PLAYBOY

BEAUMONT

HOPE

ROSEN

PLAYBILL

WE DON'T KNOW whether you're a cover-to-cover PLAYBOY reader or only
spend time with the special features that catch your attention each month, but
on the chance that you're a part of the second group, we urge you not to skip
Charles Beaumont's "Black Country” in this issue, Here is a story about jazz
and about the people who play jazz, packed with all the power, emotion, and
excitement of the music itself, It has been a long time since any story moyed
us as much as this one. Beaumont considers it the best story he has ever written
and it is certainly one of the finest we've printed to date.

Charles Beaumont has sold to most of the bigger slick magazines, but has
built his greatest reputation in the fantasy and science fiction fields and won
last year's Jules Verne Award for the best of story of "53.

Naturally a story as special as “Black Country” requires a special kind of
illustration, so we commissioned fine artist Leroy Neiman to do the job. Neiman
teaches at the Art Institute of Chicago and has won a number of awards for his
advertising art and oil painting. Both Beaumont and Neiman will be making
regular appearances in future issues of PLAYBOY.

Harry C. Crosby, author of the entertaining sex-and-science-fiction tale, “Roll
Out The Roloy," does his creative work on a small farm outside Cayuta, New
York. “This is a good spot for a writer,” he says in a recent letter, “because
there's nothing else to do here but write. For recreation, I used to enjoy chess.
But I have met few people in these parts who enjoy the game, so if I play it, I
must play my wife. And since I always win, she hates it. She therefore insists
that for each game of chess she plays me, I must play her one of Sark, which
is a crafty little crossword game 1 always lose. As a result, I do not spend much
time on recreation.”

Bob Hope and Earl Wilson don't require any introductions. Hope spends
some time on golf and baseball in this issue and Wilson contemplates the
female navel. .

We had lunch with bridge champ Bill Rosen the other afternoon to discuss
his article on tournament bridge. He turned out to be a very likeable young
law student, who just happens to play bridge better than anyone else in the
world. Bill gets $20 a head for a one hour bridge lesson, so we thought you
might enjoy a few tips on how the experts play the game for the price of a
PLAYBOY issue. Between semesters, Bill has time on his hands, and has been
using some of it to play around with the stock market. The weck we met him,
he'd earned $600 with a 5700 investment. If we knew how to do that, we
doubt that we'd spend much time playing bridge.

WILSON

FEATHERED FRIENDS
While bird watching in Colorado
last summer, 1 came across a species ol
rare bird 1 believe you left out of the
July feature, “Our Feathered Friends.”
This one is the Ruby Breasted Bed
Thrasher—female, nests in double
sleeping bags. Keep up your very fine
magazine.
John Dean
Glenwood, lowa

LOGIC
I enjoy PLAYBOY very much. Es-
pecially enjoyed the logic problems in
the August issue. How about some
more of the same soon? Wonder if
you know where I can buy or send for
a book of similar brain teasers? Would
appreciate any information on it.
Keep up the good work with your
PLAYBOY, It's so nice to have a man’s
magazine again.
J. H. Walb
Miami, Florida

JAZZ
Your August issue was tops in all

departments, especially the jazz sec-
tion. Being an avid fan ol Armstrong,
Ory and Bix, I found Mr. Lavely's
“Red Lights and Hot Music” particu-
larly gratifying. Am happy that he pin-
pointed the origination of the word
“jazz” too, as there seems to be a lot of
confusion on this. Keep up the excel-
lent work. Your book is the freshest
on the newsstands.

Bob Peterson

Wayne, Michigan

"Red Lights and Hot Music” (Aug
ust) was your best jazz article to date,
We have some good Dixieland bands
here in St. Louis and I am “sold” on
the stuff. I'm not as “solid” on PLAY-
BOY as my husband is, however,
About the only thing I read are your
cartoons, jokes and jazz pieces. He
reads everything, lingering forever
over some of the photos.

Gloria A. Beseda, Traffic Manager
Warner and Todd Advertising
St. Louis, Missouri
P. 5. When are you going to accept ad:
vertising?

This winter.

Just read the new PLAYBOY on the
plane down from Memphis and think
it your best to date. One thing I'd
like to know: Is that New Orleans
phone number in James Lavely's story

Dear Playboy ——

ADDRESS PLAYBOY MAGAZINE

on jazz for real? The whole story was
good—really interesting to a jazz fan
like me, but that phone number in-
trigues me.
Dennis LeBlanc
Port Arthur, Texas

Lavely says, “The telephone number
isn’t something from my imagination.
I get to New Orleans fairly frequently
and, believe me, the number ts ‘for
real.’ They'll send a girl to your hotel
room or, if you prefer, pick you up
in an auto and take you to the place of

business, a classy cathouse in the
French Quarter, just off Rampart
Street.”

THE INDOOR MALE
Your magazine appeared on the
newsstands here only a month or so
ago, and having seen the June and
July issues, I entered through my news
dealer a three-year subscription to
PLAYBOY. I regard it as an invest-
ment in something we have needed
for a long time, namely a magazine
for men who have no desire to leap
[rom crag to crag, clutching 30-30 in
gnarled hand, in pursuit of the abom-
inable snowman or the abominable
mountain goat, for men who would
think it foolish to crawl fifty miles
through the jungle to find a pool of
the speckle-spotted trout, for men who
do not think it sissy to drive a com
fortable car, and for men who do not
wear lace and bows on their under-
wear.
W.G. 11
Durham, N. C.

FEMALE FIGURE TYPES

In your article “One Man's Meat”
in the June issue of PLAYBOY you
refer to a survey on “Male Preferences
for Female Figure Types.” Can you
tell me the publisher so that 1 can
order a copy for our library of Anthro-
pology? We have various other similar
studies.

Frederic H. Douglas, Curator
The Denver Art Museum
Denver, Colorado

MEN'S ATTIRE

I can't agree with R. H. Russell's
letter in the August issue. Nobody
would want PLAYBOY to turn into a
men's wear magazine, but fashion tips
belong in a magazine for the man-
about-town. The proper playboy is in-
terested in not only women, but food

11 E. SUPERIOR ST., CHICAGO 11, ILLINOIS

and drink, dress, music, art, literature,

and all the other good things of life.
Robert C. Underwood 111
New York, New York

We agree, Bob.

STOP THIEF!

Enter my subscription for a ycar. I
bought your June issue at a local news-
stand and liked it, but someone stole
it from my office before T had a chance
to finish it, so please start my subscrip-
tion with that issue.

C. E. Carmichael
Auorney-at-Law
Sheflield, Alabama

What kind of a legal eagle are you,
letting someone swipe a prized posses-
sion right out from under your nose?
If we get a subscription from the cul-
prit, we'll let you know.

BUMP, GRIND, AND GIMMICK
1 enjoyed your burlesque feature,
“A Bump, a Grind, and a Gimmick,”
very much. The “Beauty and the
Beast” act reminded me of a similar
performance 1 saw in a night spot in
L. ላ. a few years back. Nothing spe-
cial about it except the girl later be-
came a movie star. Her name was
Yvonne DeCarlo. I've no idea what
happened to the gorilla.
Bet you can't dig up a picture
of that!
Buster Johnson
San Francisco, Calil.

Bet we can.

(continued on next page.)

3

PLAYEOY

BRADBURY

I have been reading PLAYBOY ever
since March, and four out of those six
issues have been full of Ray Brad-
bury. One ol your readers suggests he
is the publisher's brother-in-law. Pm
beginning to wonder myself.

Bradbury used to write top notch
science fiction but since he has “grad-
uated” to PLAYBOY. The New York-
er, Esquire, and the women's magi-
zines, something’s seemed to snap in
his head. He's become pompous and
pretentious. He loads his stories with
a lot of half-baked, self-conscious,
pseudo-poetic slush that doesn't con-
ceal the shallowness underneath,
What's worse, he seems no longer cap-
able of telling a good story. That "Fly-
ing Machine” thing in your August is-
sue was a perfect example, Its fussy,
rettified style might be okay for
‘ogue, but it certainly doesn't belong
in a men's publication.

What say, fellows—can't we PLAY-
BOY readers get away from Bradbury
at least in our favorite magazine?

Arnold Morley
San Francisco, Calif.

FANTASY FAN

The first issue sold me on PLAY-
BOY, and 1 haven't missed an issue
since. All 1 can say is—Superior Street
is a perfect address!

First Collier, then Bradbury, then
Hodgson; you're bringing us the great
fantasists, it seems. I'm a fantasy fan
from way back. So keep it up; I'll be
eagerly waiting for more Collier.

1 enjoyed Thorne Smith's “The
Boss's Breeches” very much. Your car-
toon features are great! Let's have
more Cobean and Indoor Bird-Watch-
ing and, if possible, Charles Addams.

I've heard of Jane, the British car-
toon character mentioned by T. B.
Holman in your March issue. Let me
add my vote for a feature I've long
wanted to see.

As to your pictorial features—how
do you do it? Your Paris pictures were
terrific; how about some from Lon-
don's Windmill? And maybe of For-
tunino Matania's paintings? Also, to
my mind the top photographer of the
nude is Zoltan Glass. Maybe—?

And those Playmates! Wow! (there's
a brilliant line! Original too!) 1 still
prefer Miss February, but they're all—
uh—where dat ol’ Thesaurus?—beauti-
ful, beauteous, handsome; pretty; love-
ly, graceful, clegant, exquisite, deli-
cate, comely, fair, goodly, bonny,
good-looking, well-formed, well-propor-
tioned, shapely, radiant, splendid, re-
splendent, dazzling, gorgeous, superb,
magnificent, artistic, aesthetic, enchant-
ing, attractive and stacked!

By the way, could you latch onto
some of the tales from Kummer's La-
dies In Hades?

And congrats on your art award.

4

I'm just finishing the Famous Artists
Course, so I can appreciate the tastes
of faculty members Rockwell and
Parker who were on the panel of
judges.
E. Nelson Bridwell
Oklahoma City, Okla,

FEMALE ADMIRERS
1 like your magazine very much and
I think it tops all others. I read PLAY-
BOY cover to cover and the only thing
I dislike are some of the “Dear Play-
boy” letters that keep insisting it's a
man’s magazine. I, for one, am a young
housewife, and I enjoy it as much as
any man! I am sure a lot of other
women do too!
Alice Soriano
Newark, New Jersey

Since you published my letter in
your June issue praising PLAYBOY,
I have received numerous telephone
calls and communications from people
around the country—as far away as
Miami, Florida. Some want to bor-
row my magazines—some to lend me
their magazines—and some to say that
they agree with my letter one hun-
dred percent. My last call was a week
ago at 2:00 A, M., inviting me to a
party.

(Miss) Lillian Day
Atlanta, Georgia

Lillian, if you lived here in Chicago.
we'd invite you to a party ourselves.

PLAYBOY'S PACE
1 think your magazine is the best
thing to hit the newsstands in my gen-
eration, and if I thought you could
keep up the pace, 1 would order a life
time subscription.
Lt. A. D. Gordon
USNAS, Pensacola, Fla.

Congratulations on a well prepared
and truly entertaining magazine for
men. Um finally convinced that you
can continue the pace and live up to
the promise of the first issues. En-
closed is a check for extending my ori-
ginal subscription from one to three
years.

J. R. Kendrick
Anchorage, Alaska

PLAYBOY ANNUAL

During the past few months some of
my friends have been permanently
“borrowing” my copies of PLAYBOY.
Can't say I blame them, but the
trouble is I never get a chance to fin-
ish all the very good articles in them.
I'm hoping, therefore, that vou may
have some copies of the Jast two issues
(May and June) still available and
I'm enclosing a money order for them.

I find your magazine one of the best
I have ever read. That little satire on
Mickey Spillane in the February issue
(“እዝ Gun Is The Jury”) was terrific.

You ought to get Julien Dedman to do
some more of them.

Peter A. Newins, USN

c/o FPO, San Francisco, Calif.

Are back issues 1 through 7 avail-
able? I want to have each complete vol-
ume cloth bound as library copies. As
an artist 1 realize just what goes into
8 mag like PLAYBOY. ‘The art, color
printing, and copy is tops. Keep it up
and Pl be a hetime playboy right
along with you.

Louis Danicl
Fort Worth, Texas

Most of the earliest issues of PLAY-
BOY are now out of print. However,
the Waldorf Publishing Company is
producing a hard-cover BEST FROM
PLAYBOY in the fall and it will in-
clude all the lop stories, cartoon, jokes,
humor and special features from
PLAYBOY's first year.

I was delighted to hear that you
have selected the feature on Miss Lace
for the hard-cover PLAYBOY annual
and look forward to seeing this compil-
ation of the best features from the
first year's issues.

I would like to obtain a few copies
for my files and will be grateful if
you will arrange to send them along
with a statement covering costs.

Milton Caniff
New City, New York

PLAYBOY OVERSEAS

Your magazine was great in the
states, but here on Guam it will have
to take the place of sex, Time will
tell.

Ist. Lt, William L. Rishel, USAF
c/o Post Master, San Francisco, Calif.

Will you please send me informa:
tion on how much it would cost to
send a years subscription of PLAY-
BOY to my son in the armed forces
overseas?

Otis Daniels
Paterson, N. 1.

Anyone in the armed services over-
seas can receive PLAYBOY at our reg-
ular rales-one year for $6—two years
for 510—three years for 513. And ዘ
goes without saying, you'd have to look
a long ways to find a gift the average
serviceman would appreciate more,

THE CHEERING SECTION
After reading only two issues of
PLAYBOY, there's no denying it's a
man's magazine to the last detail. You
have succeeded in bringing to the
weary and distraught male a chance
to escape it all, and turn to PLAYBOY
for asylum. I find PLAYBOY the per-
fect way to relax and enjoy a good
laugh after a day with this crazy,
mixed up human race.
Jack Ryerson
Passaic, New Jersey

CONTENTS FOR
THE MEN’S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE

BLACK COUNTRY—fiction „ae CHARLES BEAUMONT 6
VIRGINITY—article … … +... FRANKENSTEIN SMITH 9
SATCHMO BOPS THE BOPPERS!—jazz ........................... 10
BUSINESS MEETINGS—sotire ........................... SHEPHERD MEAD 13
HOPE ON GOLF—sports un BOB HOPE 15
EMBARRASSED PEOPLE—pictorial WILLIAM STEIG 16
INSPECTING ል NAVEL—article ............................EARL WILSON 21
ROLL OUT THE ROLOV—fiction .............. HARRY ር. CROSBY, JR. 22
TOURNAMENT BRIDGE—games = WILLIAM ROSEN 25
MISS SEPTEMBER—playboy’s playmate of the month ~ 26
PLAYBOY AT THE CHAFING DISH—food „____THOMAS MARIO 29
JANE—pictorial = = —_ 30
PUNCH'S NEW YORKER—pictorial 00.000 83
PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor _ y 34
LOLLOBRIGIDA—personolity nn 37
RIBALD CLASSICS—fiction __ BOCCACCIO 42

HUGH M. HEFNER, editor and publisher
RAY RUSSELL, associate editor
ARTHUR PAUL, art director

JOSEPH PACZEK, assistant art director
ELDON SELLERS, advertising manager

Playboy is published monthly by the HMH Publishing Co., Inc..
11 E. Superior, Chicago 11, Illinois. Postage must accompany all
manuscripts and drawings submitted if they are to be relurned
and no responsibility can be assumed for unsolicited materials.
Contents copyrighted 1954 by HMH Publishing Co., Inc. Nothing
may be reprinted in whole or in part without written permission.
Printed in U.S.A, Any similarity between people and places is
purely coincidental.

Subscriptions: In tho U.S., ils possessions, and Canada, $13.00
for three yeors; $10.00 for two years; $6.00 for one year, in ad-
vance. Elsewhere, $12.00 a year, in advance.

Credits: P. 4 Graphic House; P. 15 from “Now I'll Tell One,”
copyright, 1951, by Jock Strausberg (Wilcox & Follett); P. 16-17
“Embarrassed People," copyright, 1944, by William Steig, print-
ed with permission of the blisher, Duel, Sloan, and Pearce;
P. 19 from “Stag at Eve” with permission of Gardner Rea; P. 21
"I Am Gazing Into My &Ball,” copyright, 1945, by Earl Wilson,
published by Doubleday & Co., Inc; P. 22 "Roll Out The Rolov,”
copyright, 1953, Greenleaf Publishing Co., with permission of
er ge She ete P. 26-27 Blackwell, Publix Pictorial Service;
P. 30-31 copyrig [ሾ 1954, world rights reserved, Daily Mirror News-
papers, Lid; P. 33 yright, 1954, Punch; P. 37 UF; P. 38 United
Artists, UP, Italien Film Export; P. 39 Franco-London Films, United
ae P, = from "The Works of John Held, Ir,” with permission
of the author.

vol. 1, no. 10— september, 1954

ቼ

PLAYBO

black country

fiction

SPOOF COLLINS blew his brains
out, all right — right on out through
the top of his head. But I don't mean
with a gun. I mean with a horn.
Every night: slow and easy, eight to
one. And that’s how he died. Climb-
ing, with that horn, climbing up high.
For what? “Hey, man, Spoof — listen,
you picked the tree, now come on
down!” But he couldn't come down,
he didn't know how. He just kept
climbing, higher and higher. And then
he fell. Or jumped. Anyhow, that's the
way he died.

The bullet didn't kill anything. Um
talking about the one that tore u
the top of his mouth. It didn't kill
anything that wasn't dead alrcady.
Spoof just put in an extra note, that's
all.

We planted him out about four
miles from town — home is where you
drop: residential district, all wood con-
struction. Rain? You know it. Bible
type: sky like a month-old bedsheet,
wind like a stepped-on cat, cold and

6

by charles beaumont

dark, those Forty Days, those Forty
Nights! But nice and quiet most of
the time. Like Spoof: nice and quiet,
with a lot underneath that you didn’t
like to think about.

We planted him and watched and
put what was his down into the ground
with him. His horn, battered, dented,
nicked — right there in his hands, but
not just there; I mean in position, so
if he wanted to do some more climb-
ing, all right, he could. And his mus-
ic. We planted that too, because leav-
ing it out would have been like leav-
ing out Spoof's arms or his heart or
his guts.

Lux started things off with a chord
from his guitar, no particular notes,
only a feeling, a sound. A Spoof Col-
lins kind of sound. Jimmy Fritch pick-
ed it up with his stick and they talked
awhile — Lux got a real piano out of
that git-box. Then when Jimmy stop-
ped talking and stood there, waiting,
Sonny Holmes stepped up and wiped
his mouth and took the melody on his

Sonny loved Rose-Ann

and Rose-Ann loved Spoof.

And Spoof?
Why, man, Spoof was
in love with a horn!

shiny new trumpet. lt wasn’t Spool,
but it came close; and it was still The
Jimjam Man, the way Spoof wrote it
back when he used to write things
down. Sonny got off with a high-
squealing blast, and no eyes came up
— we knew, we remembered, The kid
always had it collared. He just nev-
er talked about it. And listen to him
now! He stood there over Spoof's
grave, giving it all back to The OY
Massuh, giving it back right — “Broom
off, white child, you got four sides!"
"I want to learn from you, Mr. Col-
lins. I want to play jazz and you can
teach me.” “I got things to do, I can't
waste no time on a half-hipped
young’un.” “Please, Mr. Collins.” “You
got to stop that, you got to stop callin’
me ‘Mr. Collins’ hear?” “Yes sir, yes
sir.” — He put out real sound, like
he didn't remember a thing. Like he
wasn't playing for that pile of dark-
meat in the ground, not at all; but
for the great Spoof Collins, for the
man Who Knew and the man Who

ILLUSTRATED BY LEROY NEIMAN

PLAYBOY

Did, who gave jazz spats and dressed
up the blues, who did things with a
trumpet that a trumpet couldn't do,
and more; for the man who could blow
down the walls or make a chicken cry,
without half trying — for the mighty
Spoof, who'd once walked in music
like a boy in river mud, loving it,
breathing it, living it.

Then Sonny quit. He wiped his
mouth again and stepped back and
Mr. “T’ took it on his trombone while
I beat up the tubs.

Pretty soon we had The Jimjam
Man rocking the way it used to rock.
A liwe slow, maybe: it needed Bud
Meunier on bass and a few trips on
the piano. But it moved,

e went through Take It from Me
and Night in the Blues and Big Gig
and Only Us Chickens and Forty G's
— Sonny's insides came out through
the horn on that one, I could tell —
and Slice City Stomp — you remember:
sharp and clean, like sliding down a
razor — and What the Cats Dragged
In — the longs, the shorts, all the great
Spoof Collins numbers. We wrapped
them up and put them down there
with him.

Then it got dark.

And it was time for the last one, the
greatest one . . . Rose-Ann shivered
and cleared her throat; the rest of us
looked around, for the first time, at
all those rows of split-wood grave
markers, shining in the rain, and the
trees and the coffin, dark, wet. Out
by the fence, a couple of farmers stood
watching, Just watching.

One — Rose-Ann opens her coat,
puts hands on hips, wets her lips;

Two — Freddie gets the spit out of
his stick, rolls his eyes;

Three — Sonny puts the trumpet to
his mouth;

Four —

And we played Spoof's song, his
last one, the one he wrote a long way
ago, before the music dried out his
head, before he turned mean and start-
ed climbing: Black Country. The song
that said just a little of what Spoof
wanted to say, and couldn't.

You remember. Spider-slow chords
crawling down, soft, easy, and then
bottom and silence and, suddenly, the
cry of the horn, screaming in one note
all the hate and sadness and loneliness,
all the want and got-to-have; and then
the note dying, quick, and Rose-Ann’s
voice, a whisper, a groan, a sigh...

Black Country is somewhere, Lord,

That I don't want to go.

Black Country is somewhere

That I never want to go.

Rain-water drippin’

On the bed and on the floor,

Rain-water drippin’

From the ground and through the

door...

We all heard the piano, even though
it wasn't there. Fingers moving down
those minor chords, those black keys,

that black country .. .

Well, in that old Black Country

If you ain’t feeling’ good,

They let you have an overcoat

That's carved right out of wond.

But "way down there

It gets so dark

You never see a friend —

Black Country may not be the Most,

But, Lord! it’s sure the End...

Bitter little laughing words, piling
up, now mad, now sad; and then, an
ugly blast from the horn and Rose-
Ann's voice screaming, crying:

ያ never want to go there, Lord!

I never want to be,

ያ never want to lay down

In that Black Country! ...

And quier, quiet, just che rain, and
the wind.

“Let's go. man,” Freddie said.

So we turned around and left Spoof
there uncer the ground.

Or, at least, that's what 1 thought
we did,

Sonny took over without saying a
word, He didn't have to: just who
was about to fuss? He was white, but
he didn't play white, not these days;
and he learned the hard way — by un-
learning. Now he could play gut-
bucket and he could play blues, stomp
and slide, name it, Sonny could play
it, Funny as hell to hear, too, because
he looked like everything else but a
musician. Short and skinny, glasses,
nose like a melted candle, head clean
as the one-ball, and white? Next to
old Hushup, that cafe sunburn glow-
ed like a flashlight.

“Man, who skinned you?”

“Who dropped you in the flour bar-

rel?”

But he got closer to Spoof than any
of the rest of us did. He knew what
to do, and why, Just like a school
teacher all the time: “That's good,
Lux, that's awful d — now let's
play some music." “Get off it, C. T.
— what's Lenox Avenue doing in the
middle of Lexington?” “Come on, boys,
hang on to the sound, hang on to it!"
Always using words like ‘flavor’ and
‘authentic’ and ‘blood’, peering over
those glasses, pounding his feet right
through the floor: STOMP! STOMP!
“That's it, we've got it now — oh,
listen! It's true, it's clean!” STOMP!
STOMP!

Not the easiest to dig him. No-
body broke all the way through.

“How come, boy? What for?”

And every time the same answer:

“I want to play jazz.”

Like he'd joined the Church and
didn’t want to argue about it.

Spoof was still Spoof when Sonny
started coming around, Not a lot of
people with us then, but a few,
enough — the longhairs and critics
and connoisseurs — and some real ears
too — enough to fill a club every
night, and who needs more? It was
COLLINS AND His CREW, tight and

neat, never a performance, always a
session, Lots of music, lots of fun.
And a line-up that some won't forget:
immy Fritch on clarinet, Honker
Reese on alto-sax, Charles di Lusso on
tenor, Spoof on trumpet, Henry Walk-
er on piano, Lux Anderson on banjo
and myself — Hushup Paige — on
drums. New mown hay, all right, I
know — I remember, I've heard the
records we cut — but, the Road was
there.

Sonny used to hang around the old
Continental Club on State Street in
Chicago, every night, listening. Eight
o'clock roll 'round, and there he'd be
— a little different; younger, skinnier
— listening hard, over in a corner all
to himself, eyes closed like he was
asleep. Once in a while he put in a
request — Darklown Strutter's Ball
was onc he liked, and some of Jelly
Roll's numbers — but mostly he just
sat there, taking it all in, For real.

And it kept up like this for two or
three weeks, regular as 2/4,

Now Spoof was mean in those days
— don't think he wasn't — but not
blood-mean. Even so, the white boy
in the corner bugged Ol Massuh after
a while and he got to making dirty
cracks with his horn: WAAAAA! Git
your ass out of here. WAAAAA! You
only think you're with it! WAAAAA!
There’s a little white child sittin’ in
a chair there's a liltle white child losin’
all his hair...

It got to the kid, too, every bit of
it. And that made Spoof even madder.
But what can you do?

Came Honker's trip to Slice City
along about then: our sax-man got a
neck all full of the sharpest kind of
steel, So we were out one horn, And
you could tell; we played a little bit
too rough, and the head-irrangements
Collins and His Crew grew up to,
they needed Honker's grease in the
worst way. But we'd been together
for five years or more, and a new man
just didn’t play somehow, We were
this one solid thing, like a unit, and
somebody had cut off a piece of us
and we couldn't grow the piece buck
so we just tried to get along anyway,
bleeding every night, bleeding from
that wound.

Then one night it bust. We'd gone
through some slow walking stuff, some
tricky stuff and some loud stuff —
still covering up — when this kid, this
white boy, got up from his chair and
ankled over and tapped Spoof on the
shoulder. It was break-time and Spoof
was brought down about Honker,
about how bad we were sounding, sit-
ting there sweating, those pounds of
man, black as coaldust soaked in oil
— he was the blackest man! — and
those eyes, beady white and small as
agates,

“Excuse me, Mr. Collins, I wonder
if I might have a word with you?”

(continued on page 18)

ALL sophisticated playboys are in-
terested in virginity, We trust that
the matter ol your own virginity
has already been satisfactorily taken
care of. You must now face up to the
roblem of virginity in your female
riends and acquaintances.

Most men recognize that virginity
is an unpleasant little matter to be
disposed of early m life. They appre-
ciate that it’s troublesome, a bother,
and all things considered, just isn't
worth having around. Unfortunately,
this important information has been
withheld from a large part of our
female population.

Some men, shirking their responsi-
bilities, might shrug this off as none
of their concern. If you've a social
conscience, however, you realize, of
course, that it is up to enlightened
members of the community to get the
facts to the uninformed,

The most pleasant, satisfying, and
enerally successful method of spread-
ing the good news is through demon-
stration. You will, of course, meet a
certain amount of intellectual resis-
tance from young ladies who have been
previously misguided by narrow mind-

healthy, clean minded, all American
attitude on the subject cannot help
but favorably impress members of the
Opposite sex.

Some difficulties have arisen be-
cause of the confusion (in female
minds) between virginity and purity,
The two have nothing to do with one
another, and it is important that you
point this our at the proper moment,
Some of the most impure women we've
ever known have been virgins and will
doubtless die that way. On the other
hand, we regularly share friendly
intimacies with one of the sweetest,
purest young things in all creation.

Thus armed with our convictions,
we are ready to begin, First, of course,
we must select a suitable subject and,
these days, that can sometimes be more
of a problem than you might assume.
Often you may find the young lady you
have chosen for enlightenment has
already been enlightened a few times
by others. And while there may be
a certain amount of enjoyment in-
volved in this discovery, it robs you
of the special pleasure of spreading
the good news — and that, after all,
is what this article is about.

opere

article

BY FRANKENSTEIN SMITH

ed mothers, teachers, maiden aunts,
etc, The purpose of this article is to
show you how such resistance to learn
ing (a form of social lag) can be most
easily overcome.

First of all — what is virginity?
Those wise in the ways of women know
that it is far more a state of mind
than a state of being. Each girl seems
to have her own peculiar and rather
precise idea of just how far she can
go without losing it. And since it
is primarily a state of mind, you will
most often meet with success by attack-
ing the mind, not the body.

Your attitude is extremely important
and will effect your entire approach
to the problem. Remember — and this
is very important — you are actually
doing the girl a service. Some may
suggest that you are trying to deprive
them of something — trying to take
from them 8 cherished possession. This
is nonsense. Actually, you are giving
them a new freedom — a means of
enjoying life more fully — a greater
appreganioa of life and its many
pleasures. You must be fully convinced
on this point yourself before attempt-
ing to convince anyone else. Such a

AN IMPORTANT TREATISE ON A VERY IMPORTANT SUBJECT

Once we've found our subject, we
are ready for the approach. In theory,
we suppose, there are as many differ-
ent approaches as there are women,
since each requires a technique slight-
ly different than the next. Indeed, a
method that works like a charm on
Monday evening may get you a clout
in the snout with a different miss on
Tuesday. It is obviously impossible
to consider all the various possible
techniques, but we will spend some
time on i few of the more basic ones.

The Physical Approach. Boys are
bigger than girls. And some guys fig-
ure that’s all the advantage they need
to make any seduction a success.
Trouble is, that ain't seduction. If
you're going to play the game accord-
ing to the rules, you've got to win
over the lady's mind first. The muscle
method is too often confused with a
dirty four letter word spelled r-a-p-e.
The girl may not fully understand
that you have only her best interests
at heart. Such goings on can lead to
misunderstandings, strained relation-
ships, and long jail sentences,

The Alcoholic Approach. This isn't

(continued on page 40)

PLAYBOY

AS THE NEWEST, most unorthodox brand
ol jazz, be-bop has been a both pre-
cocıous and pungnacious baby, With
Dizzy Gillespie as their Grand Lama,
bopsters have proceeded to produce
some mighty strange music, They've
also given the language some new, very
expressive superlatives (“crazy,” cool,”
“the most,” “the greatest,” “the end”),
given humor a thing called the bop
joke, and the world of fashion
Dizzy's own beret, goatee and bop
glasses.

Bop fans are as extreme as thcir

ኒ

“The Whiffenpoof Song”

special language. To them, there is
no real music besides be-bop, and
other kinds of jazz are as dated and
old-hat as the minuet. Anybody who
doesn’t dig their new sound is, in
bopology, a “cube” (a 8-1) square),
but they've a special name for those
who still enjoy dixieland jazz: Fig.
Last month at ıhe Blue Note in Chi-
cago, Louie “Satchmo” Armstrong, the
most fabulous dixieland jazzman ol
them all, had a few words for bop
sters everywhere, And, as might be
expected, Satch said it with music. Al

by M. Minnigerode, G. 5. Pomeroy, T. B. Galloway, R. Vallee Copyright,

ter blowing through a few fine stand-
ards like Muskrat Ramble and High
Society with his All Stars, Louie
stepped up to the mike and gave out
with a special version of “The Whil-
fenpool Song” that brought down the
house.

This month he's repeating the per-
formance to packed houses at the Basin
Street in New York and a Decca re-
cording of the tune promises to make
it One of the big novelty numbers of

the year, El

SATCHMO BOPS THE BOPPERS!

1936, 1054, Miller Music Corp)

“From the tables up at Birdland,

To the place where Dizzy dwells,

In their beards and the funny
hats they love so well.”

Louie Armstrong gives be-bop

a bad time with new lyrics

to “The Whiffenpoof Song”

oP

Used by special permission of copyright proprietor.

Photographed especially for Playboy by Manuel Cluster

“All the boppers are assembled,

And when they’re really high,

They constitute a weird
personnel!”

“They are poor little cats
Who have lost their way.
Baaaa, baaaa, baaaa.”

“They are little lost sheep,
Who have gone astray.
Baaaa, baaaa, baaaa.”

“There’s dixieland music they con-
demn,

But every wrong note they play is
a gem.

So Lord, have mercy on every one
of them.

Baaaaa, baaaaa, baaaaa.”

jazz

“Now that you've chosen between us, Eileen,
do you mind if I watch?”

12

HE FARMER spends his time in the fields, the laborer
at his machine, and the businessman at meetings.

You may feel at first that the meeting is a waste of
time, a useless expenditure of energy, accomplishing
little. Nothing could be farther from the truth!

A meeting is a Sounding Board, a Confluence of the
Minds, a means of preventing junior executives from
hiding their lights under a bushel.

The object of a meeting is not, as the very young be-
lieve, to solve the problem at hand, but to impress the
people there. And for this purpose, of course, the larger
the meeting the better.

If you are new to business, you have small inkling of
the happy hours that lie ahead, the little glows of triumph,
the camaraderic, and the tingling, heady sensation of
hearing your own voicel

But these rich wines are not to be gulped willy-nilly.
There are many bitter lessons to learn. Study carefully
the following outline of the strategy and tactics of meet-
ings.

1. Never Be at በ Loss for Words. ፲[ you cannot give
a ringing, extemporaneous speech—and so few can—it is
wise to prepare a series of litde talks, complete with ges-
tures and a few jolly anecdotes, that will fit the subject

(continued on page 45)

By SHEPHERD MEAD

more tips on succeeding in business

without really trying

From “How To Kurreed In Business Without Really Trying.”
copyright, 1952. by Shepherd Mead, published by Simeon & Schuster.

satire

MEETINGS

Me

The Filibuster.

The All-Out Attack!

13

“Er— Just how far does this marriage counseling
service of yours go, Dr. Beidecker?”

14

EARLY one morning last week, 1 was
up at the crack of my back and on the
links for a fast eighteen holes. Being
a little nearsighted, 1 lost my caddy,
and for over an hour followed a squaw
carrying a papoose. That was the
beginning of a beautiful friendship
with the Cleveland Indians, but it
didn't do much for my goll game.

I want you to know I didn’t rush
into my baseball deal with the In-
dians impulsively. My, no! 1 weighed
pro and con and finally went pro. I
ove those Redskins, but who wants
to work for peanuts? Especially during
these inflationary times. Even Crosby
is in the Bucs these days.

Frankly, I didn't know much about
baseball until I bought inw the
Indians. Jt wasn't until after the
contract was signed and they had my
money that I found out the team was
all men.

Of course, the extra fin mail from
Cleveland comes in handy. It costs a
little more to get that clause written
into the players’ contracts, but it was
worth it. And Crosby is very careful
about his Pittsburgh team. He keeps
them next to his money . . . as far
down as he can,

No kidding though, am 1 crazy
about baseball! That's why I took up
golf. I didn't want to spoil a sport
I liked. I could tell you some strange
stories about sports. And I know a
couple of sports who could tell some
strange stories about me. But this
article is supposed to be about golf.

Golf can be a lot of fun, depend
ing on your point of view. Point of
view. That means when you look at
a sand trap [rom the tee, it looks like
a small puddle of sand. When you're
in it, it's like Texas taking a deep
breath.

Serious consideration should be
given to the matter of selecting clubs
—both the fifty you play with and
the one you join. You can get the
playing kind a number of different
ways, but if you're a stuffed shirt, 1
suppose you can pay for them. Next,
you purchase a dozen balls — they
should get you through the first hole.
Next de your tee: I always take
mine with one lump.

The idea of the game is to break
pur. Par is a set number of strokes
per hole which is achieved by either
skill or luck, depending on whether
you or your opponent achieved it, It's

HOPE
ON
GOLF

Sports

game 8 supposed to be played. Leave
it in the rough where you play. A
lie, incidentally, is both the position
of your ball and also your account ol
the game.

But don't let it bother you. Keep
your head down and your eye on your
point of view.

George Von Elm was having him
self a time during a Southern Cali
fornia golf tournament, and had just
walloped a lovely drive that played
him dirty and trickled into a sand
trap at the edge of the green. To
make the shot even tougher, the ball
rolled into a paper bag.

Von Elm registered his indignation
in the vilest terms permissible at the
moment, but proceeded to ring up 4

birdie for brain work. Instead of re:

moving the ball and taking a penalty
or trying to hit it while it rested in
the sack, Von Elm struck a match, set
fire to the bag, and then shot the ball
clean out of the trap.

I mention this play because it's
extremely useful in most games. Take
a paper bag along with you the next
time you po out for eighteen and see
what I mean.

1 was supposed to fill this article
with lots of worthwhile pointers, but
I don't really have any. What say we
skip the first eighteen holes this after-
noon and get on to the nineteenth?
Make mine Scorch on the rocks

ፐ BOB HOPE

all in the point of view the old master explains how to shoot par

Play fair at all times. Never kick

a bad lie into the fairway where [ከሮ in nine innings, or something like that

15

pictorial

FAMILY

embarrassed people

ALL OF THESE drawings involve embarrassing situations as viewed
by the rather abstract pen of artist William Steig. What you get from
each of them will probably be as much dependent on your own
experiences as Steig's. For ourselves, we found them mildly amusing
the first time around, far more humorous on the second and third
looks, and after that they'd become such good friends we were no
longer able to judge them.

RATIONALE OF THE VILLIAN

HERO WORSHIP

17

PLAYBOY

black country (continued from page 8)

He wondered if he mighı have a word
with Mr. Collins!

Spool swiveled in his chair and clap-
ped a look around the kid. “Hn£f?”

“L notice that you don't have a sax
man any more.”

“You don't mean to tell me?”

“Yes sir. 1 thought — I mean, I was
wondering if —"

“Talk up, boy. I can't hear you.”

The kid looked scared. Lord, he
looked scared — and he was white to
begin with. —

“Well sir, 1 was just wondering if

if you needed a saxophone.”

"You know somebody plays sax?”

“Yes sir, I በ0.”

“And who might that be?”

“Me,”

“You.”

“Yes sir.”

Spoof smiled a quick one. Then he
shrugged. “Broom olf, son,” he said.
“Broom ‘way olL”

The kid turned red. He all of a
sudden didn't look scared any more.
Just mad. Mad as hell. But he didn't
say anything. He went on back to his
table and then it was end of the ten.

We swung into Basin Street, smooth
as Charley's tenor could make it, with
Lux Anderson talking it out: Basin
Street, man, it is the street, Where
the elite, well, they gather "round to
eat a little... And we fooled around
with the slow stuff for a while. Then
Spoof lifted his horn and climbed up
two-and-a-half and let out his trade-
mark, that short high screech that
sounded like something dying that
wasn't too happy about it. And we
rocked some, Boney taking it, Jimmy
kanoodling the great head-work that
only Jimmy knows how to 010, me slam-
ming the skins — and it was nowhere.
Without Honker to keep us all on
the ground, we were just making noise.
Good noise, all right. but not music.
And Spoof knew it He broke his
mouth blowing — to prove il.

And we cussed the cat that sliced
our man.

Then, right away — nobody could
remember when it came in — suddenly,
we had us an alto-sıx. Smooth and
sure and snaky, that sound put a knot
on each of us and said: Bust loose now,
boys, I'll pull you back down. Like
sweet-smelling glue, like oil in a ma-
chine, like — Honker.

We looked around and there was
the kid, still sore, blowing like a mad-
man, and making line fine music.

Spoof didn't do much. Most of
all, he didn't stop the number. He
just let that horn play, listening —
and when we slid over all the rough
spots and found us backed up neat
as could be, the Ol Massuh let out
a grin and a nod and a “Keep blowin’,
young'un!” and we knew that we
were going to be all right.

18

Alter it was over, Spool walked u
to the kid. They looked at each
other, sizing it up, taking it in.

Spoof says: “You did good.”

And the kid — he was still burned
— says: "You mean I did damn good.”

And Spoof shakes his head. “No,
that ain't what 1 mean.”

And in a second one was laughing
while the other one blushed. Spoof
had known all along that the kid was
faking, that he'd just been lucky
enough to know our style on Basın
Street up-down-and-across.

The Ol’ Massuh waited for the kid
to turn and start to slink off, then
he said: “Boy, you want to go to
work?" ...

Sonny learned so fast it scared you.
Spoof never held back; he turned it
all over, everything it had taken us
our whole lives to find out.

And — we had some good years.
Charley di Lusso dropped out, we
took on Bud Meunier — the greatest
bass man of them all — and Lux threw
away his banjo for an AC-DC git-box
and old C. T. Mr. “T’ Green and his
trombone joined the Crew. And we
kept growing and getting stronger —
no million-copies platter sales or
stands ar the Paramount — too ‘special’
— but we never ate too far down on
the hog, either.

In a few years Sonny Holmes was
making that sax stand on its hind legs
and jump through hoops that Honker
never dreamed about. Spoof let him
strictly alone. When he got mad it
wasn't ever because Sonny had white
skin — Spoof always was too busy to
notice things like that — but only be-
cause The Ol’ Massuh had to get Ted
olf at each one ol us every now and
then. Ile figured it kept us on our
toes,

In fact, except right at first, there
never was any real blood between
Spoof and Sonny until Kase-Ann came
along.

Spoof didn't want a vocalist with
the band. But the coonshouting days
were gone alas, except for Satchmo
and Calloway — who had style: none
of us had style, man, we just hollered
— so when push came to shoye, we
had to put out the net.

And chickens aplenty came to crow
and plenty moved on fast and we wert
about to give up when a dusky doll of
20-ought stepped up and let loose a
hunk of That Man I Love and that's
all, brothers, end of the search.

Rose-Ann McHugh was a little like
Sonny: where she came from, she didn't
know a ball of cotton from a piece
of popcorn. She'd studied piano for
a flock of years with a Pennsylvania
longhair, read music whipfast and had
been pointed toward the Big Steinway
and the O.M.'s, Chopin and Bach and
all that jazz, And good! — 1 mean,

she could pull some very lancy noise
out of those keys. But it wasn't the
Road. She'd heard a few records ol
Muggsy Spanier's, a couple of Jelly
Roll's — New Orleans Bump, Shreve-
port Stomp, old Wolverine Blues —
and she just got took hold of. Like it
happens, all the time. She knew.

f hired her after the first seng.
And we could see things in her eyes
for The Ol' Massuh right away, fast.
Bad to watch: [ mean to say, she was
chicken dinner, but what made it ugly
was, you could tell she hadn't been
in the oven very long.

Anyway, most of us could tell. Son-
ny, for instance,

But Spoof played tough to begin.
He gave her the treatment, all the
way. To sec il she'd hold up. Because,
above everything else, there was the
Crew, the Unit, the group. It was
right, it had to stay right.

“Gal, forgel your hands — that’s for
the cats out front. Leave "em alone.
And pay attention to the music, hear?”

“You ain't gol a ‘voice’, you gol an
instrument. And you ain't even started
to learn how to play on it. Get some
sound, bring it on out.”

“Stop that throat stuff — yon’ singin"
with the Crew now, From the belly,
gal, from the belly. That's where mus-
ic comes from, hear?”

And she loved it, like Sonny did.
She was with The Ol’ Massuh, she
knew what he was talking about.

Pretty soon she fit just fine. And
when she did. and everybody knew she
did, Spoof eased up and waited and
watched the old machine click right
along, one-two, one-two.

That's when he began to change.
Right then, with the Crew growed up
and in long pants at last. Like we
didn't need him any more to wash our
face and comb our hair and switch
our behinds for being bad.

Spoef began to change, He beat
out time and blew his riffs, but things
were different and there wasn't any-
body who didn't know that for a fact.

In a hurry, all at once, he wrote
down all his great arrangements, quick
as he could. One right after the other.
And we wondered why — we'd played
them a million times.

Then he grabbed up Sonny. “Wite
boy, listen. You wart to learn how to
play trumpet?"

And the blood started between them.
Spoof rode on Sonny's back twenty-
four hours, showing him lip, showing
him breath. “This ain't a saxophone,
boy, it’s a trumpet, a music-horn. Get
it right — do it again — that’s lousy —
do it again — that was nowhere — do
it again — do it again!” All the ume.

Sonny worked hard. Anybody else,
they would have told Ol Massuh
where he could put that litde old
horn. But the kid knew something
was being given to him — he didn't
know why, nobody did, but for a rea-

“Shucks, it’s a statue!”

19

PLAYBOY

hlack country (continued from page 18)

son — something that Spoof wouldn't
have given anybody else. And he was
grateful. So he worked. And he
didn't ask any how-comes, either,

Pretty soon he started to handle
things right. "Way down the road from
great, but coming along. “The sax had
given him a hard set of lips and he
had plenty of wind; most of all, he
had the spirit — the thing that you
can beat up your chops about it for
two weeks straight and never say what
it is, but if it isn’t there, buddy-ghee,
you may get to be President but you'll
never play music.

Lord, Lord, Spoof worked that boy
like a two ton jockey on 8 ten ounce
horse. “Do it again — that ain't right
— God damn it, do it again! Now one
more time!”

When Sonny knew enough to sit
in with the horn on a few casy ones,
Ol’ Massuh would tense up and fol-
low the kid with his eyes — I mean it
got real crawly. What for? Why was
he pushing it like that?

Then it quit. Spoof didn't say any-
thing. He just grunted and quit all
of a sudden, like he'd done with us,
and Sonny went back on sax and that
was that.

Which is when the real blood started.

o . .

The Lord says every man has got
to love something, sometime, some-
where. First choice is a chick, but
there's other choices. Spoof's was a
horn. He was married to a piece of
brass, just as married as 8 man can get.
Got up with it in the morning, talked
with it all day long, loved it at night
like no chick 1 ever heard of got loved.
And 1 don't mean one-two-three: I
mean the slow-building kind. He'd kiss
it and hold it and watch out for it.
Once a cat full of tea tried to pur the
snatch on Spoof's horn, for laughs:
when Spoof caught up with him, that
cat gave up laughing for life.

Sonny knew this. It's why he never
blew his stack at all the riding. Spoof's
teaching him to play trumpet — the
trumpet — was like as if The Ol’ Mas-
suh had said: “You want to take my
wife for a few nights? You do? Then
here, let me show you how to do it
right. She likes it done right.”

For Rose-Ann, though, it was the
worst. Every day she got that look
deeper in, and in a while we turned
around and, man! Where is little
Rosie? She was gone. That young half-
fried chicken had flew the roost. And
in her place was a doll that wasn't
dead, a big bunch of curves and skin
like a brand new penny. Overnight,
almost. Sonny noticed. Freddie and
Lux and even old Mr, 'ገ” noticed. ያ
had eyes in my head. But Spoof didn't
notice. He was already in love, there
wasn't any more room.

Rose-Ann kept snapping the whip,

20

but OF Massuh, he wasn't about to
make the trip. He'd started climbing,
then, and he didn’t treat her any dif-
ferent than he treated us.

“Get away, gal, broom on off —
can't you see I'm busy? Wiggle it else-
where, hear? Elsewhere. Shoo!"

And she just loved him more for
it. Every time he kicked her, she loved
him more. Tried to find him and see
him and, sometimes, when he'd stop
for breath, she'd try to help, because
she knew something had crawled in-
side Spoof, something that was cat
ing from the inside out, that maybe he
couldn't get rid of alone,

Finally, one night, at a two-weeker
in Dallas, it tumbled.

We'd gone through Georgia Brown
for the tourists and things were kind
of dull, when Spoof started sweating.
His eyes began to roll. And he stood
up, like a great big animal — like an
ape or a bear, big and powerful and
mean-looking — and he gave us the
two-finger signal.

Sky-High. "Way before it was due,
before either the audience or any of
us had got wound up.

Freddie frowned.
time, Tope”

“Listen,” Spoof said, "God damn it,
who says when it's time — you, or me?"

We went into it, cold, but things
warmed up pretty fast. The dancers
grumbled and moved off the floor
and the place filled up with talk.

I took my solo and beat hell out of
the skins. Then Spoof swiped at his
mouth and let go with a blast and
moved it up into that squeal and
stopped and started playing. It was
all head-work. All new to us,

New to anybody.

I saw Sonny get a look in his face,
and we sat sull and listened while
Spoof made love to that horn.

Now like a scream, now like a laugh,
— now were swinging in the trees,
now the white men are coming, now
we're in the boat and chains are hang-
ing from our ankles and we're rowing,
rowing — Spoof, what is it? — now
were sawing wood and picking cotton
and serving up those cool cool drinks
to the Colonel in his chair — Well,
blow man! — now we're free, and
we're struttin' down Lenox Avenue
and State & Madison and Pirate's Al-
ley, laughing, crying — Who said free?
— and we want to go back and we
don't want to go back — Play it, Spoof!
God, God, tell us all about it! Talk to
us! — and we're sitting in a cellar with
a comb wrapped up in paper, with
a skin-barrel and a unklebox — Don't
stop, Spoof! Oh Lord, please don't
stop! — and we're making something,
something, what 15 it? It it jazz? Why
yes, Lord, it's jazz. “Thank you, sir,
and thank you, sir, we finally got it,

“You think it's

something that is ours, something great
that belongs to us and to us alone,
that we made, and that's why it's im-
portant, and that’s what it's all about
and — Spoof! Spoof, you can't stop
now —

But it was over, middle of the trip.
And there was Spoof standing there
facing us and tears streaming out of
those eyes and down over that coal-
dust face, and his body shaking and
shaking. It’s the first we ever saw
that. Its the first we ever heard him
cough, too — like a shotgun going off
every two seconds, big raking sounds
that tore up from the bottom of his
belly and spilled out wet and loud,

The way it tumbled was this. Rose-
Ann went over to him and tried to get
him to sit down. “Spoof, honey, what's
wrong? Come on and sit down, Honey,
don't just stand there,”

Spoof stopped coughing and jerked
his head around. He looked at Rose-
Ann for a while and whatever there
was in his face, it didn't have a name.
The whole room was just as quiet as
it could be.

Rose-Ann took his arm. "Come on,
honey, Mr. Collins—"

He Jet out one more cough, then,
and drew back his hand—that black-
topped, pink-palmed ham of a hand—
and laid it, sharp, across the girl's
cheek. It sent her staggering. "Get oft
my back, hear? Damn it, git off! Stay
away from me!"

She got up crying. Then, you know
what she did? She waltzed on back
and took his arm and said: “Please.”

Spoof was just a lot of crazy-mad
on two legs. He shoured out some
words and pulled back his hand again.
“Can't you never learn? What 1 got to
do, god damn lite"

Then — Sonny moved. All-the-time
quiet and soft and gentle Sonny. He
moved quick across the floor and
stood in front of Spoof.

“Keep your black hands off her,”
he said,

Ol Massuh pushed Rose-Ann aside
and planted his legs, his breath rat-
tling fast and loose, like a bull's. And
he towered over the kid, Goliath and
David, legs far apa on the boards
and fingers curled up, bowling balls
at the end of his sleeves.

“You talkin’ to me, boy?

Sonny's face was red, like T hadn't
seen it since that first time at the Con-
tinental Club, years back. “You've
got cars, Collins. “Touch her again and
PIL kill you.”

I don’t know exactly what we ex-
pected, but I know what we were
afraid of. We were afraid Spoof would
let go; and if he did . . . well, put an-
other bed in the hospital, men. He
stood there, breathing, and Sonny
pave it right back—for hours, days and
nights, for a month, toc to toc.

Then Spoof relaxed. He pulled back

(continued on page 32)

en

THOUGHTS ON

INSPECTING A NAVEL

BY EARL WILSON

ONE SIMMERING SUMMER
NIGHT, at the big Broadway saloon

called the Hurricane, 1 was almost
blinded by something that shone, glis-
tened, and sparkled from the navel of
a gal named Leticia.

I told myself then and there that
the first night I had nothing to do J
must go backstage and inspect that
shiny object in the navel, and inspect
the navel too.

(By coincidence, the very next night
I had nothing to do.)

I suppose you think that when you
want to make a date with a navel on
Broadway, especially a prominent na-
vel like Leticia's, you have to make a
sort of reservation, or an appointment.
But actually, getting acquainted with
even so prominent a navel as Leticia's
is simple. I merely walked into the
joint, told Proprietor Dave Wolper I
wished to interview Leticia's navel, and
within a few minutes was led back to
the dressing room. Just so you won't
think my interest was something coarse
or carnal, I'll explain that Leticia, full
name Leticia Jay, comes from Jay-
town, Texas, and is probably the out-
standing ballet or belly dancer in the
world today. Ballet dancer is the term
that she uses. Belly dancer is the term
that her agents, employers, and wor-
shipers prefer. A descendant of John
Jay and Robert Fulton, Miss Jay had
arrived on our planet too late to sign
the Declaration of Independence, or
develop any hysteria over inventing
steamboats, like her esteemed ancestors,
so she gave her time and her body to
making a much different contribution
to mankind. She perfected the stomach
roll, and when Leticia does it, and this
shiny thing glares at you, you are be-
holding the human stomach in the
most artistic expression anybody has
ever been able to think up for it. I
unqualifiedly recommend Leticia's
stomach to all my thoughtful, discern-
ing readers,

It was blistering hot backstage, Le-
ticia, a well-proportioned brunette with
graceful arms and legs, generous busts,
and a fairly flat stomach, was sitting

there in her bare feet and her navel.
She wore some very scanty panties,
about four inches wide, with fringe
around them, and a brassière with
fringe around it. Her navel, of course,
was in the nude except for that shiny
thing that blinked at me.

“I want to do a story about you,”
I said.

“About my dancing?”

“About your dancing and about your
navel,” J said. “Do you mind if I start
out by touching this thing?”

I bent over bashfully toward the
thing in her navel and poked my index
finger tentatively toward it.

(It was perfectly all right! We had
been formally introduced by Dave
Wolper.)

“Go ahead,” said Leticia hospitably.

As Leticia sat there courageously,
my finger descended toward her navel,
and totally without ceremony I rubbed
my finger around the shiny object in
her navel and I said, “What is that?”

“It's a rhinestone. When I get to
be more successful, I'll wear a diamond
in my tummy.”

“Do you keep it in there all the
time?”

“OF course not!” said Leticia. “You
couldn't keep a thing like that in
your tbelly button. It wouldn't be
healthy. I'm going to take it out right
now.”

“Let me do it!” I pleaded. “After
all, who's covering this story?”

"You'd pull all the glue off, and then
I'd have a terrible time making it
stick,” Leticia replied. She jumped up
and said she was going to take her
fringed panties off first, as they were
getting uncomfortable.

“I have on some underpants, so
don’t be alarmed," she said.

“Who was alarmed?” I retorted.

Easily she removed the rhinestone
and laid it on her dressing table.

“I have a very strong navel,” she
said.

"I can see that,” I said. “It's very
attractive.”

“Thank you,” she said, “but I suppose
you tell that to all the ballet dancers.

article

the old saloon editor
interviews a rhinestone

1 don't have any trouble with the
rhinestone, except that I perspire it
out on a hot night. It won't stick, so
I have to use a special glue. If 1 used
ete else, it would take the skin
off.”

We discussed her career at length,
while Leticia was clad only in brassiére
and underpants. She was a serious
dancer, having started dancing through
a Ned Wayburn correspondence course.
She went on the road in a dance team,
taught in an Abilene, Texas, dancing
school, worked her way up to Leon &
Eddie's, and then was hired by Pro-
ducer Mike Todd for one of his shows.
Her stomach roll, done to primitive
music, was a nice specialty in any kind
of a revue.

“I am a very absent-minded dancer,”
Miss Jay remarked. “Once 1 danced
out on the stage wearing my glasses.
I forgot to take them off. Another
time I put on this fringe piece around
my tummy but forgot to put my pants
on under it. T discovered my over-
sight, and so did the audience, when
1 took my very first walk across the
stage.”

It was time for Leticia to go back
on the stage, so I got up and we both
started out. At the door I noticed
that damned thing winking at me from
the dressing table where she had put
it, and J exclaimed, “Hey, you forgot
to cover up your navel!”

“፪ told you I was absent-minded,”
she said, and with that she dabbed
some glue on the rhinestone, stuck it
onto her navel, and was off.

Next day 1 printed a piece about
inspecting her navel, and I was glad
to learn next time I saw her that she
had read it. However, she didn't care
too much for it.

“Why not?" I said, in surprise.

"You wrote nothing except about my
navel and the rhinestone,” she said.
“You didn't say anything about my
dancing.”

My God! It was true. Under the
influence of her navel and the rhine-
stone I'd plumb forgot she danced.

21

PLAYBOY

MARYN was bored. She emerged from
her bath dripping and unattractive,
and waited resignedly as the Warm-
Dry blew her lank young hair back
from her forehead. The autotape
whipped out and took the measure-
ment of her immature figure.

From the bedroom nearby, the
memory-box spoke with her mother’s
recorded voice: “Hurry up, Maryn.”

“Yes, Mother,” said Maryn obc-
diently, knowing the memory-box
would record her answer.

“It's almost eight,” said her mother’s
voice, timed to go off when it was
almost eight.

“Yes, Mother,”
diently.

“Well, you'd better hurry. Jackson
won't want to be kept waiting.”

“Yes, Mother,” said Maryn. She
pressed her hand along the flat length
of her body and found she was dry.
She waved her hand through the light
beam and the Warm-Dry clicked off
with a dying sigh. Maryn stepped on
the travel-rug and pressed with her
toes. The travel-rug slid with her into
a luxurious bedroom.

“Jackson won't want to be kept
waiting, Maryn,” said her mother’s
voice from the memory-box.

“No, Mother,” said Maryn, "The
“Jackson” her mother referred to was
young Jackson Mellibant VII, just
down from Herriman College. To
her mother's delight, he had asked

said Maryn obe-

Maryn lor a date.

“Remember,” said her mother, “the
Mellibants arc very influential. You
may not have another chance like
this.”

“No, Mother,” groaned Maryn. She
pressed down with her heels and the
rug stopped before a pastel pink
egg about five feet high. Maryn
ressed down with the toes of her left
oot and the heel of her right. The
rug pivoted her around. Maryn
assed her hand through a beam of
bie light and the egg snicked open.
Maryn stepped in and it closed
around her, leaving only her head
outside.

“Maryn,” said her mother's voice.
“I do think you should hurry. Are
you getting your foundation yet?"

“Yes, Mother,” said Maryn, who was
now being buffeted about slightly,
within the egg. Inside the pastel pink,
egg-shaped machine, her body was be-
ing, as the advertisement put it, reborn.

“Remember,” said her mother, "you
must look your best, Maryn.”

“Yes, Mother,”

“Now, Maryn,” said her mother's
voice from the box, “remember if he
gets—forward—you aren't to be naive."

“No, Mother,” groaned Maryn,

“Lead him on, Maryn. Remember,
the Mellibants are very influential.”

“Yes, Mother,”

“And Maryn, if he should—if he
should—well, come up after your date,

By Harry C. Crosby, Jr.

She wanted to make certain her date would be a

success, and she knew that the sex machine could do

a far better job of it than she.

ILLUSTRATED BY TERRY CESHA). ; =

PLAYBOY

was now, according to the advertise-
ment, “—Reborn—with mystery, with
glamor, with the body beautiful to
make men lie at your feet and cry
aloud for your favor.” She had, accord-
ing to the advertisement, left behind
the drabness of her “everyday self.”
Well, most of it, anyway. Maryn stuck
her head into another pink pastel egg
to get rid of the rest of it.

“Hurry, Maryn,” said her mother as
Maryn stood with her head in the egg.

“Glub,” said Maryn. The egg ejected
her head.

“Hurry,” said her mother’s voice,

“Yes, Mother,” said Maryn. She
stepped on the rug, dug in her toes
and slid to the dressing machine. This
sat like a great metal spider behind a
flowered screen in the corner of the
room. All the craft of a hundred de-
signers had yet to make a dressing
machine attractive, and Maryn ap-
proached it with the remains of child-
hood dread, Once she had started it,
the long shiny metal arms flashed over
her and Maryn lost her fear in borc-
dom. She was always at first a little
afraid the machine would spin a cocoon
around her and hang her up for a
trophy, but as usual it dutifully spun
a dress about her. This time, Maryn
was surprised to find the dress a trifle
tighter than usual.

“Maryn,” said her mother's voice.

“Yes, Mother?”

“You're in the dressing machine,
aren't you?”

“Yes, Mother,” Maryn raised her legs
alternately for the shoes and stockings.

“Hurry,” said her mother. “And
don't reset the machine. 1 have it set
properly now.”

Maryn stood stock sull till the dress-
ing machine went click and a series of
chimes played a tune, signifying that
milady might now profitably move on
to the finisher. Maryn pressed down
heel and toe and slid around the screen
to a pastel rose-and-gilt box about the
size and shape of an upended coffin.
Double doors popped open and a light
lit up the wine colored interior. Maryn
stepped in.

“Hurry, Maryn," came her mother's
muffled voice,

“Yes, Mother,” said Maryn. She
shut her eyes and stood still as a hun-
dred tiny nozzles opened and squirted

,

perfume. A hot breeze Nulled her
hair.
Somewhere outside, a chime an-

nounced the arrival of Jackson Melli-
bant VIL.

“Hurry, Maryn,” said her mother’s
voice, in a special peremptory tone. As
a child, Maryn had been greatly im-
pressed by the memory-box, Now she
understood that her mother had mere-
ly sat down for a minute and rattled
off her comments, touching the spacer
button to put three minutes between
this one and the next, and setting a
special comment to be made when
the dressing machine went on and an-

24

other to be said when the front door
chimed.

The finisher opened up and Maryn
stepped out onto the travel-rug. On
her way out, she had a brief glance
at herself in a full length mirror. To
an outsider, the effect was designed
to be one of lush beauty, combined
with serene sophistication and im-
pecable breeding. Maryn herself had
the impression she was watching a
popular solido heroine setting out on
her stereotyped adventure for the Cas-
well Brewing Co.

“Remember, Maryn,” hissed her
mother's voice, “use the rolov, not
yourself.”

“Yes, Mother,’ groaned Maryn, as
she slid out the bedroom door and
down the hall to the living room. She
sighed miserably and ran her tongue
over her teeth. Their surface felt un-
naturally slick and slippery, and
Maryn realized that somewhere along
the line they had received a coating of
Shinywhite. She wondered where. Mo-
mentarily distracted by this ques-
tion, she did not at first see the tall,
handsome, sophisticated, and impec-
cably-bred figure of Jackson Mellibant
VII. She caught only the tail end of
his flashing smile as he pivoted on his
rug and raised his arm. ‘Together, the
two of them slid out the door and
down the spiral ramp to the waiting
car.

a rel vp

The evening passed in stifled per-
fection. Jackson Mellibant VII said
precisely the right thing at the right
time. Maryn, well-drilled at the Lace-
mont Finishing School, found it im-
»ossible to give anything but the per-
fectly right reply. She and Jackson
whirled around the dance floor with
marvelous grace and precision, their
feet locked to smooth metal disks, their
motion controlled by the electronic
calculator in the night club base-
ment.

At the tables, Maryn and Jackson
drank a good deal of champagne,
which was automatically removed from
their stomachs by the teleporter. The
drive home in Jackson's car had, there-
fore, no element of hazard, since Jack-
son had no difficulty punching the
proper destination on the keyboard.

On the drive home, carried out at
precisely the city speed limit, Maryn
sat in futile boredom as Jackson took
up her hand and made a lyrical speech
concerning it. Maryn’s mouth opened
and gave a neatly-turned reply. This
led coyly on from stage to stage accord-
ing to the established routine of Gas-
well Breweries’ heroines, till at last
they reached home. The car stopped
itself by the walk. "My, the house
seems lonely,” said Maryn, with the
correct degree of impropriety. She
studied her gloves. “My parents,” she
added, “never get home ull round
three.”

“Perhaps,” said Jackson, "I might

come up for a few minutes. Just to
see that everything's all right.”

“That,” said Maryn, who felt like
screaming and hammering on the
walls, “is very thoughtful of you.”
They slid up the ramp together.
Maryn turned to Jackson and flashed
her Shinywhite smile at him. In turn
he bent and kissed her plastic shoulder.

‘Together, they slid in through the
living room. Maryn glanced sidewise
at Jackson as they slid past the sofa.
She was afraid he might choose to con-
tinue operations there. A moment
later, they entered the hallway. “This
evidently required more intimacy, as
he now put his arm around her waist.

At the bedroom door, they came to
a halt. “You'll wait here for a mo-
ment?” she asked, putting her hand
on his arm.

“Don't be long,” he whispered.

In the living room, there was a faint
rumble,

Maryn stiffened. “Did you hear
that?”
“What?” asked Jackson, standing

with one hand in his side pocket.

“That noise,” said Maryn, becoming
alarmed. “In the living room,” she
whispered, “Would you —”

“I most certainly shall,” said Jack-
son, gallantly. He slid off down the
hallway and Maryn waited in rising
alarm ull he called. “Perfectly all
right. Nothing here.”

“Thank Heaven," said Maryn, feel-
ing her first genuine emotion of the
evening. If Jackson had been on hand,
she might have thrown her arms
around him and kissed him, but he
was still in the living room. Relapsing
into boredom, Maryn slid into the
bedroom and pulled back the covers.
‘There on the shects as a reminder was
the small flat black box that con-
trolled the rolov. Maryn stabbed one
of the buttons, and the discreetly hid-
den door by the bed opened up. Out
rumbled the lifelike rolov, and Maryn
sat it on the bed, swung its feet off
the travel platform, and slid the plat-
forın back into the closet. She closed
the closet door, and worked the con-
trols so that the rolov clumsily got into
bed and lay down on its side. This
part of the rolov's repertoire was not
automatic, and took a certain amount
of facility with the control box.
Maryn, seeing how awkwardly the
rolov got into bed, was grateful she did
not have to make it walk anywhere.
She stood looking at this model of her
present appearance and had to admit
that, except for the eyes, it looked life-
like. She laid her hand on its shoulder.
It was cold as an oyster-

A gentle tap sounded on the bed
room door.

“Just a minute,” breathed Maryn,
hastily stabbing the warmup and
breathing buttons. She flicked off the
lights.

The door opened, and a dark form

(continued on page 35)

TOURNAMENT BRIDGE ®

BY WILLIAM ROSEN

about the game, and how the experts play it, by the world's champ

BRIDGE is one of the oldest card
games still being played. Once known
as euchre, it passed through various
stages and was successively known as
whist, partnership whist, auction
bridge, and finally, contract bridge.
The game holds a beguiling interest
to most people because it is undoubt-
edly the most challenging of all card
games, combining skill in bidding,
play of the hand and, also, the subtle
art of gamesmanship, Gamesmanship,
as defined in an amusing book on the
subject by Stephen Potter, is the art of
winning without actually cheating. In
bridge, the expert uses gamesmanship,
when he not only plays his cards but
also his Opponents, in attempting 40
gain the maximum from the hand.

Because bridge is considered a game
of skill rather than chance, it is per-
fectly legal to play for money and
stakes may range from one hundredth
of a cent a point in a game with four
maiden ladies who still enjoy auction
bridge to as high as fifty cents a point
with top ranking players who are
wealthy enough or proficient enough
to be able to indulge their gaming urge.

Tournament bridge is played pri-
marily for laurels, however. All tourna-
ments are conducted under the aus-
pices of the American Contract Bridge
League. This non-profit organization
runs the tournaments, awards trophies
to the winners and, through a rating
system, ranks the players who partici-
pate on the basis of the tournaments
they have won.

Tournaments are conducted on the
match point system. To understand
this, you must understand the differ-
ence between tournament bridge and
the ordinary brand of rubber bridge
most people play. In tournaments,
everyone sitting in a certain direction
(North, East, South, or West) plays the
same hands. This is accomplished by
dealing out a hand and placing it in
a “board” which has pockets for the
cards. Asa hand is played out, instead
of throwing the cards into the center
of the table to be gathered up by the
winner of the trick, they are placed in
front of the players and returned to
the “board” after play is concluded.
On the next round, another person sit-
ting in the same position can play the
identical hand. Points are scored by
gaining a better resule with the same
cards than other players sitting in the
same position. One point is given for
each player you beat, sitting your way,
one-half a point for a tie score and no
points, of course, for getting a smaller
score from the hand. The person who
has the greatest number of “match-
points” is the winner of the tourna-
ment.

In tournament bridge you are, in
reality, competing not against your ac-
tual opponents, but against players at
other tables who are silting in your
same direction. Since each hand is a
separate contest, bidding a grand slam
may be of less importance than making
an Overtrick at a part-score contract.

(continued on page 46)

games

About the author: If bridge has a
world’s champion, he’s a twenty-
four year old guy named William
Rosen, He won last year's Mc-
Kinney Trophy for the best per-
formance of the year, accumulating
the highest number of points scored
by any individual player in cham-
pionship tournaments. His team
won the Master's Team of Four and
Master's Pair competitions at the
national tournament in St. Louis,
and the first part of this year, he
and other members of the U.S. team
won the international bridge finals
at Monte Carlo. As this issue goes
to press, he is in Washington, D.C.,
defending his national titles.

25

MISS SEPTEMBER

HLNOW 3H1 JO 31WWAV 1d 5 AOBAW Id

PLAYBOY

28

“Perfect state of preservation, professor — 36-26-36!"

PLAYBOY
at the

CHAFING
DISH

By Thomas Mario

playboy’s food & drink editor

Catch her eye with that romantic blue flame and you'll have her eating out of your hand

THE word “chafing” comes from the
old French chaufer meaning to make
warm, to excite or inflame.

From the earliest Roman times ama-
teur aud professional gourmets have
understood this principle when per-
forming at the A dish. Seneca,
the Roman Stoic who lived in the first
century A.D., talked about the “chafing
dish that pleases the pampered palate.”
Centuries later Marie Antoinette or-
dered an elaborate chafing dish made
in England to tickle the taste buds of
the royal player-arounders.

In the late 19th century the chafing
dish was the elegant tool of Philadel-
phia matrons and millionaire yachts-
men. One from that period was so
cleverly designed that when taken on
an ocean voyage, it would remain up-
right, spirit lamp burning brightly, no
matter al what precarious angle the
ship's deck stood and no matter how
ossified the skipper might become.

But the chafing dish was destined
for more lively company and at the
turn of the century it was taken from
the drawing room damsels into the at-
tics of artists and writers and into the
dens of playboys and playdaddies where
it has remained ever since.

The latter soon discovered a bit of
wisdom PLAYBOY gladly passes along
at this point: namely, it is possible to
have a woman eating out of your hand
without ever laying that hand on her,
in fact, without even looking at her,
by simply catching her eye with the
romantic blue flame of a chafing dish.

After you've caught her eye, you
proceed to catch her nostrils. The lady

herself knows the value of this sense
when she spills eau de cologne over
her shoulders or dabs the back of her
ears with a drop or two of Passionate
Night. You now set up a counter ol-
factory current, Your sorcery includes
such ingredients as butter, cheese, wine,
seafood and cream.

The chafing dish is actually only a
small portable stove which can ከር
placed on a table. It's a simple appa-
ratus with a tripod base holding a bot-
tom pan (which holds water) and a top
pan in which the food is cooked. The
top pan is called the blazer. Beneath
the pans is a small burner containing
alcohol, Sterno, or a similar fuel, When
both bottom and top pan are used, the
chafing dish functions in the same way
as a double broiler, It is used to cook
food by indirect heat or to keep food
hot before serving. When the bottom
pan is removed and the blazer is placed
directly on top of the flame, the chafing
dish becomes an ordinary saucepan or
frying pan.

From whence, then, comes the chaf-
ing dish’s incredible magnetism? Why,
since it is only a double broiler or a
frying pan, has it become the embleın
of larkish living and high-fed wooing?

Tell a girl, for instance, that you're
going into the kitchen to make some
Clams Southside, and she'll probably
say, in a rather bored voice, "Oh, 1
didn't know you could cook.”

But light the flame under a chafing
dish and see what happens. A show is
ou. You must be sure, first of all, that
the chafing dish rests on the whitest
Irish linen tablecloth you can buy.

You must be sure the chinaware is
gleaming and the silver is burnished
bright. The fragrance of perking coffee
has been stealing around for a few
minutes now. You place the blazer
directly over the flame. You may melt
a few tablespoons of sweet butter in
the blazer and add about two dozen
cooked shrimps. When the shrimps are
glossy with butter, you shower them
with dry sherry and paprika.

Until now the young lady has re-
mained silent with a kind of fixed stare.
You look up from your proceedings
just long enough to notice that emo-
tionally she is now on stilts. The com-
bined aroma of the butter, the sherry,
and the shrimps creates an effect some-
thing like that achieved by Dr. Mesmer.
Your subject is uncer complete control,

The art of the chafing dish isn't quite
as easy as it may sound. 1 ከር bobbish
young man who doesn’t know his chaf-
ing dish cookery can cause quite an
uproar with the small, gleaming ap-
yaratus. If he doesn't put water in the
Koran pan, he can burn or discolor
the metal. If he doesn't use the proper
wick in the alcohol lamp or enough
alcohol, he can wait around until
Christmas for the fire to begin cooking
the food. Finally he must learn the
careful art of avoiding the last minute
rush. Some of his foods must be pre-
viously prepared, some only half pre-
pared, but all in a stage of preparation
that allows him to execute his steps of
legerdemain with the shortest space of
time and with che greatest of east.

ላ chafing dish usually reflects the

(continued on page 36)
29

THOSE who consider the English a
rather stuffy bunch have never met
Jane, England's favorite cartoon char-
acter. Americans, used to Blondie and
Liule Orphan Annie, would probably
find this beautiful British comic-strip-
per a little disconcerting. Picture, if
you can, Daisy Mae out hunting Lil
Abner in her birthday suit, or the sin
ister Dragon Lady stepping from be

Binoy’ SLL TELL THE DOCTOR YOURE
ke] HERE, MISS, AND YOULL FIND
2 HIM AND MISS LONGTOOTHE

BRITAIN'S
BEAUTIFUL
COMIC-STRIPPER

hind an oriental curtain completely
nude. That's just the sort of thing
Jane's enthusiastic fans have learned to
expect of their heroine in her daily
appearances in the London Dady Mir-
ror.

We don't want you to get the idea
Jane isn't a clean comic strip, however.
Nothing could be further from the

truth, Considering the number ol

WELL, TS JUST

AS LAVINIA

WARNED ME,
FRITZ |

THIS SYMIAN CHARACTER
WON'T BELIEVE IM ል
GENUINE NUDIST

showers and baths she takes each week,
she is probably the cleanest character
in all cartoonery. In this and similar,
often ingenious ways, Jane manages to
regularly show readers about as much
of Jane as ıhere is [0 show.

We hope this is the beginning ol a
wend. We'd love to share a shower
with Brenda Starr, Burma, or one ol
Smilin’ Jack's cuties.

BUT—1 NEVER FELT

SO RELUCTANT TO

STRIP IN MY LIFE

BEFORE !—CAN

| BEAR በጭ፦

FOR LAVINIA'S
SAKE P...

WELL, THERE'S NO HELP \| [anD IF IT'S ALL RIGHT

FOR በ. FRITZ!= THEY ዕቃ FOR LAVINIA | SUPPOSE

ITS OK. FOR ME |

THERE'S NO ONE ON THE
TERRACE YET... HAVE |
GOT TO WAIT FOR THEM

AFTER ALL, THIS IS NO
WORSE THAN A FANCY
DRESS COSTUME !— ML
PRETEND I'M GOING
AS EVE TO THE
CHELSEA ARTS

GO AND MEET THEM, Wa WAIT A MINUTE !=

Ie (TLL SHOW THEM A THERE'S SOMETHING

QUTE AT MY EASE IN ሾኒ WRONG ! /
> MY FIG-LEAVES ... ሬል

ys)

GOOD GRIEF!—

| HOPE THEYRE

ALL ON THE

| TERRACE, so
THAT | CAN
MINGLE WITH

THE MOB

T AND BE

OVERLOOKED
INSTEAD OF
LOOKED

|. OVER». |

IS THE COAST CLEAR P-
| MEAN—| DONT WANT
TO MEET A
SINGLE
GUEST...

ም _ AHI-THERE'S ል
BY FIG-TREE GROWING
AGAINST THE WALL

=| DONT CARE Y
A FIG FOR DR CYRUS SYMIAN ANY
MORE !=I MIGHT EVEN
MAKE HIM TURN OVER
A NEW LEAF WHEN
HE SEES ME +»

THEYRE ALL
_ DRESSED!

ON EARTH ARE p
YOUR CLOTHES? |

PLAYBOY

black country (continued from page 20)

those fat lips, that didn't look like
lips any more, they were so tough
and leathery, and showed a mouthful
of white and gold, and grunted, and
turned, and walked away.

We swung into Twelfth Street Rag
in such a hurry!

And it got kicked under the sola,

But we found out something, then,
that nobody even suspected.

Sonny had it for Rose-Ann, He had
it bad.

And that ain't good.

. . .

Spoof fell to pieces after that. He
played day and night, when we were
working, when we weren't working.
Climbing. Trying to get it said, all
of it.

“Listen, you can't hit Heaven with
a slingshot, Daddy-O!”

“What you want to do, man — blow
Judgement?”

He never let up. If he ate anything,
you tell me when. Sometimes he tied
on, straight stuff, quick, medicine type
of drinking. But only after he'd been
climbing and started to blow flat and
ended up in those coughing ከ05.

And it got worse. Nothing helped,
either: foam or booze or tea or even
Indoor Sports, and he tried them all.
And got worse,

“Get fixed up, Mr. C, you hear?
See a bone-man; you in bad shape...”

"Get away from me, get on away!”
Hawk! and a big red spot on the hand-
kerchief. “Broom off! Shoo!”

And gradually the old horn went
sour, ugly and bitter sounding, like
Spoof himself, Hoo Lord, the way he
rode Sonny then: “How you like the
dark stuff, boy? You like ዘ pretty
good? Hey there, don't hold back.
Rosie's fine talent — I know. Want
me to tell you about it, Dir the way,
show you how? ያ taught you every-
thing else, didn't I?" And Sonny al-
ways clamming up, his eyes doing the
talking: “You were a great musician,
Collins, and you still are, but that
doesn't mean Ive got to like you —
vou won't let me. And you're damn
right I'm in love with Rose-Ann!
That's the biggest reason why I’m still
here — just lo be close to her. Other-
wise, you wouldn't see me for the dust.
But you're too dumb to realize she's
in love with you, too dumb and stupid
and mean and wrapped up with that
lousy horn!”

What Sonny was too dumb to know
was, Rose-Ann had cut Spoof out. She
was now Public Domain.

Anyway, Spoof got to be the mean-
est, dirtiest, craziest, low-talkinest
man in the world. And nobody could
come in: he had signs out all the
me...

The night that he couldn't even get
a squeak out of his trumpet and went
back to the hotel—alone, always alone

32

—and put the gun in his mouth and
pulled the tigger, we found some-
thing out,

We found out what it was that had
been eating at the Ol’ Massuh.

Cancer.

. ፦ Ld

Rose-Ann took it the hardest. She
had the dry-weeps for a long time, say-
ing it over and over: “Why didn't he
let us know? Why didn't he tell us?”

But, you get over things. Even
women do, especially when they've got
something tq take its place.

We reorganized a little. Sonny cut
out the sax—saxes were getting corn-
ball anyway—and took over on trump-
et. And we decided against keeping
Spoof's name. It was now SONNY
HOLMES AND HIS CREW.

And we kept on eating high up. No-
body seemed to miss Spoof—not the
cats in front, at least—because Sonny
blew as great a horn as anybody could
want, smooth and sure, full of excite-
ment and clean as a gnat's behind.

We played across the States and
back, and they loved us—thanks to the
kid. Called us an ‘institution’ and the
disk jockeys began to pick up our
stuff, We were ‘real,’ they said—the
only authentic jazz left, and who am
I to push it? Maybe they were right.

Sonny kept things in low. And then,
when he was sure—damn that slow
way; it had been a cinch since back
when—he started to pay attention to
Rose-Ann. She played it cool, the way
she knew he wanted it, and let it build
up right. Of course, who didn't know
she would've married him this min-
ute, now, just say the word? But Sonny
was a very conscientious cat indeed.

We did a few stands in France about
that time—Listen to them holler! and
a couple in England and Sweden—

getting better, too—and alter a
breather, we cut out across the States
again.

It didn't happen fast, but it hap-
ened sure. Something was sounding
flat all of a sudden like—wrong, in a
way:

During an engagement in El Paso
we had What the Cats Dragged In
lined up. You all know Cats—the
rhythm section still, with the horns
yelling for a hundred bars. then that
fast and solid beat, that high trip and
trumpet solo? Sonny had the ups on
a wild riff and was coming on clown,
when he stopped. Stood 51111, with the
horn to his lips; and we waited.

“Come on, wrap it up-you want a
drum now? What's the story, Sonny?"

Then he started to blow. The notes
came out the same almost, but not
quite the same. They danced out of
the horn strop-razor sharp and sliced
up high and blasted low and the cats
all fell out. “Do it! Go. man! Oooo,
Um out of the boat, don't pull me

back! Sing out, man!"

The solo lasted almost seven min-
utes. When it was time for us to wind
it up, we just about forgot.

The crowd went wild. They stomped
and screamed and whistled, But they
couldn't get Sonny to play any more.
He pulled the horn away from his
mouth—I mean that's the way it
looked, as if he was yanking it away
with all his strength—and for a sec
ond he looked surprised, like he'd
been goosed. Then his lips pulled back
into a smile.

It was the damndest smile!

Freddie went over to him at the
break. “Man, that was the craziest
How many tongues you got?”

But Sonny didn't answer him.

Things went along all right for a
little. We played a few dances in the
cities, some radio stuff, cut a few
platters. Easy walking style.

Sonny played Sonny—plenty great
enough. And we forgot about what
happened in El Paso. So what? So he
cuts loose once—can’t a man do that
if he feels the urge? Every jazz man
brings that kind of light at least once.

We worked through the sticks and
were finally set for a New York open-
ing when Sonny came in and gave us
the news.

It was a gasser. Lux got sore. Mr.
“TL” shook his head.

“Why? How come, Top?”

He had us booked for the corn-
belt. The old-time route, exactly, even
the old places, back when we were
playing razzmatazz and feeling our
way,

"You trust me?” Sonny asked. "You
trust my judgement?”

“Come off it, Top; you know we do.
Just tell us how come, Man, New
York's what we been working for—"

"That's just it,” Sonny said. “We
aren't ready.”

That brought us down. How did
we know — we hadn't even thought
about it,

“We need to get back to the real
material. When we play in New York,
it's not anything anybody's liable to
forget in a hurry. And that's why 1
think we ought to take a refresher
course. About five weeks. All right?”

Well, we fussed some and fumed
some, but not much, and in the end
we agreed to it. Sonny knew his stuff,
that’s what we figured.

“Then it's settled.”

And we lit out.

Played mostly the old stuff dressed
up—Big Gig, Only Us Chickens and the
rest—or head-arrangements with a lot
of trumpet. Illinois, Indiana, Ken-
tucky .. -

When we bit Louisiana for a two-
nighter at the Tropics, the same thing
happened that did back in Texas.
Sonny blew wild for an cight minute

(continued on page 45)

THE O Fin DA.
N ARTE ¡A

NCHS NEW YORKER

[NCHS N

NOT all of England's cartooning
is as breezy as Jane. Punch, Brit-
ain’s famous humor magazine, re-
cently did a satire on its equally
famous American counterpart, The
New Yorker, This included take-
offs on several of The New Yorker's
cartoonists, in styles so close to the humor
originals that even regular TNY
readers will have difficulty telling
the difference.

[A

NL

NA iW)
if Wee yi

Jet

“How long are we going to keep up this 33
mad pretence of mutual disinterestedness,
Mr. Millnos?"

PLAYBOY’S PARTY JOKES

As Sam the fruit man reminded
us the other day, the apple of
the average playboy's eye is us-
ually the prettiest peach with the
biggest pear.

The connoisseur sat down at ıhe
bar and ordered a martini. “Very
dry,” ከር insisted, “Twenty parts
gin to one part vermouth.”

“AU right sir,” said the bar-
tender. “Shall ፲ twist a bit of
lemon peel over it?”

"My good man, when T want
lemonade, TIL ask for it.”

An elderly playboy we know has
catalogued the three stages of a
man’s life: Tri-Weekly, Try
Weckly, Try Weakly.

The psychiatrist was holding a
group consultation with three
young mothers and their small
children. “You all have obses-
sions,” he told them. To [ከር
first one, he said, "Your obsession
is cating. Why, you've even
named your little girl Candy.”
The second, he said, was obsessed
by money. “Again, it manifests
itself in your child's name,
Penny.” At this point, the third
mother arose and, taking her
little boy by the hand, whispered,
“Let's go, Peter.”

ል drunk and his inebriated
friend were sitting at a bar.

“Do you know what time it
is?" asked the drunk.

“Sure,” said the friend.

“Thanks,” said the drunk.

S ame two guys, same bar.
“Say,” said the drunk, noticing
a young lady seated at the other
end of the bar, “isn’t that Hor-
tense?”
“1 don't know,” shrugged the
friend, “she looks relaxed to me.”

The little girl walked into the
drugstore and asked the clerk,
"Do you fit men for trusses here?”
Bewildered but obliging, he re-
plied, “Why, yes, we do.”

“Well, wash your hands,” said
the little girl, “I want a chocolate
soda.”

Our research department tells
us that in the days of Queen
Elizabeth I, some ladies-in-wait-
ing liked to curl up with a good
book, while others were satished
with one of the pages.

A stranger in town found his
way to the most luxurious bor-
dello. He entered, selected a
gorgeous red-head, and was cs-
corted to a resplendent bed
chamber of Hollywood propor-
tions. Half an bour later, a sitis-
fied smile on his face, he sought
out the madam and took his wal-
let from his pocket. But the
madam would not accept pay
ment. She opened the drawer of
a solid gold cash register, counted
out a hundred collars, and
handed the money to him. Stun-
ned and speechless, he staggered
out,

A week later, he returned,
chose a succulent blond, and was
resented with two hundred dol-
ከ by the madam. Still puzzled,
ከር took the money and left, feel-
ing himself a very lucky fellow
indecd.

The next night, he decided to
pay another visit. After enjoy-
ing the services of a beautiful
brunette, he walked up to the
madam, held out his hand and
waited for the money, He was
unpleasantly surprised when she
said. “Twenty-five dollars,
please.”

“Now, look here,” he rejoined.
“The first time 1 came in here,
you gave me a hundred dollars.
The second time, you gave me
two hundred. How come I don't
get paid tonight?”

“Tonight,” replied (ከር madam,
“you were not on television!”

Rolov (continued from page 24)
slid quickly in.

“Over here,” whispered
crouching by the bed. e

“Darling,” murmured the passion:
ate voice of Jackson Mellibant VIL

Maryn pressed the automatic but
ton.

“Darling,” breathed the
a voice like pure fire.

Maryn, unable to stand it, slip-
ped out of the room. She did not
doubt she could leave this end of the
evening to the built-in skill of the
rolov, but she did not think she could
bear to watch it. With the hot mur-
murings still faintly audible behind
her, she tiptoed wearily down the hall
way and walked into the living room.

On the sofa, reading the nights
paper, sprawled Jackson Mellibant
VII, his face a study in boredom,

Maryn stood transfixed.

Jackson, flipping the paper, glanced
up, snapped the paper around and
looked at it. An instant later he
glanced up again at Maryn. “Eh!” ከር
gasped, his eyes wide.

“Wellt” said Maryn.

For a moment they stared at each
other. “You're not in — there!" Jack-
son commented stupidly.

“What about you?” snapped Maryn.

For a moment they stared at cach
other vacantly, then Jackson’s face
took on a look of shrewd calculation.
“Come on,” he said. She followed him
down the hallway, holding tightly to
his hand. They bent to listen at the
bedroom coor. Giggling murmurs
came from within,

Jackson started to shake silently.
He pulled her back to the living room
and burst out laughing.

“I don't see anything funny about
it,” snapped Maryn. “Who's in there?”

Jackson sank down on the couch
and laughed all the harder,

“Some friend of yours?” Maryn de-
manded icily.

Jackson choked and gasped for
breath. “Whew!” he said. “Friend?”
He tried to stop laughing and failed.
He put his hand on Maryn's arm, as
if for patience, and she struck it away
angrily. She stamped her foot.

“Maryn,” said Jackson between
bursts of laughter, “did you put a
rolov in there?"

Maryn,

.

rolov, in

“What if I did?" she demanded
angrily. “That's better than you —
you —"

“No,” said Jackson, "you don't un-
derstand.” He took a small flat black
box out of his side pocket and held
it up. “I put one in there, too,” he
said,

As Maryn stared, he started to
laugh again. “Two lovemaking ma-
chines,” he gasped, "locked in steely
embrace. Ye gods, there's progress, for
you!”

“I don't think that’s very funny,”
said Maryn, “Why did you have to
send a machine in?”

“Oh,” said Jackson. “The Murches
are very influential people. Miss
Maryn Murch must have nothing but
the best."

“But --” Maryn stared at him. Jack-
son Mellibant VII was the precise
image of exact physical and social
perfection. Very clearly, he was the
best, Maryn said so.

“Oh no,” said Jackson. “Don't judge
others by yourself. I'm all sham and
pretense. You don't get strong leading
the lives we lead today. 1 couldn't
compare with that machine.”

“You mean,” said the startled Maryn,
“that you're made up?”

“That's it," said Jackson, rising sadly
to his feet. “I’m a fraud, a fake. Well,
l'H get my machine and be going.”

“Wait a minute,” said Maryn, tak-
ing him by the arm,

“What?”

“፪ want to talk to you,”

"Still?" He looked at her in
prise.

Yes

sur-

“What about the machines?”

“Oh, they can blow a fuse for all
1 care," said Maryn, “Let's sit down.”
She motioned towards the sofa.

“M'm. All right,” said Jackson.

As they moved close to one another,
a little tremor of real emotion ran
through each of them. And there in the
shadows they enjoyed a pleasure that
was, perhaps, not quite perfection, but
was all the more enjoyable because it
wasn't

. » ".

It was well into the morning when
Maryn's mother returned, went di-
rectly to the memory-box in the bed-
room and ran it through. “Well,” she
said to Maryn, “Everything seems to
have gone off very nicely. Did he ask
for another date?”

Maryn nodded.

“That's good,” said her mother.
“Remember, Maryn, the Mellibanıs
are very influential people. You must
continue to do your very best—to make
the very best impression.”

“Yes, Mother.” said Maryn, obed-
iently. "1 will.”

FEMALES BY COLE: 4

The Virgin

35

PLAYBOY

CHAFING DISH (continued from page 20)

personality of its user. Some would
seem to believe in cooking by fumi-
gation rather than fire. This type
waits until he and his guests are slight-
ly starved and then, noticing that he
has forgotten to fill the apparatus with
fluid, he brings a gallon can of alcohol
to the table. This guy also requires a
pair of pliers to open the can, which
is rusty. After considerable maneuver-
ing, he manages to wrench loose the
top of the can and successfully spills
most of its contents on his lap, soak-
ing his trousers down through his
shorts, and filling the air with fumes
that remind his fascinated audience
of a very sterile hospital ward.

The Fwnigator then proceeds to
pour the alcohol into the chafing
dish burner. The alcohol, of course,
flows like the Mississippi at full spring
tide, inundating glasses, linen and
silverware, with only a trickle reaching
the spirit lamp, By this time every
well-mannered guest 15 reaching for
his gas mask, All this colossus at the
chafing dish now needs lor his second
act high spot are a few well placed
live cigarettes ashes to set his entire
apartment into a glorious blaze.

If you are using liquid alcohol, fum
igation and possible conflagration cin
be avoided by opening the can in the
kitchen and filling the burner over
the sink, using a small funnel. Better
still. use a semi-liquid fuel such as
Sterno which requires no pouring or
wicks.

Besides the Fumigators there are
the pretentious amateur gourmets, the
cognoscenti of the culinary arts, who
will cluster about your chafing dish
like gnats at a sweet pickleburrel.
These are the fellows who can't ima-
gine cooking without an immense tray
of assorted spices and herbs contin-
ing anything (rom coriander to fenu-
greek. They are the “Good gracious!
No saffron here” sort, the "Fergood-
nessikes! He keeps his wuffles in the
refrigerator” type, Their idea of a fas-
einating bit of reading is to beguile
you with a seventeenth century ree
ipe lor Filet de Mouton a la Moneglas
aux Foie Gras,

Ihis is the fellow who only cries
the praises of unusual foods that
few people know and that fewer people
care about. In short, they use the chaf-
ing dish to tror out their odd knowl
edge and esoteric tastes. They know
how, in the brief space of eighteen
hours, to ınake enough salmon force-
meat for four persons. But they run
to seed when someone asks them to
make a few soft scrambled eggs. They
are to be avoided like botulism or
plomaine poison.

The size of the chafing dish you
buy should depend upon the number

of people you normally entertain. Fon
the average small group of two to
six people, a chafing dish with a two
quart capacity 15 ample. Choose a chal-
ing dish of heavy metal for uniform,
steady heating. Blazers made of thin
metal tend to scorch food readily. The
most expensive chafing dishes are
those of heavy silver, and many ul
them are rather pretentious. Coppel
pans with un or silver linings are
warm and hospitable looking and
have excellent cooking qualities. New
and inexpensive are the aluminum
chafing dishes with iron bases.

When cooking at the chafing dish,
its a good idea to have a wooden
spoon tor stirring rather than a meral
one, to avoid scratching the dish.

If you know nothing whatever about
cooking, you can still have a fine time
with a chafing dish. Remember that
ic is, first ol all, a lood warmer and
that these days it is possible to buy
prepared dishes—frozen, canned. or
packed in jars—varying from onion
soup to crepes suzelte. Most such
foods merely require heating to serve:
a few rules of thumb are helpful in
the serving. Many of these prepared
main dishes are sauce foods such as
veal scalloping, lobster newburgh and
chicken a la king and they can ከር
improved rather simply.

If, for instance, you are heating a
food with a white sauce like creamed
mushrooms or chicken a la king, you
cn always enhance it by adding a
small amount of sweet cream, A dash
of white wine or sherry is likewise
an improvement in white sauce dishes.
ላ halltenspoon or teaspoon of grated
onion is salutary.

[[ the food is in brown sauce, you
cin generally step up the flavor by
adding a dash of red wine, or dissolv-
ing a bouillon cube or two in the
sauce, or by adding one of the flavor
improvers such as Accent, Maggi sea
soning, etc.

Some chafing dish cookery is merely
a matter of combining pre-prepared
foods. For instance, if you want to
make shrimps creole, you can buy
fresh shrimps, already cooked or cook-
ed and shelled, from a fish dealer.
You then buy a can of creole sauce,
combine the shrimps and sauce, hear
them to bubbling and you have a de-
lightful shrimp creole.

Many chafing dish foods require
cooking from scratch. of course, and
the easiest and most popular of these
is scrambled eggs, the queen of the
late supper and early morning dishes.
In the early hours before dawn, after
the spark of love has been spent, a
kind of ghoulish hunger is abroad,
It's too late to go prowling the streets
hunting for eating places ıhat art
still open. One is too ured to fuss with

sauces or seafood. In the refrigerator
are butter and eggs. On the pantry
shelf there's a tin of flat salted an-
chovy filets. It takes only a moment
to light the chafing dish. Then, like
all good cooks, you start working from
outward perimeter inward. You begin
at the terminal end with the coffee,
the napkins, the rolls or toast, the
butter—everything but the scrambled
eggs. Then when you and she are
ready to cat, vou open the eggs into
a dish and beat them until the whites
are no longer visible.

You put the blazer of the chafing
dish over a direct flame. For each two
eggs, you place a tablespoon of butter
in the blazer. When the butter just
begins to splutter and brown, you
add the eggs. Douse them generously
with salt, lightly with white pepper-
Then stir and don’t stop stirring
until the eges are ready to be turned
into the serving dishes. Cook them
dry if you like, but the true devotee
of scrambled eggs will want them soft.
If you want to add « tablespoon of
sweet cream to the eggs while cook-
ing them or a dash of grated cheese,
you may do so, but either of these
filips wall alter the wonderful com
forting [lavor of country fresh eggs.

Over the eggs on the serving dishes,
you may place three or four salted
anchovies or several strips of smoked
salmon. A kippered herring or a Yar-
mouth bloater warmed in butter may
be placed on the scrambled eggs, but
these items are for literal breakfast
eaters rather than for hungry owls,

When the eggs have been placed
on the serving dishes, you may wait
for a few seconds until the steam sub-
sides, but you shouldn't let the eggs
get cold or flat. The hot coffee should
be served in oversize cups.

There are, of course, nights when
any playboy gets fed up with plain
womaninity. He gets tired of their
rickety chatter, their high geared de-
mands for attention, the fact that
they are proud one minute and the
next minute dying on the vine. He
becomes conked out with quarreling

and then he wants the fellows around.

He wants to jaw and tell a few blue
gags. When the bull session reaches
midnight, all the fellows will feel
hunger pangs and that’s the signal
for a Welsh Rabbit, perennial favorite
of night hawks.

Frequently the dish is spelled
“Welsh Rarebit," an affectation.
There are a lot of explanations for
the name, Welsh Rabbit. One school
holds that poor Welshmen who had
no meat and who were forbidden to
poach on the large estates, for rabbit
or any other game, turned instead to
their simple cheddar cheese as the

(continued on page 50)

personality

lo-llo-brig-i-da,

a form of Italian cheesecake

“I WAS walking down the street minding my own
business when this man came up to me and said he
wanted to put me in the movies. I got very angry and
told him that line stopped working years ago.”
The man in this case was Mario Costa, a top Italian
film director, and the girl who tells the story is an

37

Gina rotates a handsome hip for the publicity cameraman.

appetizing morsel with a name even Italians have
trouble pronouncing: Gina Lollobrigida.

Costa gave her a feature role in a film version ol
Pagliacci. At once, lollo and brigida became Italian -
synonyms for the left and right female mammae, re-
spectively.

Since then, she has made over twenty-five pictures,
but only a fraction of them have penetrated the Cello-
phane Curtain of purity surrounding the U. 5. In
the few films Americans have been lucky enough to

da ser Ang ቃደ

Above: a ragged Gina in
“Bread, Love and Dreams.”
Below: in “Times Gone By,”

os a voluptuaus cauntry girl
who never learned to say “no.”

see, she has proved to be a girl of real beauty. with a warm
personality, plenty of charm, and a small but adequate
amount of acting talent.

Gina shared her generous bosom with the world in such
films as Fan-Fan The Tulip and Times Gone By, but it
was not until she appeared in the recent Beauties of the
Night for famed French director Rene Clair that she also
made public her matchless abdomen and derriere. Gina's
charming posterior upset both the Venice Film Festival au-
thorities and the U. 5. Customs Office. They wanted it

deleted from the film, Rene Clair insisted that it stay in.
Clair won out over the Festival authorities and the film
copped a prize, but U. 5. Customs succeeded in keeping
most of Gina’s bottom to itself, Jeaving only one split
second wiggle for American movie-goers.

Yet to be released in this country are Gina's latest pic
tures, A Woman of Rome and Bread, Love and Dreams.
Tantalizcd by the glimpses of breasts, belly and buttocks
in her past films, American men are waiting expectantly
to learn what's next on the agenda for unveiling,

Gina's revealing harem costume and the nude bathing scene in “Beauties af the Night” made even Eurapean eyes pop.

PLAYBOY

VIRGINITY

really an approach at all. Liquor, by
itself, never seduced anybody. You can,
however, dissolve a good many in-
hibitions in the proper amount of al-
cohol. A few drinks will usually help
along any ol the standard approaches,
but we emphasize — a few drinks. It
is possible to reach a point of dimin-
ishing returns when imbibing. The
girl may lose all interest in sex, you
may discover — at the last moment —
that you are not up to the occasion,
the girl may get sick, you may get
sick, she may lose consciousness.
(Ground Rule 32h: It is unfair to take
liberties with a lady who is uncon-
scious. This cannot be properly con-
sidered seduction, since she has pretty
well lost her freedom of choice. Some
will argue that any amount of alcohol
robs it person of a certain amount of

(continued from page 9)

free choice in such matters. We prefer
to belieye that liquor only gives a lady
the courage to do what she would very
much like to do when cold sober, but
hasn't the nerve for.)

The Intellectual Approach. In its
purest forms, this technique is best
suited to librarians and girls working
on their Ph.D's. With this approach,
sex never even enters the conversation
until the very end of the evening.
Much time is spent, instead, in dis-
cussing the world’s great writers, the
philosophy of Aristotle, the pros and
cons of world government, progressive
education, Einstein's theory of rela-
tivity, etc. Throughout the evening,
the emphasis is intellectual rather
than physical. You compliment, not
the girl's good looks or her 58 inch
bust, but her mind. By the time you

get around to the young lady's vir-
ginity, ıhe physical side of life seems
so completely unimportant, she will
comply with scarcely a second thought.
The Freudian Approach. Here's a
real favorite. Sigmund and Dr. Kinsey
(discussed a little later) have done
more for sex than any other men who
ever lived. Explain to the lady that
her virginity is really stuck up some-
place in her super-ego, and not the
spot where she thinks she keeps it.
Explain that sex is a perfectly normal
drive, like hunger, thirst, Hydromatic.
Hint darkly about the dangers of
frustrating the libido — mention
neuroses, sychoses, halitoses, and
anything else you can think of to
throw in. By evening's end, the poor
creature will be begging you to save
her from a life of frigidity, a trau-
matic-schizophrenic -oedipus - complex,
(continued on page 50)

“PH ask the questions, sir!”

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PLAYBOY

42

THE GARDENER AND THE NUNS
A CERTAIN convent, in the olden
time, contained eight young nuns and
an abbess, all noted for their sanctity.
Ihe only men they ever saw were the
convent steward and a gardener: aged
fellows, homely in appearance and
simple of mind—men not likely to
inspire passion in even the most wan
ton of women.

The gardener's duties were arduous
and his salary small. Eventually, there-
fore, the gardener gave up the job
and returned to the town of his birth.
He was welcomed by the townspeople,
among them a strong and lusty youth
named Masetto, who asked him, “What
did you do at the convent?”

“Tended the garden,” the old man
answered, “fetched wood and water,
and many other things. But the pay
was next to nothing and there’s no
pleasing those holy sisters. They're
all too young and full of spirit, for-
ever teasing and bedevilling a poor
soul. It was too much for me.”

Masetto nodded gravely and said.

Ribald CLASSICS

A new translation of one of the choicest stories from Boccaccio’s Decameron

"You were right to give it up. Who
wants to work for women?” But as he
said these words, Masetto was think
ing what a pleasure it would be to
live and work among such high-spirit-
ed ladies. And so, secretly, he resolved
to take on the job the old man had
relinquished.

Masetto, however, was neither aged,
homely nor simple-minded, and he
feared his good looks might hinder
his chances of getting the job. After
much pondering, he hit upon the idea
of pretending to be a deaf mute. De-
lighted with his own cleverness, he
dressed in the dothes of a poor man,
took an axe on his shoulder and made
straightway for the convent.

Masetto's strong back and willing:
ness to work made him very popular
with the convent steward, who gave
him a number of heavy tasks to per-
form. Masetto did them well and earn-
ed the admiration of the abbess who.
the next day, asked the steward who
he was.

"Only a poor deaf mute, Madonna.”

The breeze had lifted his tunic.

fiction

the steward suid. “He wandered in
and made motions L took to be a plea
for food. I fed him and he has work-
ed for me.”

“Good,” said the abbess. “Find out
if he knows how to plant a garden.”

And so Masetto became the convent
gardener. The young nuns found him
a figure of fun. They teased him and
sang naughty songs in his presence,
thinking he could not hear them. One
day, he heard two of the prettiest
sisters talking together thus:

“Sister, I have been told that no
leasure is keener than that a woman
feels with a man. Yet here we are im-
prisoned behind these convent walls.
Is it not sad that we may not know
this pleasure? Why should we not try
it with this dumb oaf who tends our
garden? He has no tongue to speak
of it after.”

“But what of our vows, sister?”

“To break them thus will only
prove that we are human. Later we
can repent and be forgiven.”

“But suppose our pleasure should
bear fruit?"

“You worry too much. We can cross
that bridge when we come to it.”

Her fears quieted, the second nun
became quite eager. “How shall we
go about it?”

“That 6 the easiest part. We will
simply take him by the hand and lead
him into the hut. Then, while one of
us is inside with him, the other can
keep watch outside.”

"Let us do it, by all means!”

Masetto, hearing all this, could
hardly restrain his joy. But, with a
supreme effort, he managed to appear
as if he had not heard one word.

When the nuns led him to the hut,
he giggled foolishly and obeyed their
every gesture. First one sister, then
the other, tasted the joys of which they
had heard, and found them even
sweeter than they had hoped. There-
after, Masetto served them daily in
the same way,

One day, however, their sport was
discovered. Another nun, passing the
hut and hearing strange cries within.
looked through a chink in the wood
and saw them in the throes of plea-
sure. She beckoned to another nun
and they took turns watching. When
it was all over, they decided it was
a monstrous act they had witnessed
and set out to denounce the erring
sisters to the abbess.

The nun who was keeping watch
saw them departing and, overtaking
them, suggested they share Masetto's
treasure. They considered this and
eventually agreed. In this way, it was
not long before all eight nuns in the
convent were taking turns in the hut
with the new gardener. And the abbess
suspected nothing.

Such strenuous duty eventually be-
gan effecting Masetto. He no longer
found the energy to ull the soil and
would often lie down in the garden
and sleep in the middle of the day.
One Ah afternoon, the abbess was
passing and saw him lying on the
ground. ‘The breeze had lifted his
tunic, exposing the manly contour ol
his codpiece. Seeing this, the abbess
was seized by an unaccustomed appe:
tite. She woke him and escorted him
w her chamber,

For several days, Masetto was the
sole property of the abbess, and the
eight young nuns pined for his at-
tention, When her long fast was tem-
BOT sated, the abbess let him go,
ut called upon his talents again from
time to time.

At last, Masetto grew so weak and
shaken that he fell to his knees in
the abbess chamber and gasped.
"Madonna! It is said that a rooster
can satisfy ten hens but ten strong
men cannot satisfy one woman. Pity
me, then, who must quench the thirsts
of nine women singlehanded!"

“Nine women?!" cried the abbess.
“Explain yourself! And pray tell me,
100, how you can speak. I was told
you were deaf and dumb."

"So I was, lady, but a merciful God
has seen fit to restore my speech so
I might save myself!” He then told
her of his activities with the eight
nuns.

The abbess, a wise woman, realized
that even if she wanted to, she could
not possibly dismiss Masetto and per
mit him to leave the convent with the
tale of what had transpired. She real.
ized, too, that he could not be expect-
ed to continue on in the same fashion
And so, after consulting with the eight
nuns, she established a strict schedule.

In this way, the nine high-spirited
ladies continued to enrich their lives
Without endangering the health of
their obedient and happy gardener,

43

PLAYBOY

“Sorry I’m late, mamma— my zipper stuck.”

BUSINESS MEETING

(continued from page 13)

of any meeting. Some suggested top-
ics:

“We've all got to Pull Together
on this!”

Or:

“We'll lick them at their own
game, damn itl"

Other dandy ones will come to you.

2. Be Decisive. Your own mind
must always be clear, and made up,
whether or not you understand what
everybody is talking about. Leave the
shilly-shallying to others. Yours must
be the steady hand to which others
turn.

3. But Avoid a Decision. ‘There is
an anticlimactic, soggy feeling about
a meeting after a decision has been
reached. There is little danger of this,
as we will see, but don't relax. You
will know that the problem at hand
is only the excuse for the meeting. Yet
to some, your remarks — inspiring as
they may be — will have a hollow ring
if delivered after the decision.

Follow this easy method, if a meet-
ing is in danger of ending;

“Well, that seems to button up
the matter, eh Finch?”

“Really? [don’t get any nourish-
ment out of that at all! Let's
re-examine!"

(You can always reexamine.)

4. The Sleeper Play. Never speak
first. Let the others talk themselves
out. Then come slowly into action:

“As I sit here and listen to all of
you, it seems to me that there's
one basic fallacy to all your
reasoning.”

(dt this point, go ahead and say
what you had planned to say in the
first place. It is not necessary to have
listened, except in a general way, to
what has gone before.)

5. The “If George Were Only Here”
Device. If someone opposes you, try
to have the meeting when he is out of
town. Then preface your remarks
with: “If George were only here Im
sure he'd agree that —" Proceed then
to demolish George's entire position.

6. The All-Out Attack, or Sweep-
ing the Meeting Off Its Feet. ጀ[ፎር
tive, yes, and exhilarating, too! Some
preter simple shouting or table pound-
ing, but the true virtuoso can cry, roll
on the floor, stand on furniture, re-
move clothing, gag, spit, and use flip
cards and slide films. All these have
their places.

7. Underplay. A good yariation of
the above is the reverse twist. You
can create a crushing effect by under-
playing. Assume a wounded expres
sion, and say in a tiny, hurt voice:

“Why do you do this to me?”

This is most effective if you have
previously terrorized the mecting, or
if you have a reputation for unusual
ruthlessness.

8. The Filibuster. This is of value
only if an opponent has to make a
train or see a customer or client. Read
a file of fifty or sixty letters, more
or less related to the subject.

9. Be a Meeting-Leaver. The truc
Meeting-Leaver rarely attends meet-
ings — he just leaves them. This is
good. It places you somchow above
the meeting you're leaving, and im-
plies that you're going to another that
15 more important.

“Wish I could stay with you fel-
lows. Another meeting, you
know"

At the other meeting (and there is
always another mecting somewhere)
you say the same thing — but do not
return to the first meeting. Remem-
ber this. Never go bach!

10. Beware the Do-It-Now-er! At
every meeting there will be some crude
fellow who does not understand the
true purpose of the Mecting as a For-
um and Sounding Board. He will
always try to “get something done.”
He may open a meeting like this:

“Well, fellows, this is something
we really should be able to de-
cide in five minutes. I just
want a quick reaction,”

He will soon find himself without
friends — and perhaps without em-
ployment.

Occasionally something will have to
be decided. The decision will be
made by the one really in authority,
who wouldn't have attended the mect-
ing anyway.

“Well, Finch, what did you boys
decide?”

“Uh, we didn't quite resolve it,

J. B. But it was a good mect-

tung (Meetings ure always

“good” meetings) “I think we

all sce the problem clearly. I

presented my case about buy-

ing, botlı pro and con.”

“Mostly pro, 1 hope. I bought it

this morning.”

black country
(continued from page 32)

solo that broke the glasses and cracked
the ceiling and cleared the dancefloor
like a tornado. Nothing off the stem,
cither- but like it was practice, sort of,
or exercise. A solo out of nothing
that didn’t even try to hang on to
a shred of the melody.

"Man, it’s great, but let us know
when it's gonna happen, hear!”

About then Sonny turned down the
flume on Rose-Ann. He was polite
enough and a stranger wouldn't have
noticed, but we did, and Rose-Ann
did—and it was tough for her to keep
it all down under, hidden. All those
questions, all those memories and
fears.

He stopped going out and took to

hanging around his rooms a lot. Once
in a while he'd start playing: one time
we listened to that horn all night.

Finally—it was still somewhere in
Louisiana—when Sonny wis reaching
with his trumpet so high he didn’t get
any more sound out of it than a dog-
whistle, and the front cats were
laughing up a storm, I went over and
put ዘ to him flatfooted-

His eyes were big and he looked like
he was trying to say something and
couldn't. He looked scared.

“Sonny . - . Look, boy, whut are you
after? Tell a friend, man, don't lock
it up.”

But ከር
couldn't.

He was coughing too hard.

Here's the way we doped it: Sonny
had worshipped Spoof, like a god or
something. Now some Spoof was rub-
bing off, and he didn't know it,

Freddie was elected. Freddie talks
pretty good most of the time.

"Get off the train, Jack. Ol’ Mas-
suh's gone now, dead and buried.
Mean, what he was after ain't to be
had. Mean, he wanted it all and then
some—and all is all, there isn’t any
more. You play the greatest, Sonny—
go on, ask anybody. Just fine. So get
off the train...”

And Sonny laughed, and agreed,
and promised. I mean in words. His
eyes played another number, though.

Sometimes he snapped out of it, it
looked like, and he was fine then—
tired and hungry, but with it. And
we'd think, he's okay. Then it would
happen all over again—only worse.
Every time, worse.

And it got so Sonny even talked
like Spoof half the time: “Broom off,
man, leave me alone, will you? Can't
you see Um busy, got things to do?
Get away!” And walked like Spoof—
that slow walkin-yoursleep shuffle.
And did little things—like scratch-
ing his belly and leaving his shoes un-
laced and rehearsing in his under-
shirt.

He started to smoke weeds in Ala-
bama.

In Tennessee he took the first drink
anybody ever saw him take.

And always with that horn—cussing
it, yelling at it, getting sore because
it wouldn't do what he wanted it to.

We had to leave him alone, finally.
“EIN handle it . . . I-understand, 1
think . . . Just go away, itll be all
right..."

ተመው! could help him. Nobody at
all.

Especially not Rosc-Ann.

didn't answer me. He

End of the corn-belt route, the way
Sonny had it booked, was the Copper
Club. We hadn't been back there since
the night we planted Spoof—and we

(continued on next page)

45

PLAYBOY

BRIDGE

(continued [rom page 25)

Mi in all, tournament bridge is a bet
ter test of a players skill since it greatly
reduces the clement of luck which is
such an important factor in rubber
bridge.

The best way to learn to play well
Is KO compete agarnst strong Oppon-
ents. Tournament bridge is an ex-
cellent, inexpensive way for the av-
erage player to play against the ex-
perts and, in so doing, improve his
game.

The experts play m tournaments
for a variety of reasons: some for the
sheer love of the game, others to win
prestige for business reasons (books,
newspaper columns, teaching), and
others to meet old friends and lift a
few of those cups that cheer.

The biggest tournaments, the Bridge
Nationals, are held in August and De-
cember and attract players from all
over the country, Many come for the
experience of competing against the
top-ranking players and, also, to try
for the awards and prizes given out.
Since one of the events, the Masters
Team carries with it an all-expense-
paid trip to meet the European cham-
pions for the international title and
others reward the winners with
merchandise worth a good deal of
money, all the players are not solely
driven by the competitive urge. How-
ever, in the main, the players put our
a good deal of money and time, as
do most amateurs in other sports, for
the chance to compete,

The players at a tournament are
an interesting bunch, Most of them
are extremely extroverted and very
confident of their abilities; very few
could be described as shrinking vio-
lets. They range from social register
ladies who come formal for evening
play to a superstitious expert who
wears brightly colored berets and
keeps changing them as his fortunes
wax and wane.

There are those who are always
willing to give or take a bet on their
ability, or on yours, to beat them or
the entire field. One of my biggest
“kicks,” aside trom winning the two
major events at the 1953 Summer Na-
tionals, was cashing in on a 40-10-1
bet that I wouldn't win the Masters
Pairs at that tournament. Since I had
put $10 on my nose, for sentiments
sake, it was a very welcome windfall.

What does it take to become an ex-
pert bridge player? Can anyone with
ractice, become onc? Ud say, no.

e have neither the interest nor
capacity to play really expert bridge.
They either give up the game after a
few attempts al it or remain at the
same level that I do in golf — a happy
duffer, There is a knack, a sort of
vard-sense, that is required to play

46

rewlly expertly. This knack, incident
ally has nothing to do with mathemati
cal ability. A number of the nation’s
top players would have difficulty
getting through a beginning course
in algebra, or adding up a grocery
list, for that matter. The knack to
play really expertly seems to be somt-
thing inborn, and a person either
has it or doesn't. Without it, you'll
never win an event in @ tournament,
but you can have just as much fun at
ıhe game as those who do.

All that's really required to play
good social bridge is a reasonable
knowledge of bidding and a passable
ability to play and defend a hand.
It cannot be overstressed that bidding
is conceded to be the most import-
ant aspect of the game. The most bril-
liant player in the world can't bring
in a hand if he is in a hopeless con-
tract; a mediocre player can bring in
a hand if it has been reasonably bid.

An expert would rather play with
an average player who can arrive at
a reasonable contract than one who
has mastered all the intricacies of play
and defense, who knows all the obtuse
squeezes and coups, but can't bid well.

An important thing for any player
to realize 15 his limitations. Just as
1 wouldn't attempt to drive the green
on a 250-yard hole, so the average
player should refrain from bidding
games and slams that he thinks will
be extremely close and that he will
have to play over his head to make.

(continued on page 48)

black country

(continued from page 45)

didn't [ርር] very good about it.

But a contract isn't anything els

So we took rooms at the only hotel
there ever wits in the town. You muke
a guess which room Sonny took. And
we played some curds and bruised our
chops and tried to sleep and couldn't.
We tossed around in the beds, listen-
ing, waiting for the horn to begin.
But it didn't. All night long, it didn't.

We found out why, oh yes...

Next day we all walked around
just about everywhere except in the
direction of the cemetery. Why kick
up misery? Why make it any harder?

Sonny stayed in his room until ten
before opening, and we began to
worry. But he got in under the wire.

The Copper Club was packed. Yo-
kels and farmers and high school stuff,
a jazz ‘connoisseur’ here and there—
to the beams. Freddie had set up the
stands with the music notes all in
order, and in a few minutes we had
our positions.

Sonny came out wired for sound. He
looked—powerful; and that's a hard
way for a five-foot four-inch bald-head-
ed white man to look, At any time
Rose-Ann threw me a glance and I

threw it back and collected at from the
rest. Something bad. Something real
bad. Soon.

Sunny didn't look any which way.
He waited for the applause to die
down, then he did a quick One-Two
Three-Four and we swung into The
Jimjam Man, our theme.

I mean to say, that crowd was with
us all the way—they smelled some-
thing.

Sonny did the thumb-and-little-
finger signal and we started Only Us
Chickens. Bud Meunier did the intro
on his bass, then Henry took over on
the piano. He played one hand racing
the other. The front cats hollered
“Gol Go!" and Henry went. His left
hand crawled on down over the keys
and scrambled and didn't fuzz once or
slip once and then walked away, cocky
and proud, like a mouse full of cheese
from an unsprung trap.

“Hooo-boyt Play, Henry, play!”

Sonny watched and smiled. “Bring
it on out,” he said, gentle, quiet,
pleased. “Keep bringin’ it out.” >

Henry did that counterpoint busi-
ness that you're not supposed to be
able to do unless you have two right
arms and four extra fingers, and he
got that boiler puffing, and he got it
shaking, and he screamed his Henry
Walker "Woo00000000!" and—he
finished. I came in on the tubs and
bear them up till I couldn't see for
the sweat, hit the cymbal and waited.

Mr. 'T', Lux and Jimmy fiddlefad:
dled like a coop of capons talking
about their operations for a while.
Rose-Ann chanted: “Only us chick:
ens in the hen-house, Daddy, Only
us chickens here, Only us chickens in
the hen-house, Daddy, Ooo-bab-a-roo.
Ovo-bob-a-r00 . . . ”

"Then it was horn time. Time for
the big solo.

Sonny lifted the trumpei-One!
Twol—He got it into sight—Three!

We all stopped dead. I mean we
stopped,

That wasn't Sonny's horn. This one
was dented-in and beatup and the tip
end was nicked. It didn’t shine, not
a bit.

Lux leaned over—you could have fit
a coffee cup into his mouth. “Jesus
God," he said. “Am I seeing right?”

I looked close and said: “Man. 1
hope not,”

But why kid? We'd seen that trum-
pet a million times.

It was Spoofs.

Rose Anu was trembling. Just like
me, she remembered how we'd buried
the horn with Spoof. And she re:
membered how quiet it had been in
Sonny's room last night . . -

I started to think real hop-head
thoughts, like-where did Sonny get
hold of a shovel that late? and how
could he expect a horn to play that's
been under the ground for two years?

and—

That blast got into our ears like
long knives.

Spoofs own trademark!

Sonny looked caught, like he didnt
know what to do at first, like he was
hypnotized, scared, almighty scared.
But as the sound came out, rolling
out, sharp and clean and clear—new-
trumpet sound — his Spro
changed. His eyes changed: they
danced a little and opened wide.

Then he closed them, and blew that
horn. Lord God of the Fishes, how he
blew it How he loved it and caressed
it and pushed it up, higher and higher
and higher. High C? Bottom of the
barrel. He took off, and he walked all
over the rules and stamped them flat,

The melody got lost, first off.
Everything got lost, then, while that
horn Hew. It wasn't only jazz; it was
the heart of jazz, and the insides,
pulled out with the roots and held up
for everybody to see; it was blues that
told the story of all the lonely cats
and all the ugly whores who ever
lived, blues that spoke up for the loser
lamping sunshine out of iron-gray bars
and every hop-head hooked and gone,
for the bindlestiffs and the city slic-
ers, for the country boys in Georgia
shacks and the High Yellow hipsters
in Chicago slums and the bootblacks
on the corners and the fruits in New
Orleans, a blues that spoke for all the
lonely, sad and anxious downers
who could never speak themselves . .

And then, when it had said all this,
it stopped and there was a quiet so
quiet that Sonny could have shouted:

“It's okay, Spoof. It's all right now.
You'll get it said, all of it—I’ll help
you. God, Spoof, you showed me how.
you planned it—I'll do my best!”

And he laid back his head and fas-
tened the hom and pulled in air and
blew some more. Not sad, now, not
blues—but not anything else you could
call by name. Except... Jazz. It was
jazz.

Hate blew out that horn, then. Hate
and fury and mad and fight, like
screams and snarls, like little razors
shooting at you, millions of them, cut
ting, cutting deep...

And Sonny only stopping to wipe
his lip and whisper in the silent
room full of people: “You're saying it.
Spoof! You are!”

God Almighty Himself must have
heard that trumpet, then; slapping
and hitting and hurting with notes
that don't exist and never existed.
Man! Life took a real beating! Life por
groined and sliced and belly-punched
and the horn, it didn’t stop until
everthing had all spilled out. every bit
of the hate and mad that's built up
in a man’s heart.

Rose-Ann walked over to me and
dug her nails into my hand as she
listened to Sonny.

"Come on now, Spool! Come on!
We can do it! Let's play the rest and
play it right. You know it's got to be
said, you know it does. Come on, you
and me together!”

And ıhe horn took off with a big
yellow blast and started to laugh. |
mean it laughed! Hooted and hollered
and jumped around, dancing. singing,
strutting through those notes that
never were there. Happy music? Joy-
ful music? It was chicken dinner and
an empty stomach; it was big-butted
women and big white beds; it was
country walking and windy days and
freshborn crying and—Oh, there just
doesn't happen to be any happiness
that didn’t come out of that horn.

Sonny hit the last high note—the
Spoof blast—but so high you could just
barely hear it.

Then Sonny dropped the horn. It
fell onto the floor and bounced and
Jay still.

And nobody breathed. For a long

long time.

Rose-Ann let go of my hand, at
last. She walked across the platlorın,
slowly, and picked up the trumpet and
handed it to Sonny.

He knew what she meant.

We all did, It was over now, over
and done...

Lux plucked out the intro. Jimmy
Fritch picked it up and kept the mel
ody.
‘Then we all joined in, slow and
quiet, quiet as we could. With Sonny
— I'm talking abeut Sonny — putting
out the kind of sound he'd always
wanted to.

And Rose-Ann sang it. clear as a
mountain wind—not just from her
heart, but from her belly and her guts
and every living part of her.

For The Ol’ Massuh. just for him.
Spool’s own song:

Black Country.

“Look, Skipper—land ho!”

47

PLAYBOY

BRIDGE (continued from page 46)

It is far better to play a partscore
and make an overtrick than to bid a
game and go down one.

As one is learning the game, it is
wise to be conservative. As a player
gains experience and knowledge, he
can start bidding the close games and
slams as, by then, he will have the
ability to bring home the difficult
hands.

One of the hands that came up in
this years International Match at
Monte Carlo illustrates the importance
of bidding:

ለክ Vulnerable.

NORTH
S.A K 865
H. 6
D.A ]8
GK 74 3
WEST EAST
3417793 5.0102
H. K 10752 1.0 J3
D.K 96 DO 758.2
co 5 ር. ] 10
SOUTH
5 74
H. A984
1). 10 4
C A 862
Fhe bidding went like this:
N E ኣ wW
DS Pass 2 C. Pass
IC Pass 3 H. Double
4 D. Pass 5 C. Pass
6 C. All Pass

The American team bid this hand to
a small slam and made seven when all
the suits split. The French team, hold-
ing the same cards, arrived at three
no-trump and lost 760 points on the
hand. Since the American team won
by only 4200 points overall, this one
hand represented one-sixth of the
winning margin.

Right up next to bidding on my
list of bridge musts, I'd put keeping
one's composure. It is, of course, al-
ways Our partner who makes the mis-
takes and it sometimes takes real sell-
control to refrain from dropping lit-
tle barbs into the conversation like,
“Why didn't you bring your head
along with you for the game tonight?"

Composure pays off, however,
You'll play a better game and so will
yom partner, if you take the bad

reaks philosophically, don't try to
play one another's hands, and figure
there’s always the next round coming
up, with a chance to even the score.

Talking about telling someone how
to play a hand reminds me of why
I quit claiming tricks. Once, playing
against two middle-aged ladies, 1
played out the first few tricks, then
laid down my hand and claimed the
rest of the tricks as ours. They asked
me to play it out, which 1 proceeded
to do, taking all the remaining tricks.
T then excused myself to get a drink.

48

When I returned, my partner filled
me in on what had happened during
my absence. Lhe two ladies had taken
offense at my action and had told my
partner that they considered me a
little obnoxious for claiming the hand.
My partner, a very well-mannered
fellow, attempted to defend me, say-
ing that the claiming of tricks was
not an unusual practice, that it saved
time, and that he didn't consider my
actions obnoxious. To this, one of the
ladies replied, “Well, you wouldn't—
you're rather obnoxious yourself.” It
would have been rather difficut to top
that, so my partner and I conceded the
ladies the Rennes and in the future
I played out all my hands.

If you play sociable rubber bridge
and want to win more than you do
now, or if you never hold any cards
and want to minimize your losses,
here are a few tips that may be of
help:

The only way that you can tell
your partner that you have a bad
hand is to pass. When your partner
has opened the bidding and you have
a mediocre hand either pass or bid
one no-trump to slow him down.

When you have opened the bid-
ding on a minimum hand and your
partner responds, either rebid your
suit or bid one no-trump to show that
you have nothing in excess of your
original opening bid. The same ap-
plies when your opponents start over
calling. If you have opened a mini-
mum hand, pass at your first oppor-
tunity to allow your partner the
chance to double the opposition,
raise your suit, or to concede the
hand to them. The greatest losses oc-
cur when a partnership keeps bidding
and rebidding the same values. Be-
fore you realize it, you're over your
heads, the opposition doubles, and
you eat at hamburger heaven the
rest of the week,

Also, when you and your partner
have a majority of the high cards but
don't have a good fit in any one suit,
the smartest thing to do is pass, and
hope for a better break next hand.
There's no point in bidding and re
bidding your six card heart suit,
when your partner stubbornly insists
on tiking it out to his seven card suit
in spades.

Caution can be overdone too, of
course, When your partner has
opened the bidding and you have
a good hand, you should be thinking
about the possibilities of bidding
game. Alter you've responded and
your partner has made a rebid, giving
you a clearer idea of the partnership's
assets, if you still think there's a game
in the cards, don't be a coward, go
ahead and bid it. This will eliminate
all those arguments where a guy has

been passed out by his partner after
what he considered to be a forcing bid.
And you will have the advantage of
having reached game without reveal-
ing all your strength to your oppon-
ents, making it more difficult for them
to defend against it, That can some-
times make the difference in bring-
ing home a shaky contract.

Even the experts sometimes arrive
at unreasonable contracts ancl some-
times, with a little luck, bring them

home. Here's an example from last
year's Summer National:
NORTH
5. እ ] 7 6
HAK . 7
b O79
C. 105
WEST EAST
5 9 52 NEE]
H. 10 96 Hoy 6፡11 ወ
D. A108642D.K7
C K C.J 763
SOUTH
S.A OQ 104
H. 4
D 53

Cr A Q:98 42

After North had opened with one
no-trump, South reached a contract
of six spades. In playing the hand,
West fatled to lead a diamond and
the slam was made by guessing the
club situation. Since I played the
Souch hand, and it was printed in
Life Magazine, 1 still get questions that
boil down to: “Do you have to be an
expert to make a slam, bid when your
opponents hold enough tricks to set
you from the very start?” I always an-
swer, “No, but it helps.”

The expert often has an edge in a
game, beyond his actual skill. Oppon
ents are apt to be awed by his reputa-
tion. It's a good idea to remember,
when playing a so-called expert, or
anyone better than you, that no one
vin make an ace out of a deuce. Lf
the expert gets himself into an un-
makeable contract, he'll go down the
same as anyone else. It is the nervous
or unsure player who gives “presents”
to the expert, and permits him to walk
away with the big winnings at rubber
or tournament bridge. The average
player can hold his own, if he refuses
to concede yictory before the hand is
layed. 1 wouldn't say that he will
cat a really expert player very often,
but he should be able to make him
work plenty for his points, and there
is always another hand coming up.

IE you play much bridge, you're
probably a confident plaver, with or
without reason, and that’s what makes
the game so much fun. If the last hand
went against vou, it's “Tough luck,
partner, if the finesse had worked
we would have made it. But deal those
cards, we'll kill you this time!”

A FINE OLD ENGIAVING BY THAT FINE OLD ENGRAVER, JONN HELD, JR.

PLAYBOY

VIRGINITY

(continued from page 40)

or worst, and, big man thar you are,
youll do just that.

Ihe Atome Age Approach. This
technique bas the advantage ol being
ዉ ህዞ. as tomorrow » beadlincs.
Mumble someting ዘህ about [ከር
shape the world is i, clk about US.-
Russian reketsonx, mention the Iy-
drogen bomb, spend sane time በኩ
curs the effect one 11 owl would
have if at fell, just lor the sake of
Gmveratem, on the root af the par-
tular bar in which youre drinking.
If this docse’t get to ber, suert talking
about (yang saucers and invasıoa from
Min, When you've got her in the
properly powunistic frame of mind,
Mug down a Milf one and say, "We
might as well live lor tonight, baby,
‘cause who knows where the heil
we'll be romorrow!”

This » actually a variation of the
very werrewfal wartime technique that
ran 40 soenctbing like, “Lowe me 10:
night, ‘came tomorrow Km getting
blown to bets on [ከና lighung fronts
of the works.” The advantage of this
new approach is obvious, since you've
two cones to contemplate instead
rf o one.

he Snob Approach, Some girls
like to think they're differcax — above
the common crowd. The technique
should always be suited to the per
sonality of the lady involved, and
when confronted with one of this
species, the Snob Apprusch in in
order, Old fiahioned morality, you
will esplam, ds okay for ordinary
people, she (your date) and you
are specal caves — above the taboos
and restrictions that bind others. Sex
thus becomes a method of proving
her superiority.

ሃዛ Kinsey Afıpıronch You will
meet, too, from time to time, the
snob's counterpart — the girl who
wants to conform, the girl who wants
to be just the same as everyone else,
to do whatever everyone che is doing.
For Mim Common Denominator, we
sugges Kinsey's lam volume, Sexual
Hehmror In The Human Female,
You an pene almos anything with
this book. Select your passages carc-
fully, then sead choice bits like BIY,
of all American women pet, 60%
hive promsritul intercoume, 75%,
af the women who experience sex
have no regrets alterward, those who
indulge in premarital relations make
beuer adjasıments alter marriage. Be
earclul to select only tbe parts of
the book that help prove your point,
and add sen ve filtcees nt to the
figures ዘ you like, Shell never know
the dillerence,

The idea 6 to bowl her over with
the sheer mass of your statistics —
all proving that simply everybody is

በኮ በዚ ocx the sewon, Losing her
virginity will acen very unimportant
compared to the bear of being differ
cor

The Persistent Approach. Some gris
attempt to vord ag af the ተፈዘ8ፍከዚ፤
approaches by simply changing the
spa Whenever at gets arowed to
ven. For these we sugges persist-
vaar, with a capital “P. No matter
what she talks about, you talk about
ur

For example, youre sitting ma
mesa. You've post ordered drinka
sad are looking over the dinner menu
Your daw notice you eveing her rart»
ct bow cut dress

“De vou like me im this dress?” she
ahs “Its new!”

“Very much” you reply poluelv,

awl Tl like wou even better without
«ዘ

Somewhat [[ጨዚየር.ር፡ሽ by tha she
Ques to change the subject to the
weather,

“It's been am awfally hot summer,
hasn't it?” she says

“Nat ns bot as 1 am for you wight
arm,” Vall OEA, in a Voice MERO
mg both sancenty and quiet emocion.

Staring at ber menu "The tish
hooks vond.”

Ignoring your own menu. Marıng at
her boldly: “Did you know that male
Inh fertilize the after ዘጽ female
be laid them and that they never
have bodily contact with Onc another?
Thi has been suggested us the bases
fer the expression, “poor fish” ~

She: “May I have the cherry from
wur Tom Collins?”

And so on.
Eventually she will [ዘዘክር ther
roashly undone, wall ከበበ it imposi

ble to avoid the subject any longer.
and you will be on your way

We have offered here, as we sud
in the beginning. only a few af the
more banc techniques. With a ከክ
er ay pecan ge you will undoube

y be able w add a number ol
equally succesful methods of your
wen. If you hit on any really good
naes, be sure op der us know

CHAFING DISH

(continued from page 36)

main meal of the day and named it
alter the dih they would have pre-
ferred. Such comic misnomers are not
unusual: A p! 9በርህ
fash 5 called y Duck in India
and Colonial Goose is the name given
to stuffed mutton by the Australians

In making Webh Rabbit it 6 ዘቦ
portant to couk the cheese over hot
water, using the bottom pan of the
chafing dish. A direct flame will cause
the protein in the cheese to harden

and for cough strong Obd Ameri
448 choose, the nat trap variety, oumb
ly and pungent wich age, 5 the besi
Process sharp American cheese may be
used if natural cheese is unavailable
Webh Rabbit is simply cheese hear-
ed untl ዘ is liquid amd has the com
sistemy of ዜ thick sauce, flavornd
mainly with ale, mustard and worces
tershine sauce. It should tase like a
river of gold out of Hades and should
always be served on dry toast.

WELSII RABBIT FOR
FOUR MALES

Open wo eggs, scpersteng Uie volks
[vom tbe whites. Ask the landkidy to
show you how to do this if mecessarv.
Give ber the whites ax a present. Keep
the yolks

Cot 1e, pounds of obd cheddar
cheese ዘህ cubes about 44 inch thick
Melt te tablespoons of butter in the
top part of the chafing dish. Add 1
teaspoon paprika, 1 teaspoon dry mus
tard, Y teaspoon salt, p teaspoon
pepper, 2 teaspoons Worecstershire
sauce, and 2 (cus 5 preparcd mus
tard. Stir well to blend all the season
ings thoroughly, Add 44 cup ale, Add
the cheese and cook, stirring frequent
ኩነ until the cubes of cheese melt com
pletely. While the cheese 5 meling
san making tust, slowing about 2
slices per penon.

Whea the Rabbit 6 very hot, beor
the cge yolks slightly and add them
to the cheese, Cook two minutes long
er, stimming constantly. Pour the Rab
bit over toast on serving dishes
The Rabbis shouk! be followed with
an ኣክ» supply ef cold ale wr
wer,

SHERRIED CRABMEAT FOR
FOUR BONS VIVANTS
Canned. frozen or freshly cooked
crabmeat availible in [ዶኮ stores may
be used for making Sherrod Crab

mat

Mol: 5 tablespoons butter in chat
ing dish over simmering water, Ex
amine a 13 ounce can of aubıneaı.
removing any cartilage or shell, Break
the crabracat into large bumps.

Place the crabencat an the chaling
dish. Add 14 cup dry sherry wine, a
10 ounce can of condensed cream of
mushroom soup, and 14 cup of ligha
acam or milk. Mix well.

Simener until mixture is very hot
Add Y, teaspoon worcestershire sauce
Add 34 cup finelly chopped scallions
using both white and green part. Add
salt and pepper to taste. When the
arabmmeat ss served, there should be
a basket of crisp French bread on
the table. Pass a salad of crisp, curly
chicory and tomato wodges with tangy
French dresing. Serve a boule or
two of cold Liebfraummch with thw
aabuncat

POOR PLAYBOY’S ALMANAC

BENJAMIN FRANKLIN had no idea, of course, that
his Advice on the Chance of a Mistress would cven
tually appear in an carly ክኣ ol PLAYBOY, But we
think ከር would have approved, for PLAYBOY 5 pub
lished for fellows very much like Ben. ‘The author ol
Poor Richard's Almanac didn't spend all his time dis
pensing wise words and flying kites. He enjoyed life's
many pleasures, and when he was sent to France us
a special commissioner, his charm and ready wit won
NEXT the hearts of many Parisian ladies
"Dost thou lowe life?” be inquired: “Then do not
squander time.”
It's excellent advice. If you love life, as Franklin
did, then do not squander time, but subscribe today
to that indispensable almanac of pleasure and good

living PLAYBOY.

3 von 13 2 yon S10

(You save $5.00 from the (You save $2.00 from the
regular single-copy price.) regular single-copy price.)

1 yeor $6

Please enter my subscription to PLAYBOY for

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A Sophisticated Tale

By W. Somerset Maugham

Mami =s

ADORE S $.

ርና

ZONE STATE. ፦ —

ENTER AbbINOMAL SURSCRIFTIONS ON A SEPARATE
SHEET OF PAPER SEND TO PLAYBOY, II E. SUPERIOR,
cuac 11 ከ11 መገና

MONTH

Back to Collego

with cartoonist

Julien Dedman

IN THIS ISSUE

“BLACK COUNTRY”

by Charles Beaumont

the most exciting jazz story since
“Young Man With A Horn””

“SATCHMO BOPS THE BOPPERS!”

Two pages of Louie Armstrong singing

his own satirical version of “The Whiffenpoof Song”