How to seriously upset a pretty girl? Mix Parade Magazine, a pretty girl, and Drew. Seriously; read on.
By Drew Gallagher
HUMORIST
(Once upon a time, Parade Magazine existed as a weekly insert in most daily newspapers. The magazine was very popular with readers, but with the slow death of print newspapers, Parade Magazine became less viable and stopped printing in 2022 and transitioned to an e-magazine until that too died away in 2023. Now Parade exists as a standalone website that offers a wide variety of content that recently included 150 Patriotic food items for July 4th and Taylor Swift clapping back (maybe?) at Dave Grohl of the Foo Fighters. Any time Tay Tay claps—whether front or back—it’s news, dammit!
One of the most popular issues of the print Parade Magazine was the annual issue that featured what people, in all walks of life, earned. Many years ago, through the unintended sexual harassment of a dear friend, our intrepid humorist caused a policy change at Parade Magazine that reverberated throughout the hallowed halls of journalism for at least a few minutes. This is that story.)
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As many English majors have discovered throughout history, an ability to stretch Hamlet’s speech in Act 5, Scene 1 (It’s the Yorick one) into a research paper of 8-10 pages in length does not readily translate into full-time work upon graduation. So, I found part-time work at a newspaper between gigs as a Beat poet and an unpaid intern with the Prince William Cannons minor league baseball team. The newspaper where I was working at the time was approached by Parade Magazine looking for a reporter to help with the annual “What People Earn” issue.
Not wanting to commit an actual full-time staffer to the assignment, the newspaper gave Parade my name and the task was simple—approach friends and family and ask them if they wanted their salary published for all the world to see. Asking for DNA mouth swabs may have proven easier. After many phone calls and promises of fine dining once my collection of Beat poems was published, I cobbled together a list of names and contact information and sent it off to Parade.
After the check from Parade cleared, I used it to put half a tank of gas in my Subaru station wagon and never thought anything more of the article … until it was published a few months later.
The front cover of the “What People Earn” issue always contains an interesting spectrum of people and jobs, and the 1993 issue was no exception. On a cover that included 23-year-old supermodel Christy Turlington and her $1.7 million annual salary, was a prominent picture of my soon-to-be ex-friend Michele and her $24,000 salary as a 22-year-old Lab Technician in Reading, Pennsylvania. Michele has always been a stunningly attractive woman, and the picture on the Parade magazine was no exception. I figured that when Michele called and left multiple messages asking me to call her back immediately it was simply to thank me for planting her head shot on the cover of a national publication next to a super model because I am male and an idiot.
When I eventually called Michele back that Sunday evening, I figured she might be wanting to take me to dinner except her opening salvo included a number of expletives that seemed inconsistent with the much-deserved “Thank you” I anticipated. Once she exhausted a sailor’s laundry list of colorful names for me and anything I held dearly (including a mention of Bill Buckner which seemed especially cruel), she patiently reminded me that during the process of pleading and cajoling her to participate in the “stupid” Parade issue I had said something like: “Come on, we’ve been friends since elementary school and there is practically no way they’re going to use your information let alone put your picture on the cover of the issue.” This sounded very much like something I would have said, so I told her: “That doesn’t sound like anything I would have said.”
After she berated me further, I adopted the stance that she was arguably the best-looking person on the cover, much more stunningly attractive than Christy Turlington, so I was actually doing her a favor (in fairness to Christy Turlington, the headshot they used was taken against a dark background so she almost looked bald and not in a good Sinead O’Connor kind of way). Michele became quiet for a moment and did mention that it was a good photo of her on the cover. In fact, she had received a number of phone calls that very same day telling her how attractive she was. I thought this would be good for me. It was not.
In 1993, cell phones and caller ID did not exist. What did exist though was an operator who would provide the phone number to anyone wanting a phone number for Michele (Last Name Redacted because I made this mistake once already) in Reading, Pennsylvania, for free. And the operators must have been busy that day because Michele started to get phone calls as soon as newspapers with the Parade insert started to hit doorsteps that morning.
Michele, who is incredibly bright (she was in BEEP in elementary school which was the 1970s Berks County equivalent of modern day SCOPE) as well as stunningly attractive, was polite to the first half dozen callers when she informed them she had a boyfriend and was not interested in a long distance relationship even if they were willing to hop the next flight to Reading and take her bowling followed by a serving of shoo-fly pie. At some point though, she had a life to lead and an out-of-work English major to throat punch, so she let her answering machine do the heavy lifting for the rest of the day.
For some of the more resolute callers, her answering machine was the preferred method of professing their undying love or self-love as the guy from Hermosa Beach did repeatedly until the police intervened. I do not want to minimize the torture that Michele and her answering machine endured because of the cover of Parade Magazine, but the mere fact that she allowed me to unearth this time capsule three decades later for a humor column shows just how special a person she is. To have such a true friend who is so stunningly attractive in one’s life is a gift. A gift that said I could use the Parade Magazine cover story for this column if I said she was stunningly attractive no less than four times.
Because of Michele’s willingness to endure my inherent idiocy, we changed journalism! Soon thereafter, Parade stopped listing full names and hometowns in the “What People Earn” issue. And, 30 years later, the magazine ceased to exist. Some might call me a crusader for fair and ethical practices in journalism, and I will let you. I like the ring of that.
(The Card Cellar at 915 Caroline Street cannot provide the gift of a lifelong friend like Michele, but it does offer a wide array of gifts that you can give to your lifelong friends who would allow Parade Magazine to use their photo and name for unexpected and unsolicited inappropriate behavior. I don’t think a pair of socks will cover my debt to Michele.)
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