Paul remembers his friend, the artist Garry Leach.
30th March 2022
“You coming for a pint?”
This was a sentence I usually heard within a few minutes of any Garry Leach visit to Orbital. By the time he said it, he'd already had me laughing at something he'd said about someone, given me some piece of knowledge on the comics industry I didn't know before, or some juicy piece of gossip, or had me cackling away with him at something that had happened to him years before, or five minutes ago. Whenever he walked through the doors of the shop, I knew it was going to be a good evening. I'd met Garry at the start of my time at Orbital. I knew his art of course, having devoured as much of the early Miracleman as possible. Though I was never really one for meeting artists and writers largely due to an often crippling shyness, Garry made it easy. He just strode in and made you feel like you were part of an inner circle, separated from the often heady nonsense of comics and in a place where people shot straight, told you what went down, gave you the advice to guide you through the tough times and helped you on your way.
He was funny. Many of the tributes I've seen in the last day or so mention this because it's true and it's the first thing you remember about him. He had an acerbic sense of humour and could be incredibly and hilariously cutting about people who had done him wrong. I'm the type of person that believes temper and anger can be an art form and it was just one of the many ways in which Garry was a master artist. He would paint a picture for you in short, angry sentences, full of four-letter words. But he never held on to that anger. It was a release valve, so he could move on and enjoy being around his friends, take solace in them enjoying being around him. And he would always keep you laughing, even if that meant you were laughing at yourself. His stories about comics and working on comics were legion. I found myself constantly reminded that the history (and future) of comics is in their creators. And boy could he create. The day after I learned that he had passed, I found myself leafing through the first volume of 2000 A.D.'s Future Shocks, checking the contents page for my friend's name. Sure enough, there were four or five strips by Garry and I began looking at them, seeing the progression of his work and his talent the further along I went. By the time I got to volume 2, there could be no doubt I was looking at the work of a genius. His linework was astounding, crafted, agonised over. There was obsession at work, a real love driving his pencils.
That was key to Garry, I think. The genuine love he showed for his work and friends and family. I realised by the end of the first evening I ever spent with him that he absolutely loved my friend Liz, whom he'd known for years and had modelled for him on some of his art. And anyone who takes care of Liz is ok in my book. Garry tempered everything, even his colourful outbursts, with compassion. He always wanted to make sure you were looked after and would make sure you were looking after people. His compassion, like his humour and his laugh, was infectious. There are a ton of stories I could tell about Garry. I could sit here for hours trying to mimic his delivery and voice not to mention his filthy, pithy take on every situation. Some of those stories would get me in trouble (something that would delight the mischievous Garry Leach). But I want to save that for when I'm around his friends and I get to hear their stories. Instead, I'll just mention one of the times we went for a pint. I remember it being just Karl (who ran Orbital and was a long-time friend of Garry's), Liz, Garry and me. We drank, moaned, laughed, gossiped, joked and drank some more. Kicking out time came, Karl heading home and Garry and I walked Liz to her cab. Just me and Garry left. We walked down to Charing Cross station and I gave him a hug, thanking him for a lovely evening. I stepped away, then a couple of minutes later, turned back to see Garry, laughing and smiling and hugging with Mike Lake, another comics legend I'd been lucky enough to know through Orbital. The joy on their faces, seeing each other for what was obviously the first time in a long while. They were so happy. I watched this joyful, accidental moment of good fortune for a few moments and turned away, heading home content, glad I went for a drink with Garry that night.
There were a few occasions when I turned down Garry for a drink. I was tired or had stuff to do, or whatever. Now I wish I'd gone more often. The pandemic and other things, not least the passing of family and friends took a lot of energy from me in the last two years. Now I'd give anything to be able to call Garry up and chat with him. I'd give anything to see him walk through the doors of wherever I was working, Una in tow, ready to go for a drink. Anything so I could be around him again, even for one more evening. Sadly, I missed my chance.
“You coming for a pint?”
Sorry mate. Not tonight. But I'll make sure I'll catch up with you soon and it'll be my round.
Love you, pal.
Paul