PLAYBOY

PLAYBOY

Hagerman, D.D.S.

May I explain the reason for thc
doctor's subscription? We have a very
attractive calendar hanging here in the
laboratory. The doctor comes by oc-
casionally on business and last time re-
marked about how nice he thought it
was. A couple ol days later I purchased
your March issue and was verv pleased
to see the Playmate of the Month was
the same lovely lady. Naturally I sent
the doctor a copy. The following week
it was necessary to converse with him
regarding financial matters and he said,
and | quote: “Grayson, I'll do better
than that, if you'll send me a subscrip-
tion to PLAYBOY 1 will go all the way
with you." It's nice to have a magazine
that's both entertaining and helps busi-
ness too.

Courtney H. Grayson
Hallmark Dental Laboratory
Houston, Texas

THREE YEAR PLAYBOYS
Please enter my subscription to
PLAYBOY for three years at $13—my
check is enclosed. Your magazine is one
of the best I have read in years. Though
1 have seen only one issue, it is enough
to sell me. We've been needing a true
man's magazine for a long time.
Gene A. Lundquist
Garwood, Texas

I am enclosing check for $13 for
three year subscription to PLAYBOY.
When my present subscription to Es-
quire runs out—they've had it!

Ray Sullens
Oklahoma City, Okla.

Enclosed you will find a check for
$7 to cover the cost of extending my
subscription to three years. My original
subscription was for a single year, but
I find the quality of your publication
is holding up in such fine style, I'd
like to extend it two more years.

Edward J. Stone
Colorado Springs, Colo.

FEMALE ADMIRERS
1 like your magazine, too, and I'm a
female. Missed the first two issues, but
learned of the third one from my
favorite newsstand. Since then I have
bought every issue. I never tire of Boc-
caccio’s tales, and "Fahrenheit 451"
was super.
(Miss) Lillian Day
Atlanta, Georgia

It's a toss-up between my husband
and me as to which one enjoys your
magazine the most.

Mrs. Jeanne Z. Newcomer
Harrisburg, Pennslyvania

JAZZ

I couldn't help but write and tell you
how much I enjoy PLAYBOY. I enjoy
all the articles and the terrific pics.

WWW

(

۷
g

i

Dear Playboy

he'd have to buy us a round. He went
through it cover to cover and then, with-
out a word, he poured up the threc
drinks.
Ed Kuhn
Chicago, Illinois

IN THE OFFICE DOGHOUSE
At present I am in the doghouse for

not bringing the last issue of. PLAY-
BOY to the office for perusal by the
staff. I have an order from my superi-
ors to bring it to the office tomorrow,
or else. The onc feature in the maga-
zine that is most enjoyed by our senior
news reporter (my boss) is “Tales From
The Decameron.” Some of these stories
are boring, but the ones you choose to
publish are really laugh producing.
Ihe joke section supplies me with a
nice selection for softening up news
sources. Your variety indicates you
must have an outstanding editorial
staff.

Samuel W. Severson

Photographer & Reporter

Milwaukee, Wisconsin

Quit complimenting the staff, Sam

—they'll start asking for money.

DENTAL DEPARTMENT

1 would like to take this opportunity
to really congratulate you on your new
venture PLAYBOY. There is no ques-
tion, it is the smartest magazine in
years. I'm enclosing a check to cover
two separate subscriptions—one for my-
self, of course, and one for Dr. David

Address PLAYBOY

11 E. Superior St.

Chicago 11, Illinois

SECRETARY DEPARTMENT
Although PLAYBOY is a magazine
for men, I find that females enjoy it as
thoroughly as their male counterparts.
My secretary and I go through each
new issue together. Congratulations on
a delightful publication. It is light-
hearted and gay and as refreshing as a
cool breeze in the summer time.
Ed. P. Williams
Attorney At Law
Corpus Christi, Texas

This is to let you know, my first is-
sue of PLAYBOY will be long remem-
bered. You see, my secretary didn't feel
as enthused about your fine magazine
as I, and after minor discussion over
à cartoon, she up and quit.

Frank D. Ranaletto
Buffalo, New York

PLAYBOY BUYS A ROUND
Thought you'd like to know that
PLAYBOY was responsible for a free
round of drinks the other evening.
After bowling, two of my office friends
and I dropped into a local bar; 1 had
my latest copy of PLAYBOY with me
and we looked at it as we drank. The
bartender watched us laugh our way
through a few pages and then asked
about the magazine. I told him PLAY-
BOY was the greatest men's magazine
that had even been published and then
I made a bargain with him. I told him
I'd let him look through my copy and
if he agreed it was everything I'd said,

2

PLAYBOY FOR HUBBY
Please, oh, please send a year's sub-
scription of your excellent magazine
to my panting husband! The strain of
watching the newsstands each month
is beginning to tell on him. By the
way—I enjoy it teo!
Mrs. John Hreha
Tacoma, Washington

PLAYBOY FOR DAD
Congratulations for giving the
American male a real magazine. | en-
joyed your last issue so much that I
have decided to send my father a sub-
scription so he can have some enter-
tainment from what the bovs in mv
outfit call, "A real man's magazine."
Pvt. John L. Hogan
Exercise Flashburn
Fort Bragg. N. C.

MITCHUM IN CANNES
I got my first look at PLAYBOY
today and believe me, it's the best
magazine of its kind that 1 have ever
seen. Enclosed is $6 for a subscription.
Today I read in the Korean Stars
and Stripes that Simone Silva, a Bri-
tish actress, posed nude from the
waist up with Robert Mitchum at a
picnic held in connection with the
annual Film Festival at Cannes,
France. Is it possible to get this pic
ture for vour magazinc.
Duane E. Stordahl
San Francisco, Calif.

Here's a challenge to you, old boy
(clipping enclosed)! Or were you one
of those who fell into the water try-
ing to take pictures?

Richard C. Burns
Cleveland, Ohio

We managed to dry our camera off
before the photograph was ruined. So
here's the famous pair; Mitchum is the
one on the right.

Stop looking for Playmates. No one
else can ever rate now.
Charles March
Montclair, N. J.

PLAYBOY AT SEA

I like it! I like it! That's what all
all my buddies have been telling me
about my PLAYBOY (March ıssuc).
They echo my sentiments to a man.
Being in the navy has whetted their
appetites for really tasty humor. And
the women! Magnifique! 1 would pass
up a steaming bowl of pasta-fasu for
an issue of PLAYBOY. £et ees, how
you say, reel jorge! Viva PLAYBOY!

Most of the pictures from mv issue
have been cut out. They can be found
pasted in conspicuous places through-
out the ship. Even the Chief's got onc
in his quarters. Big Man—he got Miss
March.

Oh, if vou see Boccaccio running
loose anywhere, tell him he's not bad.
ind Ray Bradbury is out of this
world (excuse the pun).

Pete Noll & shipmates
USS Dvnamic

PLAYBOY IN THE AIR

Enclosed is a check for $6 for a
year's subscription to PLAYBOY. A
copy of your exciting publication was
found among the literature. available
at the alert pilots’ ready room at our
base. After being perused by the six
members of Old Dawg (D) Flight, of
which I am à member, we agreed that
we had to have each month's copy to
stimulate the long hours we spend
waiting to be scrambled against the
unidentified aircraft violating our air
defense zones.

So for Lt. A. G. Wackerman, Flight
Commander, Lt. L. Hale. Lt. R.
Mealy, Lt. R. F. Johnson, Lt. R. Mac
Lure, and myself, thanks for the en-
joyment provided so far and we'll be
looking forward to each issuc.

Lt. Emil J. Kotalik, USAF
Westhampton Beach, L. L, N. Y.

PLAYBOY ON MARS

Here is a message | received from
one of my friends on Mars after send-
ing him copies of PLAYBOY: Dzck
Aaron, Cdke efhi gzcdewl brste. Orvst
Uyvde bandlz mi a dkl tvas. Tor cyz
lamnt zoom zoom. Sycklru, Sars.

This means: ‘Terrific, whoopee,
whee, wow, rrríf, crazy, gone, the most,
terrifically high, send me more!

I enjoy your magazine—when I can
read it. Mv women-starved buddies in
the barracks hardlv give me time to
start breathing hard over your luscious
Playmate of the Month and zip—the
magazine is doing a 60 vard dash with
half the barracks after it!

George D.
Barin Field
Foley, Alabama

Wandroche

Keep the articles on jazz coming!
Only don't limit it to "big band” jazz.
How about an article on Norman
Granz and his “Jazz At The Phil”
stars? Or doing a piece on the West
Coast jazz schools-Bob Scobey's Fris-
co Band for traditional and Shelly
Manne for modern.

Donald Stewart

St. Paul, Minn.

1 want to congratulate you on the
fine work you are doing in publishing
a well-balanced magazine for men. In
reading the April issue of PLAYBOY,
1 especially enjoyed the article on the
Metronome All Stars. I wonder if it
would be possible to do a feature ar-
tide on Glenn Miller. 1 think he's
everybody's all-time favorite.

Bruce Campbell
Urbana, Illinois

MARCH ISSUE
I am not very good when it comes

to using adjectives, but | can think
of one which covers your magazinc.
It's fabulous, (rom cover to cover. 1
have just finished your March issue
and liked everything about it, partic-
ularly the article by Roger Price and
the start of Ray Bradbury's story. The
only complaint which I have about
the magazine is the difficulty 1. have
keeping it from disappearing before
I have finished reading it.

Louis A. Benton

Johns Hopkins University

Baltimore, Maryland

MISS APRIL
Just finished your April issue and
must say it's tops. I just discovered
your magazine last month but you've
got yourself another steady customer.
| especially enjoyed the second in-
stallment of "Fahrenheit 451," your
Party Jokes, Earl Wilson's "The Body
Beautiful," and ooh la la, let's have
more of Miss April in the futurc.
Jimmy R. Allen
Amarillo, Texas

What gives with the April Playmate?
Was the photograph distorted or is
the girl's body really that bad? Bust,
waist, back, arm—everything's out of
proportion. Your other Playmates
have all been excellent, but Miss
April—ugh!

Your April cover was the most eye-
catching yet. Great idea using your
rabbit on the front of the magazine.
I very much enjoyed “Sin In Para-
dise" by William Bradford Huie.
Written likc an eye witness, in true
army jargon.

Arthur. Anker
Murray Hill, N. J-

Miss April—what is her name? That
exquisite angel, that heavenly body
can't be mortal! It must be Venus.

|

W. Somerset Maugham insists that he
has never pretended to be anything
but a storyteller. If this ts true, he is
certainly one of the very best story-
tellers living today. His unusual “A
Woman of Fily.” in this issue, helps
prove that.

Bachelors won't want to miss Burt
Zollo’s sizzling Open Season On
Bachelors,” and you marricd guys will
get kick out of it, too.

You don't have to be an art lover
to appreciate the exciting pen work
of Heinrich Kley. You'll find five
pages of Kley's best in this issue—
three in color. And there ll be more
coming up later.

The personality piece on Orson
Welles is the first of a series of
word portraits on interesting men of
our time,

Jack Cole's “Spinster” is also the
first of a series. We suggest you save
these Female Sex Types. Many ol them
will remind. you of close friends and
acquaintances and theyll make won-
derful cards on birthdays and Val-
entine's Day.

Bob Perlongo. author of the satri-
cal “Little Boy's Blues.” is editor of
Shaft, humor magazine at the Univer-
sity of Illinois. Bob and Shaft are in
trouble with the school authorities,
because he thinks a college magazine
should be fresh and breezy. We think
so, too, so we're especially pleased to
be running his story during this—his
hour of trial and tribulation,

Roger Price is back, too, with more
worthwhile information on the human
mind. Prices [irst article set psy-
chology back twenty-live years; this
one, on testing vour personality,
should do at least that well.

Add to all this. some fascinating
photographs by Andre de Dienes, an
other article by Shepherd Mead on
how to succeed in business without
trying. an interesting piece on female
figures, another tale from the De-
cameron, a pleasant sprinkling ol car-
toons and party jokes, plus. of course,
another full color, double-page Plav-
mate of the Month, and vou have the
seventh issue of PLAYBOY—the new
entertainment magazine for men.

ADDRESS ALL ORDERS TO THE MEN'S SHOP,
C/O PLAYBOY,
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4

CONTENTS FOR
THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE

A WOMAN OF FIFTY—fiction ....... / SOMERSET MAUGHAM 6

ONE MAN'S MEAT—orticle ............----- CHARLES ARMSTRONG 10

THE TOP OF THE HEAP—satire ........---—--——---SHEPHERD MEAD 13 i
ORSON- person „RAY RUSSELL 15 Diener. P. 39
THE ART OF HEINRICH KLEY—ort ..... HEINRICH KLEY 19

A PLAYBOY'S DREAM CAR—design .......————— : 25

MISS JUNE—Ployboy's playmate of the montnbn 26

TALES FROM THE DECAMERON—fiction ........ BOCCACCIO 28

VIP ON WOMEN-pictorial ll VIRGIL PARTCH 30

LITTLE BOY'S BLUES—sotire .........------------- BOB PERLONGO 32

PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor ... TUR 34

OPEN SEASON ON BACHELORS—article .. BURT ZOLLO 37

OUTSIDE WITH DE DIENES—pictorial ANDRE DE DIENES 39

TESTING YOUR PERSONALITY humor ROGER PRICE 43

HUGH M. HEFNER, editor and publisher
RAY RUSSELL, associate editor

ARTHUR PAUL, art director

JOSEPH PACZEK, assistant art. director

Playboy is published monthly by the HMH Publishing Co., Inc.,
1) E. Superior, Chicago 11, Illinois. Postage must accompany all
manuscripts and drawings submitted ii tney are to be returned
and no responsibility can be assumed for unsolicited materials.
Contents copyrighted 1954 bv HMH Publisning Co., inc. Nothing
may be reprinted in whole or in part without written permission.
Printed in U.S.A. Any similarity between reopis and places is
purely concidental.

Subscriptions: in the U. S., its possessions, and Canada, 0
for three years: $10.00 for two years; $6.00 ior one year, in ad-
vance. Elsewnere, $12.00 a year, in aavance.

Credits: Cover collage by B. Paul, photographed by Jonesboro;
P. 6 "A Woman Of Fifty“ from “Crectures oi Circumstance,”
copyright, 1947, by W. Somerset Maugham, published by Double-
day & Co. Inc; P. 25 Ford Motor Co.; P. 26-7 courtesy oi John
Baumgarth Co., Melrose Park, Illinois; P. 30-31 irom "Man The
Beast,” copyright, 1953, by Virgil Partch, published by Little,
Brown & Co. and Duell, Sloan & Pearce; P. 35 from "Stag At Eve"
with permission of Gardner Rea; P. 39-41 Andre de Dienes; P. 43
“Testing Your Personality” from “In One Head And Out The
Other,” copyright, 1951, by Roger Price, published by Simon &
Schuster; P. 47 from "The Works of John Held, Jr.” copyright,
1931, by John Held, Jr. with permission of the author.

AOAAV Id

vol. 1, no. 7 — june, 1954

ILLUSTRATED BY ARTHUR PAUL

fiction BY W. SOMERSET MAUGHAM

woman of fifty gs

E

MY FRIEND Wyman Holt is a professor of English literature in one of the smaller
universities of the Middle West, and hearing th: ıt I was speaking in a nearby city
nearby as distances go in the vasıness of America—he wrote to ask me if I would come
and give a talk to his class. He suggested that I should stay with him for a few days
so that he could show me something of the surrounding country. I accepted the in-
vitation, but told him that my engagements would prevent me from spending more
than a couple of nights with him. He met me at the station, drove me to his house
and after we had had a drink we walked over to the campus. I was somewhat taken
aback to find so many people in the hall in which I was to speak, for I had not ex-
pected more than twenty at the outside and I was not prepared to give a solemn
lecture, but only an informal chat. I was more than a little intimidated to see a num-
ber of middle-aged and elderly persons, some of whom I suspected were members
of the faculty, and I was afraid they would find what I had to say very superficial.
However, there was nothing to do but to start and, after Wyman had introduced me
to the audience in a manner that I very well knew I couldn't live up to, that is what
I did. I said my say, I answered as best I could a number of questions, and then I re-
tired with Wyman into a little room at the back of the stage from which I had spoken.

it was twenty-[ive years since I had
scen her and then only haphazardly
during a month ۱ spent in Florence.

It was just after World War I. She
had been engaged to a man who was
killed in it and she and her mother
had managed to get over to France
to see his grave. They were San
Francisco people. After doing their
sad errand they had come down to
Italy and were spending the winter
in Florence. At that time there was
quite a large colony of English and
Americans. 1 had some American
friends, a Colonel Harding and his
wife, Colonel because he had occupied
an important position in the Red
Cross, who had a handsome villa in
the Via Bolognese and they asked me
to stay with them. I spent most of
my mornings sight-seeing and met
my friends at Doney's in thc Via
Tornabuoni round about noon to
drink a cocktail. Doney's was the
gathering place of everybody one
knew, Americans, English and such of
the Italians as frequented their so-
ciety. There you heard all the gossip
of the town. Then there was a lunch
party either at a restaurant or at
one or other of the villas with their
fine old gardens a mile or two from
the centre of the city. I had bcen
given a card to the Florence. Club
and in the afternoon Charley Hard-
ing and I used to go there to play
bridge or a dangerous game of poker
with a pack of thirty-two cards. In
the evening there would be a dinner
party with more bridge perhaps and
often dancing. One mct thc same
people all the time, but the group
was large enough, the people were
sufficiently various, to prevent it
from being tedious. Everyone was
more or less interested in the arts,
as was inevitable in Florence, s9
that, idle as life seemed, it was not
entirely frivolous.

Laura and her mother, Mrs. Clay-
ton, a widow, lived in one of the
better boardinghouses. They appeared
to be comfortably off. They had come
to Florence with letters of introduc-
tion and soon made many friends.
Laura's story appealed to the sympa-
thies, and people were glad on that
account to do what they could for
the two women, but they were in
themselves nice and quickly became
liked for themselves. They were hos-
pitable and gave frequent lunches at
one or other of the restaurants where
one ate macaroni and the inevitable
scallopini, and drank Chianti. Mrs.
Clayton was perhaps a little lost in
this cosmopolitan society, where mat-
ters were seriously or gailv talked
about that were strange to her, but
Laura took to it as though it were
her native element. She engaged an
Italian woman to teach her the lan-
guage and soon was reading the In-
ferno with her; she devoured books

(continued on page 12)

“Oh?” That didn't jibe with my
ideas at all. "What was her name?"

“I haven't a notion. I don't believe
it was a great succes." Wyman
chuckled. “That's only a deduction
I draw from the fact that she hasn't
a single thing in the house to suggest
that she ever spent any time in Italy.
I should have expected her to have at
least a refectory table, an old chest or
two and an embroidered cope hanging
on the wall."

I laughed. I knew those rather
dreary pieces that people buy when
they're in Italy, the gilt wood candle-
sticks, the Venetian glass mirrors and
the high-backed, comfortless chairs.
They look well enough when you scc
them in the crowded shops of the
dealers in antiques, but when you
bring them to another country they're
too often a sad disappointment. Even
if they're genuine, which they seldom
are, they look ill at ease and out of
place.

"Laura has money,” Wyman went
on. "When they married she furn-
ished the house from cellar to attic
in Chicago. It's quite a show place;
it's a little masterpiece of hideousness
and vulgarity. I never go into the
living room without marvelling at the
unerring taste with which she picked
out exactly what you'd expect to find
in the bridal suite of a second-class
hotel in Atlantic City."

To explain this irony I should
state that Wyman's living-room was
all chromium and glass, rough modern
fabrics, with a boldly Cubist rug on
the floor, and on the walls Picasso
prints and drawings by Tchelicheff.
However, he gave me a very good
dinner. We spent the evening chatt-
ing pleasantly about things that mu-
tually interested us and finished it
with a couple of bottles of beer. I
went to bed in a room of somewhat
aggressive modernity. I read for a
while and then putting out the light
composed myself to sleep.

"Laura," I said to myself. "Laura
what?"

I tried to think back. I thought
of all the people I knew in Florence,
hoping that by association I might
recall when and where I had come
in contact with Mrs. Greene. Since
J was going to dine with her I wanted
to recall something that would prove
that 1 had not forgotten her. People
look upon it as a slight when you
don't remember them. I suppose we
all attach a sort of importance to
ourselves and it is humiliating to rc-
alize that we have left no impression
at all upon the person we havc asso-
ciated with. I dozed off, but before I
fell into the blessedness of deep
sleep, my subconscious, released from
the effort of striving at recollection,
I suppose, grew active and I was
suddenly wide awake, for I remem-
bered who Laura Grcen was. It was no
wonder that I had forgotten her for

Several people came in. They said
the usual kindly things to me that
arc said on these occasions, and |
made the usual polite replies. | was
thirsting for a drink. Then a woman
came in and held out her hand to me.

"How very nice it is to see you
again," she said. "It's years since we
last met."

To the best of my belief I'd never
seen her before. I forced a cordial
smile to my tired, stiff lips, shook
her proffered hand effusively and
wondered who the devil she was. My
professor must have seen from my
face that I was trying to place her
for he said:

"Mrs. Greene is married to a mem-
ber of our faculty and she gives a
course on the Renaissance and kal-
ian literature.”

“Really,” I said. “Interesting.

] was no wiser than before.

"Has Wyman told you that you're
dining with us tomorrow night?"

“Pm very glad," I said.

“It's not a party. Only my husband,
his brother and sister-in-law. I sup-
pose Florence has changed a lot since

then.”

“Florence?” I said to myself.
“Florence?”

That was evidently where I'd
known her. She was a woman of

about fifty with gray hair simply done
and marcelled without exaggeration.
She was a trifle too stout and she
‚as dressed neatly enough, bur with-
out distinction, in a dress that 1
gucssed had been bought ready made
at the. local branch of a big storc.
She had rather large eyes of a pale
bluc and a poor complexion; she wore
no rouge and had used a lipstick but
sparingly. She seemed a nice creature.
"There was something maternal in her
demeanour, something placid and ful-
filled, which I found appealing. I
supposed that I had run across her
on onc of my frequent visits to Flor-
ence and because it was perhaps the
only time she had been there our
meeting had made morc of an impres-
sion on her than on me. 1 must con-
fess that my acquaintance with the
wives of members of a faculty is very
limited, but she was just the sort of
person 1 should have expected the
wife of a professor to be, and pic-
turing her life, useful, but unevent-
ful, on scanty means, with its little
social gatherings, its bickerings, its
gossip, its busy dullness, I could
easily imagine that her trip to Flor-
ence must linger with her as a thrill-
ing and unforgettable experience.

On the way back to his house Wy-
man said to me:

“You'll like Jasper Greene. He's
clever.”

"What's he a professor of?”

"He's not a professor; he's an in-
structor. A fine scholar. He's her sec-
ond husband. She was married to an
Italian. before."

8

PLAYBOY

ce

"I could swear I smell burning rubber!"

int d4

m^

E

her luscious offerings. Type "X" mea-
sured in with a 36" bust, 22" waist,
and 36" hips, which explains why she
rates a ي‎ all by herself.

Four models were then selected
who exactly met the specifications of
the four categories. These young
ladies were dressed exactly alike and
were given masks to rule out indivi-
dual preferences in faces. Then the
four masked beauties and an inter-
viewer, armed with pencil and note-
book, descended on the unsuspecting
male populace.

The quartette cornered Mr. Aver-
age Man in all his typical work-and-
plav hangouts. Thev would enter an
office, for example, and (without
much difficulty) gain the attention of
a suitable number of executives, jun-
ior executives, and office boys. The
men were asked to examine the four
voung ladies — visually, if you please.
Then. while their pulses were still
thumping. thev were asked which fig

ONE MANS MEAT

They wanted to find out how men like their women stacked, and they got some surprises.

BY CHARLES ARMSTRONG

TYPE "x"

they can manufacture. garments that
will reshape the female population to
a reasonable facsimile of the average
guy's preference.

To make the stausucs manageable,
four basic figure types were selected:
the conventional Junior, Miss, and
Woman types, plus a mysterious group
designated Type "X."

The "Junior" figure was defined as
a 34” bust, 24" waist, 34” hips. The
"Miss" category had a more generous
helping of everything: 35” bust, 25"
waist, 35" hips. The "Woman" figure
was more mature, with a 36" bust, 29"
waist, and 3814" hips.

The special interest, however, was
added bv the "X" type. "X" for "Ex-
tra,” perhaps, since this is the sort of
figure usually seen in publicity pic-
rures with captions like "Miss Grape-
fruit of 1954." You know the kind—
“Miss Grapefruit" in a low-cut bit of
nothing, leaning over a basket of fruit
which is paled into insignificance bv

35"
25"
35"

JUNIOR

OT SINCE Dr. Kinsey's inter-

viewers trudged cross country ask-

ing coy young things the scientific

equivalent of "Have vou had it
lately?” has the noble art of empirical
research produced such a fascinating
set of statistics.

Male Preferences For Female Fig-
ure Types, its called, and it was pre-
pared by a top-flight research organi-
zation. The report comes in a neat,
brown folder—and looks very much
like a market analysis, financial pre-
sentation, or similar bit of business
trivia. The report contains enough
academic gibberish to delight any Ph.
D., but the meat of it (if you'll excuse
the expression) is far removed from
the realm of markets and finance,

The sponsor of the research and re-
sulting report is the H. W. Gossard
Company, manufacturers of women's
foundation garments. They wanted to
find out just how men like their
women stacked. Presumably so that

WOMAN MISS

PLAYBOY

is the older a man gets, the less he
cares for the "X" or "Miss Grapefruit
type. As he ages, perhaps conscious ol
lus own limitations, he begins prefer-
ring his women with à more conven-
uonal figure.

As might be expected, the upstarts
under the age of 24 took to the grape-
fruit figure by a healthy 75%. Be-
tween the ages of 25 to 39, however,
the preferences for Miss "X" dropped
to 54%. And after 40, only a meageı
2595 are able to raise an eyebrow
when she swishes by.

When Miss "X" was eliminated
from the running, most men seemed
to prefer the "Miss" figure, but there
was a noticeable swing towards the
more womanly body as the man grew
older. Of the men under 24, 30% pre-
ferred the "Junior" figure over other
conventional types, 60% preferred the
"Miss" figure, 10% the "Woman"
type.

Of the middle aged men, 25 to 39.
only 2095 liked the "Junior" figure,
47% the "Miss," and 33% the “Wom
an." With older men, 40 and above,
2595 preferred the "Junior" shape,
34% the “Miss,” and 41% the
"Woman."

The researchers also picked up some
interesting information on married
men. The lucky guys who had wives
with "X" type figures understandably
preferred them that way by a solid
100%. And there were 76% of the
men with "Miss" type wives who were
totally satisfied. But the "happy with
her as she is" quotient dropped to
5895, with the "Junior" type, while
only 48% of the hubbies with “Wom-
an" type wives were really content.

A female fashion writer has already
written her way around the survey
with: "Don't worry, girls. This thing
only proves that every figure type has
its following." Meaning a girl on the
make should work the men who prefer
her type and she's in.

Naturally, the Freudians got in their
licks, too. A psychiatrist, who wishes
to remain anonymous, points to the
increased interest in the girlish "Jun-
ior" figure among older men and
says it represents a form of regression
—an unconscious desire to return to
youth, schooldays, and high school
sweethearts. On the other hand, a
vounger man drawn to the more ma-
ture "Woman" figure probably has
a mild Oedipus complex — an uncon-
scious attachment to mom.

What does all this mean to you?
Well, Gossard's findings can prob-
ably be interpreted in a number of
different wavs, but we prefer to look
at it like this: ۸ guv can dream about
Miss Grapefruit. the fabulous "X"
type beauty. and still be happy with
one of thc less sensational varieties.

And considering the scarcity of "X"
type females, it's a damn good thing.

11

article

boys began what they call "the analysis
and evaluation of derivative data."

They happily skewed curves, set up
graphs, established correlations of
coefficients, and generally had a fine
old time sorting and classifying the
drooling opinions expressed by the
men of the nation.

Out of their columns of figures and
tabulated statistics came the final
report. Herc is what they found, and
there are some surprises in the results

The single most impressive finding

ure type they prelerred. The inter-
viewer also recorded such other per-
ünent data as age, occupation, and
marital status.

In the course of the survey, the
girls were paraded before city coun-
cilmen, oglıng fraternity boys, base-
ball fans, salesmen, business heads,
and the ubiquitous man-on-the-street.
Then, the sampling completed, the
girls retired. to that. limbo where
models go when the last leggy picture
has been snapped, and the slide-rule

Harding dryly. “And he'll never let
Tito marry a girl who has no more
money than Laura.”

“She has about five thousand dol-
lars a year of her own," said Bessie.
“And she'll get that much more when
her mother dics.”

“Her mother can live for another
thirty vears and five thousand a year
won't go far to keep a husband, a
father, two or three children and re-
store a ruined villa with practically
not a stick of furniture in it.”

“I think the boy's desperately in
love with her."

"How old is he?” 1 asked.

“Twenty-six.”

A few days after this Charley on
coming back to lunch, since for once
we were lunching by ourselves, told
me that he had run across Mrs. Clay-
ton in the Via Tornabuoni and she
had told him that she and Laura were
driving out that afternoon with Tito
to meet his father and see the villa.

"What d'you suppose that means?"
asked Bessie.

“My guess is that Tito is taking
Laura to be inspected by his old man
and if he approves he's going to ask
her to marry him."

"And will be approvez"

"Not on your life."

But Charley was wrong. After the
two women had been shown over the
house they were taken for a walk
round the garden. Without exactly
knowing how it had happened Mrs.
Clayton found herself alone in an
alley with the old Count. She spoke
no Italian, but he had been an at-
taché in London and his English was
tolerable.

“Your daughter is charming, Mrs.
Clayton,” he said. “I am not surprised
that my Tito has fallen in love with
her.”

Mrs. Clayton was no fool and it
may be that she too had guessed why
the young man had asked them to go
and sec the ancestral villa.

"Young Italians are very impression-
able. Laura is sensible enough not to
take their attentions too seriously."

"I was hoping she was nct quite in-
different to the boy."

"| have no reason to bclieve that
she likes him any more than any other
of the young men who dance with
her,” Mrs. Clayton answered coldly.
“| think I should tell you at once
that my daughter has × very moderate
income and she will have no more till
I die."

“I will be frank with you. I have
nothing in the world but this house
and the few acres that surround it.
My son could not afford to marry a
penniles girl but he is not a for-
tune hunter and he loves vour daugh-
ter."

The Count had not only the grand
manner, but a great deal of charm
and Mrs. Clayton was not insensible

(continued on page 18)

WOMAN OF FIFTY (continued from page 8)

shining with oil, an olive skin and
features of classical regularity. He was
poor and he had some vague occupa-
uon, which did not scem to interfere
with his amusements, but he was al-
ways beautifully dressed. No one
quite knew where he lived, in a furn-
ished room perhaps or in the attic of
some relative; and all that. remained
of his ancestors great possessions was
4 cinquecento villa about thirty
miles from that city. I never saw it,
but I was told that it was of amazing
bcauty, with a great neglected. garden
ol cypresses and live oaks, overgrown
borders ol box, terraces, artificial
grottos and crumbling statues. His
widowed father, the Count, lived
there alone and subsisted on the wine
he made from the vines of the small
property he still owned and the oil
Irom his olive trees, He seldom came
to Florence, so 1 never met him, but
Charley Harding knew him fairly
well.

"He's a perfect. specimen of the
‘Tuscan nobleman of the old school,"
he said. "He was in the diplomatic
service in his youth and he knows
the world. He has beautiful manners
and such an air, you almost feel he's
doing you a favour when he says how
d'you do to you. He's a brilliant talk.
cr. Of course he hasn't à. penny, he
squandered the little he inherited on
gambling and women, but he bcars
his poverty with great dignity. Hc acts
as though money were something be
neath his notice."

"What sort of age is he?" I asked

"Fifty, 1 should say, but he's still
the handsomest man I've ever seen
in my life."

“Oh?”

"You describe him, Bessie. When
he first came here he made a pass at
Bessie. I've never been quite sure
how far it went.”

"Don't be a fool, Charley," Mrs.
Harding laughed.

She gave him the sort of look a
woman gives her husband when she
has been married to him many years
and is quite satisfied with him.

"He's very attractive to women and
he knows it,” she said. “When he talks
to you he gives vou the impression
that you're the only woman in the
world and of course it's flattering.
But its only a game and a woman
would have to be a perfect fool to
take him seriously. He is very hand-
some. Tall and spare and he holds
himself well He has great dark liquid
eves, like the boy's; his hair is snow
white, but very thick still. and the
contrast with his bronzed, young face
is really breath-taking. He has a rav-
aged, rather battered look, but at thc
same time a look of such distinction,
it's really quite incredibly romantic."

“He also has his great dark liquid
eyes on the main chance,” said Charley

on the art of the Renaissance and on
Florentine history, and 1 sometimes
came across her, Baedeker in hand,
at the Uffizi or in some church stu-
diously examining works of art.

She was twenty-four or twenty-five
then and I was well over forty, so
that though we often mer we became
cordially acquainted rather than in-
timate. She was by no means beau-
tiful, but she was comely in rather an
unusual way; she had an oval face
with bright blue eyes and very dark
hair which she wore simply, parted in
the middle, drawn over her cars and
tied in a chignon low on the nape
of her neck. She had a good skin and
a naturally high colour; her features
were good without being remarkable
and her teeth were even, small and
white; but her chief asset was the easy
grace of her movement, and | was
not surprised when they told me that
she danced wonderfully. Her figure
was very good, somewhat fuller than
was the fashion of the moment; and
I think what made her attractive was
the odd mingling in her appearance
of the Madonna in an altarpiece bv
one of the later Italian. painters and
a suggestion of sensuality. It certain-
ly made her very alluring to the
Italians. who gathered at Doney's in
the morning or were occasionally in-
vited to lunch or dinner in the
American or English villas. She was
evidently accustomed to dealing with
amorous young men, for though she
was charming, gracious and friendly
with them she kept them at their dis-
tance. She quickly discovered that
they were all looking for an American
heiress who would restore the family
fortune and with a demure amuse-
ment which 1 found admirable made
them delicately understand that she
was far from rich. They sighed a little
and turned their attention at Doney's,
which was their happy hunting
ground, to more likely objects. They
continued to dance with her, and
to keep their hand in flirted with her,
but their aspirations ccased to be mat
rimonial.

But there was one young man who
persisted. I knew him slightly because
he was one of the regular poker plav-
ers at the Club. I played occasionally.
Jt was impossible to win and the dis-
gruntled foreigners used sometimes
to say that the Italians ganged up on
us, but it may be only that they
knew the particular game they played
better than we did. Laura's admirer,
Tito di San Pietro, was a bold and
even reckless player and would often
lose sums he could ill afford. (That
was not his real name, but I call him
that since his own is famous in Flor-
entine history.) He was a good-looking
vouth, neither short nor tall. with
fine black eyes, thick black hair
brushed back from his forehead and

12

pi
o
۳
*
A
EI
Es

By Shepherd Mead

You need not pay rent. You will
find that the offices of your firm's
executives are handsomely equipped
and comfortable. They are, in addi-
tion, often in a fashionable part of
town and are, of course, close to
your work. Choose an office with a
large comfortable couch and quiet ex-
posure. Some prefer one facing cast.
It is cheerful to see the sun rise!
Generally speaking, the higher the
executive the larger the office, the
more comfortable the couch, and the
later he will come in mornings. As
long as you are out by nine-fifteen,
no one will complain.

You need not perform menial tasks.
It is extravagant to wear out a pair
of $30 brogues on a simple errand!
Keep the phone number of a good
messenger service at your fingertips.
While the fellow is delivering his
package, wait at vour university club,
using the time profitably to plan your

13

may cultivate a studied carelessness,
but the mail-room man must always
make a good impression. In fact, it is
impossible for an ambitious young ap-
prentice to be foo well dressed.

Dress at all times as though you
were attending an informal wedding

or tea dance: conservative—but well-
cut—lounge suit, the best white linen,
carefully knotted four-in-hand from
Sulka or Countess Mara, and good,
well-boned boots. Do not be con-
cerned with expense.

HOW TO LIVE
How, indeed, the fainthearted will
cry, if your tailoring bills alone more
than consume your $27.50 a week?
Never fear. If you are one of those
poor devils without independent in-
come or generous women friends, you
can still survive easily. Supper money
and judicious use of “taxi” money

will allow you to eat lightly.

THE TOP OF THE HEAP

satire

The second

of a series of articles
on how to rise

in the business world

without really trying.

L AST MONTH we got you the right
job. Now, with your feet firmly
planted on the first rung, let us pro-
ceed upward on the ladder of success.

Beginners often spend their first
golden months—or years—in the mail
room, or shipping department. Years
hence, when you are careworn, har-
ried, and tax-ridden, you'll look back
fondly on those golden, carefree times
and see yourself as you were then,
clad only in a three-button West-
of-England tweed, cheeks tanned,
eyes clear, trudging happily to the
post office with a sack of mail.

But remember, the thing is to Get
On, to succeed, to escape from the
mail room, and it is to this purpose
that this article is written. Let us
leave the nostalgia to other, more
skillful pens.

HOW TO DRESS
After you have made your mark you

,'Rupknp Away) MONA naung UJ PODIA ol som., mosg

NE p amip íq Payayjgnd ‘peayy mueudogg £9 "2551 do

will stand you in good stead in the
years to come.

For example, suppose the person-
nel manager calls you into his office
and says:

“Oh, Finch, we've been keeping an
eye on you!”

"You have, sir?"

(It is well to be noncommittal at
this stage.)

"Yes, you may not realize it, but
we keep a mighty close watch over all
you fellows. 1 think you may have
the stuff, Finch."

“Thank you, sir."

"In fact, we've decided to give you
a nice promotion. You've done so
well as a mail boy that we're think-
ing seriously about putting you in
charge of the whole mail room!"

At this point the run-of-the-mill
fellow would — willingly. Not
you! Remember, be generous! Be
big! Look him straight in the eye and
say:

"Decent of you, sir, damned de-
cent! And you know how I'd like to
accept. Don't see how I can, though.
in all honesty."

(He will look at you with new in
terest.)

“No?”

"Don't really deserve it, sir. Wat-
son is your man. Quiet chap, not one
to attract notice, but he's earned that
job!"

Be sure you tell Watson what you've
done for him. He'll be your friend
for life, and of course he'll still be
in the mail room, running it cfficient-
ly, long after you have gone ahead
to higher things. (The personnel man
won't forget how big you were about
this!) It will pay off in extra service.
too.
"Oh, Watson, send a boy up to mv
place, will you? These pencils are
getting frightfully dull."

"Can't spare one, but I'll come my-
self for you, Ponty."

“That's a good boy, and make it
quickly, will you?"

Of course, if the first offer of pro-
motion will take you out of the mail
room it is better to accept.

No good being too generous!

Just follow these simple rules for
a few months and you will quickly be
summoned to the department of vour
choice.

"Finch, we feel you're our type of
man! We're taking you into the de-
partment. You'll sit at the old desk
in back of the mimeograph machine.
Only temporary. of course, and you'll
get more money. too. Think I can
swing $2.50 more a week!"

This is what you have worked for!
You're a Junior Executive. No one
can stop you now!

(Next month: How to Stop
Being a Junior Executive.)

3. Write Memos. Write them on any
subject. Small matter what you write
them about, as long as you write them
often. No one will read them, but
someone will notice your name at the
top.

4. Two Heads Are Better Than
One. The chap who uses his head will
not long stay in the mail room. Ideas
are the thing, but you may find that
because of your boyish appearance
and young open face few people will
take you seriously.

Don't be disheartened! Remember
that two heads are better than one,
especially if the other one belongs to
an influential executive.

A quick run through the files will
turn up a number of ideas over which
some of the executives have fought
long losing battles.

Read all the correspondence on
one of these, then approach the man
whose baby it was:

"Oh, pardon me, sir, I know it's
presumptuous of me, but I haven't
been able to sleep lately for think-
ing of the wicket retreading situa-
tion."

"Yes? Well, come in. son!"

(At the very words “wicket retread-
ing” he will begin to breathe more
rapidly.)

"Finch, sir, Pierrepont Finch.
Please tell me if I’m on the right
track.”

Then rehash his whole idea in your

"own words.

“Well, what do you think, sir?”

“I think it'll work, Finch! I know
i'll work. And it would have worked,
too, except for an, uh, political situa-
tien."

"You mean it isn't a new idea?”

"You couldn't know that, son. Be-
fore your time. Incredible, though,
boy of your age. Miss Willoughby.
will you bring in that wicket re-
treading file—'48 I believe—and don't
disturb us. I'd like to spend some time
with this boy. Yes, uh—"

"Finch, sir."

"Yes, Finch, you must have a mightv
good head on your shoulders!"

From this point on he will consider
you his protege. You will be sure to
have the first vacancy in his depart-
ment,

This technique is far easier than
thinking up your own ideas-and far
more effective.

5. Be Generous with Your “Bud-
dies." The lad marked for success
is one who is openhearted and unself-
ish, happy to share his good fortune
with others, particularly his col-
leagues of ıhe mail room.

The callow chaps around you may
not look like much, but they may
well be tomorrow’s captains of in-
dustry. Make them your "buddies."
These rough-and-ready friendships

promotion.

SOME USEFUL TIPS ON HOW
TO BE PROMOTED

1. Attract Attention. Lei them
know you're there—in a well-bred way,
of course.

After an especially difficult assign-
ment return with package directly to
executive's office (not to mail room!)
with visible evidence of hardship. ۸
bit of blood is helpful, if wiped trom
the face in a devil-may-care manner
as you enter his office.

"You must have gone through hell.
boy!" he will say.

"Finch, sir, Pierrepont Finch.”
(Always be careful to establish the
name.) "]t was nothing, sir."

"Blood, eh?”

"Just a scratch. Some hoodlums
tried to take it from me."

"Oh?"

"Taught them a lesson, sir!"

But don't push! Remember, the ele-
vator and the men's room are the
only places where you will meet the
executives on a man-to-man basis.
Don't press your advantage. Just a
word or two is enough.

"Damned fine memo of yours on
the wicket situation, sir,” you will
say.

"Oh, you like it, uh—"

"Finch, sir. I agreed with almost
all your recommendations." (Note the
"almost.")

2. Read Memos. You will soon find
there is little information of any
value in them, but they are mighty
handy in cases like the above.

Cie

You need not pay rent.

l4

PLAYBOY

it's almost impossible to keep up with him. Unfortunately,
he's erratic. Like the little girl with the curl, he's either
very, very good or he's horrid. But horrid in the grand
manner, for Welles is never mediocre.

This running to extremes is also true of his audiences.
Very few people can take Orson or leave him alone. They
either intensely admire or intensely dislike him.

For the record, George Orson Welles was born in Keno-
sha, Wisconsin, on May 6, 1915, and made his theatrical
debut at age 10 in Marshall Field's window in Chicago.
playing Peter Rabbit. Two years later, he was staging Jultus

15

personality

he's everything
but your

obedient servant.

By RAY RUSSELL

SOMEBODY once told Orson Welles he looked like
a Roman emperor. “You mean I look sensual," he corrected.

There is something of the Roman emperor about Welles.
There's a pagan zest in his devotion to profane pleasures
like 75é cigars, flowing silk cravats, dozens of oysters, two-
inch steaks, Dolores Del Rio, Rita Hayworth and Eartha
Kitt.

But he is a good deal more than a sensualist. Actor, di-
rector, producer, magician, newspaper columnist, radio
commentator, playwright, novelist, editor of Shakespeare:
his restless creativity darts in and out of enterprises so fast

And some even stayed long enough
to hear the commercials and Orson's
bland reminder that they were listen-
ing to a special Halloween broadcast
of H. G. Wells War of the Worlds.
Three results of the broadcast were a
scholarly Princeton University treatise
on mass hysteria, an FCC ruling on
overrealistic radio shows and over-
night fame for our boy.

Ihe Mars affair made enough noise
to attract Hollywood. In 1941, RKO
tempted Orson with an olfer to write,
direct and star in his own film. Orson
yiclded to temptation and went West,
taking with him such little-known
Mercury Theatre players as Joseph
Cotten and Agnes Moorehead.

Some movie moguls took a dim view
of putting an entire film into the
hands of a precocious smart-aleck who
had never seen a sound stage. But
Welles showed them that a fertile
imagination is just as valuable as ycars
of experience. He thought up new
film techniques, revived some old ones,
borrowed discriminately from here and
there, and turned out a movie master-
piece called Citizen Kane. Visually,
it was a thing of bold contrasts, in-
quisitive camera angles and razor-sharp
montage. It was the story of a mil-
lionaire's son who created a publishing
empire only to see it pudet crumble,
attempted unsuccessfully to build a
political career and, finally embittered,
retired and died alone in a gloomy pal-
ace upon a man-made mountain. Lou-
ella Parsons saw the film before its
release and ran, horrified, to her boss
with shouts of “Libel!” Her boss lis-
tened to her description of the movie
and immediately got in touch with
RKO. “Shelve Citizen Kane," he de-
manded, “or I'll kill every RKO ad in
every one of my papers" RKO po-
litely refused, and though Welles in-
sisted Citizen Charles Foster Kane was
fictional, it is interesting to note that
the film was never advertised, review-
ed or even mentioned in any of the
newspapers owned by Louella's boss,
Citizen William Randolph Hearst.

Welles liked film work. He im-
mediately made another picture, The
Magnificent Ambersons. It and Kane
remain his two finest cinematic essays.
Along about this time, he met up with
a beautiful creature named Dolores
Del Rio, and soon had her stripped
down to a leopard skin for a sensa-
tional dance sequence in his movie,
Journey Into Fear. This began a pat-
tern of casung his current flames in
his current productions.

In 1943, for instance, he combined
business with pleasure by touring Army
camps with Rita Hayworth. It was
a magic act billed as "The Magnificent
Orson — Alive,” and he titillated the

(concluded on page 50)

Caesar at the Todd School in Wood-
stock, Illinois, playing Marc Antony,
Cassius, and the Soothsayer. At 16, he
ran off to Ireland to paint pictures,
ended up in Dublin penniless, and
glib-talked his way into a juicy role
with the famed Gate Theatre.

He was in his late teens when he
took a job chuckling sardonically over
American airwaves as "Ihe Shadow."
By the timc he reached his early twen-
ties, he was staging Caesar again, this
time in modern dress as one of many
chores for the WPA's Federal Theatre.
On this occasion, he played only one
role: Brutus — in a blue serge suit.
Right about this time he began to stick
the “Mercury Theatre” label on all
pies in which he had a finger. Then,
on October 30, 1938, Mars attacked
the Earth,

It was a pleasant autumn evening.
The kids were roaming thc streets in
Halloween attire. Grown-ups, fiddling
with their radio dials, found a pro-
gram of Latin music and settled back
to listen to the familiar melody, "La
Cumparsita." After a few bars, how-
ever, an announcer cut in: "Ladies
and gentlemen, we interrupt our pro-
gram of dance music to bring you 3
special bulletin . . . Professor Farrel
of the Mount Jennings Observatory rc-
ports observing several explosions of
incandescent gas, occurring at regular
intervals on the planet Mars, and mov-
ing toward the Earth with enormous
velocity . . . We now return you to
the music of Ramon Raquello . . ."

But Ramon was to be interrupted
soon again for an interview with a
Princeton, New Jersey, astronomer,
and a broadcast from a farm in Grovers
Mill, also New Jersey, where a “mete-
orite" thirty yards in diameter had
fallen. Radio listeners leaned forward
in their chairs when they heard the
announcer break off his smooth com-
mentary to exclaim, “Just a minute!
Something's happening . . The top
is beginning to rotate like a screw!
Something's crawling out . . . it's large
as a bear and glistens like wet leather.
But that face. It — it's indescribable!
Ws coming this way —" The radio
audience heard a crash, then dead sil-
ence. Finally a studio announcer told
them that "due to circumstances be-
yond our control we are unable to
continue the broadcast from Grovers
Mill."

That was enough for many New
Jersey listeners. Families piled into
cars and fled in panic. Some stayed
to hear more: a State Militia officer
ordering the territory under martial
law, news of eight battalions wiped out
by a heat ray, bulletins reporting more
Martian landings in Buffalo, Chicago,
St. Louis.

1950: Orson's "Faust" puzzled Paris

with its mixture of Milton, Dante,
Marlowe and Eartha Kitt. In Germany,
the real Faust’s home, he called the
show “An Evening With Orson Welles.”

16

"On second thought, George, I will accept your pin."

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1 hadnt the faintest notion what
this was all about. So 1 wrote at
once to Harding asking him what it
meant. He answered with a long let-
ter. What he had to tell me was ter-
rible. 1 will relate the bare and bru-
tal facts as shortly as 1 can. 1 learned
them partly from Harding's letter and
partly from what he and Bessie told
me when two years later I was with
them once more.

The Count and Laura took to one
another at once and Tito was pleased
to see how quickly they had formed
an affectionate friendship, for he was
as devoted to his father as he was in
love with his wife. He was glad that
the Count began to come more often
to Florence than he had been used to.
They had a spare room in the apart-
ment and on occasions he spent two
or three nights with them. He and
Laura would go bargain hunting in
the antique shops and buy old pieces
to put in the villa. He had tact and
knowledge and little by little the
house, with its great spacious marble
floors, lost its forlorn air and became
a friendly place to live in. Laura had
a passion for gardening and she and
the Count spent long hours together
planning and then supervising the
workmen who were restoring the
gardens to their ancient, rather stately,
beauty.

Laura made light of it when Tito's
financial difficulties forced them to
give up the apartment in Florence;
she had had enough of Florentine so-
ciety by then and was not displeased
to live altogether in the grand house
that had belonged to his ancestors.
Tito liked city life and the prospect
dismayed him, but he could not com-
ES since it was his own folly that

ad made it necessary for them to
cut down expenses. They still had
the car and hc amused himself by tak
ing long drives while his father and
Laura were busy, and if they knew
that now and then he went into Flor-
ence to have a flutter at the Club
they shut their eyes to it. So a year
passed. Then, he hardly knew why,
he was seized with a vague misgiving.
He couldn't put his finger on any-
thing; he had an uneasy feeling that
perhaps Laura didn't care for him so
much as she had at first; sometimes
it seemed to him that his father was
inclined to be impatient with him:
they appeared to have a great deal
to sav to one another but he got the
impression that he was being edged
out of their conversation, as though
he were a child who was expected to
sit still and not interrupt while his
elders talked of things over his head;
he had a notion that often his pre-
sence was unwelcome to them and
that thev were more at their ease
when he was not there. He knew
his father, and his reputation, but
the suspicion that arose in him was

(continued on page 56)

(continued from page 12)

Bessie gave her husband a look.

“L cannot imagine why I've lived
thirty years with a man 1 dislike so
much," she said. “They gave up the
apartment on the Lungarno. Laura
spent a good deal of money doing
things to the villa, there wasn't a
bathroom in it, she put in central
heating, and she had to buy a lot of
furniture to make it habitable, and
then Tito lost a small fortune play-
ing poker and poor Laura had to pay
up.
“Hadn't he got a job?"

"It didn't amount to anything and
it came to an end."

"What Bessie means by that is that
he was fired," Harding put in.

"Well, to cut a long story short,
they thought it would be more eco-
nomical to live at the villa and Laura
had the idea that it would keep
Tito out of mischief. She loves the
garden and she's made it lovely. Tito
simply worships her and the old
Count's taken quite a fancy to her.
So really it's all turned out very well."

"It may interest you to know that
Tito was in last Thursday," said
Harding. "He played like a madman
and I don't know how much he lost."

"Oh, Charley. He promised Laura
he'd never play again."

"As if a guides ever kept 4 prom-
ise like that. It'll be like last time.
He'll burst into tears and say he loves
her and it’s a debt of honour and un-
less he can get the money he'll blow
his brains out. And Laura will pay
as she paid before.”

"He's weak, poor dear, but that's
his own fault. Unlike most Italian
husbands he's absolutely faithful to
her and he's kindness itself.” She
looked at Harding with a sort of hum-
orous grimness. "I've yet to find a
husband who was perfect."

"You'd better start looking around
pretty soon, dear, or it'll be too late,"
he retorted with a grin.

I left the Hardings and returned
to London. Charley and I correspond-
ed in a desultory sort of way, and
about a year later 1 got a letter from
him. He told me as usual what he had
been doing in the interval, and men-
tioned that he had been to Monte-
catini for the baths and had gone
with Bessie to visit friends in Rome:
he spoke of the various people I knew
in Florence, So and So had just
bought a Bellini and Mrs. Such and
Such had gone to America to divorce
her husband. Then he went on: I
suppose you've heard about the San
Pietros. It's shaken us all and we can
talk of nothing else. Laura's terriblv
upset, poor thing, and she's going
to have a baby. The police keep on
questioning her and that doesn't make
it any easier for her. Of course
we brought her to stav here. Tito
comes up for trial in another month.

WOMAN OF FIFTY

to it She softened a little.

"All that is neither here nor there.
We don't arrange our children's mar-
riages in America. II Tito wants to
marry her let him ask her and if she's
prepared to marry him she'll presum-
ably say so."

"Unless 1 am greatly mistaken that
is just what he is doing now. 1 hope
with all my heart that he will be suc-
cessful.”

They strolled on and presently saw
walking towards them the two young

ople hand in hand. It was not dif
icult to guess what had passed. Tito
kissed Mrs. Clayton's hand and his
father on both cheeks.

"Mrs. Clayton, Papa, Laura has
consented to be my wife."

The engagement made something
of a sur in Florentine society and a
number of parties were given lor the
young people. It was quite evident
that Tito was very much in love, but
less so than Laura was. He was good
looking, adoring, high-spirited and
gay; it was likely enough that she
loved him; but she was a girl who
did not display emotion and she re-
mained what she had always been.
somewhat placid, amiable, serious but
friendly, and easy to talk to. I won:
dered to what extent she had been in-
fluenced to accept Tito's offer by his
great name, with its historical asso-
ciations, and the sight of that beauti-
ful house with its lovely view and the
romantic garden.

"Anyhow there's no doubt about its
being a love match on his side," said
Bessie Harding, when we were talking
it over. "Mrs. Clayton tells me that
neither Tito nor his father has shown
any desire to know how much Laura
has."

“Vd bet a million dollars that they
know to the last cent what she's got
and they've calculated. exactly how
much it comes to in lire," said Hard-
ing with a grunt.

"You're a beastly old man, darling."
she answered.

He gave another grunt.

Shortly after that 1 left Florence.
The marriage took place from the
Hardings house and a vast crowd
came to it, ate their food and drank
their champagne. Tito and his wife
took an apartment on the Lungarno
and the old Count returned to his
lonely villa in the hills. I did not go
to. Florence again for three years and
then only for a week. I was staying
once more with the Hardings. 1 asked
about my old friends and then re-
membered Laura and her mother.

"Mrs. Clayton. went back to San
Francisco," said Bessie, "and Laura
and Tito live at the villa with the
Count. They're very happy.”

“Any babies?"

"No."

"Go on," said Harding.

18

PLAYBOY

THE

ART

OF
HEINRICH
KLEY

C this and the next four pages,
you will find some of the won-
derful, satirical drawings of Hein-
rich Kley. A German painter of
some note, in the early 1900's Kley
turned from portraiture and still life
to the audacious pen work that
has made him famous.

Kley's world is a fantastic jungle
of nymphs, centaurs, people as
large as buildings, and elephants as

Kley's world is whi s cal ecc

r
pt. SSI ee

Drawings selected from “The Drawings of Heinrich Kley,"
Bordeo Publishing Cn., Los Angeles, California.

small as children. His humans rarely wear clothing, but
his animals may appear in top hats, coats, and spats.

In Kley's world, a proper, bookish gentleman dreams of
naked pleasure on a faraway island with champagne and
native girls, elephants dance ballet and visit urinals, women
suckle tigers and struggle with centaurs, and little people
drink from the skull of a friendly giant. Kley's art is, by

violent...

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turns, humorous, bizarre, frightening
—always fantastic—yet always catching
something of the real world, too. Few
artists have brought such vigor and
freshness to line work.

Considering the naturc of his art, the
rumor that Kley went insane and died
in an asylum is perhaps not too surpris-
ing. He actually died in 1942 of mal-
nutrition and general suffering in
one of Hitler's concentration. camps.

— 1 ih; حرا‎

LA NO
— vini lii 5

"Here's a quarter to stick around. I may

need your help later.”
24

— zA

THE PLAYBOY of the future will drive a car very much like this experimental
model, if Ford's designers have their way. The FX-Atmos will never be put into
production, but a number of its styling and engincering features will be included in
the future cars produced by the Ford Motor Company. ‘This low slung, twin-tailed,
plastic "dream car" is pearly white, accented by broad bands of red on the front
luggage compartment and rear wheel housings. From windshield to rear stabilizer
fins, the upper sides are icy blue. A clear plastic bubble canopy offers maximum
visibility. The car seats three; the engine is in the rear. Radar antennae jut out
where you'd expect to find headlights. Guided by radar, cars of the future will stay
on highways automatically—veer away from oncoming vehicles—making accidents
almost impossible.

25

PLAYBOY'S

PLAYMATE

THE

MONTH

UNA JUDO

| | | |

tales from the

DECAMERON

A new translation of one of the choicest stories from Boccaccio's bawdy classic.

I are powerless against the devil. To-
gether, we can put him into hell.”

"Let it be so, then," Alibech said.

"Bless you," murmured Rustico. And,
without more words, they put thc devil
in hell six times: a process which
wearied Rustico but left Alibech much
refreshed.

Thereafter, she would often return
to Rustico's cell and righteously de-
mand they do their duty by returning
the devil to hell. Indeed, the girl was
puzzled somewhat as to why the devil
ever left hell, since he seemed most
happy there and hell was glad to wcl-
come him.

This diligence of Alibech's proved
too much for Rustico, whose diet of
roots and water left him ill-equipped
to perform such holy tasks so fre-
quently. "The devil is vanquished!”
he would wail. "He no longer lifts his
head in pride. Let us leave him in

ace!"

While these religious questions were
being debated, it so happened that Ali-
bech's father died, leaving her sole heir
to his fortune. The courts were about
to. claim this legacy for the state since
Alibech was not present to receive it,
but a young man named Necrbale, who
was eager to marry into money, went
into the desert and brought her home,
much to the relief of Rustico.

Alibech and Neerbale were married.
At the wedding feast, the bride was
asked by some curious ladies how she
had served God in the desert. Alibech
told them, with words and gestures,
adding that Neerbale had sinned by
taking her from such pious work.

At this, the ladies laughed loud and
long and told her, "Fear not, little Ali-
bech. Neerbale surely knows how to
put the devil in hell, too, and he will be
the first to suggest that you serve God

in that way!"

the forces of the spirit were soon
routed and the flesh was victorious.
Rustico resigned himself to his fate
and, putting aside pious thoughts, set
his mind to planning how he might
enjoy this girl while sull appearing holy
in her eyes.

Casually, he asked some carefully
chosen questions, and by her answers
learned that she was unaware of the
basic difference between men and wom-
en: a charming, not to say excessive, in-
nocence which immediately made his
task easier. For now he saw a way to
quict his blood all in the name of piety.

He spoke to her of the devil and of
how God had condemned him to hell;

_ he told her that the devil was forever
escaping from hell and roaming the
world in various forms. The best serv-
ice a mortal could render to God, he as-
sured her, would be to return the devil
to hell where he belonged. — Alibech
asked how this might be donc.

"You will soon know," said Rustico.
"Merely do what I do.” What he did
was remove every stitch of clothing and
fall naked to his knecs in an attitude ol
prayer. Alibech did the same.

Since she was fair and well-made,
that miraculous phenomenon some call
the resurrection. of the flesh. was not
long in coming to Rustico. Amazed by
this wonder, Alibech asked what it was.

"Oh, my daughter," Rustico an-
swered, sorrowfully, “behold that very
devil of whom I spoke and sce how he
delights in vexing holy men.”

“Lam more fortunate than you," ob-
served Alibech, "for no such devil
troubles me."

“True,” replied Rustico, "but within
you is another thing no less evil."

“Oh!” she exclaimed. "What is
that?"

“Hell,” he said in sepulchral tones.
“I feel you were sent here by a Divine
Hand to save me from the devil. If you
truly wish to serve. God, this is your
chance, my daughter. Alone, you and

PUTTING THE DEVIL
IN HELL

In the heathen land of Barbary lived
Alibech, a young and beautiful virgin,
daughter of a wealthy merchant. Ali-
bech was not a Christian, but after
hearing many visiting Christians extol
their faith, she longed to know more
about it.

She asked one of the visitors how onc
might serve God. He replied they serve
God best who renounce all worldly
things and live alone in the manner of
the holy hermits of the desert.

Moved by these words and by a
youthful enthusiasm, Alibech set out
for the desert the very next morning.
After several days, she reached it and
found there the hut of a holy man. He
was much surprised to see a young girl
in the desert, and he asked her what
had brought her there. Alibech told
him she was seeking someone who
could teach her how best to serve God.

The good man gave her food and
drink but did not invite her to stay, for
he felt the urging of the blood within
him at the sight of her and dared not
trust himself in her presence. “My
daughter," he said, "a man far holier
than I dwells but a stone's throw from
here. I suggest you go to him."

Alibech did so, but this man, though
truly far holier than the first, felt his
blood dance in his veins, too, when he
looked upon her, and even he sent her
away.

At length, the weary Alibech came to
the cell of a young hermit named Rus-
tico. She told him her wishes, and (al-
though his blood was no cooler than
the others) he took her in, telling him-
self that thus he might put his piety to
the test.

The desert night was upon them
soon, and Rustico made her a little bed
of palm leaves. As she laid herself down
upon them, Rustico felt the powers of
the spirit and the flesh wage a mighty
battle in him. It was a short battle:

my daughter," said Rustico, sorrowfully,
ld that very devil of whom I spoke."

ILLUSTRATED BY LEON BELLIN

و

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—

in wa

Th

oe

y

AAA

“Is this one mine,
Mr. Grendler?”

“To you I'm just another
stick of furniture."

This guy Virgil Partch really
gets around. In previous issues
he's mauled Sex (it hasn't been
the same since) and Liquor
(we've been on the wagon since
that one). Now he's giving
Women the eye and recording
his experiences with them—
marital, extra-marital, inside
and outside, and all around the
town. Like the drawings that
have come before, we can only
say that these are pure Vip.

LITTLE

ONCE UPON A TIME, there was a little boy who played
the trumpet. "Alfonso Embouchure" was the name printed
on his musician's union card—City of Chicago, Local 369.

Alfonso lived in a small room of a Rush Street apartment
house. The room really wasn't bad at all, because Alfonso
was fond of mice anyway. And besides, as long as he had
a smooth board to sleep on, and an apple box to keep his
back issues of Down Beat in, Alfonso had no reason what-
ever to complain, or make a fuss.

Alfonso had a very unusual range. He also had a very
agile right hand and a very powerful pair of lungs. Wher-
ever Alfonso went, his trumpet went with him. And when
Alfonso blew into his trumpet, very very good jazz notes
came out of it.

Once when Alfonso was working as a lowly part-time ele-
vator operator in the Merchandise Mart, he stopped between
floors and played his trumpet for Harry James, who hap-
pened to be riding in his car. Alfonso will never forget the
moment when Mr. James turned to him and said, "Five,
please."

Not so long after that, Alfonso got his big ری‎ P e
chance to play at the Club Libido (which had a four-star
rating in Down Beat as a real solid jazz spot). It was not ex-
actly a full-time job. Alfonso's combo only worked on Tues-
days, when the regular outfit had the day off.

The job didn't pay very much—just a pork chop sandwich
and a cup of Squirt—but it was good experience. And expe-
rience was what Alfonso craved. Fame and fortune would
come later.

Alfonso's outfit featured Alfonso himsclf on trumpet and
a fellow named Morgan, whose entire musical talent con-
sisted of keeping time by hitting two bricks together.

Alfonso's combo was popular, but it finally broke up. Al-
fonso and his poma were always fighting over which one
of them should go out front and see how they sounded. No
one seems to know exactly what happened to Morgan after
that, although he was reportedly seen last squeezing oranges
in a Walgreen's Drug Store. As for Alfonso, well, it was just
a case of being caught between jobs again.

It was during this temporary set-back, that Alfonso met
Hipscat Hilliard, the famous old-time jazz man. Hipscat had
heard Alfonso play at the Club Libido.

“You play real fine trumpet, boy,” said kindly old Hips-
cat. “You play like I used to play when I was your age."

“Thank you," said Alfonso.

"You play from the heart, boy," said Hipscat.

“Thank you," said Alfonso.

"Don't go commercial, boy," said Hipscat. “Stay with jazz.
Stay with the real music!"

III try," said Alfonso, leaning against a wall for support.

"What'samatter, boy?" Hipscat asked. “You look ill!”

“I'm hungry," Alfonso said. "I lost my job and I haven't
eaten this week."

"Doesn't matter," said Hipscat. "Good for a jazz man to
suffer. Makes your music real. Play from the heart, boy—
not from the stomach!"

“Yes, sir," said Alfonso.

A few days later a lucky break saved Alfonso from starva-
tion. Dizzy Gillespie sent a wire to Samuel and Franklin
Plotnik, the owners of Club Libido, saying that he was un-
able to accept their two-week booking. So Samuel and
Franklin Plotnik had to start thinking real hard about who
they could get to replace him.

“How about that crazy trumpet player we had here last
month—the one who played fill-ins on "Tuesdays?" asked
Samuel.

“The nut who played through the intermissions and did

“

satire

ILLUSTRATED
BY JACK NELSON

When Alfonso blew into his trumpet,

by Bob Perlongo

chestra director said.

"Yes, sir," said Alfonso. "I better go some place."

Alfonso hung his head and walked very slowly out of the
network studio. Alfonso was despondent.

He wandered unhappily down Rush Street ull he found
himself at the door of Hipscat Hilliard. He went in.

“Hipscat,” Alfonso said, “I don't think I'm ever going to
make the grade."

“The trouble is," said Hipscat, “you're reaching for a note
that no trumpet man in the world can play."

"As a matter of fact, that isn't the trouble at all. It's just
that

“——A note that doesn’t exist."

"No," said Alfonso. “I'm afraid you don't understand

"Forget that high note," Hipscat went on. "Forget about
hitting a note that doesn't exist."

“But I'm not —"

"Play from the heart, boy," said kindly old Hipscat, "and
let the notes blow where they may."

“That's all very good," Alfonso said irritably. “But that's
not what I'm worried about. You See-“

"You can't keep a good trumpet player down," Hipscat
cut in. "Not if that man plays from the heart."

Alfonso began to get mad. He took out his mouthpiece
and blew very very hard through it.

"You play a mean mouthpiece," Hipscat observed.

“But the trouble is," said Alfonso, "I can't read music."

“Why didn't you say so in the first place?”

"I've been trying to."

"No need to worry about rcading music, boy," said Hips
cat. "Why, when I used to play my horn in New Orleans
twenty years ago, nobody worried about reading music, I
tell you."

"But unless I learn how to rcad music I won't gct a fabu-
lously paying job with a big network studio orchestra," Al-
fonso said. "You see, they're looking for a trumpet player."

"A big network studio orchestra, ch?" said Hipscat.

"Yes," said Alfonso. “They got an ad in the latest issuc of
Down Beat."

"Well, don't worry about it, son," Hipscat said. "Bands
like that will ruin you. They'll make you commercial and
you won't be able to play the real music anymore. You just
play from the heart like 1 told you. That's the important
thing."

“Thank you," said Alfonso. "I can see now how mixed up
I was. I can sec now, if I learned to read it might ruin me."

“That's right," said Hipscat warmly. "Now take your
horn and go play the blues. From the heart."

Alfonso walked out of Hipscat's little room feeling very.
very warm inside. He tightened his grip on his horn.

Let them point at me, Alfonso thought. Let them say.
“There goes a musician who can't read music!” Alfonso
knew that no jazz man worth the name ever read from
printed sheets. How could he and still play from the heart?

It was all too clear.

Perhaps he would never be as rich or as famous as he'd
hoped. But leave that to the Guy Lombardos and Sammy
Kayes. He would have something more——something finer.
Hadn't Hipscat said it?

The very next week Alfonso got booked into the Club
Libido for two solid weeks, with options, at $22.50 per: that
same wcek a big network studio orchestra gave a fabulously
paying job to a trumpet player named Hipscat Hilliard.

very very good jazz notes came out of it.

BOY'S BLUES

sixteen encores every night?" asked Franklin.

“That's the one."

“The screwball who worked for a pork chop sandwich
and a cup of Squirt?”

“That's the one."

"Call him up," Franklin said. "And why don'tcha buy
some crayolas when you're in the Loop this afternoon, so
we can make up a real nice sign for him."

So Alfonso Embouchure got his first, honest-to-goodness,
full-time job as a jazz trumpet player. The pay was still not
very much—twenty dollars a week and all the maraschino
cherries he could eat—but he was on his way, and that's what
counted. Fame and fortune were nearer his grasp now, and
the big break might be just around the corner.

His two-week engagement at the Club Libido permitted
Alfonso to buy a smoother board to sleep on and a bigger
apple box to keep his Down Beats in. He also had enough
left over to buy a pair of horn-rimmed glasses, so all the cats
would know he was a cool one.

Almost three months passed before Alfonso received the
big break he'd been hoping for. He saw, in the pages of the
most recent issue of Down Beat, an ad. A big network sta-
tion had an opening for a trumpet player in its studio or-
chestra. The ad said a fabulous salary awaited the right
man.

Alfonso immediately called the studio, and an audition
was set for the following Monday. Alfonso vowed he would
be ready. He went into training.

All that week he did not drink any bad liquids. And he
did not smoke any cigarettes. Not even the kind you buy in
packs, at stores.

Alfonso practiced every minute. When he was out in pub-
lic and could not practice on the trumpet, he would practice
on the mouthpicce.

"Why do you always blow through that little thing for?”
asked the waitress at Alfonso's favorite Rush Street eating

lace.

"Shut up and gimme my milk," Alfonso would explain.

On Monday Alfonso was ready. He put on his new horn-
rimmed glasses, tucked his trumpet under his arm, and
walked to the network studio.

The studio orchestra director made Alfonso sit on a fold-
up chair, and gave him some sheets of music to set on his
music stand.

"What is this?" Alfonso asked, holding the sheets before
him and looking very, very hard at them.

"The music," the orchestra director said.
we're going to play."

And then Alfonso became very shaky at the knees for he
had never learned to read music that was printed on sheets
because he was a jazz player and all jazz players ad lib.

And then the orchestra director walked out in front and
held up his baton. “The first number will be 'Stars and
Suipes Forever, sheet number 47," he announced.

After a short pause, allowing the musicians to find their
places, the orchestra director pushed his baton down
through the air.

‘The orchestra started to play "Stars and Stripes Forever."
Well, most of the orchestra. Alfonso was lost. Alfonso was
playing bridges from "When the Saints Go Marching In."

The face of the orchestra director became very red. He
whacked his baton against the side of his music stand.

“Embouchure!” he shouted, “What the hell's wrong with
you?"

“I think my valves are a little rusty," Alfonso shamefacedly
said. “They're acting up on me.”

"You better go some place and oil your valves," the or-

“The music

"Yeah," said the companion.
"She's a lousy shot!"

T he mother entered the darkened
room unexpectedly and found
daughter and boyfriend in pas-
sionate embrace on the sofa.

“Well—I never!" exclaimed
mother.

“But, mother, you must have!”
said daughter.

Paul Revere's horse galloped
down the country road. The life
of the colonies depended on his
warning the people that the
British were coming. He ap-
proached a farm house.

“Is your husband at home?" he
called to the woman feeding
chickens in the yard.

"He's back in the barn, Paul,’
she answered.

“Tell him to get his musket
and go to the village square. The
Redcoats are coming!"

The exchange of words had
taken but an instant; Revere's
horse had not broken its stride.
The famous patriot thundered
off towards the next farm.

"Is your husband at home?"
Revere called to the woman in
the doorway of the next farm
house he approached.

"He's asleep in his room,
Paul," she said.

“Tell him to get on his
clothes,” Revere cried. “The Min-
ute Men are meeting at the vil-
lage square. The British are
coming!”

Horse and rider galloped on to
sull another home.

"Is vour husband at home?” he
called to the handsome woman
who leaned out the window.

“He's gone to New Amsterdam
and won't be back till Sunday,”
she said.

“Whoa-a-a!"

Greatly embarrassed, the farm-
er took his son outside. “Is that
any way to talk in front of the
reverend?” he demanded. "Why
couldn't you have said the bull
‘surprised’ the brown cow. I
would've understood. Now go
back down to the pasture and
come tell me when the bull is
finished."

A few minutes later the boy
again burst into the room.

"Dad, Dad——" he exclaimed.

Fearing another breach of
verbal etiquette, the father in-
terrupted.

"| know, I know," he said.
“The bull has surprised the white
cow.

“He sure has," exclaimed the
excited boy. “He the
brown cow again!"

“Your wife will probably hit the

cciling when you get home to-
night,” said the bar fly to his
drinking companion.

The husband finally wised up to
the fact that his wife was some-
thing less than faithful. He pur
a private investigator on her tail,
and within a week, had the name
and address of the “other man.”

“No sonofabitch is going to
break up my home,” the hus-
band snarled indignantly to him-
self. "My loving wife would be
truc to me today, il this sneaky
guy hadn't come on the scene!”

Sull, the husband prided him-

self on his sophistication, and
determined to handle the situa-
tion in a businesslike way. He
called in his secretary and dic-
tated this letter:
“Sir: It has been called to my
attention that for some time now
you have been carrying on an al-
fair with my wife. So that we
can settle this matter intelligent-
ly, please see me in my office at
3 P.M. sharp on Friday.”

The “other man,” amused by
the husband’s formal manner,
called in his own secretary and
dictated this reply:

"Dear Sir: Received your circu-
lar letter this morning. You are
advised that I will attend. the
scheduled conference on time.”

The farmer had borrowed a bull
from a neighbor to service his
two cows. Ie put the beast in
the pasture and instructed his
son to keep an eye on them. "As
soon as the bull has finished, you
come up to the house and tell
me," he said.

When the farmer got back to
the house, he found the reverend
there paying a social call. They
were scated in the front room
sipping tea when the boy burst
in the door.

"Dad, Dad,”
“the bull just
cow!”

he exclaimed,
the brown

had a short guest?"

D

^
— VOR
y

“But suppose we

Laura went very pale and glanced
at the Count.

"You have no right to speak to
Laura like that," he said. "You are
an ill-mannered oaf.”

“I shall speak to my wife exactly
as 1 choose.”

“You are mistaken. So long as you
are in my house you will treat her
with the respect which is her right
and vour duty."

"When I want a lesson in behaviour
from you Father, 1 will let vou know."

"You are very impertinent, “Tito.
You will kindly leave the room.”

He looked very stern and digni-
fied and Tito, furious and yet slight-
ly intimidated, leapt to his feet and
stalked out slamming the door be-
hind him. He took the car and drove
into Florence. He won quite a lot of
money that day (lucky at cards, un-
lucky in love) and to celebrate his
winning got more than a little drunk.
He did not go back to the villa till
the following morning. Laura was
as friendly and placid as ever, but
his father was somewhat cool, No
reference was made to the scene. But
from then on things went from bad
to worsc. Tito was sullen and moody,
the Count critical, and on occasion
sharp words passed between them.
Laura did not interfere, but Tito
gained the impression that after a dis-
pute that had been more than acrim-
onious Laura interceded with his
father, for the Count thenceforth, re-
fusing to be annoyed began to treat
him with the tolerant patience with
which you would treat a wayward
child. He convinced himself that they
were acting in concert and his sus-
picions grew formidable. They even
increased. when Laura in her good-
natured way, saying that it must be
very dull for him to remain so much
in the country, encouraged him to go
more often to Florence to see his
friends. He jumped to the conclusion
that she said this only to be rid of
him. He began to watch them. He
would enter suddenly a room in which
he knew they were, expecting to
catch them in a compromising posi-
tion or silently follow them to a se-
cluded part of the garden. They
were chatting unconcernedly of tri-
vial things. Laura greeted him with
a pleasant smile. He could put his
finger on nothing to confirm his tor-
turing suspicions. He started to drink.
He grew nervous and irritable. He
had no proof, no proof whatever,
that there was anything between
them, and yet in his bones he was cer-
tain that they were grossly, shocking-
ly deceiving him. He brooded till he
felt he was going mad. A dark aching
fire within him consumed his vitals.
On one of his visits to Florence he
bought a pistol. He made up his
mind that if he could only have proof
of what was in his heart he was certain

(continued on page 45)

WOMAN OF FIFTY (continued from page 18)

with his father and one day he sug-
gested that they should go back to
live in Florence. Laura and the Count
were astonished that he should pro-
pose such a thing and would not
hear of it. Laura said that, having
spent so much money on the villa,
she couldn't afford to set up another
establishment, and the Count that
it was absurd to leave it, now that
Laura had made it so comfortable,
to live in a wretched apartment in
the city. An argument started and
Tito got rather excited. He took some
remark of Laura's to mean that if she
lived at the villa it was to keep him
out of temptation. This reference
to his loses at the poker table
angered him.

"You always throw your money in
my face," he said passionately. "Tf I'd
wanted to marry money I'd have had
the sense to marry someone who had
a great deal more than you."

so horrible that he refused to enter-
tain it. And yet sometimes he caught
a look passing between them that dis-
concerted him, there was a tender
possessiveness in his fathers eyes, a
sensual complacency in Laura's, which,
if he had seen it in others, would have
convinced him that they were lovers.
But he couldn't, he wouldn't, believe
that there was anything between them.
The Count couldn't help making love
to a woman and it was likely enough
that Laura felt his extraordinary fas-
cination, but it was shameful to sup-
pose for a moment that they, these
two people he loved, had formed a
criminal, almost an incestuous, con-
nection. He was sure that Laura had
no idea that there was anything more
in her fceling than the natural af-
fection of a young, happily married
woman for her father-in-law. Notwith-
standing he thought it better that she
should not remain in everyday contact

FEMALE SEX TYPES
by COLE

7

FAR

The Spinster

36

PLAYBOY

J UNE is a very ımportant month to the women.
Tradition—and society columnists—decree that a female without a mate by
June is washed up matrimonially for the year. So in the month of orange blossoms,
woman's pursuit of man reaches its climax.

Woman becomes more heated, more desperate—and much more dangerous. She
asks no quarter and gives none.

If the besieged bachelor is to escape with his skin, he must cither take to the hills

or arm himselí with some fundamental facts about his adversary. To understand the
enemy is to be protected against her.

Realizing that a June-inspired girl is twice as lethal as the common July-to-May
variety, the male who prizes his freedom must remember these truths:

1.)Woman wants to be a wife long before man wants to be a husband.

by BURT ZOLLO Unlike many-sided man, woman has only one goal in life—marriage. In infancy
she plays house. In adolescence, she dreams of her "Prince Charming." In her teens,
she packs a “hope chest." Before she is twenty, she is hungering—and scheming—
for a life of "wedded bliss."

If she goes to college, it isn't for an education. She's interested in just one sub-
ject—animal husbandry. And you're the animal.

Should the academic life prove unproductive, she becomes a sophisticated 9-to-5
"career girl." But the career she has set for herself is landing a man.

At social gatherings, and on dates, she may seem gay and carefree, but don't
be taken in. Under the smile and thc light laugh, she's deadly serious. She's making
plans—big plans—life-long plans—and they include a man—quite possibly you.

And as the years pass—as twenty turns into twenty-one—and then into twenty-two,
the marriage-urge becomes more intense. Interest turns into concern—concern into
anxiety-anxiety into panic! A single male is a bachelor all of his years; a single
woman, after twenty-five, is an old maid.

It is often suggested that woman is more romantic than man. If you'll excuse

Open Season on BACHELORS

This article is for bachelors only—the rest of you will have to read it when nobody's looking

12
~J

"She makes with the eyes in public and
the elbows in private."

There's a reason—there always is.

The open display of allection con-
vinces the guy's friends that the girl
is crazy about him and that she is a
very desirable dish; the hands off at-
titude when they're alone keeps him
continually frustrated and unsure of
himself. With public prompting sup-
ported by his own private urgings, the
man weakens, falters and is hooked.

Woman often takes advantage of
man’s innate goodness. The “you took
advantage of me” technique works be-
cause man, basically, is a good fellow
and wants to do the right thing. The
smart girl parlays these sterling quali-
ties into feelings of guilt over some
trifling affair, and with a little more
psychological hocus S, convinces
the sucker that the guilt feelings are
really love. A neat swap—the girl's
virtue (?) for a life of security and
relative ease.

3.) Never underestimate the adver.
sary.

You're most vulnerable when you
think you've got the upper hand. Don't
drop your guard for a moment. Start
assuming that these truths only apply
to the other guys' girls and that the
sweet young thing that's been hang-
ing around your door is the exception,
and, brother, you've had it.

Face up to the problem squarely.
Consider what's at stake. Take a good
look at the sorry, regimented hus-
bands trudging down every woman-
dominated street in this woman-domin-
ated land. Check what they're doing
when you're out on the town with a
different dish every night—see how
often the "little woman" lets them
enjoy those all night poker sessions
and weekend fishing trips.

Take a good look at the men who've
already fallen into the pit. Look—
but don't bother asking their advice.
Almost to the man, they'll tell you
marriage is the greatest. Naturally. Do
you expect them to admit they made
the biggest mistake of their lives?
Even a man married ten years has
some pride left. Besides, married men
want bachelors to get hooked. Misery
loves company.

None of this is meant to suggest
that you become a hermit or stick to
strictly male company. Not on your
life. The true playboy can enjoy the
pleasures the female has to offer with-
out becoming emotionally involved.
Like the little bee, he flits from flow-
er to flower, sipping the sweet nec-
tars where he finds them, but never
tarries too long at any one blossom.

Armed with the basic truths set
down here, you may successfully avoid
wedlock during this month of Tune.
You may, in fact, continue to enjoy
the freedom of bachelorhood indefin-
itelv. You may, but we doubt it.

of her way to get you hot and both-
ered, then give you the "not until
we're married" business.

If she will let you, you'll get the
"you took advantage of me, now
you've got to marry me" routine.

And, in extreme cases, you'll be
subjected to the "I'm pregnant" tech-
nique, which may or may not be true,
and if it is, may or may not have any-
thing to do with you.

Sex also has a number of subtler
ramifications. The clever girl can
tease a fellow along until he's so
worked up he confuses passion for
love.

Or, she may use the “yes-no” tech-
nique, a variation of the old “now-you-
see-it-now-you-don't" shell game, in
which the girl crawls all over the
fellow when theyre in a crowd and
won't let him near her when they're
alone.

“What's with this doll?" he mumbles.

an ecclesiastical expression—phooey!

Man is the real romantic. It is man
who loves freedom, exploration, ad-
venture, the conquest of new worlds,
the search for new truths.

All woman wants is security. And
she's perfectly willing to crush man's
adventurous, freedom-loving spirit to
get it.

2)Watch out for sex.

This sounds like the sort of advice
mothers give to bright-eyed female vir-
gins, ages ten to fourteen, and you
may be wondering what it's doing in
a man-to-man article like this. Patience,
and you will see.

From Bathsheba to Babs Hutton,
woman has developed numerous plots
and counter-plots to defeat man. Her
single, most decisive weapon is sex.

The uses and abuses of sex are
endless.

If she won't let you, she'll go out

“With this ring 1 thee . . .”

PLAYBOY

A few months back photographer Andre de Dienes
sent us some delightful pictures of the interior
of his home. We printed them in the January
issue and afterward we wondered whether the
surrounding California landscape might not be
just as interesting. We asked Andre about
that and he wrote back that it is and sent
more photographs to prove it. We've never seen
rocks, sand, and fields of grain as fascinating
as those in Andre's section of the country.

"Do you have any red ones?"

42

PLAYBO!Y

TestiNg Your PersonAlity

By Roger Price

Playboy’s science editor explains the complexities

of psychological testing, with particular emphasis

on the Schwine-Kitzenger Personality Test.

of ink blots to a subject and then
analyzing his reactions to them.

The Schwine-Kitzenger Test was
an imaginative extension of this.
Schwine and Kitzenger would have the
subject come into the office and sit
down on a fried egg.

Then they would analyze the seat
of his trousers.

This was messy, but profitable, as
on the side Kitzenger ran a clean-
ing. establishment.

In the light of present-day know-
ledge, the results obtained seem
crude, but then, we must remember,
so were Schwine and Kitzenger.

Let us glance at a few sample of

analyses obtained by this method.
(Figure 1, reprinted by permission
from The American Poultryman

Journal, April 2. 1935.)

Schwine and Kitzenger were forced
to abandon this test in 1936, when
Kitzenger's license was revoked (not
his medical license, but his cleaning-
establishment license). The next two

FIGURE II

43

But being scientists, rational and
civilized men, they approached the

situation unemotionally and worked
out an adult solution. Whenever
Schwine would come home unex-

pectedly and discover Kitzenger with
Mrs. Schwine, Kitzenger would grab
a bascball bat and beat the bejezus out
of him.

To get back to the test (1 believe
that pausing to include a little human-
interest story such as the above lends
a note of warmth and personal un-
derstanding to the study of these theo-
ries)—as it is now used, the Schwine-
hitzenger Test is the climax of a long
series of painstaking experiments.
Originally, it was based on the Ror-
schach Ink-Blot Test, which is, ol
course, well known to all of vou read-
ers who have been treated for mental
disorders. For the benefit of any
readers who have not been treated for
mental disorders (the group we refer
to as the Squares“). the Rorschach
Test consists of showing a succession

©

humor

EVERYONE has a personality. Per-
sonalities fall into two basic cate-
gories, Extroverted and Introverted.
Introverts and Extroverts are easily
recognized with the naked eye, but
when you try to define the more sub-
tle variations of these types you need
help.

In my studies of people, Ive found
no better or more easily applied meth-
od of determining Personality Type
than the Schwine-Kitzenger Test.

The Schwine-Kitzenger Test was
devised by Dr. Schwine and Dr. Kitz-
enger, who came from opposite schools
of psychology. Actually, Schwine and
Kitzenger only had one thing in com-
mon—Mrs. Schwine.

This awkward situation, if it had
involved persons who were not so
well adjusted, might have created a
problem that would have interfered
with their work. You see, Schwine
knew that Kitzenger was fond of Mrs.
Schwine, and Kitzenger knew that
Schwine knew that he was, etc.

© ==

FRIED EGG Stain No. 1 Stain No. 2 Stain No. 3
BEFORE TEST Subject un- Subject Subject is fat
trustworthy sits cautious:
down sideways very careful
sitter
FIGURE |

(Scale 1/20th actual size)

Figure VI is another example of the
specialized doodle.

This doodle was drawn by Mrs.
Schwine while she was talking on thc
telephone to Dr. Schwine. It shows a
generous, affectionate nature and a
great interest in murder mysteries.

“Murder mysteries” bring to mind
an example ol how this test was able
to help. a friend of mine, Maxwell
M——.*

Back home, everyone always ex-
pected that Maxwell would do big
things in the world because he had
always been so precocious. He was
the only baby in town who ever
sucked his thumb through a straw. But
as Maxwell grew up he couldn't seem
to find his niche in life, and no one
could help him because no one in
town knew what "niche" meant.

l decided to try to help Maxwell by
analyzing his personality, and 1 had
him collect a few of his doodles. (See
Figure VII)

From these doodles, I determined
that Maxwell was best suited for de-
tective work. and later events bore
out my opinion one hundred per cent.

Maxwell got a job on the police
force. One day a home was burglar-
ized by a thief who wore calfskin
gloves. Maxwell was assigned to the
case and took fingerprints of every-
thing. After studying the fingerprints
carefully, he whipped into action. And
just six months later he arrested a
cow in Kansas City.

SUMMARY: Using this test, you
should now be able to analyze your
own personality in no timc at all. If
vou have any trouble, vou can bring
your doodles to Schwine and Kitzen
ger personally. WARNING: Do not
send your doodles through the mails.
Schwine and Kitzenger have had a lot
of trouble with the postal authorities
in this regard. Telephone Mrs.
Schwine in New York for an appoint
ment.

BIBLIOGRAPHY: — Kitzenger, My
Method of Testing Personality with
Doodles (1944), Schwine, MY Method
of Testing Personality with Doodles;
Kitzenger Had Nothing to Do with it
der

* This is not an —Ü lo conccal his
identity. M——— happened to be his

last name.

years were spent trving out other types
of tests.

One device was quite ingenious, but
it could only be used to determine
the Personality Type of males. They
would take the subject and lock him
in a room with a young lady (a Miss
Patricia Delray). In one wall of thc
room was a concealed window, and
once the subject was locked in,
Schwine and Kitzenger would peep
through the window and study what
went on. Occasionally thev would in-
vite scientifically minded friends over
to peep through the window with
them. ‘The tests attracted so much in-
terest that soon they weren't able
to accommodate all of the friends
who would drop by, even after they
raised the prices.

They had to give up this test be
cause of an accident. One evening the
bleachers Kitzenger had put up col.
lapsed, and fourteen members of the
Elks’ Club were injured.

It wasn't until. 1944 that Schwine
and Kitzenger thought of the idea
upon which the present test is based,
doodles. Now, doodles are little draw-
ings we make with our subconscious
mind (or a pencil; whichever is hand-
ier) while our conscious mind is busy
talking on the telephone or some-
thing.

From a study of doodles, we
(Schwine, Kitzenger, and 1) are able
to tell just what kind of personality
the doodler has.

There are several basic types of
doodles. Figure II, called the "conserva-
tive doodle,” consists of geometric
shapes drawn so as to form an order-
ly, balanced design.

If you make this type of doodle,
you have a stable, organized personal-
ity, a mathematical approach to life,
and wear long-johns in the winter.

Another, more involved, type looks
like Figure III.

If you are this sort of doodler, you
have a highly developed imagination
and a dangerous sacroiliac condition.

Sometimes, the doodles take strange
elongated forms, like Figure IV.

This doodle indicates only one
thing—hiccups.
Many people doodle with words

and symbols, instead of drawings. Re-
cently I came across an interesting
example that looked like Figure V.

This is a rather specialized doodle.
being done exclusively by night-club
waiters.

FIGURE Ill

(+6 2 18.504 tax

FIGURE V

FIGURE VI

FIGURE VII

IV

FIGURE

44

mistaken her American freedom آہ‎
behaviour for a criminal passion. On
the face of it Tito's charge was ab-
surd. Carlo di San Pietro was nearly
thirty years older than she, an clder-
ly man with white hair; who could
suppose that there could have been
anything between her and the Count,
when her husband was young, hand-
some and in love with her?

It was in Harding's presence that
she saw the examining magistrate and
the lawyers who had been engaged to
defend Tito. They had decided to
plead insanity. Experts for the defence
examined him and decided that he
was insane, experts for the prosecu-
tion examined him and decided that
he was sanc. The fact that he had
bought a pistol three months before

WOMAN OF FIFTY (continued from page 36)

out of his hand. The police were seat
for. He spent most of his time in pris-
on weeping; he would not eat and
had to be forcibly fed: hc told the ex-
amining magistrate that he had killed
his father because he was his wife's
lover. Laura. examined and examined
again, swore that there had never
been anything between the Count and
herself but a natural affection. The
murder filled the Florentine public
with horror. The Italians were con-
vinced of her guilt, but her friends,
English and American, felt that she
was incapable of the crime of which
she was accused. They went about say-
ing that Tito was neurotic and insane-
lv jealous and in his stupid way had

he would kill them both.

I don't know what brought on the
final catastrophe. All that came out
at the trial was that, driven beyond
endurance, Tito had gone one night
to his father’s room to have it out
with him. His father mocked and
laughed at him. They had a furious
quarrel and Tito took out his pistol
and shot the Count dead. Then he
collapsed in a nervous crisis and fell,
weeping hysterically, on his father’s
body; the repeated shots brought Laura
and the servants rushing in. He
jumped up and grabbed the pistol.
to shoot himself he said afterwards,
but he hesitated or they were too
quick for him, and they snatched it

“Now that I have your undivided attention, we ll proceed.”

the Club and I was having a cup of
tea with Bessic and we were again
talking over these tragic happenings
she said to me:

^You know, Charley hasn't told vou
the whole story because he doesn't
know it. I never told him. Men arc
funny in some ways: theyre much
morc easily shocked than women.”

I raised my eyebrows, but said notli
ing.

“Just before Laura went away we
had a talk. She was very low and 1
thought she was grieving over the loss
of her baby. | wanted to say some-
thing to help her. 'You mustn't take
the baby's death too hardly, 1 said.
'As things are perhaps it's beuer it
died.” "Why? she said. ‘Well, I said.
‘think what the poor little thing's fu
ture would have been with a murder-
er for his father.” She looked at me for
a moment in that strange quiet way
ol hers. And then what you think
she said?”

"b haven't a noticn," said J.

"She said: "What makes you think
his father was a murderer? 1 felt my-
self grow as red is a turkey cock.
ا‎ could hardly believe my cars.
Laura. what do you mean? | said.
‘You were in court, she said. ‘You
heard me say Carlo was my lover.’ “

Bessie Harding stared at me as she
must have stared at Laura.

"What did you say then?" I asked.

"What was there for me to say? I
said nothing. I wasn't so much horri-
fied, I was bewildered. Laura looked
at me, and believe it or not, I'm con
vinced there was a twinkle in her
eyes. I felt a perfect fool."

"Poor Bessie,” I smiled.

Poor Bessie, I repeated to myself
now as I thought of this strange story.
She and Charley were long since dead
and by their dcath 1 had lost good
friends. I went to sleep then, and next
day Wyman Holt took me for a long
drive.

We were to dine with the Greenes
at seven and we reached their house
on the dot. Now that I had remem-
bered who Laura was I was filled with
an immense curiosity to see her again.
Wyman had exaggerated nothing.
The living-room into which we went
was the quintessence of commonplace.
It was comfortable enough, but there
was not a trace of personality in it.
It might have been furnished en bloc
by a mail-order house. It had the
bleakness of a government office. I
was introduced first to my host Jasper
Greene and then to his brother Emery
and to his brother's wife Fanny. Jas-
per Greene was a large, plump man
with a moon face and a shock of
black, coarse, unkempt hair. He wore
large cellulose-rimmed spectacles. I
was staggered bv his youth. He could
not have been much over thirty and
and therefore nearly twenty years

(continued overleaf)

Harding tried to dissuade her, but
she was decided.

“I should never have a moment's
peace if | knew that Tito had to
spend the rest of his life alone in a
prison cell.”

And that is what happened. The
trial opened. She was called and un-
der oath stated that for more than a
year her father-in-law had been her
lover. Tito was declared insane and
sent to an asylum. Laura wanted to
leave Florence at once, but in Italy
the. preliminaries to a trial are endless
and by then she was near her time.
Ihe Hardings insisted on her remain-
ing with them till she was confined.
She had a child, a boy, but it lived
only twenty-four hours. Her plan was
to go back to San Francisco and live
with her mother till she could find a
job. for Tito’s extravagance, thc
money she had spent on the villa,
and the cost of the trial had seriously
impoverished her.

It was Harding who told me most
of this; but one day when he was at

he committed the dreadful crime
went to prove that it was premed-
itated. It was discovered that he was
deeply in debt and his creditors were
pressing him; the only means he had
of settling. with them was by selling
the villa, and his father’s death put
him in possession of it. There is no
capital punishment in Italy, but mur-
der with premeditation is punished
by solitary confinement for life. On
the approach of the trial the lawyers
came to Laura and told her that the
only way in which hc could be saved
from this was for her to admit in
court that the Count had been her
lover. Laura went very pale. Hard-
ing protested violentlv. He said they
had no right to ask her to perjurc
herself and ruin her reputation to
save that shiftless, drunken gambler
whom she had been so unfortunate
as to marry. Laura remained silent
for a while.

"Very well,” she said at last, "if
that's the only way to save him TH
do it."

“Pm afraid, Miss Kipulski, we are running out of clay.”

46

PLAYBOY

47

PLAYBOY

and 1 got back to his house. We de-
cided to have a bottle of beer be-
fore going to bed and went into the
kitchen to fetch. it. The clock in the
hall struck. eleven. and at that mo-
ment the phone rang. Wyman went to
answer it and when he came back was
quietly chortling to himself.

“What's the joke?” I asked.

"It was one of my students. They're
not supposed to call members of the
faculty after ten-thirty, but he was
all hot and bothered. He asked me
how evil had come into the world."

"And did you tell him?"

“I told him that St. Thomas
Aquinas had got hot and bothered too
about that very question and he'd
better worry it out for himself. I said
that when he found the solution he
was to call me no matter what time
it was. Two o'clock in the morning
if he liked."

“I think you're pretty safe not to
be disturbed for many à long night,"
I said.

"I won't conceal from vou that 1
have formed prety much the same
impression myself,” he grinned.

| m 1
|
|

|

of ilicit love, jealousy and parricide
which would have been meat to one
of Shakespeare's successors, but had he
treated it, I suppose he would have
felt bound to finish it with at least
one more corpse strewn about the
stage. The end of her story, as I
knew it now, was unexpected cer-
tainly but sadly prosaic and a trifle
grotesque. Real life more often ends
things with a whimper than with a
bang. I wondered too why she had
gone out of her wav to renew our old
acquaintance. Of course she had no
reason to suppose that I knew as
much as I did; perhaps with a true
instinct. she was confident that I
would not give her away; perhaps she
didn't care if I did. I stole a glance
at her now and then while she was
quietly listening to the excited bab-
bling of the three young people, but
her friendly, pleasant face told me
nothing. If I hadn't known otherwise
I would have sworn that no untoward
circumstances had ever troubled the
course of her uneventful life.

The evening came to an end and
this is the end of mv story, but for thc
fun of it 1 am going to relate a small
incident that happened when Wyman

younger than Laura. His brother,
Emery, a composer and teacher in a
New York school of music, might have
been seven or eight and twenty. His
wile, a pretty little thing, was an ac-
tress for the moment out of a job.
Jasper Greene mixed us some very
adequate cocktails but for a trifle
too much vermouth, and we sat down
to dinner. The conversation was gay
and even boisterous. Jasper and his
brother were loud-voiced and all
three of them, Jasper, Emery and
Emery's wife, were loquacious talkers.
They chaffed one another, they joked
and laughed; they discussed art, liter-
ature, music and the theatre. Wyman
and 1 joined in when we had a chance,
which was not often; Laura did not
try to. She sat at the head of the table,
serene, with an amused, indulgent
smile on her lips as she listened to
their scatterbrained nonsense: it was
not stupid nonsense, mind you, it was
intelligent and modern, but it was
nonsense all the same. There was
something maternal in her attitude
and I was reminded oddly of a sleek
dachshund lying quietly in the sun
while she looked lazily, and yet watch-
fully, at her litter of puppies romp-
ing round her. ۱ wondered whether
it crossed her mind that all this chat-
ter about art didn't amount to much
when compared with those incidents
of blood and passion that she re-
membered. But did she remember? It
had all happened a long time ago and
perhaps it seemed no more than a bad
dream. Perhaps these commonplace
surroundings were part of her deliber.
ate effort to forget, and to be among
these young pcople was restful to
her spirit. Perhaps Jasper's clever stu-
pidity was a comfort. After that sear-
ing tragedy it might be that she want-
ed nothing but the security of the
humdrum.

Possibly because Wyman was an
authority on Elizabethan drama the
conversation at one moment touched
on that. | had already discovered that
Jasper Greene was prepared to lay
down the law on subjects all and
sundrv. and now he delivered him-
self as follows:

“Our theatre has gone all to pot
because the dramatists of our day are
afraid to deal with the violent emo-
tions which are the proper subject
matter of tragedy,” he boomed. “In
the sixteenth century they had a
wealth of melodramatic and bloody
themes to suit their purpose and so
they produced great plays. But where
can our playwrights look for themes?
Our Anglo-Saxon blood is too phleg-
matic, too supine, to provide them
with material thev can make anvthing
of, and so they are condemned to
occupy themselves with the triviali-
ties of social intercourse."

I wondered what Laura thought of
this, but I took care not to catch her
eye. She could have told them a story

erine Dunham dancer named Eartha
Kitt, and was so impressed by her that
he cast her as Helen of Troy in his
version of the Faust legend. Eartha
was likewise impressed. To this day,
her sloe cyes glaze as she declares,
"He's the most fascinating man I've
cver known."

Welles believes in "the complete
human being" and is a champion of
the individual. He says, A man
should be allowed to be crazy if he
wants to be, to stay in bed one morn-
ing if he finds it good, or thumb his
nose at a sacred image." Having
thumbed his nose at a great many
sacred images, himself, he دز جا‎ with
the voice of authority. e's a pro-
fessional non-conformist. Even his
physical person is a defiance of tradi-
tion. Shakespearean actors are usually
lean, raw-boned characters with Ro-
man noses. Orson is undeniably a
Shakespearean actor but he's a big
beefy guy with a button nose and the
lace of a diabolic cherub.

Welles is devoted to the classic au-
thors, but he is seldom content to
leave them intact. He slashed Julius
Caesar Írom a five-act tragedy to a
one-act cyclone, then blithely added
lines snitched from Coriolanus. On
the other hand, he crammed hunks of
Henry IV, Henry V and Lord knows
what else into an evening's potpourri
called Five Kings. He has done Mac-
beth as a jungle melodrama with a
Harlem cast, and as a surrealistic
smorgasbord of a film spoken in a
Harry Lauder-type Scotch dialect. The
Faust he did with Eartha was pasted
up out of odd scraps of Milton, Dante
and Marlowe.

Just last October, Welles dashed in
and out of the country long enough
t0 play King Lear on TV. Decked
out in $75 gloves, real seaweed and a
Santa Claus beard, he was his old
booming, bug-eyed self, but he was
also deeply moving and (to quote the
script) "every inch a king." In a time
when lesser actors speak knowingly of
"restraint" and "underplaying" to ra-
tionalize their own inhibitions, Welles
is not afraid of bigness and flourish.
He belongs to a vanishing species: the
heroic actor.

What's next on the agenda for Or-
son? Admirers of his early promise
look for a return of the old fire, mel-
lowed by age and experience. They
pin their hopes on his excellent TV
Lear and await the release of Othello
with their fingers crossed. He was
last seen hot-footing it into Canada,
his portfolio bulging with unrcvealed
plans. When he was in New York for
Lear, he mentioned his French novel,
titled X, which he wants to film in
Spain, Italy, Tangier, Germany and
Mexico. Has Canada been added to
the list?

Only The Shadow knows.

ORSOX (continued from page 16)

he did before skipping the coun-
try. For several years the only
news the U.S. had of him came from
stray bits in the gossip columns: “Or-
son is vacationing on the Riviera with
the Darryl Zanucks" . . . "Orson is
rumored to owe Uncle Sam back taxes”
. . . "Orson is slated to play the film
life of King Farouk” . . . "Orson is
damned if he'll play King Farouk”...

Actually, he was keeping pretty busy
by writing plays and novcls, broadcast-
ing a kind of British "Dragnet" called
Black Museum, filming Othello in
Africa and Italy, appearing on the
stage all over Europe (he speaks six
languages), and accepting small but
5 in good British films like
The Third Man and shoddy British
films like Trent's Last Case and Re-
turn to Glennascaul. In Paris, he
made the acquaintance of an ex-Kath-

by, among other things, sawing‏ کات
Rita in half. Rita's beau, Victor Ma-‏
ture, threatened to do the same to The‏
Magnificent Orson if he didn't stop‏
travelling around with his girl. Orson‏
solved everything by marrying Rita.‏

The last thing the two of them did
together before going their separate,
sensational ways was The Lady From
Shanghai. They filmed it during a
vacation to South America. It was
Rita’s first and last appearance as a
blonde and gave Orson the money to

ay off a debt. “The only thing 1
earned from that picture,” Orson said
afterwards, "was how to photograph a
sexy girl singing a song."

In 1946, with the help of a Jules
Verne novel and music bv Cole Porter,
he bombed Broadway with a stunning
extravaganza called Around The
World. It was the last big thing

“Mom— what's Modess?"

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