Over the Moon

I had a phone call last night from Den, a great designer and my first mentor in the world of work. Now in his late 70s, we talked and laughed about people and events over almost 50 years that we have known each other. It got me thinking about where that all began.

In the spring of 1969, at the age of fourteen, I got an evening job selling papers from my uncle Connie's pitch on the corner of Baker Street and Marylebone Road in London's West End. I only spent just over a year doing this but it turned out to be one of the most exciting periods of my young life. One day I would like to write some more about Connie, he was the funniest, naughtiest, most individualistic member of my family, but more about him another day.

Something I often say to my girls is: 99% of the key to success is just turning up. It worked for me then and has done ever since. My first big opportunity came on that corner. One of my regular evening customers was an imposing giant of a man called Ray. We used to exchange a few words as I pushed him an Evening Standard as he rushed to get a Metropolitan Line train out to Amersham. Over time, among other things, he learned that I loved to draw. He eventually offered me an interview at his design studio in Marylebone. It was a huge break for me.

All he had to go on was what he saw standing in front of him with a handful of drawings and Biro'd doodles. I had no qualifications, nor was I likely to attain any, the way I was going - on paper I was an urchin who just wanted to get out of school. He took me under his wing (for practically no money a week, bless him - he was benevolent but not stupid) and for the next three years, Den and the small group of very talented people that worked for him, and Ray, the Swiss designer / big Cheese, taught me the basics of design, how to self educate and what an amazing world it was.

I was ushered in to a world full of possibility, somewhere I had lost belief in once squeezed through the sausage machine of a below par secondary modern (back then I was a little snob who entered the grammar school system but because of circumstances beyond my control, could never take it up and found myself thrown into cattle class with the rest of the factory fodder, at least so I thought), it turned out a lot of my school buddies were a whole lot smarter than me.

Selling papers was an eye opener to the big humming world out there, being where the pitch was, I had quite a few celebrity regular customers, among them, Kenneth Williams, Hughie Green and lots of other b list, famous faces - names unknown, Charlie Clore, Michael Sieff, (the last two, although not strictly celebrities were the owners of Selfridges, he 'big five' shoes stores and Marks & Spencer respectively.) I also met some amazing people who showed me kindness, generosity and thoughtfulness, there was one lady who gave me a sweet every night of the week, another fella would tip me every time he bought a paper, that would not happen today would it?

In July of 1969 a momentous event occurred which filled everyone with optimism for the future and filled my pockets with cash. Apollo 11 landed two men on the moon. I was already doing quite well, making about £12 a week - tax free, (sounds like nothing, but back then the average wage for a fully grown man was around £20 a week). The two weeks of that mission I sold more papers than I did in the previous 6 months, there were literally two or three 6 foot piles surrounding me and all I had to do was catch the money being thrown from left, right and centre. Most of the major papers produced their very first full colour front cover editions during this period and that, coupled with the biggest story ever published, made for souvenir sales that were unheard of. I was so loaded with coin by the end of the day that I had trouble carrying it home and then to the bank the next day.

Here began my pursuit of serious clobber from obscure boutiques the length and breadth of good old London Town, and I began dressing like  the miniature dandy, tart that I always was. To maintain my rich lifestyle at the tender age of 15, I carried on selling papers in the evening after my day job for another year or so. In fact it was in 1971 that there was a bank robbery which took place practically under my feet, on the same corner, it was a story of hundreds of Safety deposit boxes prised and robbed over one quiet weekend coupled with a Royal scandal, they recently made a film about it called "The Bank Job" a great story,... if it's true.

Things have changed now, evening papers are free, most of that generation of old paper lags are gone (from lead poisoning, odds on). The only people you see out in the street taking money now are Big Issue sellers, the rest are taking money for drugs, drink or just to survive. I never ever saw a homeless person back then, I am sure they were around, they just were swept under a bit more then I suppose. 

I never got to say thank you to Ray, I heard he died a few years ago and I had missed my window, but Den F, Micky P, Rod B, Chris S, Ty and a several others, it's been good to know you and a joy to work with you, thank you for showing me how to live the life of a kind of artist, turns out that's all I ever wanted.

Photo: Buzz Aldrin, if you look carefully you can see a selection of Neil Armstrong in the visor, this makes it the first selfie taken on the moon, of the first man on the moon.