The Press: The Frank Gordon Martini

The most eagerly read column in Munich, appearing in the tabloid Abendzeitung, is written in breezy English by Gordon Francis Feehan, 38, a New England-born Irishman. Under the pen name of Frank Gordon, Feehan turns out his slangy, spangled Munich-Go-Round, that looks as startlingly Arnerican in its German context as Dinah Shore would among the Rhinemaidens.

But Miincheners happily hurdle the language barrier to see themselves through Feehan’s sharp eyes, pick up tips on fashionable fads, and be lectured on the proper way to broil a steak (rare-to-blue) or mix a martini (8-to-1). Feared or respected by every headwaiter in town, and greeted by readers on the street, Feehan long ago reached the goal of every U.S. columnist of his stripe: he is as famous in his city as any celebrity he writes about.

Out of the Ashes. Feehan smashed his way into Munich in 1945 with the conquering 45th Division, has stayed there or near by ever since, first in the occupation government, later as news editor for Radio Free Europe. Watching a new Munich rising out of the ashes of war and occupation was, he found, “like reading half a novel. I wanted to keep on and see how it came out.”

In 1955 Feehan persuaded the Abendzeitung (circ. 87,000) to try out an

English-language column aimed at G.I.s and U.S. tourists. At first, the Americans were bored and Germans bristled. Finally, Feehan’s sprightly prattle captured the city, and he became Munich’s darling.

The Good Life. Riding his success, Feehan quit his job with RFE, now earns some $800 a month by outside projects, mostly writing German and American screenplays. His take from Munich-Go-Round: $40 a column, a pittance by U.S. standards, but the highest rate in Munich. On his combined earnings, Feehan lives with a stunning, British-born wife in a small house in Munich’s fashionable Harlaching suburb. There Feehan throws cocktail parties for hordes of friends and contacts, happily moves through the crowds with a gallon of martinis (8-to-1) in one hand, and a gallon of Manhattans in the other.

On occasion, Columnist Feehan turns into a mild crusader—he has berated Munich for its red-light district, chewed out American M.P.s who do not “help teen-age soldiers being openly exploited by hardened harlots.” But, generally, Expatriate Feehan sticks to chiding German frauleins on their spraddle-footed dancing, and American housewives on their hair curlers, calling the roll of celebrities who pass through town, and pointing the way to good food and drink, e.g., for Balkan dishes, “go to Bei Milan’s in the shadow of the Rathaus.”

Already Gordon Feehan, alias Frank Gordon, can see a few small signs of bus column’s influence in his adopted city. “In five or six of the best places, you can get something very close to the pristine martini by asking for a ‘Frank Gordon Martini,’ ” he chuckles. “But nothing much can be done about the steaks, I’m afraid.”