PLAYBOY

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PLAYBILL

OUR BIG RESOLUTION for the new year
is to try and make the next twelve
months of PLAYBOY a little more spe-
cial and entertaining than the last dozen.
We think this issue is a pretty good
start. Ray Bradbury has presented us
with an unusual tale of a future time
when Mars invades the Earth, with un-
expected results. Erskine Caldwell makes
his fourth PLAYBOY appearance, writing
an emotional episode about carnival life;
John Steinbeck makes his first with his
classic, “The Ears of Johnny Bear.”

The PLAYBOY camera enjoys an eve-
ning at the Artists Equity Masquerade
Ball and visits Eartha Kitt backstage at
her new Broadway play.

Betty Page is our Holiday Playmate,
Thomas Mario offers some suggestions
for holiday punches, and Ray Russell
tells a humorous story of a misspent New
Year's Eve.

RUSSELL

MARIO

DEAR PLAYBOY

THE LAST WORD ON ARMIN

Open letter to Mr. Armin J. ("Yours
for moral reform") Edwards: 1 have
never before written to the editor of
any magazine, but your letter in the
November issue of rLAYBoY requires
an answer. You've bitten off more than
you can chew, Mr. Edwards. I've no
doubt you'll read this letter, for I'm

n you never miss ssue. You
write, "I urge you n to take your
magazine off the newsstands before it
is too late.” Nevertheless, you'll pay
50c to read PLAYBOY every month
that it is published. What's with you?

Then you state, “If this advice is not

heeded 1 Ш have to take dra
і poor Armin running
frantically to all the news

ds burning each copy.) To suggest
you are a hypocrite would be giv
ng you the benefit of the doubt; І
you're a psycho.
em interested. in investigations.
, Armin, this office will
investigate you, or refer
t to sce what makes

If y
be Улева to
“aad to a psychi
you tick,
Incidentally, terrific if belated con-
gratulations to гілувоў for Charles
Beaumont’s “Black Country.” І could
hear the jazz, feel the emotions, joy
and tragedy. You must print more of
these,
The
Armin.
Pity.

bove paragraph. wasn't for you,
You'd never understand it

Peter A. Olson, Ma

La Grande Detective Agency
La Grande, Oregon

I just dug your November issue of

PLAYBOY and its real nervous. In

fact it has all the scalpers at Duke
University really wigging. Your "Ribald
Classics” are the mostest. It's the perfect

mag for procuring a little humor and
money (І rent it out). The mag stand is
always sold out. I had to wait two days
to get this onc.

Who is this cat Armin Edwards? He's
strictly a square, Methinks he ought
to pull himself out of his long gone
world and dig some good literature.
Congratulations on a rcal cool mag.
Gotta have more,

Bruce Mcllwain
Duke University

Durham, North Carolina

Гус rcad several adolescent letters
from one Armin J. Edwards of New
Haven and — as a resident of that Е

city — I would like to say that I think
your magazine is fine and could only
offend the warped sensibilities of a
neurotic.

One other thing — I'd like to ask
Mr. Edwards where in blazes he is
buying PLAYBOY New vn. I

havent been able to find a copy on a
newsstand here yet. 1 have to buy my
copies in New York or some other
nearby city.

"Not in New Haven,” you know, has
become a byword around here. We have
a very vicious censorship system here.
Newsstands are visited weekly by un-
iformed officers who remove whatever
magazines they consider "offensive
This, I might add, entirely without any
court order whatsoever. Dozens of mag-
azines have disappeared from the
stands in New Haven. Гус done what
I could to combat this nonsense, but
I'm only an isolated individual. The
Armin J. Edwards of this smug little
city seem to be in control.

Га like to sec a magazine like
PLAYBOY fight this nonsense. Га like
to be able to buy PLAYBoY in New

Haven when І want it. At present І
can't.

Both as a reader and as a freelance
magazine writer, І am seriously con-

cerned with the problem of newsstand
raiding on the part of police officers
whose qualifications to act as commun
ity censors arc at least open to ques-
tion.

І don't know what
Mr. Edwards intends
PLAYBOY, but I do fervently wish
some "drastic action" could be taken
in regard to the many Armin J.
wards who set themselves up as little
self-appointed arbiters for the entire
community.

"drastic. action"
in regard to

Joseph
New H
Just finished reading the second let-
ter by Armin J. Edwards in the No-
vember issue of PLAYBOY。 This mis-
led zealot and his kind brought on pro-
hibition and would love to bring on
censorship. This sort of thinking would
bring on a world like the one described
so well in Ray Bradbury's "Fahrenheit
45125

аупе Brennan
n, Connecticut

Thomas A. Uhlig
Brooklyn, York

Why the incessant babbling about
high moral character, Armin? И you
don't like ғілушоу, keep your damn

ADDRESS PLAYBOY MAGAZINE

11 E. SUPERIOR ST., CHICAGO 11, ILLINOIS

hands off it and your critical analyses
to yourself. гілувоў is the most
popular magazine on campus here at
Michigan. Tech.

joe Schrader
id Daleski
Lincoln Jacobs
Michigan College of Technology
Sault Ste. Marie, Michigan

Just who is this "Righteous" Armin
Edwards that is so much better than
the rest of us poor, sin-ridden mortals?
1, for one, find your magazine in cx-
cellent taste and am surprised to find
anyone (of secming intelligence) 50
narrow minded that he would condemn
PLAYBOY as filth,

N College
Lubbock, Texas
I wonder if our Mr. Edwards is a

direct descendent of the New England
Hell Fire Damnation preacher,

Indiana State Collegi
Terre Haute, Ind

I think Afmin J. Edwards is right
reprimanding your magazine. He is
right in suggesting the kind of people
who read your magazine are not very
smart Your kind of magazine is one
of the major causes of crime in this
country, especially sex crimes. This
type of literature should be prohibited
from the public суе. І only wish І had
1 little more influence in such matters.
And furthermore, I do not want an an-
swer as you gave Armin J. Edwards
about "Why do you read this maga-
zine?” That | consider a easy way of
ducking the truth. — for you know
yourselves — there are many people who
agree with this ım nd you are try-
ing to make a fool out of him.

Frank Martin
Philadelphia, Pa.

Well, we won't try to make а [ool of
you, Frank. That's been taken care of.
More than a few people do agree with
the narrow views expressed in Armin’s
letters, but it turns out Armin isn't one
of them (sce below).

We wrote you two letters under the
pseudonym of Armin J. Edwards which
you were gencrous enough to print in
your magazine. They were extremely ri-
diculous and we were happy to вес you
answered them in such a rational man-
ner, Our purpose in writing these let-

3

PLAYBOY

ters went beyond the goal of a practical
joke consisting ol pulling a fast one
on you. You might have let Armin bluff
you — as it stands now, however, you
have bluffed him.

Some members of

the Class of 1957

Yale University

New Haven, Connecticut

We ought to make you guys turn in

your white bucks for this. Actually,
we'll miss Armin J. — he'd become a
sort of symbol here for those few in
our socicby who believe they have the
right to dictate manners and morals to
the rest of us. Armin is a fiction, but
the Armin attitude is terribly real,
PLAYtOY is edited for the adult male
— for the man a little more sophisticated
and intelligent than the average. Those
who don't enjoy the magazine are free to
spend their money elsewhere, but we'll
be damned if we'll change PLAYPOY
to suit them,

NOVEMBER ISSUE
I hope this reaches you before you go
out of business. Or have you already?
st finished reading the Novem-
id І can say without reserva
poorest excuse for
ve scen in a long time.
If the plump, homely redhead reclin-
ing in the modern chair is PLAYuOY'S
e of the Month.” all I can
is that PLAYBOY is far more hard up
than І am. IL would be all right to use
a photo of the publisher's wife or his
l friend or his secretary. But why
wish his dear old Aunt. Hortense from
Dubuque off on all us poor subscribers?
Miss October was gorgeous, the best
et. And Miss September was cute as a
us саг and quite desirable, even
though а bit immature. But Miss No-
vember is impossible. She should put
some clothes on and go on television.
Dave Garroway, Dr. I. Q. and Roger
Price all in one issue! What is it thi
month, an offspring of TV Forecast,
fathered by that doddering old gentle-

man, Esquire?
john Rogers

Li

is

etroit, Michigan
Your November issuc was gr 1
articularly enjoyed the story, “The

Persistent Nude" by Ernest Leogrande
and the article, “Was My Face Red"
by Dr. I. Q. 1 got a whole bellyful of
Taughs out of the lauter.

Jim Larsen

Montana State College

Bozeman, Montana

Your November issuc was the best
yet. Didn't believe it would be pos-
sible to top your other issues, but you
did. Keep up the great work! I'm send-
ing a gift subscription for my brother
in college. PLAYBOY is a requisite
there, along with chem and philosophy.

Myron J. Basso, D.S.C.
Palo Alto, California

BOXING AND THE IBC

How the hell did you guys do it?
Your November issue included an ar-

4

tide, "Boxing on the Ropes,” stating,
in your own words, that if something
isn't donc about it, "television and the
ut thc light gamc down [or
The night after I received
my issue, І watched the televising of
the Kid Gavilan-Johnny Saxton fiasco,
Two wecks later, thc. newspapers were
talking about a government investiga-
tion of the IBC, and this week Sports
Illustrated came up with some proof
that IBC president Jim Norris has been
a fixer of fights in times gone by. I've
some idea how far ahead a staff has to
work on a monthly magazine, so what
I want to know is, where do you Ісі-
lows buy your crystal balls?

Charles Irwin

Ncw York, New York

The December
was making a big h
Purdue University
cune upon your article

issue of PLAYpoY
as usual, on the
приз until we
папса "Sports"

Craziest Year In this article you
wrongfully and shamefully made the
follow tements: "Notre Dame was

top tcam in the nation alter impressi
wins in its first two games, then Purdue
upset the Irish 27 to М. To keep the
season typical, it onc of the few
the Boilermakers won all season
We wish to point out to you
and your readers that these statements
are in error in three respects.

First, Notre Dame had played only
one game before meeting Purdue — it
as against Texas. Secondly, only а few
sportswriters considered the Purdue vic-
tory over Notre Dame an upset, The
true judge, the football public, was
not surprised at thc outcome of the
game.

Last of all, Purdue had а much berer
season than indicated in your state-
ments. Purdue finished its season with
five victorics, D
Notre Dame,
and Ind T
only to Тома, Wisconsin and the real
number onc team in the ion. Ohio
State. Purdue apologizes to no one for
its football record.

ate, Hlinois
and losing

john F. Hutchins
Lyndell L. Myers
Maurice Stevens

Danicl D. Rawlins
Robert E. Dunivan
Purdue University
Lafayette, Indiana

We would like to t out that
Purdue had a 5-3-1 season and were тас
cd in thc top ten most of the scason.
Purdue also played onc of the toughest
schedules of any school in the nation.

Jerry Brucker

W. Layfayctte, In

Guess we must have been busy look-
ing into our crystal ball during all those
victories, Sorry, fellows. The only ex-
cuse we can offer is that the guy who
wrote the article is an Illinois grad. The
Hlini were picked to win the Big 10 this
season and they wound up in the cellar

without a single conference victory. We
think this loyal alum may have been in
a post season daze when he was compil-
ing his statistics.

TRAVELLING PLAYBOY

Having endured three wecks of hotel
boredom in a strange city, reading the
conventional newsstand offerings as
one source of diversion, І now appre-
i the vendor's insistence that 1 ac
nt myself with what was his last
copy of рглүноү.

X vote of th
his "Hollywood and the Gla
which gave me my first real lau l-
most a month. Sure hope that news
stands of Boston carry your publication
when I return home. И they don't, ex-
pect my subscription. From cover 10
cover, I found it delightfully different
and you've picked up another fan who
sincerely wishes PLAYBOY was rather а
weekly publication.

John Pernaw
Washington, D. C.

aks to Ray Russell for

HIS DISH
I've just caught up with your inter-

esting nd entertaining magazine.
Think you've a very fine layout — like
your cartoons, fiction, and particular-
ly your article, "Is She Your Kind of
Dish?” by Thomas Mario.

Philip Solar

New York, New York

WRITER'S REPORT

As а writer, І peruse some fifty odd
magazines cach month and PLAYuOY
is one of the finest. I read every single

story.

Fred W. McDanah

New York, New York

Didn't know there were that many
odd magazines being published, Fred.

POLAR PLAYBOYS
Please lorward me one copy of THE
nest FROM PLAYBOY. "This will be
going to Thule AFB, Greenland, where
I have it on excellent. authority your
monthly literary contribution is re-
ceived with wild enthusiasm.
Mrs. James Wesley Neal
Rantoul, Illinois

COLE'S FEMALES
Enclosed is my check for the June,
August, September and October issues
of PLAYBOY. І want a complete collec-
tion of the "Females by Cole" cartoons,
which I consider remarkably expressive.
John W. Ellinwood
Harvard University
Cambridge, Massachusetts
For readers keeping permanent PLAY-
nov collections, we've prepared an un-
usually handsome — simulated-leather
binder. П will hold twelve issues and
the magazine's name and emblem are
slamped on the cover in gold. Order
direct from PLAYBOY at $2.50, plus
25€ to cover postage und handling.

CONTENTS FOR
THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE

THE CONCRETE MIXER—fiction ..
WEST COAST JAZZ 15 NOWHERE—joxz -
CARNIVAL fiction un ERSKINE CALDWELL 10
THE EARS OF JOHNNY BEAR—fiction „JOHN STEINBECK 13
PLAYBOY AT THE PUNCH BOWL—drink ..........THOMAS MARIO 16
BABYLON, U.S.A.—pictoriol
PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor .......... E ut]
MISS JANUARY 一 ployboy's playmote of the month —
RIBALD CLASSICS—verse
THE STAG AT EVE—humos
SANTA'S BABY 15 BACK ON BROADWAY-—theatre...
THE WELL DRESSED PLAYBOY—attire .....

„RAY BRADBURY 6
„ВОВ PERLONGO 9

— — |

-JACK J. KESSIE 38

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

JOSEPH PACZEK, assistant art director
ELDON SELLERS, advertising manager

by the HMH Publishing Co. Inc.,
Tru реце Chicago 11, ше. Postage must accompany ай

Gs second-class matter applied for al Ihe post еШсе ei
Chicago, Ilineie, October 14, 2884. Content copyrighted 1954 by
HMH Publishing Co., Inc. Nothing may be re Li
in part without written permission. Printed in U.S.A. Any similar-
ity, between people and, places is purely ава.

iptions: In the U.S, its possessions, and Canada, $13 for
three years; Sio Ice for two years; $6 for one year, in advance. Else-

where, $12 а year, in advance.

Tj Cover design by Arthur Paul, photographs by Alex Siod-
тай; "The Concrete Mixer" copyright Ба by Bar Bradbury,
— with permission ol Harold 5 Maison; Р. Р.

сферы, court-
езу of Down Beat; P. 10 "Carnival" from Jecke copyright
1936 by Erskine Caldwell: в. 267 Bunny Yeager; P. 2857 Twentieth
Century Fox, Mike Shea; P. 41 Down Beat.

vol. 2, no. 2— january, 1955

the old witches’ voices beneath his
open window:

“Speak on, witches!” he cried.

The voices dropped to a murmur like
that of water in the long canals under
the Martian sky.

“Ettil, the father of a son who must
grow up in the shadow of this horrid
knowledge!" said the old wrinkled wo-
men. They knocked their sly ] heads
gently together. “Shame, shame!“

is wi on the other side
Her tears were as rain,
numerous and cool on the tiles. "Oh,
Ettil. how vou think this way?”

Eutil nid aside his metal book which,
at his beckoning, had been singing him
a story all morning from its thin gold-
en-wired frame.

"I've tried to explain." he said. “This
is a foolis
We'll be destroy

Outside. a banging, cr:
surge of brass, a drum, 2
feet, pennants and songs. Through the
stone streets the army. fire weapons to
shoulder. stamped. Children skipped
after. Old women waved dirty flags

“Т shall remain on Mars and read a
book." said Fttil.

A blunt knock on the door. Tyla
answered. Father-in-la
"What's this І hes

Hr LISTENED TO THE dry-grass rustle of

“The old father turned. very
plague on your name! You'll

be shot."
“Shoot me, then, and have it over.”
“Who ever heard of a Martian not
invading? Who!"
"Nobody. It is, I admit, quite in-
credible.”
“Incredible,” husked the witch voices

n't you reason with him?"
manded Tyla.

"Reason with a dung heap." cried
Father, eves blazing. He came and stood

over Fuil. nds playing. a fine day,
women weeping. children jumping,
everything right, men marching bravely,

and you sit here! Oh, shame!”
"Shame," sobbed the faraway voices
in the hedge.
"Get the devil out of my house with

(69 ^

1

“We must not attack the Earth,” said the man

from Mars. “We'll

BY RAY BRADBURY
ILLUSTRATED BY FRANZ ALTSCHULER

be

destroyed,

utterly,”

fiction

PLAYBOY

your inane chatter,” said Ettil, exploding.
“Take your medals and your drums and
run!"

He shoved Father-in-law past a scream-
ing wife, only to have the door thrown
wide at this moment, as a military de-
tail entered.

A voice shouted, “Ettil Vrye?

ou are under arrest!
»ood-by, my dear wife. І am off to
the wars with these fools!" shouted
ЕНИ, dragged through the door by the
men in bronze mesh.

“Good-by, good-by,” said the town
witches, fading away

The cell was neat and clean. With-
out a book, Ettil was nervous. He
gripped the bars and watched the
rockets shoot up into the night air. The
stars were cold and numerous; thev
seemed to scatter when every rocket
blasted up among them.

"Fools" whispered Fttil. "Fools!"

The cell door opened. One man with
a kind of vehicle entered, full of books;
books here, there, everywhere in the
chambers of the vehicle. Behind him
the Military Assignor loomed,

"Бай Vrye, we want to know why
you had these illegal Earth books in
your house. These copies of Wonder
Stories, Scientific Tales, Fantastic Stories.
Explain.” The man gripped Euils
wrist.

Euil shook him free. “If you're go-
ing to shoot me, shoot me. That litera-
ture, from Earth, is the very reason
why І won't try to invade them. It's
the reason why your invasion will fai

“How so?" The assignor scowled and
turned to the yellowed magazines.

"Pick any copy.” said Еш. "Any
onc at all. Nine out of ten stories in
the years 1929, 30 to 50. Earth cal
endar, have every i
successfully invading E
“Ah!” The assignor smiled, nodded.
said. Fttil. “failin

ature

"So be it, if you wish. But let me
draw a few conclusions. Invariably, cach
invasion is thwarted by a vom
usually lean, usually Irish, usu
ni

ed Mick or Rick or Jick or Bannon,
destroys the Martians.”

ou don't believe thai!"

No. І don't believe Farthmen can
actually do that — no. But they have
a background, understand, Assignor, of
generations of children reading just
such fiction, absorbing Thev have
nothing but a literature of invasions
successfully thwarted. Can you say the
tian literature?”

You know not. We never wrote
stories of such a fantastic nature. Now
we rebel, we attack, and we shall die.
"I don't see your reasoning on that.
Where does this tie in with the maga-
zinc stories?”
“Morale. A big thing. The Eirthmen

know they can't fail. It is in them like
blood beating in their veins. The
not fail. They will repel each inv
no matter how well organized. Their
youth of reading just such fiction as
this en them a faith we cannot
equal. We Martians? We are unceri
we know that we might fail. Our morale
is low, in spite of the banged drums
d tooted horns."

^I won't listen to this treason," cried
the assignor. "This fiction will be burn-
ed. as you will be, within the next ten
minutes. You have a choice, Ettil Vrye.
Join the Legion of War, or burn."

“It is a choice of deaths. I choose to
burn."
“Ment”

He was hustled out into the court-
yard. There he saw his carefully hoard-
ed reading matter set to the torch. A
special pit was prepared, with oil five
feet deep in it. This, with a grea
thunder, was set afire. Into this, in a
minute, he would be pushed.

On the far side of the courtyard, in
shadow, he noticed the solemn figure
of his son s g alone. his great vel
low eyes luminous with sorrow and
fear. He did not put out his hand or
speak, but only looked at his father
like some dying animal, a wordless ani
mal seeking rescue.
teil looked at the flaming pit. He
felt the rough hands seize him, strip
him, push him forward to the hot ре
imeter of death. Only then did Ettil
swallow and cry ош, Wait!“

The assignor's face, bright with the
orange fire, pushed forward in the
trembling air. "What is ід"

"I will join the Legion of War," re-
d кий.

"Good! Release him!"

The hands fell aw

As he turned he saw his son standing
far across the court, waiting. His son
was not smiling, only waiting. In the
bronze rocket leaped across the
ablaze . .

pl

bid good-by to these
stalwart warriors," said the assignor.
The bank thumped and the wind blew
a fine sweet rain of tears gently upon
the sweating army. The children ca-
vorted, In the chaos Ettil saw his wife
weeping with pride, his son solemn and
silent at her side.

They marched into the ship, every-
body laughing and brave. They buckled
themselves into their spiderwebs. АП
through the tense ship the spiderwebs
were filled with lounging, lazy men.
They chewed on bits of food and y
ed. A great lid slammed shut, A valve
hissed.

"Off to Earth
whispered Ett
Wh: asked someone.

“OU to glorious victory,
grimacing.

The rocket jumped.

Spice, thought Кип. Here we are
banging across black inks and pink
lights of space in a brass kettle. Here
we are, a celebratory rocket heaved out

and destruction,

said Etil,

to fill the Earthmen's eyes with fear
flames as they look up to the sky. What
it like, being far, far away from your
home, your wife, vour child, here and
now:

He tried to analyze his trembling. It
was like tying your most secret inward
working organs to Mars and then jump-
ing out a million miles. Your heart
was still on Mars. pumping. glowing.
Your brain was still on Mars. thinking,
crenulated. like an abandoned torch.
Your stomach was still on Mars, somno-
lent, trying to digest the final dinner.
Your lungs were still in the cool blue
wine air of Mars. a soft folded bellows
screaming for release, one part of you
longing for the rest.

For here you were, a meshless, cogless
automaton, a body upon which officials
had performed clinical autopsy and left
all of you that counted back upon the
empty seas and strewn over the dark-
ened hills. Here vou were, bottle-empty,
fireless, chill, with only your hands to
give death to Earthmen, A pair of hands
is all vou are now, he thought in cold
remoteness.

Here vou lie in the tremendous web.
Others are about vou. but they are
whole — whole hearts апа bodies. But
all of vou that lives is back there walk-
ing the desolate seas in evening wind:
"This thing here, this cold clay thing, is
already. dead.

“Attack stations, attack stations, at-
k!
“Ready, ready, read
"Up!

“Out of the webs. quick!
Ettil moved. Somewhere before him
his two cold hands moved.

How swift it has all been, he thought.
A vear ago one Earth rocket reached
Mars. Our scientists, with their in-
credible telepathic ability, copied it;
our workers, with their incredible plants,
reproduced it a hundredfold. No other
Earth ship has reached Mars since then,
nd yet we know their language per-
all of us. We know their culture,
their logic. And we shall pay the price
of our brilliance . . .

"Guns on the ready!"

"Reading by miles?"
“Ten thousand!
“Attac
A hummin

lence. A silence of in-
sects throbbing in the walls of the rocket.
The insect singing of tiny bobbins and
levers and whirls of wheels. Silence of
waiting men. Silence of glands emitting
the slow steady pulse of sweat under
arm, on brow, under staring pale еуез!

“Wait! Ready!

Ettil hung onto his

nity with his

Тееее-е-ее!
"What's that?"
"Earth radio!"
"Cut them in!
“They're tying to reach us, call us.
Cut them in!" (continued on page 12)

А CREAT маху РЕОМЕ are fairly cer-

ain that an important new school
of jazz music has come into being re-
cently—but the fact is that to date no-
body has bi able to define it.

This new, "phantom" brand of jazz
has been labeled starkly, “West Coast
Jazz.” Actually, there is no such thing
as West Coast Jazz. 105 a fallacy, a
myth.

Just how or why or when this m
was started isn't known. But that
a myth, is cer a California
pu n just wl су, the com-
ponent ts of " arc.
He couldnt tell you. There's no onc
who can. You can't define something
that doesn't. exist.

The truth and mythology of West
Coast j e been so inextricably
entwined that a good many fans and
critics are mistaking one for another.
Lets take a closer look at the west-
ern jazz scene and see И we can't do
some sorting:

th

Myth — The West Coast is ап im-

portant spawning place for progres-
jazz

Truth 一 th the exception of a few

like p Dave Brubeck 1 trump-
eter Chet Baker, all the modern sounds
out West are being made by Eastern
musicians who've moved there.

(Some of the migratory modernists
include Gerry Mulligan, baritone sax;
Shorty Rogers, trumpet: Art Pepper,
alto sax: Shelly Mannc, drums: Teddy
dell Gray, tenor sax;
Max Roach. drums;
tenor sax, There are

and Stan Get
others.)

Myth — West Coast jazz
"cooler" than. Midwestern and
fans, more appreciative of good

Truth — То ше contrary,

West

Coast fans display a shocking lack of
musical — discrim on. They'll ap-
plaud just as fervidly for Big Jay Ме
Neely's caterwauling tenor s s the

wonderful silk-soft murmuring of Paul
Desmond's alto — and sigh ccstatically
10 both, "C man, стату...
Wardell ‚ а swinging tenor sax-
ist who spent a lot of time with Count
ісу band before making the trek
West four years ago. put it this way:
"In the East the audiences are very
critical. They hear enough good musi-
cians — the best, naturally — and they
put vou down if vou don't play the
right notes. But out. West the fans just
aren't musically aware. And yon frus-
trate. yourself out there, trying to play

the right notes and not being appre-
ciated when you do."

Myth 一 The West is an important
laboratory for jazz experimentation,
and much jazz progress is being made
there.

Truth — Except for Brubeck, Baker
and the Eastern cats who migrated
there, the level of Western jazz has
not yet reached that of Boston and
New York.

Vibraphonist Teddy Charles, a seri
ous, wellschooled jazz veteran who
splits his time between the two се
the young West Coasters arc
rs" behind the Eastern
level of development.

As a possible expl n for this
cultural lag, Charles ts to thc
easy living, "goofoff" environment in
4 the absence
of the intense competition that exists
in the East, where a musician has the
entire jazz repertoire down pat or is
“axed for his inexperience.”

Wardell Gray says the five or six уса
discrepancy between the Eastern level
of jazz and the Western follows from
the fact that the "center D а
activity” in the U i
ed in thc East. "With the East
ст for art, ballet and the legitimate
says, “it's not surpris
ing that jazz, too, is more technically
advanced there.”
ray adds: "When something hap-

ens in New York it’s a long time be
Бе t gets to California. It might take
five or six months before anybody
brings it out there. You can't just read
about it and pick it up: you have to
see it and come in contact with it 一
absorb. And that takes time.

Perhaps the length of time it
the West to absorb jazz concepts ori
inating in the East has something to do
with the fact that the West has not
yet produced a jazz "style" that can be
called truly its own.

Western jazz is in а state of flux

testing. adapting and discarding con-
stantly the new jazz ideas that [ow from
the Because of this constant
change. the jazz picture in the West

is anything but one of consistenc
the contrary, its jumbled, Ка
scopic.

You have jazz on the Pacific Coast
that soothes and jazz that scars, jazz
that is prudent and jazz that is pas
sionate. For every smooth sender there

(continued on page 43)

west coast jazz

is NOWHERE

that is to say, this writer went looking and couldn't find it

jazz BY BOB PERLONGO

Big Joy McNeely
+ + . а grunt, а howl, а squeol.

个

longer. Bess stumbled out of the pitch-
dogstand and felt her way over
ropes, pegs and packing-crates to their
house-tent. She had told Hutch she
wanted to comb her hair, but she knew
that he knew as well as she did what
the trouble was
Bess did not cry. It had been a
year since she had done anything like
that. She had been with Hutch, follow-
ing the carnival with a pitch-dog stand,
for over two years, and it was at least
year since she had cried.
down on the cot, breathing heavily.
She could hear Hutch's voice осса-
ionally above the di nd the raucous
roar of the midw:
high rose the pitch of screaming voices
in the Fun House, or of the metalli
grind-music in the Cuban Cabaret, or
of the amplified hoarseness of the try-
yourluck barkers, Bess could always
hear Hutch's familiar singsong spiel.
Knock the litle doggies off, and
e home a brand-new silver dollar,
folks!" Sie had said it so many times
herself that Hutch's voice sounded as
if the words were coming from her.
The dust scd by the ival
crowd's shuffl feet settled over her
се and arms y stiffly exte
ed on tne cot. The heat, the noise
incossant gl

| WAS MORE than she could bear any

Knock the

take home а brand-new silver

folks, a brand-new silver dollar.
Hutchs voice sounded mechanical

ling in front of

the stand for the past half-hour, There
ways a different ring in Hutch's

vice when he was trying to do two
things like that at once. She knew what
he was up to as well as he knew him-
self. He was trying to make a date with
the girl. When he succeeded, he would
disappear, the girl would disappear,
and Bess would not хе Hutch again
until the next morning. It been
that way so many times during the
past two years that she had lost count.
Bess turned over, trying to shut out
the glare of the midway lights that

filtered through the thin canvas. She
did not even know the name of the
town they were in. It might have
been something like Emporia, Fostoria,
Peoria. It was a cotton town some-
where west of Birmingham, and that
was about all she knew. Towns had
been all the same lately, since Hutch
had got into the habit of going off
with a strange girl several times a
week.

Bess got up. combed her hair, and
brushed the dust from her dress. While
she was brushing her clothes, she heard
Hutch call her. She left the tent and
stumbled towards the stand.

nock the little doggies off, and
take home a brand-new silver dollar,
folks!" Hutch said while she climbed
under the railing. He turned around
and winked at her. "Knock the little
doggies off, folks! Only a dime!

Before she saw Hutch, Bess saw the
girl. It was the same girl the one
who had been leaning over the railing
and talking to Hutch when she left.

"How about it, Bess?" Hutch began.

Bess turned and looked the girl up
and down. She was a plainlooking
creature with straight blonde hair that
needed shampooing. She did not seem
much over twenty, but her hands were

kstained and a little wrinkled.
Bess asked Hutch, futilely.
What's the difference, this time?”
he said a little impatiently.

"You seem to bc a little less partic-
ular each time, Hutch."

"Now let's not fall out, Bess,” Hutch
said, rubbing her nervously on her
back and shoulders,

Hutch ducked under the railing and
disappeared behind the stand. ^
milling mob of people was chur
up a cloud of dust that looked like
dense yellow sm in the gl
lights. Bess could feel particles of dust
and flakes of grit settle on her arms
and face. She brushed it all aw

The girl looked up at her nervous-
ly two or three times. She grad-
ually receding into the crowd. All at
once she turned and pushed her way
around the side of the stand out of
sight.

A party of men and women pushed

jealousy and desire mixed in the dust of a side-show

BY ERSKINE CALDWELL

The pe
Bess as if she were one of the fre
the sideshow down the midw

“What's the game?” one of the men
asked her in a loud voice.

Bess stared down into the faces. Each
onc of them looked like Hutch and his
girls.

Almost automatically Bess picked
up a handful of battered balls and
held them out in front of her.

the little doggies off, folks,
ke home a brand-new silver

r enough," one of the men

id. handing her a dime.
The man threw the three balls, but
«ked off only two of the three
d dogs. Hc turned away to leave.
Wait a minute, Mist Bess cried
after him. “Pl e you a better prop-

Ihe man ne back.
“L haven't any more dimes to throw
ne like that," he said,
1. “you people have got
those dogs rigged up so they all won't
fall off, even if 1 did hit them.
Bess leaned over the j
"Be а sport, Mister. Here's your
chance of a lifetime. Look! Гт going
to give you ten balls. If you knock off
all three dogs, you can write your own
ticket. Now, how's that for an offer?”
The man grabbed the balls, heav-
ing them at the dogs. They all fell on
the ground
You win the setup!” Bess cried,
ducking under the ri “Its all
yours! k
She pushed into the crowd, elbow.
ing her way out of sight. Soon she was
blinded by the dust that rose up from
the ground, and before she had gone
down the midway. she was lost,
Pushing her way out of the crowd, she
crossed a vacant lot and began walk-
ing along a street that looked as if it
d her out of town. She did
n she was go-
away from Em

res

PLAYBOY

5915:
Есе

Here they аге! Listen!”

“Calling Martian invasion flee

The listening silence, the insect hum
pulling back to let the sharp Earth
voice crack in upon the rooms of wait-
ing men.

This is th calling. This is William
Sommers, president of the Association
of United American Producers!”

Ettil held tight to his station,
forward, eyes shut.

“Welcome to Earth.”

“What?” the men in the rocket roar-
ed. "What did he за

"Yes, welcome to 上
а trick!"

bent

arth.”

ttil shivered, opened his eves to

in bewilderment at the unseen
voice from the ceiling source.

Welcome! Welcome to green, indus-

trial Earth!" declared the Iriendly voice.
“With open arms we welcome vou, to
turn а bloody invasion into a timc of
friendships that will last through all of
Time

A trick!”

Tush, listen!”

Many vears ago we of
nounced war, destroved our
Now, unprepared as we are, there
for us but to welcome vou. The
planet is yours. We ask only mercy from
you good and merciful invaders.”

"It can't be true!" a voice whispered.

“Tt must be Д

"Land and be welcomed, all of vou,"
said Mr, William ners of Earth.
Land anywhere. Earth is yours; we are
all brothers!"

Euil began to laugh.
the room turned to see hi The other
Martians blinked. gone m

He did not stop laughing until they
hit him.

Evervone in

The tiny fat man in the center of
the hot rocket tarmac at Green Town,
California, jerked out a clean white
handkerchief and touched it to his wet
brow. He squinted blindly from the
fresh plank platform at the fifty thou-
sand people restrained behind a fence
of policemen, arm to arm. Everybody
looked at the sky.

“There they ar

A disappointed

“Tm beginning to think it would have
been better to have declared war on
them," whispered the mayor. “Then
we could all go home

“Sh!” said his wife.
here!" The crowd roared.
Out ol the sun came the

Martian

body ready?” The
glanced neee about.
* said. Miss California 19
aid Miss America 1940, who
had come rushing up at the last min-
utc as a substitute for Miss America
1966. who was ill at homc.

"Yes sirce,” said Mr. Biggest Grape-

12

mayor

ETE MIXER (continued from page 8)

fruit in San Fe
erly.

"Ready, band?"

The band poised its brass like so
many guns.

Ready!”

The rockets landed.

The band played
I Come” ten tim

From noon и one o'clock the
mayor made a speech, shaking his hands
in the direction. of the silent, appre-
hensive rocke

At one-filu
opened.

The band played "Oh, You Golden
State” three times.

Ettil and fifty other Martians leaped
out, guns at the ready,

The mayor ran for!
to Earth in his hands.

The band played “Santa Claus Is
Coming to Town,” and a full chorus of
singers imported from Long Beach
sang different words to it, something
about “Martians Are Coming to Town."

Secing no weapons about, the Mar-
tians relaxed, but kept their guns out.

From one-thirty until two-fifteen the
mayor made the same speech over for
the benefit of the Martians

At two-thirty Miss America of 1940
volunteered. to kiss all the Martians if
they lined up.

At two-thirty and ten seconds the
band played "How Do You Do, Every-
body.” to cover up the confusion caused
by Miss America's suggestion.

At two thirty-five Mr. Biggest Grape-
fruit presented the Martians with a two-
ton truck full of. grapefruit.

At two thirtyseven the mayor gi
them all free |
Majestic theaters, combining this ges-
ture with another speech which lasted
until after threc.

The band pl

d people
Good F

It was over at four o'clock.

Ettil sat down in the shadow of the
rocket. two of his fellows with him.
"So this is Earth!"

“I say kill the filthy rats," said one
Martian, "I don't trust them. They're
sneaky. Whats their motive for treat
ag us this way?” He held up a box of
something that rustled. “Wh th
stulf they gave me? A sample, they said."
He read the label, max, the new sudsy

nado Valley 1956, cag-

“Go!
‘California, Here

en the seals of the rockets

d with the key

and the fifty thou-
o They Are Jolly

soap.
The crowd had drifted about, was
mingling with the Martians like a carni

val throng. Everywhere was the buzzing
murmur of people fingering the rockets,
asking questions,
Euil was cold.

He was be

tremble even more now.
feel it?" he whispered. “The tense
the evilness of all this. Something's

going to happen to us. They have
some plan. Something subtle and hor-
rible. They're going to do something
to us — I know.”

"I say kill evcry onc of theml"

How can you kill people who call
you ‘pal’ and “buddy?” asked another
Martian.

Ettil shook his head. “They're sin-
cere. And yet 1 feel as if we were in
a big acid vat melting away, away. I'm
frightened." He put his mind out to
touch among the crowd. “Yes, they're
really friendly, — hail-fellows-well-met
(one of their terms). Onc huge mass of
common men, loving dogs and cats and
Martians equally. And yet — and yct—"

“The band played "Roll Our thc P
rel" Free beer was being distributed
through the courtesy of Hagenback
Beer, Fresno, California.

The sickness came.

The men poured out fountains of
slush from their mouths. The sound of
sickness filled the land.

Gaguing, Ettil sat beneath a
tree. “A plot, а plot — a horrible plot,
he groaned, holding his stomach

"What did vou са The
stood over him.
"Something that they called popcorn,"

groaned Ettil.

And?"

nd somc sort of long meat on a
bun, and some yellow liquid in an iced
vat, and some sort of fish and somc-
thing called pastrami," sighed Ettil, су
lids flickering.

The moans of the Martian. invaders
sounded all about.
“Kill the plotting snakes!” somebody

cried weakly,

"Hold on," said the assignor. “It's
merely hospitality. They overdid it. Up
on your fcet now, men. Into the town.
We've got to place small garrisons of
men about to make sure all is well.
Other ships are landing in other cities,
We've our job to do here.”

The men gained their feet and stood
iking stupidly about,

Forward, march!

One, two, three, four! One, two, three
ſour

The white stores of the little town
lay dreaming in shimmering heat. Meat
emanated from everything — poles, con-
crete, metal, awnings, roofs. tar paper —
evervthing.

The sound of Martian fect sounded
on the asphalt.

‘Careful, men
signor.

They walked past а beauty shop.

From inside, a furtive giggle.

"Look!"

\ coppery head bobbed and vanished
e a doll in the window. A blue eye

whispered the as-

1

glinted and winked аг а Ксућоје,

"из a plot Euil. “A
plot. I tell vou!"

The odors of perfume were fanned
out on the summer air by the whirling
vents of the grottoes where the women
hid like undersea creatures, under
electric cones, their hair curled into
wild whorls and peaks, their eves shrewd
and glassy, animal and sly, their mouths
painted a neon red. Fans were whirring,
the perfumed wind issuing upon the

(continued on page 18)

whispered

fiction

THE VILLAGE OF LOMA is buil
implies, on a low, round
like an island out of thi
the Salinas Valley in central California.
To thc north and east of the town
black tule swamp stretches for miles, but
to the south the marsh has been drained.
Rich vegetable land has been the result
of the draining, land so black with
wealth that the lettuce and cauliflowers
- grow to giants.

"The owners of the swamp to the north
of the village grew covetous of the black
land. They banded together and formed
a reclamation district. 1 work for the
company which took the contract to put
a ditch through. The floating clamshell
digger d, was put together and
started cating a ditch of open water
through thc swamp.

I tried living in the floating bunkhouse
with the crew for a while, but the
mosquitoes that hung in banks over the
dredger and the heavy pc l mist
that sneaked out of the swamp every
night and slid near to the ground drove
me into the village of Loma, where I
took а furnished room, the most 1
have ever seen, in the house of Mrs.

I might have looked farther, but the idea
of havi ny mail come in care of Mrs.
Ratz decided me. After all I only slept
in the bare, cold room. I ate my meals
in the galley of the floating bunkhouse.
There aren't more Шап two hundred
people in Loma. The Methodist church
has the highest pl i
spire is visible for miles. Two groceries,

are store, an ancient. Masonic

lation. and on the ri
the houses of the landowners, small yards
usually encloscd by high walls of clipped

SS.
dien Фе most respect-

family wasn't

BY JOHN STEINBECK

From “Тһе Long Valley” by John Steinbeck. Reprinted by arrangement with The Viking Press, М. Y. Copyright 1938 by John Steir

PLAYBOY

cypress to keep out the driving after-
noon winds.

There was nothing to do in Loma
in the evening except to go to the
saloon, an old board building with
swinging doors and a wooden sidewalk
awning. Neither prohibition пог re-
peal had changed its business, its
clientele nor the quality of its whiskey.
In the course of an evening every male
inhabitant of Loma over lilteen years
me at least once to the Buffalo
d a drink, talked a while and
went home.

Fat Carl, the owner and bartender,
greeted every newcomer with a phleg-
matic sullenness which nevertheless. in-
spired familiarity and affection. His
face was sour, his tone downright un-
friendly, and yet — I don't know how
he did it. I ow l felt gratified and
warm when Fat Carl knew me well
enough to turn his sour pig face to
me and say with some impatience,
"Well whats it going to be?" He al-
s asked that although he served
only whiskey, and о onc kind of
whiskey. І have seen him Папу refuse
to squeeze some lemon juice into it
for a stranger. Far Carl didn't like
fumadiddles. He wore a big towel tied
about his middle and he polished the
glasses on it as he moved about. The
floor was bare wood sprinkled with
sawdust. the bar an old store counter,
the chairs were hard and straight; the
only decorations. were the posters and
cards and pictures stuck to the wall by
candidates for county elections, sales:
men and auctioneers. Some of these
were many years old. The card of Sher-
ill Rittal still begged for re-election
although Rittal had been dead for seven
саг.

Ihe Buffalo Bar sounds, even to
me, like a terrible place, but when you

walked down the night street, over the
wooden sidewalks, when the long
streamers of swamp fog, like wavi

dirty bunting, Happed in your
when finally you pushed open
swinging doors of І

men sitting around talking and drink-
ing, and Fat Carl coming
ward you, it seemed. pretty nice. You
couldn't get away from it.

There would be a game of the mild-
cst kind of poker going on. Timothy
Rau, the husband of my landlady,
would be playing solitaire, cheatin
pretty badly because he only took
dr when he got it out. l've seen him
get it out five times in a row. When
he won he piled the cards neatly, stood
up and walked with great dignity to the
bar. Fat Carl. with a glass half filled
before he arrived, са, "Whatll it
be

"Whiskey." said "Timothy gravely.

In the long room, men from the farms
and the town sat in the straight hard
chairs or stood against the old counte:
А soft, monotonous rattle of. conversa-
tion went on except at times of elec-
tions or big prizefights, when there
might be orations or loud opinions.

I hated to go out into the damp
night, and to hear far off in the swamp

14

the chuttering of the Diesel engine on
the dredger and the clang of the buck-
ct, and then to go to my own dismal
room at Mrs, Ratz

Soon alter my arrival in Loma I
scraped an acqui with Mac
Romero, a pretty h ican

Sometimes in the ev 1 walked
with her down the south side of the
hill, until the nasty fog drove us back
into town. After I escorted her. home
I dropped in at the bar for a while.

I was sitting in the bar one night
talking to Alex Hartnell who owned a
nice little farm. We werc talking about
black bass fishing, when the Iront doors
opened and swung closed. A hush fell
on the men in the room, Мех nudged
me and said, "It's Johnny Bear." I
looked around.

His name described him better than
an. He looked like a grcat,
smiling bear. His black. matted
bobbed forward and his long arms hung
out as though he should have been on
all fours and. was only standing upright
as a trick. His legs were short and
bowed, ending w re feet.
He was dressed blue d im,
bur his lect were they didn't

1

in dark
bare;
seem to be crippled or deformed in any

way, but the

e, just as

wide as they were long. He stood
doorway, swinging his arms ўст
the way halfwits do. On his face there

was a foolish happy smile. He moved
forward and for all his bulk and clu
ess, he seemed to creep. He didn't
move like a man, but like some prowl-
ight animal. At the bar he stopped,
іше M eyes went about [rom
face to face expectantly, and he asked,
Whiskey?

Loma was not a treating town. A
man might buy a drink for another if
he were pretty sure the other would im-
mediately buy one for him. І was sur-
prised when one of the quiet men laid
à coin on the counter. Fat Carl filled
the glass. The monster took it
gulped the whiske
"What the devil.

1. But Alex

Ihere be

n a curious pantomime.
Johnny Bear moved to the door and
then he came creep k. The fool-
ish ile never left his face. In the
middle of the room he crouched down
on his stomach. A voice came from hi:
throat, à. voice that seemed familiar to
me.

“But you are too beautiful to live in
a dirty little town like this.

The voice rose to a soft throaty tonc,
with just a trace of accent in the words.
"You just tell me tha

I'm sure I nearly fainted. The blood
pounded in my ears. I flushed. It was
my voice coming out of the throat of
Johnny Bear, my words, my intonation.
And then it was the voice of Mac Ro-
mero—exact. I EP had not seen the
crouching man on the floor I would
have called to her. The dialogue went
on. Such things sound silly when some
ne else says them, Johnny Bear went
right on, or rather Г should I went
right on. He said things and made

sounds. Gradually thc faces of the men
turned from Johnny Bear, turned. to-
ward me, and they grinned at me. I
could do nothing. I knew that if I
tried to stop him I would have a fight
on my hands. And so the scene went on,
to a finish. When it was over І was crav-
cnly glad Мае Romero had no broth-
ers. What obvious, forced ridiculous
words had come from Johnny Bear. Fin-
ally he stood up. still smiling the fool-
ish smile, and he asked again,
"Whiskey

1 think the men in the bar were
sorry for me. They looked away Irom
me and talked elaborately to one anoth-
cr. Johnny Bear went to the back of
the room, crawled under a round card
table, curled up like a dog and went
to sleep.

Alex Hartnell was regarding me with
en assion, "First time you ever heard
im?

what in hell is he?"
ignored my question
moment. "IE you're worrying
Mae's reputation, don't. Johny
has followed Mae before.

“But how did he hear us? I didn’t
see or hear him.”

“No one sees or hears Johnny Bear
when he's on business. He can move
like no movement all. Know what
our young men do when they go out
with girls? They take а dog along.
Dogs are afraid of Johnny and they
can smell him coming.”

But good God! "Those voices

Alex nodded. “1 know. Some of us
wrote up to the university about John-
ney, and à young man came down. He
took a look he told us about
ind Tom.
fou mean the Negro piano player?
Yes, I've heard of him

"Well, Blind Tom was a half-wit, He
could hardly talk, but he could imitate
anything he heard on the piano, long
сєз. They tried him with fine musi-
cians and he reproduced not only the
music but every little personal em-
phasis. To catch him they made little
mistakes, and he played the mistakes.
He photographed the playing in the ti-
niest detail. The man says Johnny Bear

for a
about
Bear

is the same, only he can photograph
words and voices. He tested Johnny
with a long passage іп Greck and

спу. He doesn't know
ng, he just says
10 make
that what

ппу did it ¢
the words he's
them. He hasn't brains enou
anything up, so you know
at he heard."

docs he do ie WI he
n listening if he doesn't un-

“But wh
interested
derstand?’

Alex rolled a cigarette and lighted
it. "He isnt, but he loves whiskey.
He knows if he listens in windows
and comes here and repeats what he
hears, someone will give him whiskey.
He tries to palm off Mrs. Ratz’ con-
versation in the store, or Jerry Noland
arguing with his mother, but he can't
get whiskey for such things."

I said, “It’s funny somebody hasn't
shot him while he was pecking in win-

(continued on page 35)

( — >
= СК ¥ FY

Же

Ж

sed than I am!

Madam, you are no m

“And what’s more,

15

BY THOMAS MARIO

playboy’s [ood & drink editor

IN THE ENTIRE History of man's ruin,
which began ages and ages ago. no
scholar has ever observed a lone drink-
er staggering around a punch bowl.
Solitary rum soaks of all types have
been seen bending their. elbows in de-
serted | ves, dens and dugouts
а punch. bowl appears, a
mob of hell raisers gathers

happy
around,
Any playboy. for
taining his friends, c
inet to mix mi is and nobody will
be conscious of his movements or
moonshine. He can split a cake of ice
with an axe, drop а whole trayful of
glasses, spill the gin down his drawers
and nobody will bat a whisker. But let
him announce that he is setting up a
punch bowl and he will have as much
y as а man taking a bath in full
ob the n Army-
ame. The gang will rush
to his side with all the grace of a doz-
en beer barrels rolling down a flight
of cellar steps. They'll offer him advice,

instance, enter-
n go to the cab

16

hilosophy.
ittle more
ın tangerine brandy or mix in just
a lile more ether. In short, they'll. be
sociable.

If there is
room, he'll

young etymologist in the
t once point out that the
word "punch pplied to punch bowl
is not the same [rom а semantic vi
point as the word punch meaning kick
in the guts. The etymologist, shouting

above the din, will explain. that the
punch in punch bowl comes from the
Hindustani panch meaniny . Some-
body will then shout

There will be as many interpretations
as there are guzzlers present.

One hority will be cited to say
that the five naturally means the five
characteristics of punch — hot, cold,

sweet, bitter and strong. Another booze
etymologist will argue that five refers
to the classical ingredients of carly
American punch bowls: rum, tea, sugar,
water and fruit. An explorer will call

them а
ous ori

мма! swizzle he drank for years
or, sugar, lemon and

Year's party must certainly have
egg nog. which, any child will tell vou,

contains live ingredienis—egg, milk,
sugar, liquor and nutmeg
As the voices continue to rise in

greater and greater volume, somcone
will spot а botte of Hays c Fruit
Syrup on the shelf and offer this as his
final interpretation of the word punch.
At this point gentlemen start to remove
their coats. Ladies scream. The more
agile guests reach lor cuspidors pre-
paratory to hurling them across the
room when the host quickly announces
that punch is ready and the incipient
mayhem breaks off as quickly as it
started,
Even while the drink is

poured, the variegated experts 1
continue to cross swords under their

SUGGESTIONS FOR A SAFE AND INSANE NEW YEAR'S

breath. “Why, these aren't the real
punch cups — they're imitation. Lowe-
мой,” one ceramic specialist will point
out quietly. “They're not punch cups at
all," another will hasten to add, “they're
Delmonico glasses" “You call these
Delmonico glasses! Don't you know a
whiskey sour glass when vou sce onc?"
“There's only one real punch glass in
the world," an antique dealer will state
solemnly, "Now at special sale in
Nassau in 1933," he'll continue, and
then suddenly become speechless as he
examines the grayish orange mixture
which the host has just presented. As
each person holds his cup of punch
there will be a “Prosit” or two, a “Was
Hail" (rom the rear of the room, a few
scattered. “Cheerios” and all the guests
will swallow the punch simultaneously.

There will, of course, be а com-
munal reaction. Not a І be

heard as the gi r first big
gulp. Lips will pucker, esophagi will
burn, tears will appear and as the

punch finally settles on the stomachs
there will be à symphony of muffled
blasts. Then silence.

The silence will only last a few
minutes, however, and then all the
pes will converge upon the host, at
last having attained unanimity of opin-
ion. Breathlessly, they will all tell him
that his punch is magnificent.

As round after round of punch is
passed, the conviviality will naturally
mount. Authorities will ар; become
expansive. The antiquarian will exam-
inc the cut glass punch bowl on the
table and tell of the famous MacGregor
bowl with its elaborate cover of carved
bone, that sold two deci for
$50,000, An Irishman present will des-
cribe the old glass punch bowl with
the spigot at the bottom. a wonderful
improvement over the ladle, which for
some unknown reason never caught on.
Englishmen will describe the New
Year's Wassail, а punch made of hot
ale, roasted apples and spices. A Te
girl will tell how her great great grand-
father celebrated New Years day in
the camp of Lafitte and of how the buc-
cancers spiked their rum punch with
hot peppers.

Young philosophers and history stu-
dents will soon come around to the
subject of original sin and this will
inspire someone to recite Henry VIII's
list of gifts for January 1, 1528 — which
included presents for Wolsey and War-
ham, the dukes of Norfolk and Suffolk,
and thirty-three noble ladics and ten

mistresses.

A student of sociology will describe
all New Year's celebrations from the
medieval ages to the present as simply
a relaxation of the bent bow. The bent
bow is the taut bow, the tense rigid
path of suppression and virtue. Comes
New Year's Eve and the bent bow un-
bends with a double-distilled zing heard
‘round the world.

The punchbowl is still one of the
easiest and most direct ways of unbend-
ing the gang during the holiday season.
If you are giving a party of mixed
sexes, the traffic around the punch
bowl will generate more leg ма пи,
more back contacts and more bosom
brushing than any other form of con-
viviality known to man.

The mere existence of the punch
bowl on the buflet table will cause
playmates to periodically gravitate to-
ward it. If vou want to meet thc girl
with the copper hair and bronze eye-
brows vou simply wait until her cup
is empty and she is drawn to the mag-
net. You don't have to warble "Drink
to me only with thine eyes,” in your
best whiskey tenor voice. You simply
time things so that your bodies approach
the center of interest (the punch bowl)
at the same time. In a matter of sec-
onds you have a closcup of her eyes,
her complexion, her lips and voice. If
you're really inquisitive, vou can ladle
the punch into her cup and escort her
back to the chair. 1f the punch is potable
and potent, vou arc bound to discover
her name, phone number and what she
is doing tomorrow night at half past
seven.

One of the greatest delights of the
punch bowl is that there are по a la
carte orders. You don’t ask guests what
thev'll have to drink. Nor do vou at-
tempt to memorize sixteen different
orders at one time. You don't rack
your brain trying to recall that the

girl at the fireplace wanted а creme
de menthe frappé, that the man with
her ordered an Irish whiskey with

three rocks and that the creep in the
corner wanted an absinthe drip cock
tail or was it applejack? You shoot the
works in a generous one. ler splurge.

The big bowl with whole bottles of
liquor emptied into it at one time is
not for pinch penny gents with cramps
in their hands, although the cost of
punch for a given number of people is
no more than the cost of conventional
highballs and cocktails. In some cases
the punch bowl is actually an economy.

A champagne pundi, for instance, will
bave all the glamor ol popping corks
laughing water. But instead of
n imported vintage champagne
you would use good domestic ch

© at half the price of the fore
article.

Punch enthusiasts will tell you
that you can make punch in anything
from a lard bucket to an Andalusian
wine jug. Metallic containers, however,
may impart an off flavor especially if
the punch is held for any considerable
length of time. Glass bowls and glass
cups or "Delmonico" glasses (the four-
ounce or fiveounce glasses used for
serving orange juice) are the happiest
combination for any punch bowl party.
If you do not own a glass punch bowl,
you might borrow one from a friend or
rent one from aterer. И you do not
саге to acquire а bowl for a single
occasion, you might usc

itchers or tall martini pitcher

For all punches except egg nog,
use а І: solid block of ice. II this
is unobtainable in your. neighborhood,
make the ice in the refrigerator but
leave out the separators that аге nor-
mally used in the ice tray:

There are no strict rules covering the
a punch bowl Some
punch recipes are completely without
thyme or reason and may contain any-
thing [rom egg, beer, milk and sugar
ther for the ‘Transylva
Beer Punch to a medley of grape
barley sugar and strawberries. This kind
of ad libbing is cute at times. You can
if you wish, take any liquid 一 wine,
whiskey, fruit juice, carbonated water
or ten — mix them in an unplanned
order and the result may be a drink
that is happily potable. But much more
trustworthy are the traditional recipes
that are brought up to date with just
enough variations to n them intrigu-
ing without being daffy.

For the coming New Years festivi-
ties, PLAYHOY presents its party tested
punch bowl recipes. These arc all mid-
winter punches and do not include
such hot weather drinks as rum fruit
punch, Rhine wine punch, etc. Recipes
are for approximately one gallon or
enough to ПИ 32 punch cups of average
size.

WHISKEY PUNCH
Jt isn't necessary to buy the most
expensive ıye in the world but you
should select a rye with a straight
(concluded on page 40)

17

PLAYBOY

GONERETE
stillness, moving among green trees,
creeping among the amazed Martians.

“For God's sake!" screamed Еп. his
nerves suddenly breaking loose. "Let's
get in our rockets — go home! They'll
get us! Those horrid things in there.
Scc them? Those evil undersea things,
those women in their cool little caverns
of artificial rock!"

“Shut up!"

Look at them in there, he thought,
drifting their dresses like cool green
gills over their pillar legs. He shouted.

“Someone shut his mout

“They'll rush out on us, hurling
chocolate boxes and copies of Kleig Love
and Holly Pick-ture, shricking with their
red greasy mouths! Inundate us with
banality, destroy our sensibilities! Look
at them, being clectrocuted by devices,
their voices like hums and chants and
murmurs! Do you d

“Why not?" asked the other Martians.

“They'll fry you, bleach you, change
you! Crack you, flake vou away until
yowre nothing but a husband, a work-
ing man, the one with the money who
pays so they can come sit in there de-
vouring their evil chocolates! Do you
think you could control them?"

"Yes, by the gods!”

From a distance a voice drifted, a
high and shrill voice, a woman's voice
saving, "Ain't that middle one there
cute?

lare go in there?”

tians

't so bad after all. Gee,

they're just men,” said another, fading.
"Hey, there. Yoo-hoo! Martians!
Hey!
Yelling, Euil тап...

...

He sat іп a park and trembled stead-
ily. He remembered what he had seen.
Looking up at the dark night sky, he
felt so far from home, so deserted. Even
now, as he sat among the still trees, in
the distance he could see Martian. war-
riors walking the streets with the Earth
women, vanishing into the phantom
darknesses of the little emotion palaces
to hear the ghastly sounds of white
things moving on gray screens, with
little frizz-haired women beside them,
wads of gelatinous gum working in
their jaws, other wads under the seats,
hardening with the fossil imprints of
the women's tiny cat teeth forever im-
bedded therein, The cave of winds —
the cinema.

“Hello.”

He jerked his head in terror.

A woman sat on the bench beside
him, chewing gum lazily. "Don't run
I don't bite,” she said.
Jh," he said.

¡ke to go to the pictures
“No.”

"Aw, come on,” she
else is.”

* she said.

id. “Everybody

"No," he said. “Is that all you do in
this world
“AN? Ain't that enough?” Her blue

eyes widened suspiciously.
want me to do
book? Ha, ha! That's

Vhat vou
sit home, read a
rich.”

18

MIXER (continued from page 12)

Euil stared at her a moment before
asking a question.

“Do you do anything else?" hc asked.

"Ride in cars. You got a car? You
oughta get you a big new convertible
Podler Six. Gee, they're fancy! Any
man with a Podler Six can go out with
any gal, you bet!” she said, blinking at
him. "I bet you got all kinds of money
一 you come from Mars and all. І bet
if you really wanted you could get a
Podler Six and travel everywhere.”
о the show maybe

"Nothing — nothing."
"You know wh:
ter?” she said.
that's the kind:

ist! Yes. sir,
1 talk nobody stands for,
ith our little

old system
you Martians

invade, and we never

raised even our bitty finger, did we?"
“That's what I've been trying to un-

ders! said Etti
us?”

cause мете bighearted, er;
that's why! Just remember that, big-
hearted." She walked off to look for
someone else,

Gathering courage to himself, Exil
bcgan to write a letter to his wife, mov-
ing the pen carefully over the paper
on his knee.

"Dear Tylla —"

But again he

“Why did you let

was interrupted. A
smalllitde-girl-of-an-old-woman, with а
pale round wrinkled little face, shook
her tambourine in front of his nose,
forcing him to glance up.
"Brother" she cried,
"Have you been saved?"
Am I in danger?" Ettil dropped his
pen, jumping.
"errible danger!" she wailed, clank-
ing her tambourine, gazing at the sky.
"You need to be saved, brother, in the
worst way!

eyes blazing.

"Im inclined to agre he said,
trembling.
“We saved lots already today. I saved

three myself, of уоп
Ain't that. nice

“I guess so."

She was acutely suspicious. She lean-
ed lorward with her secret whisper.
"Brother," she wanted to know,
been baptized?”

“I don't know," he whispered back.
ou don't know?" shc cricd, flinging
up hand and tambourin

“Is it like being shot?" he asked.
Brother,” she said. “you are in a
bad and sinful condition. І blame it
on your ignorant bringing up. І bct
those schools on Mars are terrible 一
don't teach you no truth at all. Just
a pack of made-up lies. Brother, you
got to be baptized if you want to be
happ:

“Will it make me happy even іп this
world here?" he said.

"Don't ask for
platter,” she said. ith a
wrinkled pea. for there's another world
were all going to that's better than

Mars people.
" She grinned at him.

this one."
“І know that world," he said.
“It’s peaceful," she said.
"Yes
"There's quiet.
Yea”
“There's milk and honey flowing.
“Why, yes,” he said.
“And everybody's laughi

“I can sec it now,” he sa

"A better world,” she said.
“Far better," he said. “Yes, M
a great y planet.”

Mister, she said, tightening up and
almost flinging the tambourine in his
face, "You been joking with me

"Why, no." He was embarrassed. and
bewildered. “E thought you were talking
about —

Not about mean old nasty Mars, I
tell you, mister! It's your type that is
going to boil for years, and suffer and
break out in black. pimples and be tor-
tured

“I must admit

You

she said.

rs is

th isn't very nice.
e described it beautifully.”
fister, you're funning mc адай
she cried angrily.

"No. по — please. І plead ignorance.

"Well" she said, "уоште a heathen,
and heathens are improper. Here's a
paper. Come to this address tomorrow
night and be baptized and be happy.
We shouts and we stomps and we talk
in voices, so if you want to hear our

all-cornet, all-brass band, you come,
won't you now?"

“ГІ try," he

Down the street she went, patting

her tambourine, singing at the top of
her voice, “Happy Am I, I'm Always
Happy.”

Dazed, Ettil returned to his lett

“Dear Tyla: To think that іп my
naivete I imagined that the Earthmen
would have to counterattack with guns
and bombs. No. no. І was sadly wrong.
There is no Rick or Mick or Jick or

Bannon — those clever fellows who
save worlds. No.
“There аге blond robots with pink

rubber bodies, real, but somehow un-
real, alive but somchow automatic in
all responses, living in caves all of their
lives. Their devrieres incredible in
girth. Their eyes are fixed and motion-
Tess from an endless time of st ring at
picture screens. The only muscles they
have occur in their jaws from their
ceaseless chewing of gum.

“And it is not only these, my dear
Tylla, but the entire civilization. into
which we have been dripped like a
shovelful of seeds into a large concrete
mixer. Nothing of us will survive. We
will be killed not by the gun but by
the gladhand. We will be destroyed not
by the rocket but by the automobile . . .”

Somebody screamed. A crash, another
crash. Silence.
ttil leaped up from his lette:
side, on thc strcet, two cars had crashed.
One full of Martians, another with
Еапћте returned to his leite

“Dear, dear ‘Tyla, а few statistics if
you will allow. Forty-five thousand

(continued on page 42)

. Out-

BABYLON, U. S. A.

inhibitions take a holiday
as the artists have a ball

Actress Deborah Kerr (seated, right) and friends
dressed as Greek god and goddesses. Deborah took
time out from her hit play, "Tea and Sympathy,"
to reign as Queen of the Artists Masquerade Boll.

Tes A WIDESPREAD RUMOR that. the
pagan gods and goddesses took a ter-
rific beating about two thousand years
and slunk off with their tails be-
their legs, never to be seen again.

Don't you believe it. They've just
been biding their time, and lately
they've been making their presence
a thing called the Artists
Equity Masquerade Ball.

For though this affair is held in onc
of the better hotels in the center of New

tw

Above: A living painting of our first president shares
honors with a brilliant Aztec sunburst made up of equal
portions of gold ond girl. Below: Loin-cloth, leopard-

skin and lots of epidermis make a simple but effective
costume for this jungle girl. Art Boll arrivals made a
point of disembarking from taxis at wrong entrances and
parading | cu the lobby of the. stoid Waldorf-Astoria,

> ама

Above: This enterprising young lady discovered a
sure bet for being the center of attraction. Below: A
macabre gentleman and his slave-girl date parade
past judges awarding prizes for the best costumes.

Г

\
|

||

= Will

pictorial

PLAYBOY

Famous fashion model Dorian Leigh usually ap-
pears in Vogue approved styles, but she showed
up for the Art Ball in her own spectacular look.

York City, it has no relation to the sober
modern world. It is a pagan renaissance,
a gay and colorful harking-back to the
days of ancient. Babylon, of Rome, of
Sodom and Gomorrah.

An innocent passer-by who happened
to wander in would be very much im
pressed by the revelers costumes or,
more precisely, by the lack of them. He
might pass through a crowd of rather
conservatively dressed couples and run
smack up against a naked Eve looking
about for a misplaced fig leaf. When
ng bohemia goes to an Art Ball, it
leaves Twentieth Century clothes and
conventions at home. Nudity is с
couraged 一 as long as it's imaginative.
So you'll see Lady Godivas, mounted
and unmounted, Venus de Milos, with
arms but little else, Cleopatras. cen

Above: Costumes often give the impression that
their designers miscalculated by several inches
and covered the wrong areas, but such miscalcu-
lations are deliberate. Below: Beauteous Betty
Biehn, a Powers model during the day, relaxes
by dancing with no less a personage than Nero.

The panel of judges included such illustrious show folk os
Burgess Meredith, Betsy Von Furstenberg, Celeste Holm and
Franchot Tone. Art Ball costumes were judged on ingenudity.

20

The ancient origins of the Art Ball were proclaimed by this bull, an age-old symbol of fertility that dominated the pleasantly pagan
proceedings. In the old days, lovely maidens were sacrificed to its image, but its broad back holds no fear for this modern model.

PHOTOGRAPHED ESPECIALLY FOR PLAYBOY BY ALEX SIODMAK

21

PLAYBOY

22

Tasty Tina Louise may not have been
the most undressed beauty at the boll,
but she was very choice agling indeed
with her flame hair, pretty face and
generous chest measurements — attri-
butes that helped moke her number one
showgirl of John Murray Anderson's
Broadway success, “Almanac.” Right:
As the evening wore on and liquor
flowed, imaginations become wilder
ond woolier, with bizarre dancers
like these two going merrily berserk.

and more miscella
bangled, and beaded bod
shake a Ioin cloth at. Plenty of the bodies
will be shapely, too, for they'll belong to
artists’ models and even to haughty high-
fashion clothes-horses abandon the
tailored suits of Vogue for the more
casual Art Ball fashions.

There's
of celebrities and society,
airs could never be confused with
à debutante's coming out party, some of
the more audacious debs come out of
their costumes just the same.

One of the most refresh
about an Art Ball is t|
some, high-minded
are some concessions to modern
ising money for the

y , but nobody gets
solemn about it. E erybody is too busy
enjoying themselves in the best pagan

E 5 drinking, dancing,
ogling each other, and pleasant etcet
eras. We knew you wouldn't want to
miss thc fun, so we sent a man to the
last one, and the man took a camera.

PLAYBOY

24

Mt
| vd
Lar А & |
& E "n

LU ~

“A peeping tom, eh? Men like you are a disgrace to the community."

Bettie Page
January 1955

PLAYBOY’S PARTY JOKES

A girl friend of ours entered
а crossword-puzzle contest and
missed first prize by just two let-
ters. The problem, she said, was
to find a four letter word, end.
ing in it, to describe what is
commonly found on the floors of
bird cages. She was sure she had
it, but the judges didn't care for
her solution. Seems the correct
answer was gril.

"Why don't you smile" the
teacher asked young Johnny.

"I didn't have no breakfast,"
Johnny replied.

"You poor dear" said the
teacher, "But to return to our
geography lesson, Johnny: where
is the Polish border?"

"In bed with Mama- —that's
why I didn't have no breakfast,"

The storm smashed the great ship
to pieces, One small boat of sur-
vivors found its way to a nearby
island and safety. Realizing that
they had been blown off the us-
wal steamship route and would
probably be on the island for
many months before being res
cued, the survivors proceeded to
sct up factory living arrange-
ments. Since the survivors і
cluded six women and one man,
these "arrangements" were a lit-
Ме unusual.

It was agreed amongst them
that rather than. fight over the
lucky fellow, cach girl would take
her turn, having him entirely to
herself one d. ach week; and
that he would have the seventh
day to himself.

Being a normal sort of a guy,
our friend threw himself into the
situation with a great deal of
enthusiasm. The first few weeks,
he didn’t even bother with his
day of rest, As time passed, how-
ever, he began looking forward
to that one day at the end of
cach week. Eventually, in fact,
it was that day that filled his
every thought; he longed to be
off the island, to hear a masculine
voice again, and to sleep, for
days, and days, and days.

One morning: a Saturday, with

the week almost at an end, he
spotted a small raft on the
horizon, and on it a figure. He
waved frantically as the raft ap
proached the island, and when
it was near enough and he real-
ized that the new arri a
man, he dashed down the hill to
the beach. As the man pulled
himself out of the water, our
friend threw his arms around him
and cried: “Man, you've no idea
how glad I am to see you!"

“Well goodness, fellow,”
swished the new arrival. "I'm
gladda see you, too!"

^My God," croaked the weary
one, "there go my Sundays!"

1. was her wedding night and the
sweet young thing was in a ro-
mantic haze. “Oh, darling," she
sighed, "we're married at las
It's all like a wonderful dream
Her husband didn't answer.
A few moments ed, she
sighed again, and said: "I'm
raid ГЇЇ awake in a moment
and find it isn't true.” Still no
response from her spousc.
Another pause and another
sensuous sigh. then, softly: "I
ieve that I'm really

your wife.
“Damn it," growled her mate,
5 soon as І get this shoelace
untied you will!”

part of the human
ked the Anatomy pro-
fessor, “is harder than steel?”
Nobody in the class volunteered
the information, so he looked in
the direction of a sweet coed and
asked, “Can you tell me, Miss
Riley?”

She blushed a deep scarlet and
lowered her eyes, murmuring,
“Oh, please don't ask me to an-
swer that, Professor!"

Crisply, he said, "The answer
is the tissue of the
you, Miss Riley,” he
a sigh, “are an optimist.”

Have you heard any good ones
lately? Earn an easy five dollars
by sending the best to Party Jokes
Editor, PLaYBoY, 11 E. Superior
E ago 11, Illinois. No jokes
can be returned.

MISS JANUARY

HLNOW 3H1 ЗО 31VWAV1d S,AOSAV Ла

PLAYBOY

|
NA,
NS PU LM
[RES ARE >

Жа
BY

IN

A predicament in rhyme from the pen of the Seventeenth Century Earl of Rochester.

RIBALD CLASSICS

THE IMPERFECT ENJOYMENT

Naked she lay, claspt in my longing Arms,

I fill'd with Love, and she all over Charms,
Both equally inspir'd, with eager fire,
Mclting through kindness, flaming in desire;
With Arms, Legs, Lips close clinging to embrace,
she clips me to her Breast, and sucks me to her Face.
The nimble Tongue (Love's lesser Lightning) plaid
Within my Mouth, and to my thoughts convey'd
Swift Orders, that I should prepare to throw
The All-dissolving Thunderbolt below.

My flutt'ring Soul, sprung with the pointed Kiss,
Hangs hov'ring o'er her balmy Limbs of Bliss.
But whilst her busic hand wou'd guide that part
Which shou'd convey iny Soul up to her Heart,
In liquid Raptures J dissolve all o'er,
Melting in Love, such Joys ne'er felt before.

A touch from any part of her had don't,
her very locks had charms upon 't.

too fang oys;
wand’ring Оте

My pà n no more?
She cries: res due,
Must we pay a debt to pleasure too?

forlorne, lost Man alive;
bedience vainly strive,
but cannot drive.

But I the mo

Ev'n her fair Hand, which might bid Hea
To frozen Age, and make cold Hermits burn,
Apply'd to my dead Cinder, warms no more,

Than Fire to Ashes, cou'd t Flames restore.
Trembling, confus'd, desp g, limber, dry,
A wishing, weak, unmoving lump 1 ly,

"This Dart of Love, whose piercing point oft try'd
With Virgin Blood, a hundred Maids has dy'd.
Which Nature still directed with such Art,
That it through ev'ry Port, reacht ev'ry Heart.
Stiffly resolv'd, turn'd careless I invade,
Where it essay'd, nor ought its fury staid,
Where e'er it pi entrance it found or made.
Now languid lics, in this unhappy hour,
Shrunk up, and Sapless, like a wither'd Flow'r.
"Thou treacherous, base, deserter of my flame,
False to my passion, fatal to my Fame,

By what mistaken Magick dost thou prove
So true to lewdness, so untrue to Love?
What Oyster, Cinder, Beggar, common Whore,
Didst thou e'er fail in all thy Life before?
When Vice, Disease and Scandal lead the way,
With what officious haste didst thou obey?
Like a Rude-roaring Hector, in the Streets,
That Scuffles, Cuffs, and Ruffles all he meets;

King or Country m his Aid,
The Rascal Villain shrinks and hides his Head:
E'en so is thy Brutal Valor displaid

Breaks ev'ry Stews, and does each small Crack invade,

But if great Love the onset does command,
Base recreant to thy Prince, thou dost not stand.
Worst part of me, and henceforth hated most,

"Through all the Town, the common rubbing Post;

On whom each wretch relieves her lustful want,
;oats, do rub themselves and grunt,

r in cgnsuming Weepings waste away.
May Strafiguries, and Stone thy Dayes attend.

hen all my joycs did on false thee depend.
And may ten thousand abler Men agree
To do the wrong'd Corinna right for thee.

"I'm sure we've mel somewhere before. Weren’t you
at Cassius’ orgy last Saturday night?”

PLAYBOY

humor BY RAY RUSSELL

T IS NOT WITHOUT a certain eagerness
that I watch the year 1954 lick its
wounds and repair to some remote
corner of limbo to die. For as New Year's
Eve draws ever closer, I am reminded of
last New Year's Eve and of my conduct
on that occasion, the scars of which have
not yet quite vanished from my psyche.

The evening began quietly enough:
the clink of icecubes in the martini
pitcher, the gentle laughter of a few
dear friends. rc the only sounds
to sully the y small but impec-
cably appointed digs. And pleasant
sounds they were. Civilized sounds. Out-
side, the coarse proletariat was giving
vent to its animal spirits by blowing tin
horns, bcating on washtubs, and goosing
its females, but in the trim upholstered
sanctuary of my apartment, order pre-
vailed. Someone had even put a Bach
passacaglia on the phonograph. Noth-
ing. I thought with security as I poured
the martinis and popped a furtive olive
into my mouth. is more orderly than a
Bach passacaglia.

My guests had arrived singly or in
pairs during the past hour: an insur-
ance underwriter and his wife, an ama-
teur actor who thought he resembled
John Gielgud because he had a large
nose, a lady writer who had once sold
a poem to The New Yorker and would
quote it at the first lull in the conversa-
tion, an ad man who had read The
Hucksters and felt guilty ever since, а
dress designer whose sex 1 had never

32

THE STAG AT EVE

NEW YEAR'S, THAT 15

been able to decide, and a staunch old
drinking companion of mine, Roscoe
Kennedy, a man of profligate habits. who
arrived ultancously with a young
woman whom І took to be his current
preoccupation and who introduced her-
self simply as Charity.

"Perfect tinis, old man," my
guests said warmly as | passed among
them with the icy glasses. The first
round went quickly down the thirsty
throats and I was soon in the kitchenette
again, mixing another pitcherfull.

Charity followed me in to request " Just
a liule less vermouth this darling.
please” and (o bite my ear in a friendly
way. Charity, I should add, was yellow
of hair, ripe of figure, and full of
Southern Comfort she had acquired
somewhere en route to my modest little
soirée. She referred to me as a doll and
ran her index finger leisurely up my
spine. This I found strangely provoca-
uve.” “Give me an olive, doll," were her
words, and they were uttered in plush
contralto tones that went straight to my
groin and stayed there for several min-
utes.

I think I can say without extravagance
that I am likable, warm of heart,
mildly pleasing to the eye. 1 have, і
fact, been compared favorably to Greg-
ory Peck by onc young lady, and 1 must
admit that although Mr. Peck is some-
what taller than 1, and perhaps thinner,
with wider shoulders, a trifle more hair,
a squarer jaw, and a more classically

cc

modelled позе, the comparison is not
unfounded.

Cognizant of my charm, then, I was
not particularly surprised when Charity
announced a preference for having the
requested olive conveyed to her teeth by
the medium of my lips, rather than more
conventional techniqu "Always ame-
nable, I proffered the tiny green spheroid
to her in this manncr. Quite by accident,
our lips touched. A full forty seconds
cr, they were still touching. and we
were playing a kind of dental tug-of-war
with the olive. I was also becoming
aware of her bust, which was brushing
my lapels with almost premeditated
regularity. This, too, I found strangely
provocative.

“The ice-cubes,” I said after recovering
from my paralysis and relinquishing the
olive, “are melting. We don't want
watery martinis, now do wer“ І ас
tempted an arch tone, but 1
came out as a rather scratchy whi
duc to the sudden

"Hell no. love!
“that would never de
daintily, she turned and
toward the living room, giving me a
protracted view of her mobile hips. At
the doorway, she paused, turned in my
direction, and allowed her eyes to travel
slowly from my eyebrows to my shoes
and back again. Licking her lips and
emitting one short, doglike bark, she
exited.

1 looked into the martini pitcher. The

" she said huskily,
“Then, hiccuping

d shrunkcn to the size of
nptied the limp dilution into the
nk and mixed another batch, working
pidly lest Charity should decide to
return and again interrupt my labors.
I filled the glasses and, finding an inch
or two left in the pitcher, lifted it to
my lips and drained it. I got an ice cube
in my eye, and my chin dribbled, but
it was worth i After that episode
with Charity, I desperately needed
strong drink.

Let me say at this point that I am no
prude. Indeed, some conservative. per-
sons have called me a rounder. I deny
nothing. But strict parental discipline
аў a child has had а far-reaching effect
upon me. Mid-Victorian though it may
cem. I cannot bring myself to, for ex-
ample, trespass upon another's property.
And, though Charity was unmistakably
inviting my trespasses, it was an incon-
trovertible fact that Roscoe Kennedy у
my best friend. That he was also a head
ler than I, several pounds hea
and had won notoriety in the Golden
Gloves as a youth, is, of course, irrele-
vant.

When 1 reentered the living room
with the second round of drinks, the Bach
passacaglia was a thing of the past and
Ravel's Bolero had taken over. (Lest
you think badly of my taste, let me as-
sure you that I do not possess, and have
never possessed, a recording of the
Bolero. Somebody must have brought it
along.)

Charity was-dancing. Yes, that's the
word. Her pelvis was spasmodically
twitching as il attached by strings to the
throbbing accents of the music. Her eye-
lids were at half-mast. Her shoes were
ой, Her lips were parted, It occurred to
me that Charity's lips were always parted.
T found it strangely provoca!

“The libation bearer approaches," I
quipped, to conceal my true emotions.
But as I walked, my eyes remained riv-
eted to Charity and I tripped over the
underwriter's feet, sending one chilly
martini down his wife's decolletage. Her
reaction was briel and to the point, She
rose quickly, with a sharp cry. and
headed toward the bathroom and а
towel.

While І was on ту knees, mopping
up that small percentage of the martini
had missed the lady, Charity leaned
over and whispered in my саг. My eye
balls scemed to creep from their sockets
and saunter down the neck of her dress
as she said, "And what if that happened
to me, doll? Would you go after the
olive like an enterprising young buck
should?"

"Now see here" I began, waving а
righteous forefinger, She seized it.
Cold hands,” she said, and added
with a wealth of lechery, “warm heart.”

Т stole a quick glance in the direction
of Roscoe, He was looking at me with
an expression best described as un-
fathomable. It may have been Suspicion,
Aroused Ire, Shattered Faith, Intent to
Kill, or possibly a combination of these.
It may also have been Nausea, although
my was the very best brand. 1
avoided his cyes.

"The lady writer had found an oppor-
tunity to recite her New Yorker verse:

"I will concede their lofty aim

Is eminently laudable.

Their gentle comment none can

blame:

But must they be inaudible?

Ius called On Certain FM Announc-
з,” she explained.
"On your feet, doll," said Charity,
dragging me to standing position.
"You and І are gonna trip the light
tic."
ntastic it was, but hardly light.
nst my better judgement, І joined
her in a grotesque parody of a dance 1
had seen performed by George Raft and
Carole Lombard, when a lad. "The ge
eral flavor was Spanish: it involved a
lot of footstamping and snapping of
fingers over the head, dilated nostrils and
narrowed eyes. You know.
s Bolero, in case you haven't
heard it lately, consists of exactly one
theme endlessly repeated in ever-widen
ing circles of hysteria. The effect із
hypnotic. After the first five minutes,
1 became an automaton. 1 couldn't stop.
Neither could Charity. The music grew
louder, the room grew hazy. Periodically,
someone would thrust a drink into my
hand and I would swallow one gulp,
return the glass with an ndoned toss
over the shoulder, and shout “Olé!”

Then the noise outside grew louder
than the noise inside: horns were blown
with a vengeance, htubs were
pounded furiously, women were cvi-
dently being goosed with pagan frenzy.
Somcone looked the clock. A cry
went up: “It's, midnight" And the
lights were extinguished.

Charity lost no time in pulling me
down to the couch. Her hands explored
me. Her lips—but why go on? Suffice it
to say that though the d clear light
of parental discipline flickered and al-
most died, by an extreme effort of will
I was able to keep it burning

"No," І said, although my voice was
somewhat muffled under the circum-
stances, "we mustn't.”

"Relax, dol
to stop us?"

“Decency!” I cried. "The propricties!
Roscoe is my closest friend!”

"Who is your closest what?" she in-
quired, but I wrenched myself free of
her humid grasp and stumbled through
the dark to the bedroom. ‘There, after
ousting an unduly energetic couple from
my bed, I passed out.

she whispered. "What's

Let me draw a curtain over the next
It was passed in an agonizing con-
'alescence too sordid to depict. I myself
remember it only as a nightmare thing
of ice bags and Alka Seltzer and deep
remorse,

The day after that, however, I phoned
Roscoe. After exchanging the usual
hearty mundanities, I said, “Roscoe, old
boy, І hope you won't think I was, uh,
beating your time the other night.

reply enigmatic: "Huh?"
^] mean to say, that is, well I suppose
ve looked like I was (ha-ha)
making a play for Charity or something,
but

"So believe mes nothing could Бе
further from the truth. Friendship is,
uh, I mean it's a kind óf sacred, yes,
that's it, a sacred covenant. that should
not, пау, must not 一 一

"Will you kindly tell me what you're
beating your gums about?’

I stated it as blundy as I could, and
Roscoe said, “Charity? My girl? Look, pal,
I came to that shindig alone. You mean
you didn't invite her?”

I fear I hung up without saying an-
other word. So that was it. A party
crasher, Simple, Happens every
And just because she walked in at thc
same time Roscoe did, I assumed ...

І am one year older now and a good
deal wiser. Come New Year's Eve, there
will be no Bach passacaglia and circle
of dear friends for me. There will be a
young lady, of dimensions and tem-
perament as close to Charity's as possible.
There will be martinis. And there will
be me. І may begin my feeding her ап
olive. I may blow a tin horn, too. It's
not inconceivable that 1 may pound a
washtub if І can find one. And that
isn't all. Life is short, you know. Time
is fleeting. Gather ye roscbuds while ye
«апа all that. I mean what the hell.
There's a good chance I may even favor
her with one bacchanalian goose at ıhe
stroke of twelve.

PLAYBOY

“And you were wrong, Mother . .

. I liked it."

JOHNNY BEAR (continued from page 14)

Alex picked at his cigarette. "Lots of
People have tried, but you just don't
see Johnny Bear, and you don't catch
him. You keep your windows closed,
and even then you talk in a whisper
if you don't want to be repeated. You
were lucky it was dark tonight. If he
had seen you, he might have gone
through the action too. You should see
Johnny Bear screw up his face to look
like a girl. It’s pretty awful.

I looked toward the sprawled figure
under the table. Johnny Bears back
was turned to the room. The light
fell on his black matted hair. I saw a
big fly land on his head, and then I
swear I saw the whole scalp shiver the
way the skin of a horse shivers under
flies. The fly landed again and the
moving scalp shook it off. I shuddered
too, all over.

Conversation in the room had set-
tled to the bored monotone again. Fat
Carl had been polishing a glass on his
apron towel for the last ten minutes. А
little group of men near me was dis-
cussing fighting dogs and lighting
cocks, and they switched gradually to
bull fighting.

Alex. beside me, said, “Come have
a drink.

We walked to the counter. Fat Carl
put out two glasses. “What'll it be?”

Neither of us answered. Carl poured
out the brown whiskey. He looked sul-
lenly at me and one of his thick, meaty
eyelids winked at me solemnly. I don't
know why, but І felt flattered. Carl's
head twitched back toward the card
table, “Got you, didn't һе?

1 winked back at him.
next time.” I imitated his clipped sen-
tences. We drank our whiskey and went
back to our chairs. Timothy Ratz won
a game of solitaire and moved to the
bar.

I looked back at the table under
h Johnny Bear lay. He had rolled
over on his stomach. His foolish smil-
ing face looked out at the room. His
head moved and he peered all about,
like an animal about to leave its den.
And then he came sliding out and
stood up. There was a paradox about
his movement. He looked twisted and
shapeless, and yet he moved with com-
plete lack of effort.

Johnny Bear crept up the room to-
ата the bar, smiling about at the

men he passed. In front of the bar this
insistent

question arose. “Whiskey?
It was like a bird call. I
t know what kind of bird, but I've
rd it-two notes on a rising scale,

asking a question over and over,
“Whiskey? Whiskey?”
The conversation in the room

rd to

stopped, but no one came forw
Johnny

lay money om the counter.
smiled plaintively. Whiskeys“
"hen he tried to cozen them. Out
of this throat an angry woman's voice
sued. "I tell you it was all bone.
Twenty cents a pound, and half boni
And then а man, “Yes, ma'am. І didn't
know it. I'll give you some sausage to

make it up.

Johnny Bear looked around expect-
andy. “Whiskey?” Still none of the
men offercd to come forward. Johnny
crept to the front of the room and
crouched. I whispered, "What's he
doing?

Alcx said "Sh. Looking through a
window. Listen!”

А woman's voice came, a cold sure
voice, the words clipped. “І can't
quite understand it. Are you some kind
of monster? I wouldn't have believed it
if I hadn't кесі

Another wor voice answered
her, a voice low and hoarse with mis-
ery. "Maybe I am a monster. I can't
help it. I can't help it."

"You must help the cold voice
broke in. "Why you'd be better dead.

І heard a soft sobbing coming from
the thick smiling lips of Johnny Bear.
The sobbing of « woman in hopeless-
ness. I looked around at Alex. He was
sitting stiffly, his eyes wide open and
unblinking. | opened my mouth to
whisper a question, but he waved те
silent. 1 glanced about the room.
All the men were stiff and listening.
The sobbing stopped. "Haven't you
ever felt that way, Emalin?"

Alex caught his breath sharply at
the name. The cold voice announced,
“Certainly not."

“Never in tlie. night? Not ever—ever
in your life?

"IE had.“ the cold voice said, “if
ever I had, I would cut that t of
me ay. Now stop your whining,
Ату. 1 won't stand for it. ТЕ you dont
get control of your nerves ГИ see about
having some medical treatment for you.
Now go to your pravers.

Johnny Bear smiled on. "Whiskey?

Two men advanced without a word
and put down coins Fat Carl filled two

and when Johnny Bear tossed
off onc after the other, Carl filled one
again。 Everyone knew by that how
moved hc was. There were no drinks
on thc house at the Buffalo Bar. John-
ny Bear smiled about the room
then he went out with that creeping
of his. The doors folded 8
him, slowly and without a sound.

Conversation did not spring up
again. Everyone in the room seemed
to have a problem to settle in his own
mind. One by one they drifted out and
the back swing of the doors brought
in little puffs of tule fog. Alex got up
and walked out and 1 followed

The night was nasty with the evil
smelling fog. It seemed to cling to the
buildings and to reach out with free
arms into the air. І doubled my расе
and caught up with Alex. "What was
i" 1 demanded. "What was it all
boul
For a moment І thought he wouldn't
answer. But then he stopped and
turned to me. "Oh, damn it. Listen!
Every town has its aristocrats, its family
above reproach. Emalin and Amy Haw-
kins are our aristocrats, maiden ladies,
d people. Their father was а con-

gressman. I don't like this. Johnny Bear
shouldn't do it! Why, they feed him.
Those men shouldn't give him whiskey.
Hell haunt that house now—now he
knows he can get whiskey for it.”
I asked, “Are they relatives of yout
"No, but they're—why, they aren't
like other people. Th ve the farm
next to mine. Some Chinese [arm it
on shares. You see, it's hard to explain.
The Hawkins women, they're symbols.
They're what we tell our Kids when we
want to 一 well to describe good people.”
“Well,” І protested, "nothing John-
ny Bear said would hurt them would it?"
“І don't know. І don't know what it
means. I mean, I kind of know. Oh!
Go on to bed. 1 didn't bring the Ford.
I'm going to walk out home." He
turned and hurried into that slow
squirming mist.
1 walked along to Mrs. Ratz’ board-
ing house. I could hear the chuttering
of the Diesel engine off in the swamp
and the dang of the big steel mouth
that ate its way through the ground. It
was Saturday night. The dredger would
stop at seven Sunday morning and rest
until midnight Sunday. 1 could tell
by the sound that everything was all
right. I climbed the narrow stairs to my
room. Once in bed I left the light burn-
ing for a while and stared at the раје
insipid flowers on the wallpaper. 1
thought of those two voices speaking out
of Johnny Bear's mouth. They were au-
thentic voices, not reproductions. Re-
membering the tones | could see the
women who had spoken, the chill-
voiced Emalin, and the loose, misery-
broken face of Amy. I wondered what
caused the misery. Was it just the lone-
ly suffering of a middle-aged woman?
It hardly seemed so to me, for there
was much to fear in the voice. 1 went
to sleep with the light on and had to
get up later and turn it off.
About ht the next morning I
Iked down across the swamp to the
dredger. The crew was busy bending
some new wire to the drums and coil-
ing the worn cable for removal. I
looked over the job and at about eleven
o'clock walked back to Loma. In front
of M atz’ barding house Alex Hart-
nell sat in a Model-T Ford touring
car. He called to me, “І was just going
to the dredger to get you. I knocked off
a couple of chickens this morning.
Thought you might like to help with

І accepted joyfully. Our cook was
a good cook, a big pasty man: but
lately I had found a dislike for him
arising in me. He smoked Cuban cig:
rettes in a nboo holder. I didn't
like the way his fingers twitched in
the morning. His hands were clean—
floury like a millers hands. I never
knew before why they called them moth
millers, those little flying bugs. Anyway
I climbed into the Ford beside Alex
d we drove down the hill to the
rich land of the southwest. The sun
shone brilliantly on the black earth.
When I was little, a Catholic boy told
me that the sun always shone on Sun-

(continued on page 44)

35

PLAYBOY

THREE YEARS AGO a talented collection of
new faces appeared on Broadway in a
hit musical by that name. The very
brightest countenance belonged to si
ewy, sensuous Eartha Kitt who stopped
the show singing the sophisticated Mo
notonous ("Jacques Fath made a new
style for me, І even made Johnny Ray
smile for me, a camel once walked
mile for me. 7)

Earthy Eartha welcomed in last yule
tide with a seductive song to Santa Claus
in the movie version of “New |
(Santa, baby, hurry down the chi
tomé...)

This Christmas found her back on
Broadway in a new play, “Mrs. Patter
son,” wiih a part very different from
the ones that have brought her fame.
“Mrs. Patterson” is the story of a v
poor, very sensitive Tifteen-ycar-old who
dreams of being rich and famous — it
could easily be the story of Eartha's own
childhood. She has traded her tight
fitting toreador and abbreviated mink
costumes Lor a sack-shaped dress and she

36

doesn't sing a sexy line in the entire
show. She is excellent in the part, but
the play itself never comes to life.

We visited her backstage few eve-
nings ago. She didn't want to see us,
at first, but finally let us in. She said
she was very, very tired, and when we
looked at her, we believed what she said.
The off-Broadway reviews had been
ad a lot of work had gone into

revamping the show before it opened in
New York. By then, she said, shc didn’t
care whether it opened or not.
he was worried about her voice. She
was hoarse and she thought she might
be losing it the way Frankie Laine had
for a while a couple of years ago. She
sat at her dressing table in a drab robe
and smoked a cigarete and sipped at
cup of tea as she talked.

lt was а little difficult remembering
this was the same girl we'd seen spread
across a Technicolor CinemaScope
screen in a hall-nude harem costume
singing Uska Dara. We remembered
some of the wild parties in Chicago
when "New Faces" was playing there,
nd the night she'd lost the top half
of her dress during the ale, She'd
looked down after a few moments and
pulled it up with a shrug, as if it
didn't really matter whether she was cov-
ered or not. Now she was pulling on a
drab little dress with all the sex appeal
of a flour sack.
I'm tired of living in a fish bowl,
aid. "I want to get away, 10 rest.
aven't had a vacation in three years.
І was supposed to have six weeks last
summer. It was all set, then I got a call
Irom a guy in the cast. His club was
in bad shape and he said he needed a
name attraction in a hurry or he'd be
out of business. I played there three
weeks and figured Pd still have three
to түзей. Then І got the same sort
of call from a Iriend out west.

“This is a crazy business. І had a
uy wanted to sell me a pink mink for
520,000 a few weeks back. "What am І
оппа do with a pink mink? І asked
him. "Think of the publicity it'll give
vou, he said. ‘Think of the publicity
it'll give you.’ І said, so he offered it to
me for 510,000. ‘How long would it
take this pink mink to fade?" І asked
him. ‘About five years,’ he said. Now
59,000 a year, that's too much money,
even for a mink that's pink

"When І was earning 5100 a week, I
wanted to carn 51,000. When I was
earning $1,000, I wanted more, There's

PHOTOGRAPHS ESPECIALLY FOR PLAYBOY BY MIKE SHEA

no end to it. Now I can buy almost
anything I t, and all I'd really like
to have is a little peace and quiet. But
I can still remember when I had noth-
ing. I guess І really wouldn't trade it,
even if 1 could."

7 a had become absorbed in the
conversation and lost track of the time.
She was fiftcen minutes late

for the opening curtain.

SANTA'S BABY IS
BACK ON BROADWAY

the good eartha stars
in a not loo good play

Же 7:

theatre

37

THE CLOTHING that adorns tiere
playboy has come a long way since the
time of Adam's drafty, ill-fitting fig
leaf.

Although style changes in the men's
fashion world are neither as dramatic
nor as frequent as those enjoyed by
the female, proper masculine dress can
become a very confusing matter. If a
man is concerned with how he looks,
and he should bc, he may find himsclf
caught up in a perplexing phantasma-
goria of color combinations, patterns,
styles, designs, fabrics and cuts. Perhaps
he recalls the words of Patrice Munsel,
edible young Metropolitan Opera so-
prano, who claims that "eight out of
ten men are boring to look at," and it's
quite possible that odds like those run
against him.

But, assuming our man is not totally
color blind, possesses most or all of
the necessary ا‎ upon which
to hang assorted articles of apparel,
earns more than $60 a week, and takes
a shower at least as often as he re.
ceives his paycheck, there's no reason
why he can't look as tastefully attired as
that fellow who sells Schweppes. To
accomplish this, there are certain
basic concepts about clothing with
which he should be familiar. Once mas-
tered, they are as dependable as hi
favorite bartender, and just as well-
calculated to make Miss Munscl, and
others of her species, sing with delight.

Despite violent advertising to the
contrary, the. sort of underwcar worn
by the clothes-conscious man is of no
interest to anyone, with the possible
exception of his wife (if he has one)
or | secretary (ditto). Shorts 一
whether they are boxer or jockey, yel-
low or helio, cashmere ог gauze — arc
a purely functional item and we're
sure that what he is now wearing will
suffice until those mysterious little
holes start to appears Then he'll go out
and buy more of the same:

In the matter of men's outer apparel,
however, our position is more defi
tive. Conservative in all departments,
we lean heavily towards those distinc-

tive details of styling that point up the
man as being quietly well dressed. Saf-
fron suits with Li'l Abner shoulders are
worn with pride by Li'l Abner, and no
one else.

Our man would choose suits with the
natural look, shoulders without pad-
ding, soft fronts, and the lapels small
and high-notched. The single-breasted
jacker hangs straight from his should-
ers, with no indentation at the waist,
loose enough to give him the feeling
of freedom he desires. (His double-
breasted jackets were given quietly to
the Korcan War Relief several years
ago. and no word of them has been
mentioned since.) Classic detailing sug-
gests a three-button model in prefer-
ence to the two, with flap pockets and
a deep hook vent in the back. As a dis-
tinctive touch, his odd coats and rug-
ged tweed suits feature stitched one-
eighth inch raised seams and edges.
The collars of his jackets are set low,
so that one-half inch of shirt can be
seen above. In the same manner, jack-
et sleeves are trimmed to allow one-
half inch of shirt cuff to appear. No
more than two buttons are required on
his jacket cuffs, Trousers are cut trim
and slim, tapering from 21 inches at the
knee to an 18 inch bottom. The need
for pleats is diminishing rapidly, and
only those men with a sizable paunch
have any use for them. Our fellow
frowns on them.

His business shirts are of threc basic
collar styles: button-down, round (worn
with safety pin) and tab — all of which
follow the natural, comfortable lines
of his suits and sports jackets. He
knows that "new" collar styles [ор ир
and disappear as quickly as Hollywood
starlets, so he stays with the tested
three. Woven of oxford cloth, fine cot-
ton broadcloth or no-ironing Dacron,
they are colored in blue, tan or white;
or candy or hairline stripes in bluc or
tan On white. For everyday wcar, bi
tou cuffs are favored over the dressier
French cuffs. For country wear and
relaxation without a jacket, he chooses
shepherd check gingham, brushed cot-

playboy’s position

WELL DRESSED PLAYBOY

ton flannel or Tattersall checks, with
button-down or regular collars — sport
shirts that combine the distinctive in
both texture and design.

Neckwear offers a wide choice of
unique color blends centering on the
primary hues rather than the more
muted pastels. Rich foulards in neat,
orderly patterns or Rep silks in a v
riety bold colors — yellow stripes on
black, red on blue, green and black on
yellow — reflect the individuality and
good taste of the wearer. His Rep four-
in hand are cut no wider than 2 3/4
inches, while his foulards and knits are
three inches in width. В ties are
worn by our man whenever he attends
a nk Sinatra movie; string ties de-
serve no comment.

The Edwardian waistcoat is welcomed
by our conservative man as an item of
rire distinction, perfect for adding a
dash of color to country suits or extra
warmth for football weekends, hip flask
notwithstanding. atterned in rich
Tattersall checks, narrow strippings on

a black background, foulard silk or
warm velveteen shades of red, here is
the unique compliment to our well-

groomed man attending the outdoor,
less formal occasion.

His hosiery follows the solid. color
line, tending toward the darker shades
of navy, grey, brown and black for of-
lice wear. Smart country hose include
the perennially tasteful wool Argyles
imond

The final mark of our

ап dictates that his shoes be correctly
coordinated. to the rest of his apparel.
For town wear, the plain toc blutcher
or straight tip oxford in cordovan,
Scotch grain or black is his choice; the
more casual ir commands the. wing
tip or moccasin in brown. A constant
favorite for loafing or leisure all year
around is the white buckskin or canvas-
top. Suede shoes are nowhere to be
seen.

on proper male attire

BY JACK J. KESSIE
playboy's apparel editor

PLAYBOY

PUNCH BOWL «continued from page 17)

“clean” taste like Four Roses or Bel-
lows Partners Choice. This is one of
the least giddy of all punches, a plea-
nt drink with enough k to bring
the gang back again and again to the
bowl. Use freshly squeezed [ruit juices
or frozen fruit juice. Avoid canned
juice.

2 quarts rye

] pint orange juice

Ye pint lemon juice

1 cup sugar

2 Jemons sliced thin

1 quart sparkling water

Put the fruit juices, sugar and sliced
lemon in the punch bowl. Stir until
the sugar dissolves. Place a large chunk
of ice in the bowl. Pour the rye and
sparkling water over the ice. Stir well
until the punch is icy cold. If the mi
ture зест too strong, add more spa
ling water up to onc additional quart.

FISH HOUSE. PUNCH
One of the most hallowed of classi-
cal Colonial punch recipes. It is the

specialty of the “State In Schuylkill,
a Philadelphia club organized in 1732.
The recipe lor Fish House punch,

served to both shington and La:
fayette, has not varied much over the

years.
1 pint cognac
1 pint golden Puerto Rican or Cuban

rum
1 pint |
1 pint lemon juice
у, pound sugar
] wineglass pea

ch brandy

1 to 2 quarts cold water. (not carbon-
ated water)
Put the r in the bowl. Add about

1 cup of the water and stir until sugar
is dissolved. Add lemon juice, peach
brandy. cognac, both kinds of rum and
1 quart of water. Stir well. Let the m
ture stand about | hour before serving,
so that the flavors can “marry
blend. Place a large chunk of ice in the
punch bowl. Ladle the punch over the
ice until the punch is quite cold. Add
more cold water if desired. Peach li-
queur may be used instead of peach
brandy.

CHAMPA! PUNC П

Be sure the champagne is ice cold
in the bottles before it is poured into
the punch bowl While many cham-
pagne punch recipes include sparkling
water, ginger ale, tca and other forms
of dilution, rravmov likes its cham-
e as straight and unadorned as
le. In the following recipe, one

pos

FEMALES BY COLE: 8

The Glutton

of the simplest of them all, lemon ice
or lemon sherbet is required. To keep
the lemon ice from melting too quick-
ly, ask the clerk in the drugstore or
ice cream parlor beforehand to keep
the lemon ice in the very bottom of
the freezer so that it is really frozen
solid.

4 quarts domestic dry champagne
1 quart lemon ice, frozen very hard

About 12 dashes Angostura bitters

Place the lemon icc in the punch
bowl. Pour the champagne over it, Add
the bitters and stir. Pour into glass
punch cups or champagne glasses.

CHAMPAGNE PUNCH П
For a more dressed up champ
punch bowl, assemble the following
ingredients:
3 quarts iced dry domestic champagne
1/2 cup maraschino liqueur
1/2 cup cognac
1 teaspoon orange bitters
nges sliced. thin
] lemon sliced. thin
Put the maraschino liqueur, the cog-
orange bitters and sliced fruit in
the bowl. Stir well. Let the m
"bre at least one hour. Place

large
chunk of ice in center of the bowl. Pour

the champagne over the ice. Stir well.

BRANDY EGG NOG

One of the casiest egg nogs is 1
by combining 1 cup of either brand)
whiskev or rum with 1 quart prepared
egg nog mix furnished by dairies. The
drink is palatable except that most of
the prey i
flavor, a m

or damnation of modern

Princetonians will recognize the fol-
lowing recipe for brandy egg nog which
for years was served at the Princeton
Club of New York. It's a mellow sophis-
ticated drink, a wonderful womfort for
the day after New Year's

2 eggs
3 quarts. milk
8/4 bottle cognac or Sp:

brandy
12 c
1/2 pint heavy cream
1/3 cup sugar
Grated nutmeg

Separate the egg yolks from the
whites.
In a punch bowl combine the egg

yolks and sugar. Beat well with a wire
whisk or rotary egg beater. Borrow
these gadgets from the landlady or а
neighbor il necessary. С add
the cognac, гит, milk and crea

well. Place the bowl in the ref
removing shelves if necessary, for at
least 2 hours, Just before serving the
punch, beat the egg whites, in a separate
bowl, until stilf. using a rotary egg b
ег. Add the egg whites to the punch
bowl mixture. Fold the egg whites in
that is. do not mix them with а round-

the-bowl movement but use the wire
whisk in a downoverup stroke until
the egg whites are blended with the

Ladle the punch
kle with nutmeg.

other ingredients
into the cups. Spi

“Sarah certainly is a friend of the downtrodden.”

41

PLAYBOY

CONCRETE MIXER
people killed every year on this contin-
ent of America; made into jelly right
in the can, as it were, in the automo-
bile. Red blood jelly, with white mar-
row bones like sudden thoughts, re-
diculous horror thoughts, transfixed in
the immutable jelly. The cars roll up
in tight neat sardine rolls — all sauce,
all silence.

Blood manure for green buzzing
summer flies, all over the highways.
Faces made into Halloween masks by
sudden stops. Halloween is one of their
holidays. I think they worship the auto-
mobile on that night — something to
do with death, anyway.
ou look out your window and sec
two people lying atop cach other in
friendly fashion who, a moment ago,
had never met before, dead. І foresee
hed, discased, trapped in
сіпен ches and gum. Sometime
in the next day І shall try to escape
ck to Mars before it is too latc.

“Somewhere on Earth tonight, ту
Tylla, there is a Man with a Lever,
which, when he pulls it, Will Save the
World. The man is now unemployed.
His switch gathers dust. He himself
is pinochle.
һе women of this evil planet are
drowning us in a tide of banal senti-
ty. misplaced romance, and one
last fling before the makers of glycerin
them down for usage. Good night,
туђа. Wish me well, for 1 shall prob-
ablv die trying to cscape. My love to
our cl n

Weeping silently, he folded the
ter and reminded himself to m:
later at the rocket post.

He left the park. What was there to

do? Fscape? But how? Return to the
post late tonight, steal one of the rockets
alone and go back to M.
be possible? He shook his h
was much too confused.
АП that he really knew was that if
he stayed. here he would soon be the
property of a lot of things that buzzed
and snorted and hissed, that gave off
fumes or stenches. In six months he
would be the owner of a large pink,
trained ulcer, a blood pressure of alge-
ic dimensions, a myopia this side of
blindness, and nightmares as deep as
oceans and infested with improbable
lengths of dream intestines through
which he must violently force his way
each night. No, no.

He looked at the haunted faces of
the Farthmen drifting violently along
in their mechanical death boxes. Soon
— yes, very soon — they would
an auto with six silver handles on it!

“Hey, there!

An auto horn. A large long hearse
of a car, black and ominous, pulled to
the curb. A man leaned out.

"You a Martian?
“yes.”

Just the man І gotta see. Hop in
quick — the chance of a lifetime. Hop
in. Take you to a real nice joint where
we can talk. Come on 一 don't stand

42

(continued from page 18)

there.

As if hypnotized, Ettil opened the
door of the car, got in.

They drove olf.

"Wharll it be, E. У? How about a
manhattan? Two manhattans, waiter.
Okay, Е. V. This is my treat. This is
on me and Big Studios Don't even
touch your wallet. Pleased to meet you,
E. V. Му name's R. R. Van Plank.
Maybe you heard me? No? Well, shake
anyhow.”

Еші felt hand massaged and
dropped. They were in a dark hole
with music and waiters drifi
Two drinks were set down. It
happened so swiftly. Now Van Plank,
hands crossed on his chest, was survey-
ing his Martian discovery.

"What 1 want you for, E. V., is this.
It's the most magnanimous idea І ever
got in my life. І don't know how it
сате to me, just in a flash. І was sil
ting home tonight and I thought to
түзей, My God, what a picture it
would make! Invasion of Earth by Mars.
So what ! got to do? I got to find an
adviser for the film. So I climbed in
my car and found vou and here we
arc. Drink up! Here's to your health
and our future. Skoal!”

But —" said Кип.
w, І know, you'll want mone
Well, we got plentv of that. Besides, T
got a li'l black book full of peaches
I can lend you.”

1 don't like most of your Earth
fruit and 一

You're a card,

Well,
in my
sten.” He leaned forward
Ve got a flash scene of the
big powwow. drummin’
stewed on Mars. In the
kground arc huge silver cities —"
"But that's not the way Martian
ities are 一

“We got to have color, kid. Color.
Let your pappy fix this. Anyway, there
are all the Martians doing a dance
around a fire 一
“We don’t dance around fires 一
“In this film, you got a fire and you
dance.” declared. Van Plank, eyes shut,
proud of his certainty. He nodded,
dreaming it over on his tongue. “Then
we got a beautiful Martian woman, tall
and blond.

"Martian women are dark —"

“Look, I don't see how we're going
to be ppy. E. V. By the way, son,
you ought to change your name. What
was it again?"

“Euil.

“That's a woman's name. ГЇЇ
you a beuer one. Call you Joe. O
Joc. As І was saying.
men are gonna be blond, because, see,
just because. Or else your poppa won't
be happy. You got any suggestions?”

"I thought that —"

"And another thing we gotta have
is a scene, very tearful, where the Mar-
tian woman saves ıhe whole ship of

mac, really.

here's how І get the picture
mind —
excitedl:
Martians a
drums, get
1

Martian men from dying when a meteor
or something hits the ship. ‘That'll make
a wackeroo of a scene. You know, I'm
glad I found you, Joc. You're going to
have a good deal with us, I tell you."
Euil reached out and held the man's
wrist tight. "Just a minute. There's
something I want to ask you."
ure, shoot.
Why are you being so nice to us?
We invade your planet and you wel-
come us — everybody — like long-lost
children. Why?
hey sure grow 'em green on Mars,
don't they? You're a naive-type guy 一
I can see from way over here. Mac,
look at it this way. We're all Little Peo-
ple, ain't we?” He waved а small tan
hand garnished with emeralds.
“We're all common as dirt, ain't we?
Well, here on rth, were proud of
that. This is the century of the Com-
man Man, Bill, and we're proud we're
small. Billy, you're looking at a planet
full of Saroyans. Yes, sir. A great big
at family of friendly Saroyans — every-
body loving everybody. We understand
you Martians, Joe, and we know why
you invaded Earth. We know how
lonely you were up on that little cold
planet Mars, how you envied us our
cities —"
"Our civil
yours —"
"Please, Joe, you make me unhappy
when vou interrupt. Let me finish my
theory and then you talk all you want.
As І was ng, you was lonely up
there, and down you came to sce our
cities and our women and all, and we
welcomed you in, be you're our
brothers, Common Men like all ol us.
“And then, as a kind of side incident,
Roscoe, there's a certain little small
profit чо be had from this invasion.
1 mean for instance this picture I plan,
which will net us, neat, a billion dol-
lars, I bet. Next weck we start. putting
out a special Martian. doll at t
bucks a throw. Think of the millions
there. І also got a contract to make a
Martian game to sell for five bucks.
"There's all sorts of angles."
* said Fuil, drawing back.
“And then of course there's that whole
nice new market. Think of all the
depilatories and gum and shocshine we
can sell to you Martians.”
"Wait. Another question."
“Shoot.
"What's your
R. R. stand for?
Richard Robert.”
Euil looked at the Do they
mes, perhaps, on occasion, once
while, by accident, call you —

tion is much older than

rst name? What's the

8

How'd you guess, mac? Rick, sure.”

Ettil sighed and began to laugh and
laugh. He put out his hand. "So you're
Rick? Rick! So you're Rick!”

“What's the joke, laughing boy? Let
Poppa in!”

“You wouldn't understand — a pri-
vate joke. Ha, ha!" Tears ran down his
cheeks and into his open mouth. He

(concluded on page 49)

west coast jazz

(continued from page 9)

Boker and Mulligan . . . pungence ond honey against streomlined rhythm.

Dave Brubeck . cool jazz,

is a hectic howler. For every Coaster
who plays from the head, there's one
who plays from the guts.

Putting savage, bombastic Jay
McNeely (tenor sax, Hollywood) at one
and shy, reticent Dave Brubeck
San Francisco) at the other,
you'll find that the rest ot the. Western
cats fall somewhere in between, It is
just а declaration of fact to say the
West Coast harbors musicians. playing
practically every known variety of jazz
music.

A look

iano,

t some o. the leaders in
Western jazz will indicate that there i
morc contrasts than similitudes in the
kind of music they play:

Chet Baker — Chet (born Chesney
Н.) is a 24-year-old trumpet player and
vocalist who won both the Down Beat
and Metronome 1953 music awards as
number-one trumpeter, making an un-
believably swift rise to the top. (In
1952, for example, he was wwenueth in
the Metronome poll.)

Chers playing is light, fast and
sugarsweet. He plays and sings with
quiet delicacy, building his beautiful,
often highly-complicated solos with ex-
шете care. He says jazz should be
“logical, lyrical and fluent" He be-
lieves a jazz solo should “tell a story,
not be merely a string of unconnected
phrases.”

Dave Brubeck — Dave Brubeck and
his quartet (Brubeck, piano; Paul Des-
mond, alto sax; Ron Crotty, bass; Joe
Dodge, drums) drew a lot of favorable

attention lust year as an important part

of the modern jazz movement. Brubeck

as with those of jazz. Brubeck
makes wide use of the fugue in his ja
solos, often reminding one of Chopin,
Beethoven or Bach. His powers of im-
provisation are great 一 and equally
great are Paul Desmond's. The two of
them improvising together against the
soft, strident pulsation of the bass and
drums is a thing breath-taking to hear.
The sounds are subtle and subdued 一
Brubeck's jazz is truly “cool” jazz,

like

an intricately constructed mobile.

Brubeck describes his idea of jazz
as "an improvised music based on class-
ical harmony and African rhythms. The
challenge is to improvise on the mel-
using traditional music ideas but
Е ng the drive and the beat of

Teddy Charles — Charles, a front
rank су; is been described as
one of modern music's “most severe cri-
tics, wryest commentators and devoted
leaders.” He's played with Benny
Goodman, Buddy De Franco, Artie
Shaw and others. When he's not study-
ing composition in the East, he plays
in pickup and recording groups on the
West Coast.

Charles is an Easterner by birth, and
he's concecrned with the state of West-
ern jazz. He believes young West Coast
cats do a lot of
and depressingly little “wigging”
(thinking). His concept of ideal jazz
exponent is onc who docs a little of
cach — a “wail-w

Wardell Gray —

“Tenor saxist Gray

has played with modernists and stomp-

ers al on the West Coast, and his
own jazz style is a combination of the
kind of music cach group represents —
Wardell's a thinker, but he's a swing-
er too.

Perhaps more than any other, War-
dell symbolizes the synthcsis of myriad

styles that could make up a unified
Western Jazz — he's played with the
cool Coasters (Shorty Rogers, Stan

Getz, Teddy Charles, etc.) and hot ones
(Dexter Gordon, Vido Musso, Charles
Shavers, etc). He does most of his cool
playing in the dubs in and around
Hollywood (The he Lighthouse,
The Californian) and his hot playing in
Gene Norman's “Just Jazz" concerts (the
Pacific Coast counterpart. of. Norman
Granz the Philharmonic”).
Gray thinks his ar ment of play-
ing both hot and cool jazz is ideal, “I
like to create, but I like to swing too.
Out here, we've got radicals at both
ends of the jazz thermometer 一 Mulli-
gan and his ‘pure art’ theories and

McNeely and his supersonic hon
I guess you could call the Pacific Coast
the melting pot of jazz 一 and a lot of
cats, like myself, arc very happily in
the middle of i

Big Jay McNeely — Big Jay is a
burly, robust L. A-born jazz man who
delights in making his tenor sax gro:
growl, grumble, grunt, howl, rasp. rock,
scream, screech, squeal, whistle, wiggh
wobble and explode, His tone is gutu-
ral and his music is blood-red with emo-
tion and frenzy. When he performs, he
stomps his feet, shakes his shoulders and
wags his head. Holding his instrument
like some medieval weapon, he hops
leaps, crawls and lies flat on his ck
on the stage — blowing his horn lust-
ily all the while. Comparing his musi
to that of Brubeck is like comparing a
H-bomb blast with an intricately cor
structed mobile.

McNeely explains: “І was a serious
cat once. І was eager to learn all about
the niceties of sound and the complex-
ities of musical structure. And I dug
the modern cats in ıhe East — Parker,
‘Tristano, Powel, all them cats. But I
found out that the big money was clsc-
where, People want to be excited. And
that's what І try to give them 一 1

ment. It's as simple as all that.
Gerry Mulligan — Gerry is an in-

tense young 7 baritone . com-

poser and arranger who moved West

15 ago after serving his appren-
in the Fast, in Philadelphia
ig is what they
jazz purist.” He detests commer-
cialism of any kind—won't tolerate the
of his highly experimental
sounds to suit the musical tastes of
his audience. His often belligerent at-
titude (recently he told an audience
he'd walk off the stand if they didn't
"quiet down" and listen to his music)
has caused fellow jazz musicians some
concern. Most jazz men fecl that sym-
pathe h customers are necessary
if jazz is going to grow and that in-
sulting an audience only gives jazz
and the people who play it a bad name.

Last year Mulligan drew a lot of cri
tical attention as an important jazz
modernist by eliminating the piano
and the guitar from his West Coast
combos. (His most famous combo was
a quartet featuring himself on sax,
Chet Baker, trumpet; Carson Smith,
bass; and Chico Hamilton, drums.) The
resultant sounds were lighter and more
fluid than any yet heard. And, with
the vibrato minimized and the confin-
ing chordal base of the piano gonc,
the soloists were afforded more frec-
dom in their improvising. The sound of
Mulligan's pungent saxaphone or Bak-
er's honeyed trumpet (or both) against
the gentle. punching of the streamlined
rhythm section fresh. invigorating
=the jazz line was pushed forward а
little—previously hidden jazz horizons
were glimpsed.

Mulligan frowns on West Coasters
who are not totally sincere about their
music, He believes jazz 一 good jazz, pure
(concluded on page 48)

43

PLAYBOY

JOHNNY BEAR

day. if only for a moment, because it
was God's day. 1 always meant 10 see
if it were true, We rattled down to
the level plain.

Alex shouted, "Remember about the
Hawkins?"

“OL course I remember.”

He pointed. That's the house.”

Little of the house could be seen,
for a high thick hedge of cypress sur-
rounded it. There must be a small gard-
en inside the square too. Only the roof
and the tops ol the windows showed
over the hedge. 1 could see that the
house was painted tan, trimmed with
dark brown, a combination lavored for
та ad stations and schools in
fornia. There were two wicket
in the [ront
The barn was outside the green barrier
to the rear of the house. The hedge
was clipped square. It looked incredi-
bly thick and strong.

"The hedge keeps the wind out,"
Alex shouted.

“It doesn't keep Johnny Bear out,"
I said.

A shadow crossed his face. He waved
at a whitewashed square building stand-
ing out in the field. “That's where the
Chink sharecroppers live. Good work-
ers. І wish І had some like them.”

At that inoment from behind the cor-
ner of the hedge a horse and buggy
appeared and turned into the road.
The grey horse was old but well
groomed, the buggy shiny and the har-
ness polished. "There wa big silver H
on the outside of each blinder. It scemed
to me that the check rein was too short
for such ап old hors

Alex cried, “There they are now,
on their w 10. church."

We took off our hats and bowed to
the women as they went by, and th
nodded formally to us. I had а g
look at them. It was a shock to me.
They looked almost exactly as I thought
thev would. Johnny Bear was more mon-
strous even than I had known, if by
the tone of voice he could describe the
featurcs of his people. I didn't have to
ask which Emalin and which was
Amy. The clear straight eyes, the sharp
sure chin, the mouth cut h the pre-
cision of a diamond, the stiff, curveless
figure, that was Emalin. Amy was very
like her, but so unlikc. Her edges were
soft. Her eyes were warm, her mouth
full. There was a swell to her breast,
and yet she did look like Emalin. But
whereas Emalin’s mouth was straight by
mature, Amy held her mouth. straight.
Emalin must have been fifty or fifty-
fi nd Amy about ten years younger.
I had only a moment to look at them,
and I never saw them again, It seems
strange that І don't know anyone in
the world better chan those two
women.

Alex was shouting, "You see what
I meant about aristocrats?”

1 nodded. It was easy to sce. A com-
munity would fec] kind of—safc. having
women like that about. A place
Loma with its fogs, with its great

gates
and side of the hedge.

44

(continued [rom page 35)

swamps like a hideous sin needed, real-
ly needed the Hawkins women. A few
years there might do things to a man's
mind if those women weren't there to
balance matters.

It was a good dinner. Alex's sister
fried the chicken in butter and did
everything else right. І grew more sus-
picious and uncharitable toward our
cook. We sat around in the dining
room and drank really good brandy.

I said, “І can't sec why you ever go
into the Buffalo. That whiskey is—*

“І know," said Alex. “But the Buffa-
lo is the mind of Loma. It's our news
paper, our theatre and our club.”

This was so true that when Alex
started the Ford and prepared to take
me back T knew, and he knew, we
would go for an hour or two to the
Buffalo Bar.

We were nearly into town. The fceble
lights of the car splashed about on the
road. Another car rattled toward us.
Alex swung across the road and stopped.
“It’s the doctor, Doctor Holmes,” he
explained. The oncoming car pulled
up because it couldn't get around us.
Alex called, "Say, Doc, 1 was going to
ask vou to take a look at my sister.
She's got a swelling on her throat."

Doctor Holmes called back, “All
Alex, VIL take а look.
you? I'm in a hurry.

Alex was deliberate.
Doc?”

ight,
Pull out, will

sick,

“Who's

Miss Amy had a little spell.
¿malin phoned in and asked me
to hurry. Get out of the way, will you?”

Alex squawked his car back and let
the doctor by. We drove on. I was
about to remark that the night was
clear when, looking ahead, I saw the rags
of fog creeping around thc hill from
the swamp side and climbing like slow
snakes on the top of Loma. The Ford
shuddered 10 a stop in front of the

Bullalo. We went in.

Fat rl moved
reached under the ba

toward us. He
for the nearby

For a
to flit over the fat sullen face. The
room was full. My dredger crew was
there, all except the cook. He was
robably on the scow smoking his Cu-
an cigarettes і bamboo holder. На
didn't drink. That was enough to ma
me suspicious of him. Two deck hands
and an engineer and three levermen
were there. Ihe levermen were arguing
about а cutting. The old lumber ada
certainly held for them: "Women in
the woods and logging im the honky-

was the
were

quietest bar I ever saw.
t any fights, not much
»mchow the sul-
made drink-
ing a quiet. efficient business rather
than a noisy game. Timothy Ratz was
plaving solitaire at one of the round
tables. Alex and I drank our whiskey.
No chairs were available, so we just
stayed leaning against the bar talking

There
singing and no trick:
len baleful eves of Fat Car

about sports and markets and adven-
tures we had had or pretended we had
j а саз barroom conversation,
Now and then we bought another drink.
I guess wc hung around for a couple of
hour. Alex had already said he was
going home, and I felt like it. The dred-
ger crew trooped out, for they had to
start to work at midnight.

The doors unlolded silently, and
Johnny Bear «тері into the room,
Swinging his long arms, nodding his
big hairy head and smiling foolishly
about. His squ; feet were like cats
feet.

“Whiskey?” he chirruped. No one en-
couraged him. He got out his ware:
He was down on his stomach. the way
he had been when he got me. Singsong
nasal words came out, Chinese I thought,
And then it seemed to me that the
same words were repeated in another

voice, slower and not пазу. Johnm
Bear ratsed is shaggy eal: aad asked,

“Whiskey

“Не got to his feet with ef-
fortless с;

е. 1 was interested. I wanted

to sce him perform. I slid a ter
along the Баг. Johnny gulpcd his
drink. A moment later І wished І

hadn't. I was afraid to look at Мех:
for Johnny Bear crept to the middle of
the room and took that window pose of
his.

"The chill voice of Emalin said,
in here, doctor." I closed my eyes against
the looks of Johnny Bear, and the mo-
ment I did he went out. It was Emalin
Hawkins who had spoken.

I had heard the doctor's voice in the
road, and it was his veritable voice
that replied, “Ah — you said a fainting

She's

Yes, doctor.

There was a little pause, and th
doctors voice again, very softly,
did she do it. Emalin?"

Why did she do what?" There was
almost a threat in the question.

"m your doctor, Emalin. I was your
father's doctor. You've got to tell me
things. Don't vou think I've scen that
kind ol a mark on the neck before?
How long was she hanging before you
got her down?"

"There was a longer paus
chill left the woman's voice, It was
soft, a whisper. "Two or three
minute: І she be all right, doctor?”

"Oh, ves, she'll come around. She's
not badly hurt. Why did she do it?”

The answ е was even colder
than it had been at first. It was frozen.
"I don't know, sir."

п vou won't tell me?”

t D say.”

Then the doctors voice went on
iving directions for treatment, rest,
milk and a litle whiskey. “Above all,
be gentle," he said. “Above everything,
be gentle with her.

Emalin's voice trembled a little.
would never — tell, doctor

"I'm vour doctor," he said softly. "Of
course І won't tell. ГІІ send down some
sedatives toni

“Whiskey?” My eyes jerked open. The
horible Johnny Bear smiling around
(continued. overleaf)

© then. The

(А
UN 55

25.

ЧА

OE
Ya

PLAYBOY

JOHNNY BEAR (continued from page 44)

the room.

The men were silent, ashamed. Fat
лгі looked at the floor. I turned apol-
ogctically to Alex, lor I was really re.
sponsible. “I didn't know he'd do that,”
I said. “I'm sorry."

1 walked out the door and went to
the dismal room at Mrs. Ratz. | opened
the window and looked out into that
coiling, pulsing fog. Far off in the
marsh 1 heard the Diesel engine start
slowly and warm up. And after a
while I heard the cl of the big
bucket as it went to work on the ditch.

The next morning one of those series
of accidents so common in construc-
tion landed on us. One of the new
wires parted on the inswing and drop-
ped the bucket on one of the pontoons,
sinking it and the works in cight [eet
of ditch water. When we sunk a dead
man and got a line out to it to pull us
from the water, the line parted and
clipped the legs neatly off one of the
deck hands. We bound the stumps and
rushed him to Salinas. And then little
accidents happened. & leverman de-
veloped blood poisoning from a wire
scratch. The cook finally justified my
Opinion by trving to sell a little can
of Marijuana to the engineer, Alto-
gether there wasn't much peace in the
outfit. It was two weeks before we were
going again with а new pontoon, а
new deck hand and a new cook.

The new cook was a sly, dark, little
long-nosed man, with а gilt lor subtle
flattery.

My contact with the social life of
Loma had gone to pot, but when the
bucket was clanging into the mud again
and the big old Diesel was chuttering
away in the swamp І walked out to
Alex Hartnell’s farm one night. Pass-
ing the Hawkins place, І peered in
through one of the little wicket gates
in the cypress hedge. The house was

dark, more than dark because a low
light glowed in one window. There
was a gentle wind that night, blowing

balls of fog like tumbleweeds along the
ground. 1 walked in the clear a mo-
ment, and then was swallowed in a
thick mist, and then was in the clear
again, In the starlight I could see those
big silver fog balls moving like element-
als across the fields. I thought І heard
a soft ing in the Hawkins vard
behind the hedge, and once when I
came suddenly out of the fog I saw а
k figure hurrying along in the field,
and I knew from the dragging footsteps
onc of the Chinese field
hands walking in sandals. The Chinese
cat a great many things that have to
be caught at night.

Alex came to the door when 1 knock-
ed. He seemed glad to sec me. His
sister was away. І sat down by his stove
and he brought out a bottle of that
nice brandy. "1 heard you were having
some trouble," he said.

T explained the difficulty. "It seems
to come in series. The men have it fig-
ured out that accidents come in groups
of three, five, scven, and nine."

46

Mex nodded. “I kind of feel that
way myself."

"How are the Hawkins sisters?" 1
asked. “I thought I heard someone cry-
ing as І went. by."

Alex seemed reluctant to talk about
them, and at the same time eager to
talk about them. “E stopped over about
а мсек ago. Miss Amy isn't feeling very
well. I didn't see her. I only saw Miss
Emalin.” Then Alex broke out, “There's
something hanging over those people,
something —

You almost seem related to them,"
І said.

"Well their father and my father
were friends. We called the girls Aunt
Amy and Aunt Emalin. They can't
do anything bad. It wouldn't bc good
for any of us if the Hawkins sisters
weren't the. Hawkins sisters."
The community conscience’
"The sale thing.” he cried. “The
place where a kid can get gingerbread.
The place where a girl can get reassur-
ance. They're proud, but they believe
in things we hope are true, And they
live as though, well, as though honesty
really is the best policy and charity
its own reward. We need them.”

s fighting some-
nd — 1 don't think she's

"I don't know what I mean. But I've
thought I should shoot Johnny Bear
and throw him in the swamp. I've really
thought about doing it

“vs not his fault? І argued. "He's
just а kind of recording and reproduc-
ing device, only you use a glass of
whiskey instead of a nickel."

We talked of some other things then,
and after a while I walked back to
‚ It seemed to me that the fog was
clinging to the cypress hedge of the
awkins house, and it seemed to me
it a lot of the fog balls were clustered
bout it and others were slowly moving

way a man's thought can arrange nature
to fit his thoughts. There was no light
in the house as I went by.

А nice, steady routine settled on my
work. The big bucket cut out the ditch
ahead of it. The crew felt the trouble
was over too, and that helped, and the
new cook flattered the men so success-
fully that they would have caten tried
cement. The personality of a cook has
a lot more to do with the happiness
of a dredger crew than his cooking has.

In the evening of the second day
after my visit to Alex I walked down
the wooden sidewalk trailing a streamer
of fog behind me and went into the
Buffalo Bar. Fat Carl moved toward
me polishing the whiskey glass. І cried
"Whiskey," before he had a chance to
ask what it would be. І took my glass
and went to one of the straight. chairs.
Alex was mot there, Timothy Ritz was
plaving solitaire and having a phenom-
enal run of luck. He got it out. four
times in a row and had a drink cach

time. More and more men arrived.

At about ten o'clock the news came.
Thinking about such things. afterwards
you never can remember чийе what
transpired. Someone comes in; à whisper
starts; suddenly everyone knows what
happened, knows details. Miss Amy
had committed suicide. Who brought
in the могу? І don't know. She had
hanged herself. There wasn't much talk
in the barroom about it. I could see the
men were trying to get straight on й.
Te was a thing that didn't fic into their
schemes. They stood in groups, talking
softly.

The swinging doors opened slowly
and Johnny Bear crept in, his great
hairy head rolling, and that idiot smile
on his face, His square feet slid quietly
over the floor. He looked about and
chirruped, "“Whiske Whiskey lor
Johnny?"

Now those men really wanted to
know. They were ashamed of wanting
10 know, but their whole mental system
required the knowledge. Fat Carl. pour-
ed out a drink, Timothy Ratz put down
his cards and stood up. Johnny Bear
gulped the whiskey. I closed my es

The doctor's tone was harsh. “Where
is she, Emalin?'*

Ive never heard а voice like the
one that answered. cold control, layer
and layer of control, but cold penetrated
by the most awful heartbreak. It was a
monotonous tone, emotionless, and yet

the heartbreak got into the vibrations.
“She's in here, doctor.”
Eman." A long pause. "She was

hanging a long time.”

Г don't know how long, doctor."

“Why did she do it, Emalinz"

The monotone again. “І don't 一
know, doctor."

A longer pause, and then, »I man.
Emalin, did you know she was going
to have а Бару?"

The chill voice cracked. and a sigh
came through. “Yes, doctor," very softly.

"Is that why you didn't find her for
so long — No, Emalin, 1 didn't mean
that, poor dear.

The control was back in
voice, "Can vou make out rhe cer
cate without mentioning —"

"Of course | can, sure 1 can.
I'll speak to the undertaker, too.
needn't worry."
“Thank you, docto
“МІ go and telephone now. І won't
leave you here alone. Come into the
other room, Emalin. I'm going to fix
you a sedative

“Whiskey? Whiskey for Johnny?” 1
saw the smile and the rolling hairy
head. Fat Carl poured out another
glass. Johnny Bear drank it and then
crept to the back of the room and
crawled under a table and went to
slecp.

No one spoke. The men moved up
to the bar and laid down their coins
silently. They looked bewildered, for
a system had fallen. A few minutes
later Alex came into the silent room.
Tle walked quickly over to me. "You've
heard?" he asked softly.

(concluded. overleaf)

Emalin's
fi-

And
You

x 8 к
L SA

iot

"Please don't leave me, Viv! I haven't the
patience to break in a new опе!”

47

PLAYBOY

west coast jazz
(continued from page 45)

purto be “the ra
deep, маных м
achieve this рә? ideal, Gerry feels that
a complete “wedding of mind and soul”
da needed.

Shorty Rogers — Shorty (Milton) Rog
en is a аВагреуей. witivome amd ие
mendowsly aware jazz musician, Most of
his tumpet playing, atranging and
composing, has імен donr in the Гам
(hc has phived and writen for Red
Nowe, Charlie Barmer, Woody Her
man amd Stan Renton). but when the
nucleus of the Kenton band (Rogers
trumpet, Bob Cooper, tenor ux: Art
Pepper, alto sx; Shelly Manne, drums)
quit en mawe and moved West two

am age, Shorty quickly became ә vital
igure in tbe jar? avantgarde there

Rogers music is distinguntiol by an
unptecedlented and umanay mixture of
Afro-Cuban нун with light, often
humorous woring for bram amd. rood
Mis павіс b жарғаны, sometimes
Irenetie — but never. gets our of com
trol
Truly, the West & the melting pot of
М — а siuling conciction of raucous
) ама! pur (Маса
ing jazz (Charles, Gray,
experimental jazz (Baker, Mulligan)
and vor Mire Cuban jazz (Magen). AL
how then. given this diverse collection,
can it be ssid that there i а pure, ho
mogencous West Coast “se of ўма?

Naturally, it cant Not yet, anyway

JOHNNY BEAR
(continued from. page 46)

"Yo"

"Гуе been afraid," he cried. "E told
you a couple ol nights ago. Гах been
amid”

I said, "Did you know she was prop
mant?”

Mex stiffened, He looked around the

м amd then bak at me. “johnny
77 he asked,

ү nodded.

Mex ran his palm over his eyes, 71
don't believe it" I was about to answer
when heard a Ше жәйПе amd looked.
to the back of the mom Johnny Hour
стам! like з badger our of bis hole
anıl stood up and crept toward she bar

“Whiskey?” He amiled expectantly at
Fat Carl.

Then Alex stepped out and addressed
the room. "Now you zum listen! This
has gone far enomgh І don't sunt any
more of И” И he had expeard oppo
sition be was disappointed. 1 saw the
men nodding to une another

"Whiskey for Johnny

Alex пітве! on the idiot. "You ought
to be ashamed. Mis Amy gave you

го

food, and she gave you all the clothes
you ever bud

Johnny smiled at him. "Whiskey?"

He pot out bis tricks I beard the sing:
wong nanl Language that sounded like
Chinese. Ales looked. relieved.

And then the other voice, slow. hist
tant, repeating the words without the
nasal.

Мех sprang so quickly thar 1 didn't
see him move Iis fist splitted into
Johnny Вси smiling mouth, “І told
you there was сніў of i^ he sbouted.

Johnay Bear recovered his balance.
На fips were split and bleeding, but
the smile was still there. Не moved
slowly and without effort, His arms en
folded Мех a the tentacles of an
anemone entold л crab. Alex bent back-
warl. Then I jumped and grabbed one
ob the arma ond wrenched. at й, and
could mot (саг it loose. Far Carl came
rolling ewer the counter with a bung
mancr іп hi hand And he beat the
matted head until the arms relaxed and
Johnny Bear. crumpled. 1 caught. Ales
amd helped him to a chair. "Are you
hurt?"

He tried to get his breath, "My bark

wrenched, I guess," be said. “ГИ be all
right

"Got your Ford omsider Pl drive

howe.”

Neither of us looked at the Hawking
place as we went by. 1 didn't tite my
eyes olf the там І got. Mex to hn own
dark howe and helped him to bo! and
poured a hot brandy inte him He
— spoken all the way home, But
allet he was Propped in the bed be «Іс
manded, “You don't think anyone по
tiol, do you? І caught him in time,
didn't 17°

"What are you talking about? I don't
know yor why you hit him”

"Well, listen.” he said. “МІ have to
stay clove for a Tittle while with this
back, И vou hear anyone say anything,
you stop it, won't you? Don't Іс them
му й”

^p дов know what you're talking
about.”

Не locken into my eyes for à moment.
"| guess | cam trus you” he sid
"That second voice that was Miss

Amy,"

SONGEBETE BAER (ыа prom poge 4%)

pounded the table again and again, "So
ware Rick Оһ, how dillescar, how
funny. No bulging muscles, no lean
pw, во gun. Only а wallet full of
money and am emerald ring and a big
midlet”

"Mey, мамі the language! P may
not be no Apollo but —

"Shake hands Rick, Гус wanted to
васса you. You're the гази who'll con-
quer Mars, with cocktail shakers and
foot arches and poker chips und riding
crops and leather boots and checkered
caps amd rum collins.”

I'm only а humble basinoaman.”
said Van Plank, сусу slyly down. "I do
my work and take my bumble Ше
piece of money ри. Hut, as І жм oy-
mg. Mott, І been thinking of abe omar
Act on Mars for Uncle Wiggily games
and Dick ‘Tracy comics; all new. A big
wide field never even heard of car
toons, right? Right! So we jut tow a
great big bunch of sulf on the Mar-
tans beads Tho fight for й. kid
fight! Who wouldnt. tor perfumes und
Paris drewes and Oshkosh overalls, ch?
And nice new sate"

“We don't wear ось"

"What have І got here?” R. R asked.
of the ceiling “A planet full of Okis?
Look. for. we'll uke cae of that
We'll shame cveryenc imo wearing
Мужа. Then we sell them the polish!

“Oh”

Me sapped Ки» arm. "Is it a deal?
Will yoo be technical director on omy
film? You'll get two hundred a week
10 Mart, а five hunde лор. What усе
sy?"

“Um sick,” said Eril, He had
the manhattan and was now (шт
blue.

"Say. Um sary. І dide' know й
would do that to you, Lets get some
fresh air.”

In the air Кий fete better, He
swayed. "So that’s why Barth took us
in?“

“Sure, son. Any time an Farthman
Gn {ши an honat dollar, watch him
steam. The customer is always right, No
hand feelings Here's my card. Be at
the чаю im Hollywood tomorow
morning at mine o'clock, They show
you your office, МІ arrive at eleven and
жс vou then. Вс мис you get there at
nine clock. Из а strict ule.”

“Why?”

“Gallagher, you're a queer oyster, but
1 dove you, Good night. Happy inva
sion!”

The car drove off.

рий blinked after it, incredulous
Then, mbbing his brow with the palm
of his hand, he walked slowly along the
Mica toward the rocker port.

“Well, what are veu going to do?”
he inked himmeli, aloud.

The rockets lay gleaming in the
moonlight, alent. From the city came
the sounds of distant revelry. Im the
medical compound an extreme case of
nervous breakdown was being tended

ter a young Martian who, by his screams,

teem too much, dr ton much,
beard tno many songs om the бије
tedand yella boxo in the drinking
places, and had bees chased around in-
munerabde tables by a lange clephant-
like woman, He kept murmuring

"Can't breathe . . , crushed, trapped.”

The sobbing іздей Kril came out of
the shadows amd moved on across a
wide avenue toward thc shi Far
over, he could we the 8а Mag
about drunkenly. Hc listened. From the
vast city came the fant sounds of can.
and numic and sirems And he imagin-
ed other sounds too: the imidious whir
of malt machines stirring тәй» to [at-
ten the warnen and make them lary
and forgetful, the narcotic voices of the
Cena caverns balling und tulling the
Martians fat fast mto a slumber
through which. ull of thei remaining
leves, they woold sleepwalk,

A усы from now. how many Mar-
tians dead of cirrhosis of the liver, bad
kidneys, high biond preware, suicide?

He stood in the middle of the empty
menue Two blocks away а car was
rushing toward him.

He had a choice: stay here. take
the siho job. report for work. each
moming as bet om a picture, and.
in time, come to agree with the pro
decer that, ves indeed. thar were mas
eres on Mare yes the women were
tall and blond: vex there were tribal
dance and мікс. you ус. ех Or
he could walk over and get into a
rocket ship and, alone, rotura to Mam

“But what about pest year?” be said.

The Blue Canal Night Club brought
to Mars The Ancient City Gambling
Casino, Built Right tenido. Yes, Right
Inde а Real Martian Ancient Cay!
Neoos, racing forms blowing in the old
citi picnic lunches in the ancestral
graveyard — all of it, all of it.

at not quite усі. іп ә few days he
сом be home, Fylla would be waiting
with their son, and then foe the last
few year of кеміс file he migi sit
with his wile ia the blowing weather
on the edge of the canal reading his
козі. pomike books sipping a rare and
light wine, talking and living our their
shon time until the neon bewilderment
fo from the sky

Amd then perhaps he and Га might
Move into thc Мәс mountains and hide
for another усаг ar iwo айий dhe tour
ists came то wap their Cameras and
say bow quaint shings were
hat he would sav to
is a bad thing, but peace
can be a Thing bon

He stood in the middle of the wide
avenue,

Turning. it wa with no surprise that
hc saw a car bearing down аран him,
a car [oll of soraming children, These
boys and girls anne ober than sixteen,
were swerving and ricuchcting their
opemtop «ат down the avenue He aw
them poes at him amd yell. He beard
the motor roar bouder. The car sped
forward at sixty miles an bour.

He began un,

Ves, ver he thought ciredly, with the
car pon, him, bow strange, bow tad. It
son so much like a Concrete
mixer.

"Well, you can just touché me someplace else!”

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