to Manhattan, I'd always make time to visit the DC offices and go out to lunch with Julie. This meant he would take me to some nearby restaurant where the food was terrible but a lot of good-looking waitresses knew him and would flirt unmercifully. Usually, it was the Star Diner on 54th and 7th, but the last time I was back, I experienced a truly impressive example of the old Schwartz Magic. He was having trouble walking and felt he shouldn't leave the office so I said, "Okay, I'll go out and get us lunch." I hiked over to the Carnegie Deli on 7th and got us chicken soup, potato salad, soft drinks and a couple of corned beef sandwiches the size of Pontiacs. While waiting for the order, I ran into another DC editor and we got to talking. A very attractive hostess overheard me say, "I'm taking lunch back to Julie Schwartz" and she asked, "Is that the cute bald man who gives out the Superman pins all the time?" I told her it was and she said, "Give him a big kiss from me, smack on the lips."
I did not do this. I loved the guy but not that much.