Haresh Shah
How Does One Get A Job At Playboy?
The question I’ve been asked time and again is: How does one get a job at Playboy? Or more precisely: How did you get to work for them?
My answer always is: Like any other job. You apply for it. You have an interview and then you get hired. If that sounds too simplistic, how about this? You happen to be at the right place at the right time with right set of skills and qualifications. And the pure dumb luck doesn’t hurt either!
Not good enough still? Okay. Here’s how it happened. But me telling this story requires me to take you back in time. Back to the London College of Printing. Shashi (Patravali), my roommate and also the fellow alumni of LCP, are sitting in the college canteen. We’re at the end of our two year long diploma curriculum and would soon have to face the reality called life. Shashi is clear about his future. Soon as we’re done, he wants to spend a couple of months traveling the European Continent. Return back to India and manage a printing plant somewhere in the South.
‘How about you?’ He asks.
‘I want to go to America. Spend a year getting practical training at the GATF (Graphic Arts Technical Foundation) in Pittsburgh. And then work for Time & Life and for Playboy.
Shashi doesn’t say anything to that, but in his characteristic manner smirks at me, probably thinking, “yeah right!”
●●●
My plans to go to America fall apart like the house of cards when the offer of the paid internship is withdrawn at the last minute by the trustees of the GATF on the budgetary grounds. It deals me a devastating blow. I spiral down and hit the abyss of depression. But uncle Jaman’s encouraging and uplifting letters and several incidental jobs sustain me for the next six months. I put on the back burner my dreams of going to America, instead accept a job as reproduction photographer at Burda Verlag in the Black Forest town of Offenburg in Germany. I master the language along the way. At the end of the year, I have enough money saved to buy myself one way passage to New York on the low-priced Icelandic Airlines. I have in my pocket five hundred dollar in traveler’s checks. I borrow as many dollars from uncle Jaman’s friend Bernard Geiss. His son and my cousin Ashwin is going to school in New York. He gives me ride to Pittsburgh in his fancy phallic Chevy Camaro. And I’m on my way.
●●●
Ray (Prince) works at the GATF. He is younger than I am, but has a big presence with his towering height and the deep gruff authoritative voice of an older man. He scrutinized my résumé and makes some minor corrections and then he reads the draft of my proposed cover letter.
To my I am seeking a job in the area of…he says: ‘You’re not looking for a job.’ He goes on without waiting for my response. ‘You’ve two college degrees for Christ’s sake! You have to be looking for a position!’ Waiting just long enough to make sure it’s sinking in, he lays out the plan for me.
‘We’re going to have your résumé and the letter typed up professionally on an electric typewriter, then have them printed on onion skin paper.’
He doesn’t let me finish my ‘But…’ because all I have is my hard earned Olivetti portable typewriter. And about having anything done professionally?
‘We’ll ask Susan to do that for you.’ Susan is the executive director’s secretary and the only one at the Foundation who has an electric IBM. ‘And I’ll have my mother invite us for dinner on Sunday. My dad owns a small printing shop adjoining to our home. You and I can do the printing.’
And then he tells me to go through the list of the companies I would most want to work for. No more than twenty. Using GATF’s repro lab, make as many prints of the best head shot of myself. Buy twenty highest quality folders with two pockets and heavy duty manila envelopes. The cover letter would go in the left pocket and in the right my résumé with my photograph stapled at the top right hand corner.
The responses take me to the World Color in St. Louis, Missouri and then by a small chartered airplane to their printing plant in Sparta, Illinois – the town where the movie In the Heat of the Night was shot. Then onto New York City and Philadelphia, Pennsylvania to be interviewed by the Parade Publications – the publishers of Parade magazine – the Sunday supplement to the newspapers across the country, followed by McCall’s and Look magazines. And to Chicago to Time Inc’s production offices. Taking advantage of it, I also check out a job at Huron Printing House – a small privately owned quality printers. And make perfunctory contacts at Playboy. Nothing concrete, except a job offer from George Geist of Huron at the salary of $9000,- a year. Quite a bit of money for those days. But I had to ask myself, is that what I really want to do?
At that point, I qualify equally either to work for a printing house or a publishing company. Flip sides of the same coin. Difference being: working for a printers meant servitude as opposed to being a master working for publishers. The question I had to ask myself was; did I want to take shit or be in position to give shit? Plus, publishing is in my blood. The answer is clear to me. I decide to wait it out with I need some time to consider my other options.
●●●
A week later, a telegram arrives.
Called four times unsuccessfully, please call me at 326 1212. After five o’clock call 677 5024.
Robert Anderson Time Inc.
I’m ecstatic and jump up and down several times before calling back. On Friday the 9th of August, I am on TWA flight to Chicago. Wouldn’t you know? The traffic controllers are on strike. They have adopted the disruptive GO SLOW tactic. The plane takes off on time. But we circle the Chicago skies above lake Michigan waiting for the permission to land. It takes an hour and a half before we get ours and then we sit on the ground for another hour to get the gate to disembark. Until then we sit inside the plane having come standstill on the runway, sweltering in the summer heat. Robert Anderson is to interview me at the airport over a lunch. He has been waiting there since 11:30. It is after two when I finally get to put my feet on solid ground.
‘First of all, let’s go get something to eat and drink.’
I concur. We walk over to the Seven Continents and order drinks. For an airport restaurant, it has a certain flair with its panoramic view of the airfield with planes landing, taxing and taking off. It’s expansive and very tastefully put together with the raised gallery and a long bar – the dining room a couple of steps lower and the tables placed by or in clear view of the huge floor to ceiling glass walls. I’m impressed.
When looking back, that was the toughest interview I’ve ever had. Bob Anderson is impeccably dressed in his navy blue Mohair suit and a crisp white shirt with red tie. He wears very short crew cut and has a set of intensely inquisitive eyes, he looks very conservative. He also gives an impression of a cultivated executive who likes to play it big, but could be very considerate and sympathetic at the human level. The most striking feature about him is the way he rotates his head from the left to right when he talks, as if mounted on a revolving pivot. His eyes follow the motion and even the words come rolling out of his mouth instead of in a straight line.
He doesn’t ask any technical questions, neither does he talk about what the nature of my work would be, if hired. He asks me a stream of questions that don’t have anything to do with the job, but those answers bring out my attitude towards life, towards the day-to-day things and my opinion of what I thought of the way of living in Europe and in America and why. He asks my opinion on different magazines and their print quality, especially that of Life when compared with Look and the European magazines of the same genre. It isn’t difficult for me to answer his questions. The books and magazines have always been my biggest passion. I don’t only buy and look at them, I closely study them as I page through and I have an opinion on almost all of them. This of course impresses him very much, even though my opinion of Life’s print quality isn’t that great. He would ask me short questions needing elaborate answers. In the meanwhile he has finished his T-bone steak, and my chicken breast is getting cold. By now, I am absolutely famished and on the verge of feeling even a bit weak.
‘Do you mind Mr. Anderson if I finished eating before I answer your next question?’ It just rolls out of my mouth. I don’t think about it. I am just being myself.
‘Oh, I am so sorry! Of course.’ He is even a bit embarrassed.
I finish my meal. I am feeling better now. Bob orders an after dinner drink, I order another Heineken. The interview resumes.
‘I think you have fantastic qualifications and I find you very pleasant.’ He says at the conclusion of the interview.
‘Well, maybe this doesn’t sound business like, but what I want to know frankly is what are the chances of me being hired?’ I ask boldly.
‘I have to talk to my boss first before I can tell you anything. Call me on Thursday and I will tell you.’
‘I think we will hire you Mr. Shah.’ The voice comes from Chicago end of the line.
It is 15th of August. The 22nd anniversary of India’s independence, and for me, the day on which one of my
dreams has come true.
Thrilled, I call George Geist of Huron to decline his generous offer, he ups it to $10,000,-. I tell him it’s not the money. I accept Time’s $6800.- instead.
When I am well settled in my job at Time and have become one of the team, Bob tells me over a drink: it was when you stopped me so that you can finish eating, did I make up my mind to hire you.
●●●
It’s been now four years since I’ve been working for Time Inc. They have been the most exciting, to say the least. During these years I have worked on all four of their magazines: Time, Life, Sports Illustrated and Fortune. Currently I am doing Life full time and covering the fast edit for SI at the Regensteiner. After having worked late Tuesday and Wednesday nights, I still show up in the office for a few hours on Thursday afternoon. But I’m absolutely exhausted and drained dry. I find myself perpetually tired and sluggish. It takes entire weekends to catch up on lost sleep. Also, as much as I love my job, I’m no longer content, especially because I’m stuck in the same slot and don’t see any clear future.
In the meanwhile, I’ve established informal contacts with Playboy’s production chief, John Mastro and his quality guy Gerrit Huig. They are located not far from my office. They have alluded that perhaps I can step into Gerrit’s position when he is transferred to Germany. Nope! Instead they hire Richard Quartarolli.
We are not done yet. Stay in touch, John tells me. They are planning an American edition of the French Lui to be called Oui. When Oui comes out without me, I have given up all hopes of ever working for Playboy Enterprises, and still, I don’t know why, I pick up the phone and dial 642 1000. It’s past working hours and I’m thinking that by then his ever protective secretary Rita Johnson is probably gone home, so instead of me always having to leave a message, John would have to answer the phone himself. Wrong! But the wonder of all wonders, Rita puts me through right away.
‘Harry!’ John never learned to pronounce my name.
‘Hi John, I was wondering if we could get together for a drink soon?’
‘I can’t Harry.’ There is a pause on the line. ‘Harry, would you be interested in going to Europe?’
‘I love to.’ That’s all I could say.
●●●
Ben Wendt, the technical director at the Regensteiner Printing would tell me this story at the Thank You party I had thrown for all my Time Inc. contacts the weekend before making my big move.
‘So, little over two months ago, John calls me and asks. “How well do you do you know this guy Harry who does SI (Sports Illustrated) at your place?’
‘You mean Haresh Shah? The Indian quality guy from Time?’
‘Yeah, the one who talks funny!’
‘What you want to know?’
‘You know, like how is he to work with?’
‘He’s quite pleasant. Always in good humor. We like him.’
‘That’s well and good. But what is he like with his work? Is he good with colors?’
‘Okay. He’s very good. He doesn’t know whit about American sports, but he knows exactly what color jerseys the Lakers wear. He’s a real professional and he knows his shit. To answer your question honestly, as nice as he normally is – when it comes to quality, he’s a son of a bitch!’
‘Thanks. That’s all I need to know.’
Years later, when we’re sitting in John’s corner office and he has time to just chat with me, suddenly he pulls out of his file drawer a bright red folder. Here, I’ve got a gift for you. It takes me a moment to realize that it’s the résumé I had sent out almost ten years earlier. Both John and I smile at my clear cut innocent face looking back at us.
●●●
Coming back to Shashi and me sitting at the LCP’s canteen. Fast forward fourteen years.
I am walking down the wide aisles of the McCormick Place in Chicago. It’s towards the end of the day and I see a familiar figure walking towards me. No question it’s good old Shashi – clean cut as ever to in the meanwhile my long hair and bearded face. We instantly crack big smiles at each other. We are both attending EXPO PRINT 80.
‘What are you doing here?’ I ask.
‘Checking out new technology for my printing company in Bombay.’
‘And you?’
‘I live here.’
‘Doing what?’
‘I am production manager for Playboy magazine’s international editions.’ Once again he doesn’t say a word, just gives me that big fat smirk.
‘And prior to that I spent six months at the GATF and also worked for Time & Life.’ Now I got double smirks from him. His look is admiring; ‘You son of a bitch!’ But he doesn’t say it.
© Haresh Shah
Illustration: Celia Rose Marks
SISTER SITE
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ON FRIDAY JANUARY 3, 2014*
THE TERROR OF TWO Cs
This is the wine country story I wanted to tell you when I started out writing Of Pinot Noire and the Burlaping in Boonville. But as you know, I got a bit side tracked. As Jan (Heemskerk) says; of that evening, he remembers the wines and I women. And so it is. But I haven’t forgotten wines either and all the philosophizing from the owners and the winemakers that surround this noble drink.
*WINTER BREAK
I have another eye surgery coming up on the 5th of December and I thought this is as good a time as any to take some time off and come back rejuvenated. But don’t go away anywhere too far, because I still have many stories left to tell and will resume regular weekly telling of them starting with January 3rd 2014. In the meanwhile, have great holidays. Wish you all a VERY HAPPY NEW YEAR.
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