“Can you come down to the restaurant at once, son?” It was Ric Riccardo’s voice.
In less than an hour, I was seated in a booth with Ric, the late Henry Beaudeaux, then art critic for the Chicago Daily News, and Michael Seller, a psychoanalyst, with whose professional world I had just begun an acquaintance through interesting circumstances which I shall soon describe.
After I had sipped my coffee, Ric smiled thinly and said, “Mike, tell him.”
“How would you like to go into the publishing business?” Mike said.
Then Ric took over. Chicago needed a publishing house, he argued. He was going to put up the money and establish the organization. But we would publish only Chicago talent regardless of their métier ... art, poetry, novels, whatever. He continued for perhaps an hour in this vein, dwelling upon the resources of talent which existed in the Chicago area and the absurdity of depending on New York to “discover” it. Finally, I wanted to know where I fitted in.
“I supply the money,” Ric said. “You set up the office, start the company going, get the writers. Tomorrow we’ll meet with my lawyer.”
He didn’t ask whether I liked the idea. He knew I was crazy about it and would work day and night to see it through.
“Have you a name for the firm?” I said.
“We’ll call it the BrentR Press,” Ric said solemnly. And with enthusiastic handclasps over this peculiarly ranch house designation, we parted.
Our first book was to be an art book titled, Eleven Plus Four, principally to indicate the number of drawings to be found in the book. The drawings by John Foote were considerably more astounding than the title, and Sydney J. Harris, columnist for the Chicago Daily News, wrote as literate and perceptive an introduction as one is likely to encounter.