TABLE OF CONTENTS

MY WARHOL

David Robbins

I WORKED AT ANDY WARHOL ENTERPRISES FOR A LITTLE more than a year, from late ’79 to early ’81, a period when the Factory was located at Broadway and Seventeenth Street. Getting hired there was a stroke of good luck for a kid from Wisconsin (even if the job offer had resulted from a fancy social connection), and I beamed all of a twenty-two-year-old’s energy at the opportunity. Weekdays I performed beginner’s editorial tasks at Interview magazine, then at the peak of both its formal inventiveness and its social clout; at night I sometimes lugged equipment around for the company’s lame TV version of the magazine; on Saturdays, volunteering for the unglamorous task of reorganizing the stacks of boxes and metal film canisters in the cluttered back rooms, I’d be employed by the studio side of the office. Those quiet afternoons it was often just business manager Vincent Fremont, Andy, and myself.

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