The other day here, I wrote about how my then-partner Steve Sherman and I had a great trip to New York in 1970; how we visited the offices of DC Comics, Marvel Comics, MAD Magazine and Steve Ditko, and how we attended the 1970 Comic Art Convention at the Statler Hilton hotel. Over on Facebook, Steve (Sherman, not Ditko) posted the following…
I think that was also the first time I was on a plane. I think it was a 747? I just remember the service was great. How the hell did we get from the airport to NYC? Today it costs like $100 bucks by cab!! I do remember all 3 us shoved in that little room. But we didn't care. We had comic book fever. : )
I think it was Steve's first time on a plane but it wasn't a 747, at least on the way there (we came back separately). The 747 was new at the time and everyone wanted to fly on it. American Airlines had one or two per day heading back to New York and we couldn't get tickets on the one we wanted to fly on…so we were booked on the flight after, which was not a 747, and we were allowed to wait "standby" for openings on the 747 flight.
We didn't get on it and neither did someone else. There was a family, the father in which was making an 8mm home movie documentary of their trip aboard the 747 to New York. He filmed his wife walking up to the gate and made her do multiple takes. Then he filmed his kids running up to the window and pointing at the huge plane they would soon board. Then he filmed his wife going up to the gate attendant and checking in…
Finally, he was at the big window filming the 747 as it pulled away from the jetway and began to taxi out towards the runway. This was about the moment when he realized that he and his family were supposed to be on that flight. He began yelling for them to stop the plane and bring it back. He had tickets for that flight, he kept shouting…and what's more, his dog was on it in the baggage compartment. Various American Airlines employees had to calm him down, explain that the plane could not come back…but they'd put him on the next flight. His dog got to ride on the 747 but he didn't.
We were on that next flight and I remember a couple of things about it. Back in those days, I used to always carry in my breast pocket, a Koh-i-Noor rapidograph technical pen filled with India Ink. We were about halfway through the flight when I looked down and noticed a huge black stain spreading on my shirt. I guess it had something to do with the change in air pressure in the cabin. I spent a lot of time in the plane's lavatory trying to get the ink out of the shirt (impossible) and scrubbing my chest.
Another thing I remember is that the flight got "stacked up" over New York. We had to circle an extra hour or so before they had an open runway on which we could land. During this time, the amateur filmmaker was stalking the aisle, trying to persuade the flight attendants — we called them "stewardesses" back then — that we had to land immediately because his dog was waiting for him. They got him back to his seat but the second we touched down, he was out in the aisle again, charging for the door, demanding they let him off right away even though we were still taxiing to the gate. The fellow was a lot more entertaining than the in-flight movie, which was Paint Your Wagon.
Upon landing, we grabbed our suitcases and went out to the taxi line. There, we encountered that most unusual species, the New York Cab Driver. The guy at the head of the line wouldn't agree to take us into Manhattan until we agreed to tip.
He took us in via the Van Wyck Expressway, I believe. About ten minutes into the trip, he mysteriously pulled off onto the shoulder, turned off the meter and got out, rearranged our luggage in the trunk, got back in and resumed driving…but without restarting the meter. It took Steve and me a minute or two to figure out what was happening: As far as his cab company was going to know, this was a ten-minute trip. But he was going to charge us approximately what the meter should have read and pocket the difference. It meant a bit of haggling over the amount once we got to the Statler Hilton and I believe we wound up paying a bit more than the proper fee.
But at least we got there. We checked in and then went out for dinner at a little Horn & Hardart's Cafeteria on W. 33rd where I had a baked half-chicken that was doing a dead float in a sea of grease, plus I had a side of mashed potatoes. I have no idea why I remember this or why I'm telling you. Then we walked around the neighborhood for a while and went back to the room where I made one more futile attempt to get the ink out of my shirt before we crashed.
That was my first trip to New York, not counting the one when I was seven. I found the city fascinating but challenging. Everything was a challenge, either because I didn't know my way around or because something was just difficult. Getting places was a challenge. Getting something to eat was a challenge. At the same time I thought that, I was thinking, "This city is worth the challenges." I really liked just being there. I just needed to spend enough time there to learn where things were and how things worked. It took a few more trips before I felt that way, at least with regard to the limited portions of Manhattan I visit. I need to get back there soon…