PLAYBOY

ENTERTAINMENT FOR MEN

PLAYBO T E

ABOUT POKER
FROM STUD TO STRIP

ABOUT BULLFIGHTING
BY BARNABY CONRAD

ABOUT JAZZ
WITH ELLA AND THE DUKE

ABOUT HOLLYWOOD FEUDS
WITH SOPHIA AND JAYNE

]
| PLAYBOY

FOR

| бом а
XიX80%

HERE'S WHAT WILL HAPPEN when you
let PLAYBOY solve your gift prob-
Jems this Christmas:

First, just before Chrisumas, each of
your friends will receive а beauti-
ful. full-color Playmate Christmas
card—with your name handwritten
on it—announcing your gift of a
full year of pLaysoy pleasure.

Next comes the handsome Holiday
Issue—delivered in a festive yule-
tide wrapper—as the start of their
Christmas gift subscriptions.

"Then each and every month during
the coming year, your friends will
be entertained. by the fine fiction,
humor, articles, cartoons. picture
stories and other outstanding fea-
tures that have made pLAynoy the
most popular urban men's maga-
zine in America. Your yuletide
thoughtfulness will be remembered
all year through.

Whats more, you can order your
gift subscriptions now and pay for
them in 1958. Just mark your order
“bill me later" and we'll be happy
to bill you after January Ist. It’s
that simple, but to make certain
your friends have an especially
happy holiday this vear, get your
gilt orders in the mail today.

at these special

Б holiday gift rates

first
1 year gift
SE

add’!
1 year gifts
$5

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соннюс аз ое еттим са mae

IGRANDIOSA CORRIDA! ”

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JUAN BELMONTE

Mister Bari Sorrad

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IIICIII НЕМА

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CONRAD

BEAUMONT.

PLAY BILL

FEATHER, Moss

[р'^\\тоу тему nerves in the right in а special six page section, you will moved pictorial on stip poker, while
n for the right job — when we did our — find a single, spectacular afternoon in Mos explains the techniques and tem-
piece on hi-fi, we chose John M. Солу, the life of a matador recorded by the — perament that make for consistent win-
editor of High Fidelity magazine, to camera of Mike Shea. Mike has done ning when you're playing а man's game
write it; when sports Gus аге our subject, a number of photo assignments for and the stakes high. Moss is the
we turn to Ken Purdy, acknowledged au- rLaynoy in the past (on Janet Pilgrim’s author of the bestselling How to Win
thority and author of The Encyclopedia wip to Dartmouth, the Gaslight key а! Poker, considered by many to be the
а] Sports Gars; and so оп. This month, club, the tunnel painting party), but best book ever written on the game.
the lineup of experts is, perhaps, even never one as stirring as this. Charles Beaumont (pictured on this
more impressive than usual: "Here's one cat, page in racing regalia) has never driven
To bullfighti рмет, Barnaby Armstrong, "that really knows whats in a stock car race ("You couldn't
Conrad is known as El Niño de Califor- going on." He was spe: LAYBOY'S ше to race a stock car," says Chuck), but
nia (The California Kid). Conrad was а — Jazz Editor, Leo uthor of he has done pretty well in
protégé of the storied matador, Bel- The Encyclopedia of Jazz, regular con- ts car events driving Porsches, Pan-
monte, and fought el foro on the same — tributor to Down Beat and Metronome, hards, Specials and such, and thus
program with his great teacher. Ihe composer of more than 200 jazz pieces feeling for competition driving that
United States’ most prolific and most recorded by Eckstine. ВС, The Duke, поптасіпе writer could not possibly pos-
authoritative writer on bullfighting, his ct al. And if that has a familiar ring, it sess, as you will sce in his story, The
writings indude the books Matador, La is because we said it all before, when Deadly Will to Win.
Fiesta Brava, the recent Gates of Fear MC first introduced Leonard to pLaynoy — PLAYBOY's cxpert on gourmandise,
and а TV play for Jack Palance called readers in January. This month Feather Thomas Mario, invites us this month
The Death of Manolete. Owner, oper- writes about two of jazzdom's greatest to а sumptuous holiday smorgasbord:
ator and piano-player of the San Fran- tilents— Duke Ellington and Ella Fitz- PLAYBoY's Gift Editor uncovers a cache
ахо bistro, El Matador, Conrad also gerald — who are also brought together of Christmas giveables; sexperts Jayne
finds time to do a little painting and оп wax for the very fast time this month Mansfield and Sophia Loren
was once American Vice Consul to Spain іп a special four LP package, Ella Fitz. all in a lively photographic featur
true example of the Renaissance gerald Sings the Duke Ellington Song there is fictional fun to be had in the
п in our own day. When riavnoy Dooh, released by Verve. reading of Hoke Norris! City Fables and
decided to do a piece on bullfighting, it Рокст never had it so good as it has Stewart Pierce Brown's The Button-
was clear there was only one man for it this issue at the hands of photographer down Boys in the Frozen Noith — se-
the job. In this issue, therefore, you Jerry Yulsman and poker expert John lected for your pleasure by our expert
will find Conrad's Corrida. And with it, Moss. Yulsman plays out a good hu- Е

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DEAR PLAYBOY

წვ «сон „გილ MAGAZINE e 232 Е. OHIO ST. CHICAGO 11, ILLINOIS

SWINGIN’ READERS
To me, an excellent criterion for
measuring the success of any periodical
is a view of its readers — not the quan-
tity but the quality. And if Dear Playboy
exemplifies your followers, your nostrils
should be filled with the sweet smell of
success. Their comments, whether pro
or con, arc always delightfully enter-
taining. They must be a swingin’ bunch,
Hank Herring
Philadelphia, Pennsylvania

GOOFY GIRLS
Although I have never been fortunate
enough to observe, enjoy or date a goofy
girl, I definitely dig The Roaring
‘Twenties. Never, however, has an author
captured this ега with the fondness and
understanding of Robert Paul Smith.
PFC Everett 5. Aison
APO 24, San Francisco, California

RESPECTABLE PLAYBOY
When 1 bought the very first issue of
PLAYBOY, my enthusiasm was boundless
— а down-to-earth Esquire, a bachelor's
New Yorker! After years of reading
someone's conception of what 1 was sup-
posed to like, at last I had a magazine
that I did like. No flatchested, high-
cheekboned women; no recipes lor
pheasant with bordeaux wine sauce; no
ე
but, rather, great big healthy women,
steak and three button suits. But now,
in the fourth year of publication,
РЕАУВОУ is approaching the egghead
attitude of that Other Man's Ма
The gourmet's corner
plates are becoming intoxicated with
themselves. The women аге much more
warmly dressed and even the wonderful.
sketches on the Party Jokes page are be-
coming extinct. Are pseudosophistica-
tion and false respectability the natural
bedfellows of an increased circulation?

E. Barry Lehman

New York, New York
Memory is a funny thing, Barry. The
past often seems а bit better than the
present, just because it is the past. We
took our bound volumes of thè first three
years down from the shelf this afternoon
and compared them with this year’s
issues. Once we'd overcome the nostalgia

— for editing рілувоу has always been a
labor of love and cach issue completed
is like а brief affair ended too soon
(which would be unbearable if there
weren't a new issue each month to tease
and fascinate us in its place) — once we'd
fastened those issues with a cold and
objective eye, it was clear that each year
in ობა გია short four-year history has
been considerably better than the one
before. p.aynoy has published no more
entertaining fiction than “The Fly”
(June) and "The Prince and the Gladi-
ator” (September); no more provocative
pictorials than "Playboys Yacht Party"
(July); no more provocative articles than
“The Pious Pornographers” (October);
no funnier satires than “Enter the Hand-
some Stranger” (June): no more pleas-
ant look at the world around us than
that supplied by bearded, wandering
cartoonist Shel Silverstein. We checked,
rather carefully, the Playmates, too, and
though we all have our special favorites
of the past, the current crop is ах pretty
as ever we've picked (and we suggest you
peruse the Playmate Review in the up-
coming January issue to confirm that).

YACHT PARTY
Am thinking about taking a yachting
cruise. Please tell me how І can acquire
а crew such as yours.
Ray Schneider
Rileyville, Virginia

Photographic heaven!
lan McLaren
Auburn, Washington

One of my friends owns a large cabin
cruiser on Lake Michigan, but we have
never induced even four average looking
girls to take a cruise like your yacht
party, much less four beauties, as was
the case in your story. If your magazine
cares to prove this cruise really took
place in all of its ramifications, then
you may invite one or all of us to the
next such outing, а! our expense.
Jerry Tumber
Indianapolis, Indi

na

Holy cow! Now it's rrAvsov's Yacht
Party! What next? You guys really work
overtime to leave us poor readers frus-
trated. After those mouth-watering sports
cars and that ultramodern Penthouse

PLAYBOY, MOVEMBER, 1957, VOL. 4, NO. 1. PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY нын PUBLISHIMO CO., INC. PLAYBOY BUILDING, 233 E

OHIO ST., CHICAGO 11, ILL, ENTERED AS SECOND CLASS MATTER AUGUST 5. 1955 AT THE POST OFFICE AT CHICAGO. ILL
PRINTED IN U.S.A. CONTENTS COPYNIGHTED © 1257 BY мин PUBLISHING CO., INC.

TME ACT OF MARCH 3, 1875.

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Apartment, T thought you had exhausted
your supply of dream fodder. I am anti-
cipating more practical articles from
your magazine, such as: PLAYBOY's Pri-
vate Polynesian Paradise or Print Your
Own Paper Money for Pleasure, Profit
and Penitentiary.

John Meinershagen
St. Louis, Missouri

You labeled one of the pictures on

not
Dawn, who is taking off her dungarces,
bottom left.

Mark Summers
Boston, Massachusetts
It's Dawn. You need new hornrims,
Mark.

You have annoyed me no end. Re
the solitude of my bachelor
t. І settled down with my fav-
k, Scotch and water, and my
с mag, PLAYBOY. Immed
turning to the yachting pictorial, І
with rapture upon the quartet of love-
lies gracing the first page. The girls
were comely; the photography, excel
lent. But upon further эстин Iw
concerned with the Lick of any add
tional shots of Lisa.

Tom Prettyman
St. Louis, Missouri

Your yacht party sure made this con
firmed Jandlubber long for the с of
old salt. Especially with а crew
picked for merits, such as Sheila and
Dawn. It was an enjoyable trip— су
for us who went by proxy — but it’s a
pity Lisa and Shirley did not take a more
active part in the pleasure excursion.

Gordon E. Bosh
Elm Grove, Wisconsin

What happened to Shirley
alter you got under wa
Robert C. Cafferty III
Roswell, New Mexico

and Lisa

Where in hell were Lisa and Shirley?
Rod Somerville
s, Те
Our noble photographer just couldn't
be everywhere at once. He trained his
camera where he thought the pictures
would be том interesting and where the
carefree crew would let him go.

A fine artide enhanced by exqu
marine photography. I was enthralled
by the с clarity of the stunning
backgrounds — they actually smacked
of the sca. In the future, І think you
will find it is really unnecessary to i
clude mere men and women in any pic

а topic so near and dear to the hea
mi like myself.

Millions of what?

$9 THE SET POSTPAID

THEE PLAYTBOY JAZZ ALL-STARS ALBUM
2—12" LPs FEATURING THE WINNERS OF THE FIRST ANNUAL PLAYBOY JAZZ POLL

louis armstrong
chet baker

bob brookmeyer
ray brown

dave brubeck
paul desmond
ella fitzgerald
stan getz

dizzy gillespie

benny goodman

lionel hampton

Here is the jazz album that you've been waiting for— two
12-inch LPs featuring the winners of the 1957 PLAYBOY JAZZ
POLL, packaged together in a handsome double-sleeve album
with photographs, biographical notes and an up-to-date LP
discography on each of the winning jazz artists, The album
cludes over an hour-and-a-half of the best in jazz by its most
(important exponents, as selected by you and the other voters
the first annual PLAYBOY JAZZ POLL. The most impres:
mblage of jazz talent ever presented in a single package.

Record retailers: Write today for information on
stocking this unique album for your store.

jj johnson
stan kenton
barney kessel
shelly manne
gerry mulligan
shorty rogers
frank sinatra
bud shank
jack teagarden
charlie ventura
kai winding

Please send me. — copiesof THE 1957 PLAYBOY JAZZ ALL-STARS ALBUM
Two 12" LPs packaged together in г double-sleeve album—$9

5. enclosed

MMC

ADDRESS.

ату. —— 4 –
Май this coupon with check or money order to:

PLAYBOY JAZZ, 232 E. Ohio Street, Chicago 11, Illinois.

PLAYBOY

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[Y

FIVE CARD POKER
Мах Shulman has his суе on the ball!
As an old "high-lower" with many а Баг
tle scar, 1 especially enjoyed his article
on poker. Many's the time, playing Big
Squeeze, the same heart-rendering situa-
tions described by him have glared back
at me from the table top. One thing he
forgot to зау... how it feels when you
go the wrong way. To pursue the sub-
ject further, allow me to describe a lit
tle frolic we call High-Low Piccolo with
Two Twists. Each player receives a card
face down. The dealer gives the man on
his left a card face up. He has the option
of keeping or passing it to the next man
If he passes it, he then gets another
card which he must keep. And so
around the table. The players can re-
fuse the first card whether passed ог
dealt to them, but they must keep the
second. When each man has five cards
(one down—four up) it is "twisting
time.” They may now discard one card
and draw another, as in Big Squeeze.
But we do this twice! To add to the
nent, we play with the joker. It
hts and flushes, but
it is wild in the low hand. If, on occa-
sion, high-low players are seen mumbling
to themselves, І think it can be excused.

Charles Thomas

‘Tuscaloosa, Alabama

I was a great admirer of Max Shul-
man until he hung himself in his recent
poker article. I play both kinds of poker
referred to, and I win consistently (9
out of 10) at both. Shulman’s poker re-
quires a greater percentage of luck. For
example: in Squeeze (sometimes re-
ferred to as Murder), a player going for
a low hand might hit an inside straight
on the last card and beat the player
with three of a ki Iy idea of heaven
would be seven players who draw to i
side straights. Shulman makes a big
issue out of what cards to keep or throw
y when playing a hand but nothing
about the odds of making ог missing it!
Stud and draw are also games of pa-
tience, endurance and psychology. Is
Shulman capable of "coffee housing,"
or docs he know what the term means?
To set a pattern for an opponent to get
accustomed to and then reversing your
play at the proper moment for the big
"coffee housing." But according
to his article, this play can only bc
planned and executed by "jerks" If
Shulman would like some real action, he
may contact my group any time. We
would be happy to send a plane for
I Or he might make it under his
own power, if he's as big a pigeon as he
sounds.

Ronald Goodman
Adanta, i

Poker buffs will enjoy this issue’s tasty
text and picture take-out on the game.

PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS

мувору remember Coué? Dianetics?

Mah Jong? Pyramid Clubs? Ouija?
Fine; attend, please, while we give you in
a mere few words the whole story, com-
plete in this issue, of Zen, the new West-
Coast-Cool kick which is rivaling green
stamps in interest. First off, Buddhism
t exported from India to China in the
Sixth Century; one form of Chinese
Buddhism is known as Ch'an; when the
Chinese form got took up in Japan in
the 12th Century it got dubbed Zen.
It also sparked the flowering of some
superb literature, painting and sculp-
ture. Cool jazzmen, Fred Katz and Chico
Hamilton among them, took it up very
seriously a couple of ycars ago: since
а lot of string-alongers have treated
it more like a fad than a spiritual dis-
cipline. Here's a Zen saying, somewhat
capsuled: “То a man who knows noth-
ing, mountains are mountains. When
he's studied and knows a little, moun-
tains are no longer mountains. But when
he has thoroughly understood, moun-
tains are again mountains.” Clear?

А beat cat backtracking to Frisco
stopped by to see us a few days ago and
gave us a slightly different view of Zen.
“See, there's these Zen masters — like
priests or teachers. Only you can't teach
it— thats part of the deal. I dig Zen
real big myself, though, Crazy! Thing is,
you gotta ask questions. You ask the
wrong question — Whap! — the master
gives you a lip. Pretty soon yor et
careful with the questions. So it's learn-
ing the hard way — so what? So you stop
with the questions. The head part gets
kinda empty? Right: so that's how vou
tune in on Zen. From zero, man. See?"

William Barrett, a genuine scholar of
Zen, says, "It presents a surface so bi-
zarre and irrational, yet so colorful and
striking, that some Westerners . . . fail
to make sense of іс. . . while others take
it up in a purely frivolous and superfi-
spirit." Right?

then,

Around the 14th Century, the samurai
came on real strong for Zen, being espe-
cially sent by its rigor and metaphysical
subtleties.

Any questions? Whap!

The Philadelphia Story— continucd.
Picking up on last month's good-natured
poke at America's most soporific city, an
ex-Brotharly Love resident has sent
along these choice plums: “Philadelphia?
Oh, yes. І went there a couple of months
ago, but it was closed.” Another: “Philly?
Sure, I spent a year there . . . last week-

end.”

On a recent swing through the South
we met a man with a sad tale to tell,
which we pass along Гог your lugubrious
delectation. This chap's family name is
Bird, but another, collateral branch of
the family spells it Boyd. Furthermore,
the Boyds frequently use the first name
Bird and the Birds just as often use the
first name Boyd. Our man, Boyd Bird,
has a remote cousin named Bird Boyd.
By one of those coincidences that plague
the mind with dark thoughts of a malign
fate at work, the cousins happened to be
in Brooklyn on business simultaneously.
We leave to your imagination the toi-
murl which ensued.

The first gendeman to jump on the
вілувоу Lifetime Subscription Band-
роп was Tom Dixon of Pacific Pali-
sades, California. Tom just returned
from a trip around the world in time to
spot our special $150 offer in the August

sted no time in winging his per-
sonal check our way. The second was
Sammy Davis, Jr, who called from Chi-
cago's Chez Parce, where he was appear-
ing, to request that his name be entered
into the illustrious membership. Sammy
ako remarked that he plans to send a
lifetime subscription as a Christmas gift

wi

issue, MI

to good friend, Frank Sinatra.

The Bear News, а sprightly little poop
sheet issued to Windy City pro football
fans, carried the intelligence that United
Airlines had set up an all-expense wing-
ding for Bear buffs wishing to watch
their team in outof-town action. The
trip's itinerary, according to the article,
indudes *. . . a three-day chartered
motor coach tour along California's his-
toric mission trail and through the San
Fernando Valley— with stopovers at
Carmel and Santa Barbara—and two
lays in Los Angeles." We assume it's а
sell-out.

RECORDS

The Playboy ісі: All-Stars Album (PB
#1957) is, in our modest estimation, а
shoo-in as one of the most important
jazz releases of this or any other year.
We say this because the winners of the
first annual PLAYBOY JAZZ POLL who ар.
pear in this double-LP package ac ml
constitute a living history of jazz. АП
the top innovators from every important
school are on deck, from turn-of-the-
century traditional on up to cool.

Louis “Satchmo” Armstrong gets things
rolling on the first side with his de-
lightful delivery of Do You Know What
It Means to Miss New Orleans?, then
teams with tam-titan Jack Teagarden
on Rockin’ Chair. Next comes B. G.
and swing. Benny rides through a crisply
swinging item called When Buddha
Smiles, followed by two rousing tracks
by Lionel Hampton and Charlie Ven-
tura, On these la
ring sidemen, runners-up in the poll,
add considerably to the doings. Gene
Krups, who placed second on drums,
backs up Ventura, while Buddy Rich,
third on drums, does the same for
Hampton. The Hampton cutting also
includes the wizardry of Oscar Peterson

t, several

PLAYBOY

10

(fifth, piano), Herb Ellis (fourth, gui-
tar) and Ray Brown (first, bass). Frank
Sinatra then puts his remarkable voice to
work on Oh, Look at Me Now in the
style of the early, big-band Forties, just
previous to the time he cut out from
Tommy Dorsey to embark as a single on
the most spectacular singing career in
pop and jazz history.

the ultimate
in High Fidelity
listening pleasure

AUDIO FIDELITY
ECORDS rrnn*
/\

PORT SAID

l USIC of the
EL-BAKKAR MIDDLE EAST
and thé

ORIENTAL

kicks off with a 1943 cutting of his
| Artistry in Rhythm, and Harlem
Folk Dance, showing how early the seeds
progressive jazz were sown. Shorty
Rogers follows with a driving, big-band
tribute to that most urban of all men's
magazines, Play, Boy! Shelly Manne
thumps out a special track titled 50-
phisticated Rabbit that offers a good bit
more solo Shelly than you usually hear
on his platu It would be impossible
10 pick any real favorite among the 21
separate, starstudded sessions in this
album, but Shellys Rabbit is certainly
one of the sparklers. Stan Getz comes
next with nearly eight minutes of Blues
for Mary Jane, and Winding, in a
trombone quartet, closes the side with
the happy question, Who, Me?

Ela Fitzgerald opens things prettily
on side three with / Concentrate on You,
followed by Dizzy Gillespie and Joogie
Boogie. Vhis is funky, nd Di
with Gillespie blowing an unusual brand
of restrained, muted horn that builds to
а tingling climax. Bud Shank occupies

the next track and does right by
Tangerine: Barney Kessel kicks in with
A Playboy im Love and J. J. Johnson
МЕЛА ATES, a jaunty Joey, Joey, Joey.

Dancing Star
of “Fanny”
1833

The final side delivers more than nine
minutes of Brubeck and Desmond with
the Quartet playing a potent Pilgrim's
Progress, a tip of the hat to rrAvsov's
favorite Playmate, Janet. Chet Baker,
Ray Brown and Bob Brookmeyer follow
in that order with Band Aid, Bass Ball
and Bobbie's Tune. Gerry Mulligan
wraps things up with а full take-out on
his theme, Ulter Chaos.

The Playboy Jazz All-Stars Album ap-
pears on PLayboy's own label, with the
complete cooperation of the entire re-
cording industry. As a result, it prob-
ably boasts more jazz greats than any
other previous package produced by a
single record. company. Profits from the
sale of the album revert to the individual

Famous American
Marches by the
BANDA TAURINA
AFLP 1836

record makers and he al-
a trips ШЫ bum also includes a repr of the
როვე ი) спа poll results from last February's PLAYBOY,

plus photos, brief biographical sketches
and current LP discographies on
of the winners. The price of the
is $9, and it may be purchascd at most
record shops or ordered through the
magazine,

music for romance
AFLP 1822

$5.95 each 12 inch LP
AUDIO FIDELITY

770 Eleventh Ave, М. Y. 19

Couple of issues back, we went off the
deep end іп a rave notice for the young
Russian violinist, Leonid Kogan, and

* total frequency range recordings

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PLAYBOY

Y Woody Herman
takes the "square"
out of

Savoir-Faire!

"Songs for
Hip Lovers"

MG V-2069

RECORDS

for his masterly handling of Brahms.
Accordingly, we welcomed a copy of his
latest record, Beethoven's Sonatas for
Violin and Piano (Vanguard 6029), in which
he performs Numbers І and 3 from
Opus 12, accompanied on piano by
Gregory Ginsburg. But we wondered, as
we started it spinning, whether the man
who could handle the rich romanticism
of Brahms could deal with the more
cerebral and complex Beethoven. Our
n was soon answered, Вар]
spares us the all-too-frequent
id virtuosity alfected by other macs-
ives these brilliant, youthful sonatas
a felicitous and musicianly rendition
which leave us more than ever convinced
he's one of this gencration's finest.

Johnny Май second LP, Wonderful,
Wonderful (Columbia CL 1028), is just
that from first tunc to last, and substan
tiates fully what his debut platter
(Johnny Mathis, Columbia CL 887)
only hinted hat young, сх-Ѕап Fran-
cisco dub singer Mathis is well on his
way toward a top niche in vocaldom.
ersatile, wideranged Johnny tackles а
allad or an up-tempo show-stopper
with equal сазе, comes through your
Borak with one of the most satisfying
styles heard in recent years . . . Old hip-
ster Woody Herman, who has wisely es-
chewed the use of his clarinet of late,
exercises husky pipes alone on Songs for
Hip Lovers (Verve 2069). Woody belts a
packet of standards, while in thc back-
ground can be heard the intelligen
y cries of Bill Harris’ trombone,
Charlie Shavers’ trumpet, Ben Webster's
tenor, among others.

.

As if this month's release of the fabu-
lous Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Duke
Ellington Song Book were not enough
5 оп Verve 4004 n read
about it in this issue), ington
band can also be heard on Such Sweet
Thunder (Columbia GL 1033), dedicated to
the Shakespearean Festival at Stratford,
Ontario, which had Duke on tap a while
back.
inspired by characters and/or situations
from the Bard, and at least 10 are fasci-
ngly successful both program
music and as typical Ellingtonia. Our
favorites are Clark Terry noodling his
horn as Puck, Paul Gonsalves and
Johnny Hodges as Romco and Juliet,
and Anderson. almost literally blow-
ing his top as Hamlet. For our four
groats, it's intriguing, worth-owning big-
band jazz

ach of the 12 original tunes was

.

Take Tchaikovsky, melt him down,
strain off all the sentimentality and
self-pity, distill and refine him until you
te his best elements (passion, fer-
у, encrgy, drama) and what you end
up with will probably be very close to
Dmitri Shostakovitch. Like Tchaikovsky,

There's always a Playboy !
"You may have

a shield, Anthony,
... but you ain't
got protection!"

Si "Lower that gangplank, Cleo-
patra!” shouted Anthony. "Let's get
this love affair on the road. History is
waiting!"

*|"History's going to keep on
waiting, too,” snapped Cleo, “unless
acertain Roman around here smartens
up. You may be fit for a battle, Tony,
but fit for a boudoir you're not!”

"Му personal habits, swect
Cleo,” said Anthony, “are not what
they were. This small green boule*
has wrought a change in my life. In
the morning I simply squeeze it, give
myself a quick spray, and I'm the
nicest Roman to be next to on this
side of the Nile. Now, lower that
gangplank.””

$ "Sure thing, Tony,” murmured
Cleopatra, “I’m feeling pretty fresh
myself. Come on up and ГЇЇ peel you
а pomegranate. We mustn't keep
history waiting!”

. *The small green bottle,
of course, was Mennen
Spray Deodorant. Ends
body odor. Checks
perspiration. Real he-man
ТКО aroma. Romans swear by it.

spray deodorant for men

the deodorant more men use than any other

TOR Man

Shostakovitch is a Romantic; like him,
too, he is a builder of orgasms in sound
— pantings and thrustings and пеагіп-
tolerable pressures that are relieved at
Jength with Roman-candle showers of
music; like him, again, he is a reacher,
a stiver toward some unidentified, un-
attainable bullseye in the sky. Four years
го. Shostakovitch (then 47) completed
his Tenth Symphony, in E Minor, Op. 93,
recently waxed by Efrem Kurtz a
Philharmonia Orchestra of Eng
tor LM 2081). The symphony is change-
able, almost manic-depressive in its shifts
from brooding to feverish passion to
lighthearted mchevo and back to brood-
It's major Shostakovitch:
пр, soaring music; and the vivid,
label-curling Kurtz reading demonstrates
beyond the slightest silhouette of sus-
picion that Efrem digs Dmitri.
.

When Clifford Brown died in an auto
accident last year at the age of 25, ће
was well on the way to high ranking
among the generation's trumpet greats.
His playing enjoys bounteous exposure
იი Clifford Brown АЙ Stars (EmArcy 36102),
a disc which gives an entire side ћ
to Caravan and Autumn in New York.
Caravan is fluent, fancy, frantically fast
and sometimes pointlessly noisy; Au-
tumn is a beautiful, takc-your-time, un-
stinting exploration of this fine oldie.
The session was cut in L.A. іп 1954.

On the face of it, а parcel of 17th and
18th Century alehouse "catches" sung
by a quartet of males and entitled The
Restoration Sophisticate (Concord 4003)
might seem a natural for the bon vi-
vant's platter stack. And, if it were not
for the pallid voices of these barber-
shoppers and the sameness of these Row:
Row-Row-Your-Boattype tunes, maybe
thc occasional saltiness of the words
would strike some as making the record
worthwhile. “Adam catch'd Eve by the
furbelow" will perhaps be considered. by
giggly girlies as the zenith of naughti-
ness; the double entendre in "You may
come in and kiss. Her whole estate
is sure to provoke snickers in certain
quarters; and we must admit the com-
parison of а virgin to green kindling
wood is rather engaging (“So fares it
with the tender maid When first upon
her back she’s laid: But dry wood, like
the experienced dame, Cracks and re-
j in the flame") For our part,
h, these ditties work too hard stat-
ing and restating a lot of things we're
perfectly willing to concede, such as;
"When a woman that's buxom to a
dotard is wed, "Fis madness to think
she'll be true to his bed."

FILMS

Hollywood doesn't have to look far
for good story material: the lives and

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careers of some of its own fabulous per-
sonalities. Unfortunately, the several
timid attempts in this direction (the
screen bios of Valentino, Buster Keaton,
Jeanne Eagels, etc.) have so compromised
the truth as to be grotesque. Not so the
filming of Lon Chaney's life, Man of
а Thousand Faces, with Jimmy Cagney
as the mordant master of make-up. It is
an engrossing saga that encompasses
everything from Chaney's long and
variegated pre-screen carcer in vaudeville
right up to his throat-cancer death at 47;
between these poles came a notable suc-
cession of triumphs as Hollywood's fore-
most exponent of macabre characteriza-
tions. The son of deaf-mute parents,
Chaney was also harried by marital woes
with his first wife; he exploited his own
physical “un-handsomeness” by pushing
it to extremes in the bitter roles of
Quasimodo in The Hunchback of Notre
Dame, the paralytic in The Miracle Man
and the memorable title role in The
Phantom of the Opera, among so many
wellremembered others, Cagney is so
sympathetic in the Chaney part that one
must mark it as a success.

Not nearly so successful is The Sun Also
Rises, from the Hemingway novel. Except
for a single characterization, that of Mike
Campbell, played by Errol Flynn with
surprising credibility, the opportunity to
portray human beings is entirely muffed.
"Ehe story, of course, concerns the empty,
futile lives of a bunch of American and
British drifters in post-World War І
France and Spain who guzzled their way
through. endless rounds of love in bed-
rooms, pernods in Paris апа fundadors
in Pamplona, We have Ava Gardner a
hot-pants Lady Brett trying to quench
her desire for impotent Jake Barnes
(Tyrone Power). We have Mel Ferrer
who plays a brooding Robert Cohn
hout ever understanding him, and we
have Eddie Albert as dim-witted “comic
Bill Gorton. To cap it all, the
film substitutes the promise of а rosy
future (for Jake and Brett) for Hem-
ingways stark and uncompromising
original, which offered no hope at all
for the star-crossed expatriates. But, al-
though the film by no means attains the
stature of the book, it is still the best
movic made of а Hemingway novel to
date. And the widescreen color photog-
raphy is potently pretty throughout.

A trio of musicals does much to bright-
en the current scene. Les Girls flaunts the
experienced hand of director George
Cukor in every department. With music

lyrics by Cole Porter and starring.
ne Kelly, Мігі Gaynor, Kay Kendall
and Taina Elg, it employs а device from
the film Rashomon: spinning a yarn
from several points of view, all different.
In each, Kelly is the pivot in a wiangular
love match, but the roles of the girls are

neatly exchanged. Done with great
bounce and gusto, raflishly danced and
played with wry humor by Kelly and
wicked satire by Kay Kendall, Les Girls
boasts nearly every virtue of a top musi-
cal — cleverness, wit, tasteful opulence —
everything except а catchy score. This
time, however, it doesn’t matter. Intelli-
gence and originality have more than
compensated, while the verve of the writ-
ing (by John Patrick from a story by
Vera Caspary) could have served Les
Girls as a straight farce comedy without
one bar of music.

The Pajama Game, lifted practically in-
tact from stage to screen (save for the
risque Jealousy Ballet and the substitu-
tion of Doris Day Гог Janis Paige), is
every bit as noisy, strenuous and fun-
filled on film as it was in the flesh. Eddie
Foy still gets his low comedy laughs
hyperthyroid Carol Hancy
if you're susceptible to her d.
of charm, We are. George Abbot, who
staged it originally, co-directed the film
version with Stanley Donen, Hollywood's
latest ed musical magician, and
their touch is wizard,

Pol Joey was a tougher nut to crack.
To get the meat out of this one, a smart
studio would have stuck pretty close to
the now classic stage version and the
corrosive original stories by John O'Hara
inspired it. Joey's got to be an un-
mitigated heel, for all his fatal charm,
but Columbia Pictures turns him into a
sentimental Joey-boy with gruff exterior
and heart of gold. The stage version left
Јосу the same unregenerate bounder at
the end as at the beginning, after going
through Mrs. Simpson, Linda English,
et al. In the movie, he winds up tied to
Linda English. Too bad. Besides, a
piqued-looking Rita Hayworth is no
match for bumptious Vivienne Segal
the predatory Mrs. Simpson, nor is Kim
Novak an acceptable fill-in for Ju
Havoc as Linda. Only Frank Sinatra, in
the tile role, gives the film some snap.
even though his part is a far cry
the tart and acrid original. A numb:
dittics and almost all of the dances have
been jettisoned, too, though most of the
bestremembered songs are still in evi-
dence (Bewitched, Bothered and Bewil-
dered, among others) along with several
sizable chunks of the cynical dialog.
But for all its surface toughness, the
movie Joey has, in the words of Wil-
liam James, “a squashy texture”; hard
on the outside, soft as mush inside. Still,
if уоште one of the luckless ones who
missed the diamond-hard stage version.
this adaptation will at least give you an
idea of what all the shouting was about
when Joey graced the boards. And су
Broadway couldn't come up with a bet-

тег Pal than Sinatra.

*Road looks slick—
better take the

Seems like they take the Renault Dauphine course it’s always nice to. get 40-odd miles
more and more these days, instead of the to the gallon. Test drive the Dauphine and
other car. Pavements wet? Obviously the you'll see the point, With your other car
Dauphine has the better road-grip. Traffic or as your only car, the Dauphine at
heavy? The Dauphine'll get through with 1645, Р.О.В., New York, has everything.
no trouble, Parking problem? The Renault sales-service-parts agencies are
Dauphine'll find space. Main thing — the everywhere. For the nearest to you, write:
Dauphine is more fun to drive. And of RENAULT OF FRANCE, 425 Park Avo., М. У. 22.

TRIBUNO MAKES 2
GREAT VERMOUTHS

SWEET for

HATTANS
МАН pry ТШЩ

for MARTINIS.
and DRY MANHATTANS

Tor < |
Cocktail +
Enjoyment:

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THOSE WHO KNOW say

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NEW YORK, NY., SOLE AGENTS ОЉА. 15

PLAYBOY

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ТОСКЕЕ

with
TED SHAPIRO
at the piano

CHEZ PAREE
ADORABLES

TED FIO RITO

ond ћи archestro

Among the new imports: The Roots,
from Mexico, offers a vignette foursome
about Mexican Indian life and as
raw and powerful a job as you could
hope for; Marianne of Му Youth, from
France, a poetic idyl of young love
that is almost an anachronism in our
age of cynicism, exquisitely filmed by
the great Duvivier; Мизом, from France,
another Colette story a Та Gigi, baring
the heart of a young girl and filmed with
devastating psychological insight by top
female director Jacqueline Audry; Mlle.
Striptease, from France, starring Brigitte
Bardot, who pyramided a little girl's
pout and a big girl’s figure into a daz
zling carcer, in a pile of persillage com-
pounded of equal parts of beating
around the sexual bush, in a Paris boite
lizing in amateur strip tease con-
and slapstick, in, of all places, the
ас Museum. Bountiful, bracing
Bardot saves an otherwise yawny film.

DINING-DRINKING

In a low, one-story building in the
heart of San Francisco's Tenderloin dis-
vict, a nightly amalgam of goatced hip-
sters, Montgomery Strect junior execs
and University of California undergrads
alike, dig the cool and carefully cali-
brated sounds of modern jazz at the
Blackhawk (200 Hyde Street). For a solid
decade, this dim-lit hipster’s hutch has
throbbed to the West Coast's most avant
sounds, those disseminated by the likes
of Stan Getz and Gerry Mulligan. The
atmosphere is casual, the customers don't
mind the door charges (which range
from 50€ to $1 a head, and are a notso-
subtle rating of a performer's popu-
larity), the booze is drinkable, and the
waitresses don't push too hard. Dave
Brubeck, who got his start there, makes
it his GHQ on the Coast, and blows
weekends at the club on and off through-
out the year. Among the innovators ex-
pected this fall are Julian “Cannonball”
Adderley, Max Roach. Brubeck and the
Modern Jazz Quartet. The Blackhawk
is open from nine р.м. to two л.м, Tues-
day through Saturday, with a Sunday
afternoon bash, starting at four P.M.,
that offers a look at the local cats.

BOOKS

The New York Times once described
Richard Maney as “perhaps the most
articulate and best-known living the-
atrical press agent.” As usual, the Times
was not exaggerating: Maney's Fanfare
rper, $4.95) is a joyfully prodigious
се of recollections by the undis-
puted king of what jokesters have
labeled the second oldest profession —

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presagentry. Manhattan show biz is
tipped on its ear as ?
years of experience during which he has
hymned the praises of 250 shows, some
of which had runs as long as three years,
some as short as three hours. One of
Mamey's favorite pastimes is tipping
up the critics. During opening night
of a turkey called The Squall, the in
genue had this line to read: "Nubi good
girl. Nubi ?” Reviewer Robert
Benchley reported the play to his read-
vith: “Benchley bad boy. Benchley
Capitalizing on the mot, Maney
sparked his advertising with, “The play
that made а streetwalker of Robert
Benchley.” The smell of grease paint is
on every page of Fanfarc, often coupled
with the odor of strong waters. After а
description of a wet weekend in Mexico
with Lee Tracy, the author blithely ob-
serves: "It must not be inferred from the
alcoholic scent of this canto that all the-
auc folk find surcease in the sauce. It's
just that І find the company of tipplers
less trying. Tallulah makes better copy
than Katharine Cornell.” When Мати
in a syndicated article, quoted the ques-
tion which ended Sherman Billingsley's
TV chat with Admiral “Bull” Halsey
al, tell me, What year did you
graduate from West Point’), he prompt
ly joined the roster of notables barred

ife from the Stork Club. No matter,
who magnificently recalls
5 Bernard Shaw's admonition:
take your work seriously, never

A must-read book.

Jack Kerouac’s second novel, On the
Road (Viking, $3.95), is a far-out tale of a
cosecountry romp by two articulate
members of the "beat generation." Hip-
sters to the hilt, they live life furiously -
hitchhiking, stealing, loving, digging
cool jazz, and yakking. The narrator is
Sal Paradise, who wants to be a writer,
nd the hero is Dean Moria
ning but lovable bum who is
ends and perception. There is much
drink, all Kinds of dopc, there arc pocts,
jazzmen, whores and plenty of sex.
"Now wouldn't it be fine if we could all
get together and have a real gone goof-
bang together with everybody sweet and
fine and agreeable, no hassle, no infant
rise of protest or body woes misconcep-
talized ог sumpi: sks Dean. “Ah! But
хе know time," answers Dean. A sad lot,
they cover their confusion and rootless-
ness in a mad search for kicks; their
enemies are the complacent ones in
control, the smug representatives of law,
society and moralitv. Dean finds them
deadly dull, each with a need to “worry
and betray time with urgencies false and
otherwise, purely anxious and whiny,
their souls really won't be at peace un-
til they can latch on to an established
and proven worry.” At yarn's end, every-
one comes apart at the scams like Dean,

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or starts to settle down like Sal, and the
reader who has stayed on through the
whole crazy mess realizes that “nobody
knows what's going to happen to any-
body besides the forlorn rage of growing
old..." Nevertheless, Road is a disturb-
ing book, a sharpie's travelog full of
literary Weltschmerz, jazz language and
the frenetic doings of a bunch of sensi-
tive, pathetic— but interesting — cats,

At one point in his lively and witty
polemic attacking the shibboleths and
cannons of big administration in business
and government, Professor C. Northcote
Parkinson, author of Parkinsons Low
(Houghton Mifflin, $3), points а trend in
modern popular anthropology. Once, he
says, there were
could be examined for material on their
sex lives and superstitions. But most of
these hunted aborigines have taken to
singing missionary hymns in self-defense.
Next, there were the poor — to be dogged
with tape recorder and camera, but that's
old hat now. Remain the rich: a fertile
field indeed, as Lynes, Whyte, De Vries
Shulman and others have discovered. It's
a cute point and furthermore it explains
the popularity which this slender volume
will enjoy. For it is an interesting fact
that the entrenched rich are secure
enough to derive a morbid and masochis-
ис amusement from the spectacle of their
own exposure to ridicule and even abuse.
Those who roar their anger аге а crusty
few; the usual response is a ruefully ap-
preciative chortle.

Parkinson's Law states that administra
tive personnel will increase at a fixed
rate which has nothing to do with the
work that gets done. Sounds far fetched,
but the good prof proves his point with
historical and statistical evidence. With
cool impudence he also attacks and de-
molishes cabinets and directorial boards,
parliaments, finance committees, en-
trenched third-rateness, the snide proto-
col of the administrative cocktail party,
and methods of personnel selection. His
approach is fresh, didactic, lethal, witty.
He commences with the assertion that all
books on his subject which have so far
been written are merely harmless — pro-
vided they're dassified as fiction, From
there on out, it's murder all the way.

Last March, Fortune published the
title chapter of this book as an article.
Big executives gleefully distributed re-
prints to their underlings, a calculated
bit of attrition tinged with sadistic
malice. Now those same underlings can
have the last laugh, for the rest of the
book keelhauls the bosses in a way
which makes The Organization Man
scem a dulcet love tap by comparison,
Robert Osborn's accompanying illos
complete the mayhem.

Barnaby Conrad's The Gotes of Fear

savage tribes which

(Crowell, $7.50) is а heady excursion
into tauromachian lore, legend, history
and romance. The author of Matador
(and of вілувоуз account of a fabulous
bullfight in this issue) delves into the
mystique of the art, discusses the psychol-
ogy of toreros, quotes and paraphrases
dozens of authorities, and takes the
reader on a guided tour of many of the
world’s bull rings. Great names of la
fiesta brava receive their share of tribute
and analysis; the gossip and the super-
stition which surround the sunflecked
arenas are nicely blended with descrip-
tions of combat; and over 75 drawings
and photos supplement the text, which
is mercifully short on technicalities and
not infrequently rises to poetic heights.

Those who have been yowling that
Angus Wilson is a genius are set for a
fresh bit of evidence: his volume of
short pieces, A Bit off the Mop (Viking,
$3.50). More like a character vignette
а могу, cach pic
the English scene with neither dramatic
attack nor any recognizable shape, yet
the pathos and sensitivity evident cvery-
where are almost Chaplinesque in their
appeal. We were particularly held by a
tidbit titled More Friend than Lodger,
a portrait of an ambitious publisher who
tries to snare the output of a rising
young author, an out-and-out rake, by
setting him up as a lodger in his home.
The publisher's wife embarks on a fling
with the charmer, and, when the author
is eventually exposed as a fraud, returns
to her unsuspecting husband feeling
mighty noble about her role in the
episode. "That's all. Then theres the
title piece, which explores the post-war
London phenomenon, The Teddy Boys,
those crazy, mixed-up kids who strike
out at everyone. These experiences come
to no climax or conclusion, for Wilson's
literary microscope is poised over min-
utiae, and the specimens are scrupulously
examined but not yet classified. If you
dig that sort of craftsmanship, you'll
agree that Wilson's a fine writer, maybe
a genius; if not, you'll call him а bum.

ambles along

Тће fine science of using endorsements
and testimonials to sell goods and serv-
ices gets a thorough exposure in The Big
Nome (Printers Ink Books, $3.75) by Wil-
liam M. Freeman, Advertising Editor of
The New York Times. "Whats in a
name?" Juliet asked. Judging by this
book, which lifts the curtain on some
unhidden persuaders at work, the answer
is, "Plenty of profit and pelf.” A candid
and sometimes chilling primer — fully
documented and with case histories — of
the fine science of namedropping the
consumer into a docile and compliant
trance, in which he murmurs over and
over, “Ме too, піс too, me too."

CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE

PLAYBILL ..... ада 8
DEAR PLAYBOY. _- 5
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS... Im oe a на E)
THE DEADLY WILL TO WIN—fiction........ CHARLES BEAUMONT 20
PLAYBOY ON POKER—games.... — JOHN MOSS 24
THE BUTTONDOWN BOYS IN THE FROZEN NORTH—Aiction. STEWART P. BROWN 29
PLAYBOY'S CHRISTMAS TREE—gifts ა.ო” 3
THE HOLIDAY SMORGASBORD—food 5 THOMAS MARIO 34
ELLA MEETS THE DUKE—fozz.. ... ce LEONARD FEATHER 38
PLAYBOY'S CHRISTMAS TREE—gifts. ёт
MISS NOVEMBER—playboy’s playmate of the month... sve OS
PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor ___ Зары - 48
CITY FABLES—RcIlon.... =; E HOKE NORRIS 50
PLAYBOY'S CHRISTMAS TREE—gilis: —— Hn
CORRIDA—article Es ems BARNABY CONRAD 54
NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH—ribold sic. E -JUAN TIMONEDA 61
LOREN VS, MANSHELD—plctorlal ..... авы, бе е & . 63
PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK—travel... PATRICK CHASE 88
HUGH M, HEFNER editor and publisher
А. C. SPECTORSKY associate publisher and advertising director
RAY RUSSELL executive editor ARTHUR PAUL агі director

VICTOR LOWNES III promotion manager JOHN MASTRO production manager

ELDON SELLERS circulation manager PHILIP C. MILLER business manager

JACK J. KESSIE associate editor; VINCENT т. TAJIRI picture editor; BLAKE RUTHERFORD
fashion editor; THOMAS MARIO food and drink editor; PATRICK CHASE travel editor:
LEONARD FEATHER jazz editor; EDWARD Н. STYLES copy editor; РАТ РАРГАЅ editorial
assistant; NORMAN с. HARRIS associate агі director; JOSEPH H. PACZEK assistant art
director; PERN А, HEARTEL production assistant; ANSON MOUNT college bureau; JANET
FILORIM reader service; WALTER J. HOWARTH subscription fulfillment manager.

ILLINOIS. RETURN POSTAGE MUST
MEY ARE TO зе RETURNED AND NO
E ASSUMED ON UNSOLICITED MATERIALS. CONTENTS COPYRIGHTED © 1987 ву нин PUR
не. NOTHING MAY ве NEMNINTED IN WHOLE OR N FART WITHOUT WRITTEN FERMISSION PROM THE
ANY SIMILARITY BETWEEN THE PEOPLE ANC PLACES IN THE FICTION AND SEMLFICTION IM ти
COVER DESIGNED BY ARTHUR

PHOTO MORTON SHAPIRO зв змоксаз-
4| PHOTO BACON-TIASCHEL STUDIOS; Р. 43.47
|E LAPHAM, P. аз емсто RALPH COWAN STUDIO г. 84 PHOTO атт SIEGEL; P. өз PHOTOS ORMOND GIGLI
ва PHOTOS P.1.P AND CHIC DOKCHIN, GLOBE: р а PHOTOS KEITH BERNARD AND EARL LEAF.

11 — november, 1957

THE DEADLY WILL
=–_–__ ГО WIN

buck larsen was а racing man—and a warrior of the old, old school

Ре ЖЕ
ILLUSTRATION BY ROBERT CHRISTIANSEN

E HAD BEEN DRIVING for 11 hours and he was hungry and hot and tired, but he couldn't
stop, he couldn't pull over to the side of the road and stop under one of those giant
pines and rest a little while; no. Because, he thought, if you do that, you'll fall asleep.
And you'll sleep all night, you know that, Buck, and you'll get into town late, maybe

too late to race, and then what will you do?

So he kept on driving, holding a steady 70 down the long straights, and through the sweep-
ing turns that cut through the fat green mountains. He could climb to 80 and stay there and
shorten the agony, except that it had begun to rain; and it was the bad kind that is light, like
mist, and puts a slick film on the road. At 80 he would have to work. Besides, you have got to
take it easy now, He thought, you have got a pretty old mill under the hood, and she’s cranky
and just about ready to sour out, but she'd better пог sour out tomorrow. If she does, you're in

21

PLAYBOY

22

a hell of a shape. You know that all
right. So let her loaf.

Buck Larsen rolled the window down
another three inches and sucked the
cool sharp air into his lungs. It was
clean stuff, with a wet pine smell, and іс
killed the heat some and cleared his
head, but he hated it, because rain made
it that way. And rain was no good. Sure,
it was OK sometimes; it made things
grow, and all that; and probably people
were saying. by God, that's wonderful,
that’s great — rain! But they would feel
different if they had to race on it, by
Christ. It would be another story then.
All of a sudden they would look up
at the sky and see some dark clouds and
their hearts would start pounding then
^d be scared, you can bet your
sweet ass; they'd start praying to God to
hold it ofi just a little while, just а
few hours, please. But it would come,
anyway. It would come, And that nice
dirt track would turn to mush and maybe.
you're lucky and you don't total your
car out, and maybe this is not one of
your lucky days and the топеу is gone
and you don't have а goddamn thing ex-
cept your car and you make a bid, only
the rain has softened the track and
somebody has dug a hole where there
wasn't no hole a lap ago, and you hit II
you hit that hole, and the wheel whips
out of your hands and you try to hold it,
but it's too late, way too late, and you're
going over. You know that. And nothing
can stop you, either, not all thc lousy
prayers in the world, not all the prom-
ises; so you hit the cellar fast and hope
that the roll bar will hold, hope the
doors won't fly open, hope the yoyos in
back won't plow into you—only they
will, they always do. And when it's all
over. and maybe you have a broken arm
or a cracked melon, then you begin to
wonder what's next, because the car і!
totaled, and the sure a blind аі
plane pilot before theyll insure you.
And you can't blame them much, either.
You're not much of a risk.

He shook his head hard, and tried to
relax. It was another 60 miles to Grange.
Sixty little miles. Hardly nothing. You
can do it standing up, you have before;
plenty of times. (But you were younger
then, remember that. You're 48 now.
You're an old bastard, and you're tired
and scared of the rain. That's right.
You're scared.)

The hell!

Buck Larsen looked up at the slat
colored sky and frowned; then he peered.
through the misted windshield. A bend
was approaching, He planted his foot on
the accelerator and entered the curve
at 97 miles per hour. The hack end of
the car began to slide gently to the left.
He flicked the wheel, eased off the
throttle, straightened, and fed full power
to the wheels. They stuck,

Yeah, he said.

The speedometer needle dipped back
to 70 and did not move. It was fine,
you're OK, he thought, and you'll put
those country fair farmers in your back
pocket. You'd better, anyway. Maybe
not for a first, but a second; third at
worst. Third money ought to be around
three hundred. But, he thought, what if
the rain spoils the gate? Never mind,
it won't. These yokels are wild for
blood. A little rain won't stop them.

А sign read: GRANGE4l MILES.

Buck snapped on his headlights. Tr:
fic was beginning to clutter up the road,
and he was glad of it, in a мау: you
don't get so worried when there are
people around you. He just wished they
wouldn't look at him that мау, like
they'd come to the funeral too early.
You sons of bitches, he thought. You
don't know me, I'm a stranger to you,
but you all want to sce me get killed
tomorrow. That's what you want, that's
why you'll go to the racc. Well, I'm
sorry to disappoint you. І really am.
Thats why I ain't popular: І stayed
alive too long. (And then he thought,
по, that isn't why. The reason you're
not popular is because you don’t go very
good. Come on, Larsen, admit it. Face
it, You're old and you're getting slow.
You're getting cautious. That's why you
don't run in the big events no more,
because in those you're а tail-ender;
maybe not dead Там, but back in the
back. Nobody sees you. Nobody pays
you. And you work just as hard. So you
make the jumps out here, in the sticks,
running with the local boys, because you
used to be pretty good, you used to be,
and you've got a hell of a lot of experi-
ence behind you, and you can count. on
finishing in the moncy. But you're losing
it. The coordination’s on the way ou
you don't think fast any more, you don't
move fast; you don't drive fast.)

A big Lincoln, dipping with the ruts,
rolled by. The driver stared, I'm sor
Buck told him. I'd like to die for you,
Buddy, but I just ain't up to it; I been
kind of sick, you know how it goes. But
come to the track anyway: І mean, you
never can tell. Maybe ГІІ go on my
head, maybe ГІІ fall out and the stink-
ing car will roll over on top of me and
they'll have to get me up with a rake.
It could happen. ü

Buck steadied the wheel with his.
elbows and lit the stump of his cigar.
It could happen, OK, he thought. But
mot to me. Not to Buck Larsen. He
clamped his teeth. down hard on the
cigar, and thought, yeah, that's what
Carl Beecham
believe it'll never
Сагі was wrong; he found that out—
what was it? — four years ago at Bonelli,
when he hit the wall and bounced off
and went over

He tightened his thick, square fingers
on the taped wheel. He pulled down the

shutters, fast. Whenever he'd find him-
self thinking about Carl, or Sandy, or
Chick Snyder, or Jim Lonnergan, or any
of the others, he would just pull a cord
and giant shutters would come down in
his mind and he would stop thinking
about them. They had all been friends
of his. Now they were dead, or retired
and in business for themselves, and he
didn't have anyone to go out and have
a beer with, or maybe play cards or just
fool around; he was alone; and you
don't want to make a thing like that
worse, do you?

So I'm alone. Lots of people are alone.
Lots of people don't even have jobs, not
even lousy ones like this.

He told himself that he was in plenty
good shape, and did not wonder —as
he had once wondered — why, since he
hated it, he had ever become a race
driver. It was no great mystery. There'd
been a dirt track in the town where he
grew up. He'd started hanging around
the pits, because he liked to watch the
cars and listen to the noise. And he
was young, but he was a pretty good
mechanic anyway so he helped the
drivers work on their machines. Then,
he couldn't recall who it was, somebody
got sick and asked him to drive. It was
a thrill and he hadn't had many thrills
before. So he tried it again.

And that was it. He'd been driving
ever since; it was the only thing he
knew how to do, for Christ's sake. (No,
that wasn't true, cither. He could make
а living as a mechanic.)

So why don't 1? I will. ГИ take а few
firsis and. salt the dough away and start
a garage and let the other bastards risk
their necks. The hell with it.

The rain grew suddenly fierce, and he
rolled up the window angrily. For al-
most an hour he thought of nothing but
the car, mentally checking each part and
right. God knew he

rold engine; it took
now-how to find those extra horse:
still he was short. The other boys would
be in new jobs, most of them. More
torque, More top end. He'd have to fight
some.

Buck slowed to 45, then to 9
pulled up in front of a gas station. He
went to the bathroom, splashed cold
water over his face, wiped away some
of the grime.

He went to a restaurant and spent one
of his remaining six dollars on supper.

Then he took the Chevy to а hotel
called The Plantation and locked it up.
‘The rain gleamed on its wrinkled hide,
wrinkled from the many battles it had
waged, and made it look a little less
ugly. But it was ugly, anyhow. It had
a tough, weathered appearance, ап ap-
pearance of great and disreputable age;
and though it bore a certain resemblance
(continued on page 52)

‚ and

“Sorry, ше have no reference books on sex at present,
was there anything in particular you wanted to know?”

23

Piaveov on POKER

hy JOHN moss

POKER 15 A GAME played by men for blood. There are variations, of course,
because anything so democratic and universal is bound to take many forms.
But the basic game is the blood game. And by this 1 mean that the stakes
must be high enough to cause pain to a heavy loser. This may sound cruel,
but it is absolutely essential if the game is to supply the tension and ex-
citement which poker alone can provide. If you can't afford the stakes,
don't play, because the knowledge that you can't stand to lose is sure to
affect your play unfavorably.

Good poker players are made, not born—so there is hope for us all. And
if you ask what arc the qualities of a first-rate player І would reply by
describing the poker-personality of a man who has won entirely too much
of my money—Dave Garroway.

Garroway's outstanding characteristic is self-discipline. He never does
anything without a reason, Calculating, unemotional, a realist, a convincing
dissembler—he never beats himself. Like every player he has his bad nights
(if you know а man who never loses, avoid him: he's cheating), but he is
never the cause of his own downfall. With Garroway you have the sense
that everything is going along just fine and your queens-up are going to
win with ease, and then about the time you're counting the pot for the
third time and imagining yourself sweeping it in, there's Daye with a neat
little straight he had on the first five card:

It wasn't modesty that kept him from ing. He waited until his fourth
up-card seemed to wreck him and everyone was relaxed. Then he was
set. Then there was the bland, casual, slightly bored, slightly confused
manner and the harmless, diverting small talk—all designed to soothe
you, quiet your suspicions, rock you to sleep—and the next thing you
knew Dave was dragging in your pot.

Garroway is evidence of my argument that the best poker players are
amateurs. The pros play a cold, precise mathematical game, taking no
chances, but their play lacks boldness, flavor and imagination—the very
qualities with which Garroway's game abounds.

If you want a fast. foolproof rule-of-thumb for spotting a good poker
player, try this: a good player never loses heavily on bad cards, but the
average player invariably does. The night the good player dreads is the
one when he holds good cards that just aren't good enough . . . because
skill cannot lessen the disastrous consequences of running second-best all
evening. But the good player can and does protect himself when he holds
poor cards,

it’s skill that wins in draw, stud or strip

THREE jacks give the gentleman an-
other hand and his companion pays
off accordingly. Sho doesnt

need that shoe to y=
way — апа he didn't need that extra
jack handily tucked up hit чесме,

ACE poker players frequently
find their attentian wandering
when they attempt the var-
jation known as strip. Cards
‘and an opponent of suitable
dimensions, with a chilled
drink to refresh the fevered
brow, are among accoutre-
ments that keep the дато
moving in a proper direction.
TWO can play the game
for whotever stakes they've
agreed on, but the rules of
classic poker should be fal-
lowed, as in this case. A full

‘house wins the first hand for

the young lady's opponent.

FOUR jacks, the lady figured, couldn't
be bettered. But five of a kind make а
compelling array, so she pays again.

FIVE aces, now! This man's obviously championship.
material and is rewarded by collecting a pair of
hose. І may have occurred to his friend by now
that all's not according to Hoyle, but she carries on.
SIX face cards to choose from — how can he miss?
The lass on the losing end suggests a switch to stud.
SEVEN-card stud it is, then — but what's this? The
dealer's peeling them off the bottom of the deck.
EIGHT hands later the dastardly facts become
known: our hero's been cheating. But who would
trust to luck when playing for stakes like these?

The average player, on the other hand, loses on
beth occasions, and when it is his night to win he
never leaves with as much as he should, He is an
intelligent, sensible chap in other respects, you may
be sure. He would never dream of undertaking any-
thing involving that kind of money in some other
line without knowing what he was doing. Yet he
blithely plays poker, losing too much too often,
and consoling himself with the thought that poker
is largely a matter of luck and he just isn’t lucky.

And this is his first mistake. Poker is not largely
a game of luck, as he believes, but a game of skill
in which the element of luck is of по importance.
On any given night а player may indeed be lucky.
He may draw to a pair and fill, time and ag.
He may catch in the belly and hit two card flushes
all night long. But you can depend on it, the next
time it will be another man's turn, and in the long
run the cards will average up with a mathematical
precision that is fascinating to observe. If the same
men play regularly for three months, the man who
is furthest ahead at the end of that time will be
the best player . .. and to find the worst you have
only to look for the biggest loser. Were it not for
its being а game of skill, poker would long since have
passed out of the picture in favor of the faster action
of the crap table.

But before going into the strategy and tactics of
winning poker it is necessary to define the particular
ty of the game under discussion. Social poker
is, in effect, poker for fun. The crazier the game the
greater its appeal, for the stakes are so low that по
one can get hurt, and the talk is so constant that
no one can think. The pot is always light because
the players are talking so much they don’t hear the
call to ante. Ви no one really cares, for poker here
serves the function of background music at a. party.
To sce the game perverted to such profane ends
pains the good player, and he will not participate,
even under protest. То him. social poker is like
Platonic love: it is best reserved for those incapable
of anything stronger,
there is the sort of poker advocated by Max
Shulman in these pages last August. ‘These players
assert they are tired of classical poker and want to
пу something different. Thus we have low
high-low, no-peck, and any number of other wi
variations—including one in which status is given such
picturesquesounding hands as big dogs and little
dogs. big tigers and little tigers (і.е, busted straights
and flushes). Well, those who play these games are
tired all right, but what they're tired of is losing at

PLAYBOY

28

regular poker. And so they have devised
these other games, most of which have
the implicit purpose of reducing the
amount of skill required to win. No one
gets "tired" of winning. Any man who
takes pride in his ability to play and
who enjoys testing that ability against
his peers will agree that the three basic
games of five- and seven-card stud and
draw are quite enough. Some purists
even ban the seven-card game, though
it seems to me to be in many respects
the ideal limit-poker game. Draw, on
the other hand, is better suited for the
table-stakes bluffing game than for limit.
poker, for it seldom creates pots of the
size provided by either of the stud
games.

But-stud or draw-the topic of this
discussion is the blood game.

And before going to the heart of the
matter, this word of advice: don't play
more than four or five hours at a session.
Beyond that your mind will be dulled,
causing you to play automatically and
thus to surrender your natural ad-
vantage as а superior player. All cats
аге gray at six A.M.

If you don't know whether you're
slowing down, try remembering your
hole-card with only one look. When you
find you have to keep pecking to re-
member what it is, you've been playing
too long. Your reflexes are gone. Get
out—even if you're stuck—because if you
go on you'll be stuck just that much
more an hour from then.

There are, І believe, two basic stra-
tegic approadies-one defensive, one
offensive. Let us suppose that you аге
one of six players in a game. Your
chances of winning any given hand,
then, are one in six. "This is important.
You know from the beginning that you
cannot expect to win every other hand,
or every third or fourth hand. To play
every band through to the end would be
ruinous, and so we infer the first prin-
ciple: Get out as early as possible in all
hands you don't figure to win.

This means a good deal more than
simply dropping out immediately when
you have nothing. Even some of the fish
do this every now and then. It means
(assuming you аге strong enough to sce
another card or two) that you must get
out the moment a realistic appraisal
of all the hands reveals that someone
else has a better chance of winning. A
grave defect in many players is their
inability to evaluate their cards rcalistic-
ally. Poker is a game of skill because the
fall of the cards is deteri
matical laws of probability. Yet a player
who knows this perfectly well loses his
sense of proportion when he considers
his own cards. “І thought І would catch
he explains, having tried and missed,
But he tried and will keep on trying
because — like a horseplayer — he remem-
bers only his winners. The memory of a

hundred busted flushes has conveniently
(and perhaps mercifully passed from
consciousness; but the time he made а
fantastic catch of the case eight to win
а big pot— this memory is evergreen.
And as he considers staying on to the
bitter end with his possible flush, this
memory causes him to respond like a
punchdrunk fghter hearing the bell.

Stay? Of course he stays—it’s all he
can do to keep from raising.

Here is an example: you are playing
а hand of seven-card stud. Six cards have
been dealt so far, and you hold four
spades. The two other stayers show four
spades between them, and two of the
three players who dropped out earlier
had a spade up. (To have noted this
last is important; average players don't
keep track of the cards closely enough.)
The active players against you in this
hand show pairs. One of them bets and
the other culls. Should you stay?

Well, there are three spades unac-
counted for, and there are 24 cards in
the deck. Your chances of catching a
spade are one in eight. The money odds
if you win will be slightly better than
two to one (fer one man who dropped
out saw the fourth card). In the circum-
stances the only possible play is to fold
immediately. Unless your hand has
other values, such as а high pair, you
should not consider paying for that
seventh card. Get out! Save your money
for a hand when the odds arc in your
favor.

"There will be times, of course, when
your spade comes in. But in the long
run you must lose if you persist in
making this play. The possible flush is
naturally tempting, but poker is not
a game of sentiment. And this is to say
nothing of those times when you make
your flush only to learn (paying liber-
ally for the privilege) that somcone else
has filled his two pair. When this hap-
pens you may throw in your hand in
disgust and bemoan your bad luck, but
the fact is that you had no business
ing around in the first place.

This poker game you're in is not a
benefit being conducted on your behalf.
It is a highly competitive affair, and each
man is out to win the other players
money—but to win it while strictly con-
forming to the rules of play. No good
player would be so lacking in a sporting
sense as to use any dubious or dishonest
means of improving his chances, be-
cause this is entirely contrary to the
whole spirit of the game. If you can't
win on ability alone, either improve
your ability—or don’t play.

A really good player is also one who
carefully observes the etiquette of the
game. The subject of poker ctiquette is
large enough to warrant a separate
treatise, but this nuch can be said here:
a good player always bets, folds or raises
in turn. He remembers at all times that

this is a gaine involving money and that
he has a responsibility to the other
players as well as to himself, A very
bad offender is the player who makes
a one-card draw to a straight or Rush,
misses, and immediately throws in his
cards, indicating that he missed. Sup-
розе you are sitting with two small pair
between the opener and a one-card
draw. One-card fails to catch and tosses
in his hand at once, whereupon opener
bets, He made a second pair and has
acesup. Ordinarily he would have
checked to the one-card draw, not want-
ing to risk a raise if one-card hit—but
this prohibition is removed when onc-
card folds. Opener bets with confidence,
and you are forced to call а round of
betting that would have been checked
out if one-card hadn't folded out of
turn.

Bet, fold or raise in turn-and when
you are holding your cards with the сх-
pectation of dropping out when your
turn comes, do mot indicate by youi
manner or words your intention of fold-
ing. This is simple respect for the rights
of the other players.

"The psychological aspects of poker are
infinitely varied. I am not one of those
who feel that a man stands completely
revealed at the poker table. But there
is no doubt that a man's essential per-
sonality is exposed when he sits down
to play. Poker is as revcaling as perhaps
any other single activity ће engages in,
calls forth so many of his basic
ities: intelligence, greed, guile,
charity, patience and sense of fair play.
If you know someone who becomes a
different person at the poker table the
chances are that the poker personality
is closer to the true тап.

Applying our first principle: in draw,
fold immediately unless you have
openers or better. (Exception: stay with
a fourflush or open-end fourstraight
provided there are already enough
callers to assure you of топеу odds
equal to the odds against your making
the hand. Your chances of fiushing are
9/47—about one іп five; for a straight,
8/47—about one in six. If you hit, the
payof should be at similar rates.)

Otherwise, you should fold if you
t have openers. To stay with a small
is bad poker. You know that at
least one stayer has you beat going in,
and his chances of improving are just as
good as yours. This is all you need to
know to get out.

Moreover, opener may have more
than the prescribed minimum, and if
this is thc casc it will bc that much
harder to beat him. You will lose enough
times when you have a legitimate call.
Don't add to your grief by staying
around when you should get out.

If you pay good money to draw to
inside straights only а psychiatrist can

(continued on раке 83)

di

The Buttondown Boys іп the Frozen North

movie making in greenland is not as easy as eskimo pie

fiction
By STEWART PIERCE BROWN

HAVE YOU EVER SEEN an Eskimo wearing
a pink oxford-cloth shirt? Well, shield
your eyes going through Greenland,
friend — pink buttondowns are hotter
than mulled glógg up there right now.

It began last January. On one of those
rare days when being Fowler & Hawkes’
television producer seemed better than
life on the sheriffs Honor Farm, after
all. That morning I'd screened our latest
film for 4-T-Fy, the Toothpaste That
Strengthens Your Teeth Four Ways.
Then I had lunch at Pipp's, including
three deep-dish martinis, with a smash-
ing 38-24-37 just back from Hollywood
(Miss Scotch Tape of 1955 but her voice
was wrong for pictures). As I strolled
back downtown, Madison Avenue never
looked better.

Three days later І was up to my
Countess Mara in snow and over my
head in trouble.

The oatmeal hit the fan the minute
I got back from Pipp's. The U.S. Air
Force had just commissioned the agency
to do a training film on survival on polar
ice. I was to have a production crew
ready to leave Saturday morning for
Norstadhoven Air Base on Greenland.

Survival on polar ice. Me, who can't
crack out ice cubes without getting
frostbite. Not only that, Old Man Fowler
wanted the finished film by the 15th
of next month! A whole day to build
Rome.

“Ah, but remember what February
15th is, MacClure!" he said, smiling the
smile that can split a client's budget at
a thousand yards I remembered, all
right: on the 15th we were making our
pitch for the Federal Auto account, up
for grabs for the first time in 10 years.
“This film could do it for us. The F.A.
boys are nuts for realism. You won't
have to fake a thing. Real ice. real
snow —real realism!”

“But four weeks... 1"

The Old Man upped the voltage of

“Don't touch that lens!”
screamed Zabukover.

PLAYBOY

his smile. “Mac, Federal Auto bills al-
most 30 million. With an account like
that in the shop, we'll need а vicc-
president for TV. I've been watching
your work lately and, frankly, I've been
impressed . . .

He purred on. Visions of Jaguars
danced in my head. I made one last
feeble effort: “There's snow in Central
Park now. We could —

His smile snapped off. He made a
noise in his throat. The same noise
he makes at Plans Board meetings. It
means, All those opposed signify by
handing in their resignations.

So it was buckety-buckety, off to
Greenland.

1 picked my crew fast. Naturally I
started with Ted Pennoyer. Not only
have we been doing the Damon-and-
Pythias bit since college, but as a di-
rector he's the greatest. And he needed
the extra money — bad. His wife has а
brother who's 100% job-resistant and
for ycars Ted has becn pouring dough
imo the guy's get-rich-quick deals. The
brotherindaw's latest — instant cham-
pagne mix in a plastic bag — produced
more troubles than bubbles, so now
Ted had to raise a few quick thou to
keep the whole family out of jail.

For a cameraman, І tapped Mikur
Zabukover, а wild Viennese with a waxed
mustache. Mike had а weakness for
па soft women, but he
d turned out sensational
п between Air Force and
agency was Bert Timmer. From black
horn-rims to attaché case, Bert is Cen-
tral Casting’s dream of an account cx-
ecutive, complete with Gharm Kit and
а head full of pressed lint.

All told, we had a crew of
wild Satu
hungover, looking putty-colored in the
carly light. The uniform of the day was
half misfit cold-weather gear, half un-
pressed Madison Avenue. Cameras, gen-
erators, cables — painted bright red for
better visibility in the snow — were
strewn all over the field. Bert kept
running around with his clip-board,
calling out names and checking people
in. It began to snow just as we took off.

"Ted and I watched New York pivot
under the banking wing. He looked
pretty grim. "Cheer up, Junior," 1 said,
“სოლ be bags of money for all if we
get this moom-pitcha in the can on
tim

“Thank you, Norman Vincent Peale.
Only І happen to need my moncy

hard liquor

now." His voice sounded strained.
Bert stopped at our seats. "Papers
all in order? We don’t want any foul-ups

adminisuation-wise at Norstadhoven

"Life is too much papers!" Mikur
snorted, behind him. He clicked his
heels and drained off а paper cup of
un-iced Scotch. "To lifel" he breathed
soulfully, then went weaving up the

t take him long,” Bert mut-
tered. “Сог a breath on him like tractor
exhaust."

“Irs better than dramamine," Ted
said, tossing down his magazine and
going forward to join Mikur's party.

Bert slipped into the empty seat.
"Whats with him? He's being un-
"Tedlike."

"He's рог worries

"He'll have more
drink Mike."

‘The plane droned north. There was
nothing to see outside. I watched the
frolic up front. Ted didn't miss his
turn with the firewater once. Money, І
decided, was а hell of a thing.

Especially when you didn't have it.

Ever been in Greenland?

Nothing.

It isn't green and it isn't land. Just
ice and snow. And wind. The kind
with teeth. It cut right through us as
we stepped off the plane. I could see
our four weeks shrinking like a dollar
shirt.

A crowd of Eskimos gathered to watch
our gear being unloaded. One of them,
a blocky, stocky character with a fire
hydrant neck and a forehead that sloped
back like a Volkswagen hood, stepped
up to me with a big grin. "Hi, Joc,” he
said, holding out his hand. 1 shook
hands with him. It was like reaching
into a stone crusher, With his other
hand he fingered the collar of my shirt
It was one of the pink oxfords Га
packed as а gag. "i he said.

“Great. Glad you like it. Any chance
of getting my fingers back?"

He dropped my hand, grinned again.
then picked up my bag.

“Looks like Uk Luk's appointed him-
self your valet,” a voice said. I turned
to find a white man in an Air Force
parka. m Colonel Nesbitt, the СО.
You MacClure?”

“Right. From Fowler & Hawkes.”
"Good. Lers go around to my place.
Uk Luk'll take your bag to your room."
Uk Luk widened his grin, stroked my
8 once more, then took off for the
officers’ quarters assigned to our crew.
“I'd keep that shirt locked пр while
уоште here, if 1 were you,” the Colonel
advised.

In his quarters, he poured me three
fingers from Johnny Walkers Do-It-
Yourself Warming Kit and Greenland
began to look a little greener, He filled
a pipe for himself and got right to the
point. "You may have trouble while
you're here, MacClure, with a man
named Редон. I just want to tip you
off.”

"Pesdorffz"

He nodded. "Russian agent in Nor-
stadhoven. So far, we haven't been able
to pin anything on him. We keep him

he tries to out-

т:

off the base, of course, but he gets the
natives to do his dirty work for him.
Slips them a few bucks to pick up items
of interest every so often.”

“So? What item of interest haye we
got?”

"A-67-R," the Colonel said. I looked
blank. “New U.S. secret for arctic sur-
vival. Combined food and vitamin cap-
sule that maintains body temperature
and supplies nutrition. They'll be used
in your film. Pesdorff would love to get
his hands on a few."

1 tossed back a stiff опе, Four weeks
th obstacles, yct.

'One purpose of the film is to field
test these capsules, so they've got to be
the real thing. Besides, I understand
you people don't want amy fake stuff."

"Perish forbid," I said, thinking that
phony pills would be just the kind of
thing the fly-speckers from Fed Auto
would raise hell about. I assured the
Colonel we'd use the real thing, thanked
him for the Scotch, and left, feeling a
lor worse than when I arrived.

“Ted was stretched out on the bed in
my room. "Who's your friend?” he
asked. It was Uk Luk, sitting on my
suitcase. He stood up with that big grin
of | . Joe.”
ні, Uk Luk.” I took the bag and
started to unpack. "He's the deep-freeze
Jeeves,” I explained to Ted. "Great kid,
only don't ke hands with him."

З ” Uk Luk id suddenly. his
face lighting up like a pinball machine.

aken out another pink shirt.
“Oh, and another thing — he's queer
for pink shirts" І smiled at Uk Luk.
“Thanks, Champ, that's all for now."
With a last wistful look at the shirt, he
left.

“A winner,”

“A real win-

Ted si
ne

After І unpacked, І told the gang
Colonel Nesbitt's stor

Bert said wisely, “so that’s the

ay the puck slide
"Rus: swine!" Mikur snarled, then
hiccoughed оца murdered

and-Dagger Boys ii
Mike's said,
сеп adventure!"
adventure," Ted said, "it's
business — for cold, hard cash," I saw
Bert glance at him strangely.

OK,” І said, “the Air Force does the
spy-chasing. We're here to make pic-
tures. Let's concentrate on getting that
answer print back in New York by the
15th.”

“Trumpet fanfare and out,” Bert said
and the meeting broke up.

When they'd gone, Ted lay staring at
the ceiling. He looked like a man think-
ing hard. After a long time, he swung
himself to his feet. “Come on, let's go
down and check out the town.”
(continued overleaf)

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PLAYBOY

32

Buttondown Boys

Norstadhoven was Squareville times
10. A line of dirty shacks, bleeding with
neon, every third one a bar. If you
cet, you had it. We fought
the wind a while, then ducked into the
nearest groggery. “Where the hell do
they get the name Greenland?" І com-
plained, shivering.

From the bar behind me a voice an-
swered, "Blame it on the weather-cycle,
friend.

He was a ай big guy with a Оа
He grinned. “Just in from the State:

1 nodded. “This afternoon. What's
this weather-cycle bit?”

"Every 900 years it gets warmer,” the
big guy said, laughing. I didn't get the
gag, but I laughed. So did Ted. The
guy had the kind of laugh that takes
you right along with it. “This place was
probably like Gentral Park when the
Norsemen named it.”

“You live here?” Ted a
h, if you can call ing" he
said and this time we roared. Hc filled
us in on enland and we stuck
around, laughing and drinking and gen-
erally enjoying ourselves. for the rest of
the evening. He was quite a boy.

The next morning when we were all
at еа Colonel Nesbitt told us
we'd been boozing with Pesdorfi. That
rocked us. "But he looked like an Amer-
ican," I said.

And talked like one," Ted added.
Nesbitt nodded. “Some Russians do.
des, this guy lived in the States for
a while.

“ү Е
tually tell him

“A guy like DET dever, though,”
Bert said uneasily. "He'll toss the corn
down just to sec на hens peck at it.”

I felt like Benedict Arnold. Ted
looked like he was thinking hard again.

After br he and I got hold of.
Mikur before Mikur got hold of a jug
and the three of us set out in a jeep to
find a shooting location. It took us all
day but we finally found a good spot
about four miles from the base. Next
morning we took a dozen A-67-R cap-
sules — the. damn things were classified
and MC had to sign out for them — and
moved the crew and the equipment out
there to start. filming. Naturally, every-
thing went wrong. It always does, the
fist day. Only in Greenland your
chances are better. For one thing, the
camera kept freczing up. The Air
Force's special lubricants were about
as much help as bubble gum. Then the
cold shorted one of our mobile gener-
ators. And cvery few minutes the dolly
wheels had to be thawed out. Result:
we logged less than 800 feet by lunch-
time. February 15th began to look like

"we didn't ac-

(continued from page 30)

tomorrow afternoon.

Bert came out during lunch, in a
Weasel with an Army driver. I told him
our woes. He clucked sympathetically.
then gripped my shoulder hard, “Stick
h the ship, Skipper, I know you can
bring her in." The Weasel spun around
and headed for the base.

"Neck-wise, he gives me а pa
said.

“What ship he means?” Mike asked
through his frozen mustache.

"Never mind,” I sighed. "Let's make
movies.”

The cold continued to cream us. Only
Uk Luk, and a couple of other Eskimos
we'd recruited to help out the сем,
were really functioning. In fact, Uk
Li as having himself a ball. He was
fascinated by the camera. He couldn't
leave it alone. Mike had to kick him off
the carriage every 15 minutes.

"If he ever touches that lens, we'll
have the first Austro-Eskimo War in two
seconds flat," Ted said.

Right.on cue, Uk Luk twisted the
Mitchell's focusing ring. You could hear
Mike scream over in Iceland. ОК Luk
jumped as though he'd stepped on a
branding iron. He backed away from
the camera while the other Eski
giggled and scuffed the snow. Mike ex-
amined the lens like a nearsighted jew-
s!” he grumbled.
ich point, the wind blew over
our reflector tower. That did и. We
called it a day. And you know what
kind we called it.

I returned the unused A:67-R. to the
security officer. He noted down the
exact number of capsules the men had
taken, then locked away the leftovers 1
gave him as though they were solid

"теа

Back in my room, I was just mixing
myself a drink when Bert came in. He
wore one of those Lhate-to-tell-you-th'
But looks. “Just saw Ted downtown.
he said very confidentially, “having a
drink again with that guy, PesdoríL."

“Relax. Everybody drinks with Pes-
Яо. Mart

пі?

“No, thanks. Just thought Га throw
this on the floor and let you walk
around it. See you at dinner."

I didn't do any walking around it.
Ted knew what he was doing, І told
myself. Bert worried too much. I just
drank my martini.

Our shooting schedule didn't improve
in the days that followed. Mike got
stoned any time the dailies went over
2000 feet. Blizzards, frostbite — we had
‘em all. Once the A-67-R capsules spilled
— on location we kept them in an empty
film tin — and we lost a whole afternoon
digging in the snow for them. I kept

seeing this calendar with the pages flut-
tering ой, faster and faster. . .

And I kept seeing Ted with Pesdorff.
For real. Finally I had to ask him,
“What's the traction?” he looked
at me oddly. І felt myself blushing.
“Well, some of the guys are talking .

"Aw, come on, Mac. Pesdorff's just
good company. He knows this country
better than the polar bears. I like to
1 him talk.”

h, sure, I know. It's just that ——”

“Besides,” he whispered, grabbing my
arm and looking furtively around the
room, “I've got a special on Pentagon
blueprints. If he buys the Giant Econ-
omy Size he gets

“OK, Boy Spy. hit the sack. Tomor-
row’s another day in the wind tunnel.”
That goddamn Bert, I thought. The
pressure was getting him.

Late the second week а miracle hap-
pened: the wind stopped. We got out
there and filmed like crazy. Scene by
scene, we began catching up. Finally,
the night of the 10th, І called a skull
session. There were only three scenes
left. “If we can knock ‘em all off to-
morrow," I said, "we'll make it under
the wire.

"By the skins of our teeth," Mikur

said.
“We finally got the cards, weather-
Bert said.

Ted had been scanning the shot list.
“This looks easy. Tomorrow ought to be
а bree: He should have known bet-

We were going great until the last
setup. It was simple: two men in a rub-
ber raft coming ashore on the ice pack.
Long shot for the approach, cut to me-
dium for the beaching. move in tight
for close-ups. Mike's assistant clacked
the sticks. "We're going for а taki
The camera hummed. Ted signaled the
men in the raft.

Then it happened. As they dug in
with their paddles, there was a heavy
Boom! across the bay and a huge wave
suddenly came sweeping toward us. A
giant iceberg had calved. The displaced
wall of water moved with incredible
speed. Someone shouted to the men in
the raft and I saw one white face turn
to look just as the wave caught them. It
shot them up on the beach like a surf-
board. The crew on shore scrambled
madly for higher ground. The gray
water curled over on top, hung there
for an instant, then smashed down оп
the beach with a crunch you could feel
in your chest. Large pieces of our equip-
ment went tumbling back to sea with it.

We all ran after it, trying to save
what we could. It was pretty hopeless.
What we finally got together looked
like the Norstadhoven city dump. We

(continued on page 80)

“Tell Sir Herbert the rescue party should reach him in three
days and ask him if there is anything else he wants immediately.”

33

34

The Holiday
Smorgashord

a festwal of food
from the land of the vikings

MORGAsnOR, as the menu of just about every Swedish
5 restaurant is eager to point out, literally means "bread-
and-butter-table" — which is like calling Conrad Hilton an
innkeeper. Bread and butter aré d, standard items of
the groaning bord, but since the time of Eric the Red and all
those other fellows with the horns on their hats, these noble
staples have been supplemented by an infinite cornucopia
of tummy-tempters. In days of old, to celebrate the return
of daylight after months of darkness, a doughty Norseman
would throw open his hall and invite his fellows to come
bearing whatever food they might garner — fish from the
icy lakes, elk from the forests, wild lecks from the rocky hills
— until the mighty tables were packed solid with a vast
variety of food. So it's hard to sce just how or when or why
this classic food fest was saddled with the strange misnomer
it now bears.

To the young male Scandinavian, smorgasbord has always
been a social proving ground. He watches the girls as they
help themselves to the smoked salmon, the herring salad
and the sprats, the brown beans, the tiny meat balls and
the smoked tongue. And he concludes, as his ancestors did,
that the one who cats with the heartiest appetite will have
a hearty appetite for life's other goodies, too.

Before planning the food for a holiday smorgasbord,
а good idea as part of your general orientation to under-
stand the Scandinavian etiquette of drinking. Generally at
a native party there are no cocktails offered before the cat-
ing begins. The conversation is somewhat restrained until
someone takes the first nibble of food, and then the skoals
begin as each person swallows the first glass of icy cold
aquavit in one gulp. Sacred to the smorgasbord tradition is
the fact that one never drinks alone. Every drink must be
a toast. It isn't necessarily а talk-toast. Usually the toast is
stimulated by a mere meeting of eyes. You catch a girl's
glance as her eyes turn toward yours and then you both lift
your glasses of aquavit and bottoms up. If you're really
smitten with the young lady, you raise the glass toward your
heart. If you're а corporal in the army, following strict
protocol, you raise the glass to the height of a certain button
on your uniform. If you're a captain or a colonel, you raise
the glass t0 the button corresponding to your exact rank.
Опе of the oldest smorgasbord traditions dictates that each
man must drink at least as many toasts as there are but-

inde

з

PHOTOGRAPHY BY SHIGETA-WRIGHT ASSOCIATES

food ву tHomas mario

PLAYBOY

tons on his jacket. As your thirst mounts
from the helpings of salty, tangy comes
tibles, you switch from aquavit to ale.
Finally, after innumerable rounds of hot
and cold foods with perhaps a wine
course served here and there, you are
offered Swedish punch. If it's homemade
Swedish punch, it may contain rum (100
proof), arrack (150 proof). straight alco-
hol (200 proof) plus a little water for
flavor. It might be noted now that the
Swedes — sensible people — аге the great-
est coffee drinkers in the world, consum-
ing even more than U.S. coffce quallers.
Just as you're leaving the party, a solicit-
ous Swede might take you aside and
caution you about the possible afteref-
fects of your festivities. Don't drink any
tea, he'll warn you solemnly, it might
make you nervous.

Smorgasbord in your own apartment
is a major project, and shouldn't be
planned for less than 10 people in view
of the serious effort that must be spent
in arranging the self-service accommo-
dations, buying the large assortment. of
luxurics and cooking the hot foods. "The
sheer animal merriment a smorgasbord
table generates more than repays all the
cflort that goes into setting it up. And
this effort can be reduced so greatly by
the incredible variety of ready-to-eat
gourmet foods now available that the
actual labor required may be encourag-
ingly small. For instance, if you want to,

you can set up a complete smorgasbord

including 20 or 25 delicacies without
preparing a single solitary food item.
АП you need із money and а can opener.
You can buy anything from Swedish
meat balls to elk steak with chestnuts,
from sliced Westphalian ham to smoked
frogs’ legs While such items can't be
found at every run-of-the-mill neighbor-
hood gesheft, they are available at spe
cialty food stores, supermarket gourmet
shelves апа Swedish del
delicatessens will supply fresh salad:
appetitizers. and will often arrange meat
on platters tied up in a cellophane rib-
bon. For large parties caterers will sup-
ly linen, silver and glassware.

THE TABLE.

Smorgasbord in restaurants is often
only the first course of the meal. For
your own party the smorgasbord table
should be the beginning, the middle and
the end of the festivities. It should be
covered with snowy white linen. ‘There
should be no large areas of unused table
space, Around the center there should
be deep bowls of salads, placed in deeper
bowls containing cracked ice. At the
neter there should be flat platters
of meat, shallow oval dishes of fish appe-
tizers, relish dishes and whopping con-
tainers for the celery hearts, scallions,
radishes and olives. Spaces between plat-
ters may be filled with ferns or any
appropriate seasonal decoration. The

pe

front of the overhanging tablecloth
should be festooned with holiday gar-
lands. Distribute napkins generously
Don't set the oval dishes right on the
tablecloth but place them оп larger
plates or platters lined with paper doil-
ies. Give your table class by using hand-
some platters for the meat, gleaming
salad bowls, a brass urn for the coffee,
bright champagne buckets for the bot-
tles of iced aquavit and colorful casser-
oles or chafing dishes for the hot foods.
While every bachelor doesn’t own a
complete table service of Royal Copen-
hagen Porcelain, there should be suffi-
cient chinaware so that cach guest has
the use of three clean plates, one for the
fish appetizers and seafood, one for the
cold їпсаїз and salads and one for the
hot foods.

Before you go smorgasbord shopping,
the following tip may be useful. At a
smorgasbord the average pcrson cats
about one-fourth or one-fifth a normal
Tull size portion of meat or seafood. For
instance, а 4ygounce can of bonito fillets
in oil would be a standard single portion
if it were served as a main course. For
your smorgasbord shindig, the same can
of bonito fillets will take care of ap-
proximately five people. Naturally this
guide isn't a stricture. Your guests may
insist on eating every last shred of ham,
and may completely avoid the wild boar
roast. For these common aberrations
there are no rules except the comforting
thought that if your guests are honestly.
hungry, they will be sufficiently adven-
turous to try the herring salad, the
smoked oysters or cven the mond
back rattlesnake. At the average home
celebration you should plan on 12 to
20 items besides small relishes.

BREAD AND BUTTER

There must be at least three different
kinds of bread, and they should be the
dark earthy types with a sweet lingering
aftertaste that invariably compels you to
come back for more and more as you
wend your way around the table. "The
breads may vary from delicate wafers of
rye and wheat as thin as paper (mostly
produced in Norway) to those huge
Swedish hardtacks called knáckebrüd,
as wide as a big hi-fi record, with a hole
in the center. À more modern version is
represented by such products as Ry-
King, crisp rectangular wafers, light and
low-caloried. Another exciting wafer
bread is Finn Crisp. It has a zestful sour
rye flavor like the best rye bread you've
ever tasted. Then there should be the
dark moist pumpernickel in which the
Danes specialize. If you're in a large
or near a Swedish bakery, you'll he able
to get the delicate limpa bread flavored
with a delightful blend of anise, orange
peel and cinnamon. The butter should
be unsalted, cut into rather generous
pats, or (if you have the time) should be

shaped into balls or curls, piled high
pyramid fashion alongside the bread
baskets.

THE HERRING FLOTILLA

The herring family (which includes
sardines, incidentally) is always the be-
ginning of the smorgasbord parade.
"There's something about the tantalizing
flavor of herring that lures the laziest,
and satisfies the sharpest, appetite. Her-
ring varies from tiny tidbits in wine
sauce to fat matjes herring bought from
the barrel. The list of herring in cream
sauce, dill sauce, lemon sauce and in oil,
the rolled herrings, Bismarck herrings
and herring salads goes on indefinitely.
You'll want the imported brisling sar-
dines, and here again the varieties are
stunning, including brisling sardines in
sherry wine, garlic sauce and dill sauce.
While the herring family dominates,
other del es of the deep should be
represented. Thinly sliced smoked salin-
оп and sliced sturgeon are usually on
hand. For gourmet palates. offer such
agnificent delicacies as smoked. oysters
or mussels, fillets of mackerel in white
wine, jellied eel and smoked cod liver.
Particularly recommended for fish fan-
ciers is the Basserman brand BlueChar
fish, put up in 7-ounce cans in wine
aspic. It should be chilled before
unmolded from the can. Finally a. big
platter or bowl of cold, freshly cooked
shrimp left in the shell will be a colorful
center of attention and will keep holi-
day hands busy and happy preparing the
shrimps for dunking in sauce.

MEAT PLATTERS

Mcat platters are revealing of one's
skill in assembling a smorgasbord table.
First of all, you shouldn't attempt to
imitate the huge decorated cuts covered
with chaud froid and aspic that one,
might sce at a hotel culinary show or on
the buffet table of an ocean liner. Nor,
on the other hand, should the meat look.
like slabs of cold cuts served at a free
lunch counter of yore. Rather, the
smorgasbord meat platter should be
gemiitlich—neat, not gaudy—and should
show real finesse in the choice of meats
offered. Take ham, for instance. In-
stead of the ordinary boiled ham, serve
g like the thinly
ian ham or genuine
Smithfield ham or one of the imported
canned hams in sherry or burgundy.
‘The thin slices should be overlapping,
decorated perhaps with a generous
bunch of watercress at each end of the
platter. Or, the ham slices might be
rolled cornucopia fashion, filled with a
mustardy cole slaw or filled with water-
cress, and neatly lined up on the platter
for сазу serving. Most of the meats at a
smorgasbord are smoked. Swedish salami,
the type without garlic, should be sliced

(concluded on page 78)

jazz By LEONARD FEATHER

ELLA MEETS THE DUKE

a session with two of jazzdom's all-time greats

Todays World of Jazz is fat and sassy.
So great is the embarrassment of riches
served up in night spots, at concerts, on.
LPs, that the good performance is re-
jected as commonplace, the exceptional
as merely acceptable. Rarely, then, does
an event take place that can boost the
pulse-beat of the jaded jazzophile. But
such an event is the current release of
Verve's “Ella Fitzgerald Sings the Duke
Ellington Song Book,” а four-platter
package that brings together — јот the
first time — tuo ој jazzdom's greatest
talents.

If one all-round genius of jazz could
be singled out, that man would be Duke
Ellington. For more than 30 years, no
other figure has come close to matching
d bbs composer, conductor and
arranger. No other figure has caused so
much lasting excitement throughout the
ups and downs of Dixie, swing, bop and
cool. No other figure can boast his stun-
ning string of infectious jaz hits. No
other figure has influenced the entire
jazz scene more than the Duke.

And if one all-round queen of jaz
vocalists could be chosen, it would have
to be Ella Fitzgerald. Нет victory in the
femme vocalist division of the first
rLAvmoY poll came as по surprise, far
Ella has been copping top honors in
polls continuously for the past 20 years.

That such jazz royalty should merge
on LPs is as logical as serving caviar with
champagne. Over two dozen of Elling-
ton’s finest songs are included. Ella sings
some and scats on others, using her
inimitable voice as a musical instru-
ment. The Duke's full band accompanies
Ella on a number of the pieces: on oth-
ers, she warbles his elegies in the int
mate зецтр ој an all-star sextet,
featuring Ben Webster and Stuff Smith.
The LP package also includes am ele-
gant Ellington instrumental salute, “Por-
trait of Ella," composed especially for
the album.

During the series of recording sessions
necessary to produce the four LPs, per-
fectionist Ellington was heard to com-
plain that this had turned into one of
the most demanding tasks of his life.
“With Ella up front,” Duke declared,
poe до! to play better than your
best.”

One could find no more fitting time to
tell the stovies of these two jazz immor-
tals and you will find intimate word pic-
tures of both beginning on this spread.

THE DUKE EDWARD KENNEDY

ELLINGTON knows
he is a great man. His denials, if and
when they are made. are made in the
full knowledge that a great man must
include modesty among his self-evident
characteristics.

What Duke Ellington knows, and has
gladly accepted for three decades, is
that his peer has yet to be found among.
jazz composers, arrangers and conduc-
tors. Cushioned by this knowledge, lulled
by it into a permanent state of emo.
tional ease, Ellington drifts through his
daily life as though in a dream —in a
world where such unpleasant realities
as box-office failures, moochers, swin-
dlers, Jim Crow, junkies and the need
to meet deadlines simply do not exist.
When one of these problems touches
him he will shrug it off, look the other
way or simply convince himself that the
incident happened to somebody else.

Вапу Ulanov, im his book Duke
Ellington, made it clear that the Duke's
self-confidence is not of recent origin.
"When he was late іп getting up for
school, his mother or his Aunt Florence
would shake him and push him and rush
him out of bed into his clothes. Опсе
dressed, Dukes tempo would change.
He would come downstairs slowly, with
an elegance. At the foot of the stairs he
would stop and call to his mother and
his aunt.

“бапа over there, he would direct,
pointing to the wall. ‘Now, he would
say. ‘listen. This” he would say slowly.
with very careful articulation, “іх the
great, the grand, the magnificent Duke
Ellington. Т he would bow. Look-
ing up at his mother and aunt,
he would add, “Now applaud, applaud’
And then he would run off to school,

"The great, the grand, the magnificent
Duke Ellington has been on display be-
fore a world-wide audience for some 30
years. Most experts place the starting
point of fame at Dec. 4, 1927, the night
the Ellington orchestra, augmented a
few months carlicr to the healthy com-
plement of 10, opened at the Cotton
Club, which was to Negro show business

(continued on page 68)

Top: during the recording session at Verve,
Duke ponders a run-through chorus of
Toke the “A” Troin, while side-kick Billy
Strayhorn shouts for more guts from the
brass. Right: Strayhorn, Verve prexy Nor-
man Granz and the Duke talk over timing
problems on the four- LP package.
Lower right: long-time Ellington sax stor
Johnny Hodges takes ten between takes.

Below: Duke jokes with Ella during break
in rehearsal of Don't Get Around Much
Anymore; Dizzy Gillespie, the man with
the upswept horn, dropped by to dig the
sounds, stayed to wail on pax behind
Ello. Left: Miss Fitzgerald listens dreamily
to strains of Ellington's Sophisticated Lady.

ELLA THEEVENING oF JULY 20, 1957,

was perfect for a concert un-

der the stars. The audience of 16,500 at

the Hollywood Bowl, still cheering,

loosed a fresh burst of applause as the

-built girl returned to the

Frank DeVol gave the cue as 102

musicians, most of them members of the
Los Angeles Ph cruised

the introduction of а new, mambo-style
arrangement of A-Tisket A-Tasket.

On the basis of 750 shows a year for
close to 20 years, this was approximately
the 15,000th time Ella Fitzgerald had
sung her first and best known hit, but
tonight a symbolic significance had at-
tached itself to the performance: Ella
was the only attraction at the Bowl. In
the words of the TV quizmasters, she
had reached a new plateau.

En route from the Lafayette Theatre,
in Harlem, where she had been booed
off the stage at an amateur night ap-
pearance 28 years earlier, she had
traveled slowly and inexorably upward
through three professional phases. First:

5 a member of the Chick Webb band
warbling inane pops and novelty num-
bers. Then: as а solo attraction, moving
up from the smokier and more obscure
bistros to concert tours that brought her
before enraptured crowds throughout
Europe, Japan and Aus And third:
as a star of the smarter supper clubs, а
solo concert re ist, and a bi
record artist purveying the intelligent
music of Cole Porter, Rodgers and. Hart,
and Duke Ellington.

а life will never be made into a
томе. The worlds of alcoholism, dope

and kindred vices stepping
to the bestseller lists and Holly-
wide-screen — are utterly
хеп the fable tha

пе, is untrue. Neverthe-
, the graph of her progress reveals
that the Hollywood Bowl must have
far out of reach

ically as it was geographically.

а Fitzgerald was born Ella
gerald in Newport News, Уа, April 25,
1918. She never knew her real father or

PLAYBOY

her native town; moving north as a
child, she lived in Yonkers with -her
mother and stepfather. During her
childhood years, she spent much time
shuttling back and forth between her
mother and an aunt, Mrs. Virginia
Williams.

Despite her early undernourished
appearance, Ella was a healthy kid who
loved to dance and sing. During lunch
hours at junior high, she would sneak
off with a couple of friends to catch
Dolly Dawn at a theatre with George
Hall's orchestra, and at night she would
flip over the Boswell Sisters on the radio;

Connee Boswell soon became her
favorite.

"Everybody in Yonkers thought І was
а good dancer," Ella says “1 really

wanted to be a dancer, not a singer. One
day two girlfriends and 1 made а bet —
a dare. We all wanted to get on the
stage, and we drew straws to see which
of us would go on the amateur hour. І
drew the short straw, and that's how І
got started winning all these shows.”

Ella's first appearance, at the Apollo,
won her a prive. "Benny Carter saw the
show and told John Hammond about
me; they took me up to Fletcher Hend-
erson's house, but І guess they weren't
too impressed when I sang for Fletcher,
because he said ‘don’t call me, ГИ call
ევერ

The round of amateur hours con-
tinued, and word leaked downtown to
the CBS offices, where there was talk of
putting Ella on a show with Arthur
‘Tracy, The Street Singer. After the audi-
tion а contract was drawn up, and Ella
was promised she would get a “build-up
like Connee Boswell,” an assurance tan-
tamount to a guarantee that a fledgling
heavyweight was to be groomed as the
next Joe Louis. The bubble burst
denly when Ella's mother died, leaving
her orphaned, a minor, with nobody to
accept legal responsibilities for her.

A week or two later, forced to resume
the weary amateur hour routine in the
hope of making a buck, Ella lost а con-
tet for the first—and last— time.
Dressed in black, she tried to sing Lost
in а Fog. ("The pianist didn't know the
chord changes and I really did get lost.
Ella ran off stage bawling to the ас
companiment of boos. Her long-d
professional debut took place soon
afterward — a week's work at the Har-
lem Opera House for 550.

"Tiny Bradshaw's band was on that
Ella remembers. “They put me
on right at the end, when everybody
had on their coats and was getting ready
to leave. Tiny said, “Ladies and genue-
men, here is the young girl that's been
winning all the contests, and they all
came back and took their coats off апа
sat down again."

The orchestra scheduled to follow
Bradshaw's was that of Chick Webb, a

drummer from Baltimore who, frail and
humpbacked and barely literate, had
risen magnificently above these handi-
caps to form one of the greatest bands
of the day. Though primed by Benny
Carter and by Bardu Ali, a wandwaver
who fronted the Webb group, Chick
resolutely refused to add to his vocal
entourage, which consisted of a male
ballad singer. “He didn't want no girl
singer, so they hid me in his dressing
room and forced him to listen to me"
Ella recalls.

"I only knew three songs: Judy, The
Object of My Affection and. Believe It
Beloved. 1 knew them all from Соппее
Boswell. I sang all three of them. Chick
still wasn't convinced, but he said, ‘OK,
we'll take her on the. one-nighter to
Yale tomorrow.’ Tiny Bradshaw and
the chorus girls had all kicked in to buy
me a gown. The kids at Yale seemed to
like me, so Chick said he'd give me a
week's uyout with the band at the
Savoy Ballroom."

“The first time she came to my office,
says Moe Gale, who was Webb's man-
ager, "she looked incredible. Her hair
disheveled, her clothes just terrible. I
said to Chick, “Му God, what can you
do with this girl?" Chick answered, ‘Mr.
Gale, you'd be surprised what a beauty
parlor and some makeup and mice
clothes can do.

They did a lot, but they couldn't
produce a Cinderella overnight. Edgar
Sampson, saxophonist and arranger with
Webb, recalls: "We all kidded her. It
would always be ‘Hey, Sis, where'd you
get those clothes?’ We all called her
Sis. And ‘Sis, what's with that hairdo?’
But she always took it in good spirits."

Ella was still slim during her first
months with the band, despite her fond-
ness for southern cooking. While the
Lindy Hoppers at Harlem's famous
Savoy grew familiar with Fitzgerald in
person, her voice alone was slowly be-
coming known to radio listeners every-
where as the band broadcast late-night
remotes. Eventually, Ella's fame forced
Chick to include her in a record date
for Decca.

“ГІІ never forget it; the record was
Love and Ki: After we made it the
band was in Philadelphia one night
when they wouldn't let me in at some
beer garden where I wanted to hear it
იი the piccolo (jukebox). So І had some
fellow who was over 21 go in and put
a nickel in while І stood outside and
listened to my own voice coming out.
hings went so good that by the fall
of '36 Benny Goodman had me make
some records with the band for Victor.
But Chick was under contract to Decca
and they made them call the records
back in.” (There were three tunes, all
rare collectors’ items today.)

Ellas reputation had spread so far
and fast that by 1937 she won her first

Down Beat poll, sharing the vocal vic-
tory honors with Bing Crosby. It was
pride rather than southern cooking that
swelled her when Jimmie Lunceford,
whose band she revered, offered her a
job at $75 a week. Though he later re-
tracted the bid out of respect for Webb,
it did enable Ella to get another raise.
Her salary crept up to $50 and before
long was to reach $125.

‘This was the 52nd Street era. Jazz
clubs spread like crazy, and the catch
phrase "swing music" was on every-
body's lips. Anybody who could “swing,
brother, swing," was in great demand.
Stuff Smith tried it on the fiddle, Artie
Shaw had a whole string section in his
band, and Maxine Sullivan, showing
Onyx Club audiences how to swing a
folk song. was the new national rage as
the Loch Lomond lady.

If you could swing a folk song, mused
Ella, why not extend the concept? One
day the band was at a rehearsal in Bos-
ton when Van Alexander, who was do-
ing some of the vocal arrangements,
heard her fooling around with an old
children’s ditty.

“Hey, why don’t we get together and
add some lyrics and a middle part?” he
suggested.

So they nursed it, rehearsed it, and
gave out the news that the Webb band
had given birth to — A-Tisket A-Tasket.
А couple of months later, the band, with
Ella handling the vocal, cut the tune
for Decca. It was a smash. “If they'd
been giving out gold records in those
days I imagine we'd have gotten one,"
says Ella.

'The Webb band and Ella flew high
with their hit records. They played the
Park Central Hotel, as well as two dates
at the Paramount Theatre. But Chick's
health deteriorated rapidly: Бе had
tuberculosis of the spine and it was a
miracle that he could summon enough
stamina even to sit behind his drums.

After the band played a riverboat out-
side Washington, he was rushed to Johns
Hopkins for an operation. Chick's
amazing will to live carried him through
a whole week, then the pain-wracked
little giant looked around at friends апа
relatives, had his mother lift
said, "Im sorry—I gotta ро!
passed. away.

All who remember agree that Ella's
voice will never surpass the poignant
beauty it achieved when she sang at
Chick's funeral. “There were thousands
of people," says Moe Gale. "It was thc
biggest funeral 1 had ever seen — and 1
know there wasn't a dry eye when Ella
sang."
ife began again when Gale decided
the band should keep going, using
Chiks name but with Ella fronting
and one of the saxophonists as musical
director. There were more tours and

(continued overleaf)

Playboy's Christmas Tree

doings for den, desk and dining

Top row: a classic lounging robe of foulard tie silk, $28.50. Second row: a two-
tiered desk tray in Narra mahogany with woven rattan bottoms, $15; Georges Briard
brass coffee or beverage urn with teak handle, brass stand, tray and warmer, glass
compartment inside urn holds ice to keep cocktails frosty but not diluted, $40.
Third row: wall barometer, made in Germany, encased in black or brawn saddle
leather, $35; freeform sculptured letter openers, 82 cach, or salad servers, $3.50 a
pair, in a choice of teak, elm, persimmon, ebony, rosewood or mahogany, each one
distinctively designed by 5. Oamine; Gense Focus pattern Swedish stainless steel
flatware with black nylon handles, five-piece place setting, $19.50. Bottom row:
leather desk accessories including blotter rimmed in white-stitched black leather,
$30, combination desk pen and holder, $20, scissors and letter opener in case, $17.50;
Elgin-American cigarette lighters including golfer’s model with etched hag and
clubs, $9.95, alligator-covered table lighter, $17.50, Grecian Key table lighter,
$14.95, and Elginite Lite-Pack with space for 20 king-sized cigarettes, $9.95.

PLAYBOY

42

ELLA

records and Ella won her third straight
Down Beat victory.

When the band hit Los Angeles,
some of its members were invited to
сага an extra $6 by playing ап occa-
sional jam session run informally at a
night club by a tall, intense young man
named Norman Granz. “Sure, he used
my musicians but he didn’t want me; he
just didn’t dig me,” smiles Ella today.
("І never used Nat Cole either,” admits
Granz)

The bandleading era was not one of
the happier Fitzgerald phases. Ella con-
tracted a marriage that was a mistake
from the start and was ultimately re-
solved by an annulment. Meanwhile the
draft had wrought havoc with the band's
personnel, and Ella's career as a band-
leader was over: Gale teamed her with
a vocalinstrumental group, the Four
Keys, a union that produced one big hit
record, All І Need Is You. until the
Keys got drafted themselves. Ella joined
forces with a series of road shows.

The jazz revolution engineered Бу
bop never fazed her: she had Gillespie
in her band for a while in 1941 and her
keen ear grasped the harmonic intricacies
of the new style well enough to enable
her to incorporate it in а series of word-
less performances known alternately as
scat singing or bop singing. Flyin’ Home
in 46, Lady Be Good in “47 and a series
of follow-ups established her with the
same addicts who combed the record
shops for the latest Diz and Bird
platters.

An early member of the bop clique
was a young bassist from Pittsburgh, Ray
Brown, who, after a long apprenticeship
in Gillespie's combo, began to play
dates with Norman Granz, who by now
had moved out of the night clubs into
the comparatively open air of the con-
cert hall. Ella's interest in this new kind
iusic began to focus on Mr. Brown.
at a "Jazz at the Philhar-
" concert, Ella was spotted in the
audience and asked to do а number by
her admiring fans. Granz grudgingly
consented and Ella knocked everybody
ош —induding Granz. A contract was
offered then and there. She married
Ray Brown that same ycar, 1948.

Once aboard the Granzwagon, Ella's
prestige gained momentum. For,a dec-
ade she has been a regular member of
his unit, though to Granz's regret ће
had to excise her vocal segments from
records of his concerts because her
Decca contract was still in force. Not
until 1955, when he was able to nego
te а release, did Granz snare her for
his own Verve label. Moving fast, he
teamed her with Louis Armstrong on an
LP. gave her a flock of Cole Porter songs
for another, followed it up with Rodgers
and Hart, and kept her constantly on

(continued from page 40)

the best-seller lists.

The mutual trust and admiration
kindled between Ella and Granz eventu-
ally cast him, a couple of years ago, in
the role of personal manager. Their
business alliance has proved more dura-
ble than the marital tie with Brown,
which ended in 1952 in divorce.

Granz aims to have Ella work only
cight months a year and take it easy the
rest of the time; but she thrives on
travel, on the company of musicians and
on the applause of audiences from con-
tinent to continent.

Never able to conceive of herself as
someone famous and talented, Ella is
constantly amazed at her reputation.
‘There are по anecdotes concerning her
encounters with celebrities because, not
considering herself their peer, she
shuns them. Newspapermen often
wrongly attribute to haughtiness the re-
served, seemingly uncooperative manner
with which she reluctantly confronts
them.

“You will never meet a star more com-
pletely un-publicity-conscious than Ella,
observes her harassed press agent, Vir-
ginia Wicks. “She can come over to the
house and we'll exchange small talk and
she’s just as sweet and charming as can
be. Then III gingerly try to ease the
conversation around to, say, a Life or
Tine man that wants to see her and
her face will fall and she'll stomp her
foot and say, ‘Gosh darn it, Virginia, І
can't do it—I have to go shopping!
And she'll stay crotchety, but finally,
very reluctantly, she may say, ‘Oh, all
right " When Ella is sulky, her manner
and expression are identical with those
of the little girl she becomes in the
song when, in answer to the line “Was
it green?” she pouts and answers, “No,
по, по, no!"

Ella's other bêle n. is the camera-
man, especially the type whose flash bulb
tactfully explodes during the more ten-
der syllables of a love song. “That's
the one thing that can drive her crazy
at concerts,” Granz says, "that and
nervousness. 1 have yet to see her do з
show when she isn't nervous. We сап
be at an afternoon concert playing to a
small house in Mannheim, German:
the fifth week of a tour, doing the same
show she's done every day, and she'll
come backstage afterward and say, ‘Gee,
do you think I did all right? І was so
scared out there."

"She and I have no contract," Granz
adds, "just a handshake, and we can
afford the luxury of telling cach other
off. On the last tour in Italy we had
a terrible flareup. It was in Milan;
she didit sing April in Paris, her big
hit record there; instead she let the
audience shout her into Lady Be Good.
When she came off I yelled and she

yelled and we didn't speak for three
days.”

The views of Ella's managers and
fans alike concerning what songs are
best for her were in violent conflict for
many years. Always a frustrated ballad
singer, she burst into tears when Chick
Webb (“Не didn't think 1 was ready to
sing ballads") assigned to the band’s
male vocalist a tune that had been spe-
cially arranged for Ella.

“She was temperamental about what
she sang,” says Tim Gale, Moe's brother,
whose booking agency handled Ella for
many years. "However, she would sing
anything if her advisors were insistent.
One of her records was a thing called
Happiness. She cut it under protest; І
brought the dub backstage to her at the
Paramount, and she said ‘It’s a shame.
A corny performance of a corny song.’
It turned out to be one of her biggest
sellers.

“She once played a club in Omaha
when Frankie Laine’s Mule Train was a
tremendous hit. One of the biggest
spenders in Omaha came іп constantly
and demanded that she sing it. She kept
ducking it until finally the club boss
begged her to please the money guy.
Ella said to herself ‘I'll sing it in such a
way that he'll never ask for it again,’
and proceeded to do a burlesque so
tremendous that on leaving town she
kept it in the act and scored riotously
with it everywhere — even at Bop City."

Granzs first move on assuming the
managerial reins was to steer Ella away
from the jazz joints and into the class
dubs. Skeptical at first, Ella gradually
took to the new, plush environments
when she found that an audience at the
Fairmont in San Francisco or the Copa
in New York was as susceptible to dir
Mail Special апа Tenderly as the bunch
at Birdland.

The quantity of Ella's performances
has caused more disagreements than the
quality. “I'll ask her to do two ballads
in a row, to sct a mood,” says Granz,
“but some kid in the back will yell
How High the Moon and off she'll go.
Or ГИ say І want her to do cight tunes
and shell say "Don't you think thats
too many? Let's make it six.’ And she'll
go out there and do the six and then if
the audience wants 50 she'll stay for
44 more. It’s part of her whole ap-
proach to life. She just loves to sing."

"Every tour | ever made with her
convinced me that singing is her whole
life," says guitarist Barney Kessel. "I
remember once in Genoa, Italy, we sat
down to cat and the restaurant was
empty except for Lester Young and his
wife and Ella and me. So while we
waited to give our breakfast order I
pulled out my guitar and she and Lester
started making up fabulous things on
the blues.

(concluded on page 68)

SMALL TOWN PLAYMATE

ve foot two, eyes of green:
five fi eyes of g

a rural cutie named marlene

PHOTOGRAPHY BY VIVIENNE LAPHAM

GREEN OF EYF, еп of hair and few of
years is the Callahan colleen, Marlene,
who resides far from the madding crowd
in one of America’s typical small towns.
There, wholesome and healthy, aglow
with vitamins and brimming with bu-
colic bounce, five-foot-two Marlene pur-
sues happiness in her own unhurried
way—a set of tennis with Tom, a scat
at a basketball game with Dick, an eve-
ning at the phonograph with Harry,
spinning Sinatra and Stravinsky, Nat
Cole and Nathan Milstein, She's even
been known to imbibe one-half of an ice
cream soda via the two-straw method, a
fine old rustic device for getting two

MISS NOVEMBER „აითი pravymare oF me month

people together. This

all very well,
can't help but be reminded of

s of Full

many a flower is born to blush unseen,
And waste its sweetness on the desert
ir.” Though Marlene is not exactly un-

seen or wasted, we did feel her blushes
deserved a somewhat larger circle of ad-
mirers, so we asked her (as our brows
bumped over the soda) if she would
please be our Playmate for November.
Aren't you kind of happy that we did?

PLAYBOY’S PARTY JOKES

A cute young secretary we know enjoys

clling everyone that her boss takes great
sure in grabbing her by the knee.
“But yesterday," she cooed at us over
dry martinis, “he reached a new high."

Do you cheat on your wife?” asked the
y y
psychiatrist.

"Who else:

answered the patient.

The father, passing through his son's
college town late one evening on a busi-
ncs trip, thought he would pay his boy
a surprise visit. Arriving at the lad's
fraternity house, dad rapped loudly on
the door. After several minutes of knock-
ing, a sleepy voice drifted down from a
second floor window, "Waddyah want?”
“Does Ramsey Duncan live here?”
asked. the father.
“Yeah,” replied the voice.
him on the front porch.”

Girls who Iook good in the best places
usually get taken there,

“Dump

W omen who insist on wearing the pants
frequently discover that it is other wo-
men who are wearing the chinchilla.

Bins sister was one of the most popu-
lar girls in Manhattan, She had more
boyfriends than she knew what to do
with and she never wanted for a thing.
Bill was an impecunious musician,
in debt and constantly asking his
sister for spending money.

"I don't understand you, Bill,” she
said in obvious annoyance one afternoon
when he had wied to put the bite on
her for a 10 spot. “І don't have any

trouble saving money, so why should
you?”

“Sure, sure,” he said, “but you've got
money coming in all the time from the
very thing that's keeping me broke.”

Our Unabashed Dictionary defines а
metallurgist as a man who can look at a
platinum blonde and tell whether she is
virgin metal or a common ore.

Love of my life,” said the enraptured
husband, “your beauty is such that it
should be captured in the nude by the
finest sculptor in the world.”

Two gentlemen passing by the hotel
room happened to overhear the conversa-
tion, paused for a moment, then rapped
on the door.

“Who's there?” asked the husband.

“Two sculptors from New York,” came
the answer.

We've just heard about the old maid
who sued a Miami Beach hotel for
cruelty. Seems they gave her a room
between two honeymooning couples.

sh to divorce my husband,” said
the dish.

“Оп what grounds?" the lawyer asked.

“Infidelity,” came the reply. “I don't
think my husband bas been faithful
to me.

“What makes you think that?”
Well,” said the dame, “I don't think
he’s the father of my child.”

If Dorothy Parker will forgive us, it is
our observation that men often make
pases at girls who drain glasses.

Heard any good ones lately? Send your
favorites to Party Jokes Editor, PLAYBOY,
232 E. Ohio Si, Chicago 11, Ill., and
earn an casy five dollars for each joke
used. In case of duplicates, payment goes
to first received. Jokes cannot be returned.

"Im almost sorry І posed for it. It's rather
difficult to live up to now.”

S^" wire, Mary, had been carrying
on rather brazenly with another man
(call him Joe) for some time. She was
sure Sam didn't suspect, because (she
reasoned) she had never betrayed ћег-
sel. You see, Sam was a man of rigidly
regular habits: he was home during cer-
tain hours, at his office during certain
hours, at his club on certain nights—
and from this regimen he never
wavered. You know the type. This was
very convenient for Mary, but even so,
she took no chances. Though she had
provided Joe with a timetable of her
husband's comings and goings, admon-
ishing him ncver to phone her except
when the coast was clear, she was care-
ful to add, just in case, that should Joe
ever phone and be greeted by a man's
voice, he must pretend he'd got a wrong
number. That is, Joe was to make up
an apocryphal number and ask if this
was that one. None of that shoddy ILA-
Man-Answers-Hang-Up stuff for her.

This proved to be а wise precaution,
for one morning, the usually sound-as-a-
dollar Sam said he wasn't feeling so
good, a touch of the flu maybe, and
would stay home in bed all day.

H:S AND RALPH were married to
each other. Marvin and Judith
weren't married to anybody at all and
didn't particularly want to be.

Let us begin with Helen and Marvin.
Unmarried Marvin was a man of no
mean wealth — а giver of fabulous gifts.
Married Helen was a giddy little female
with morals approximately those of an
alley cat. They were very happy to-
gether, for a while, in their extra-
marital way. Marvin surprised her on
one of her birthdays by giving her an
ermine jacket that cost him five or six
thousand. dollars. Nothing but the best.
Helen wept when she felt that fur
around her shoulders, wept with a joy
that was pure and beautiful.

But after she'd got her wits about
her again, it occurred to her that she
couldn't possibly take the thing home

_with her, lovely and divine though it
was. No story she could possibly tell hus-
band Ralph would be adequate.
Finally, between them, Helen and Mar-
vin devised a scheme: she would deposit
the jacket in a locker at the railway
station, take the key home and tell
Ralph she'd found the key on the street,
And she'd suggest that he go by and see

When the phone rang, with Sam in
bed in the bedroom and Mary seated
there before him in a chair, Mary
darted forward, but the extension was
right at Sam's elbow on a bedside table,
and, with speed surprising for a sick
man, he picked it up and said hello.

A man’s voice, after an instant of
hesitation, asked if this was Chester
3-0912.

"Yes," Sam replied.

The voice hesitated again, and then
asked, “Is this the Gibraltar Life In-
surance Company?”

“Yes,” Sam said.

This time, Sam heard a sharp intake
of breath. Then the caller asked, in a
rather strained voice, “Is Mr. Smith
there?”

“Smith speaking,” Sam said, cool as
could be.

The caller hung up, rather abruptly.
Sam put the phone down and returned
to his magazine. Mary had stood
through the entire performance, and
now she seemed to break in the middle.
She slumped down into her chair.

“Wrong number,” Sam told her, with-
out glancing up from his reading.

three modern, metropolitan folk tales

what the locker contained. Perhaps it
would be something quite valuable.

The next morning, Ralph took the
key and repaired to the station. He
walked as casually as he could to the
locker and opened it. He took out the
box and went to the men's room and
into one of those dime booths and
opened his prize. You can imagine his
amazement upon discovering in the box
an ermine jacket. He closed the box
and stepped out and looked around,
and bent down and looked beneath the
doors of the other booths. The place
was completely empty. He walked ош,
the box beneath his arm, and hailed a
taxi. He gave the address of a Park
Avenue apartment house.

Some time later, he returned to home
and Helen, a box іп his hand. It was a
smaller box than the one he had car-
ried before and he had found it not in
a locker but in a drugstore. “Here,
dcar," he said, "this is what was in the
locker." Helen fainted dead away and
Ralph was left holding the box of
chocolate creams in outstretched hand.

Judith, who lived оп Park Avenuc,
just loved her new ermine.

By HOKE NORRIS

CITY
FABLES

Fables, traditionally, are little moral
tales; but lime changes all things, and
in our own time, among the complex
denizens of urban communities, a new
hind of fable has been going the rounds:
a kind of amoral — от even immoral —
tale, usually involving infidelity. You
have undoubtedly heard, and told, some
of them yourself; others may have es.
caped your attention. Here are three of
the best, collected and retold by Mr.
Hoke Norris, newspaperman, author of
the book “All the Kingdoms of Earth,”
апа recipient of a 1957 “best creative
writing” citation from the Society of
Midland Authors. Says Norris: "I got
the fables from men who swore they
were true. Not that they personally
knew the principal actors, you under-
stand, but the fellow who told them
said the fellow who told him...” Thus
are all fables, moral or otherwise, born
and propagated.

RED AND EVELYN married happily and

lived ever alter, to tamper with the
usual phrase a bit. They presented as
compatible a facade to the world as any
couple does. They seemed attentive to
each other in normal social intercourse
and solicitous if one or the other wi
ill or encountered a difficulty. Their
arguments were not violent and were
decently spaced in time.

Fred had a growing business that
made them prosperous members of one
of the better exurbs. Yer this business
made its demands, of course, Fred be-
gan calling Evelyn and telling her he
wouldn't be home for dinner. Several
times he told her he'd be working late.
On one occasion he announced that he
wouldn't be working at all, he'd be tak-
ing his beautiful secretary out to din-
ner. Evelyn gasped, and then laughed.
“Oh, you big kidder,” she said, and he
laughed, too.

And so it continued. Sometimes Fred
would tell Evelyn he was working,
sometimes he'd tell her he was taking
his secretary out for the evening. And
Evelyn would laugh, and he'd assure
her that he wasn't kidding at all, and
Evelyn would laugh some more. It
excessively jolly.

It wasn’t long before Fred added
trips out of town to his absences from

home. Sometimes he'd tell Evclyn he
was leaving on business. Sometimes he'd
tell her he was taking his beautiful
secretary on a pleasure trip, and they'd
have quite a laugh. And eventually
Evelyn began originating the jest her-
self, interrupting Fred to say, “And it’s
that secretary again, I suppose.” Some-
times he'd say yes, and sometimes he'd
say no.

So it went, and so it might haye con-
tinued if Evelyn hadn't asked Fred for
а new car. Fred told her they couldn't
possibly afford one, that he'd lost $2000
on the horses just the week before, and
$1000 the week before that.

Evelyn was horrified at first, but she
studied her husband, and finally she
laughed. “Oh, Fred,” she said, “you're
kidding again.” Nothing would con-
vince her he wasn’t kidding, until he
got his check stubs and showed ћег—
two stubs totaling 33000, and farther
back, several for smaller amounts. Eve-
lyn sobered considerably, and there was
no more talk of a new car. The air was,
in fact, rather chilly throughout the
house.

The next time Fred called and an-
nounced that he was taking his sccre-
tary out for the evening, there was a
hollow note in Evelyn's laughter.

PLAYBOY

52

THE DEADLY WILL

to ordinary passenger cars, it was noth-
ing of the kind. It was a stripped-down,
tight sprung, lowered, finely-tuned, bal-
anced savage, a wild beast with а fighter's
heart and a fighter's instincts. On the
highway, it was a wolf among lambs;
and it was only on the track that it felt
free and happy and at home.

The Chevy was like Buck Larsen
himself, and Buck sensed this. The two
of them had been through a lot together.
They had come too close too many times.
But they were alive, somehow, both of
them, now, and they were together, and
maybe they were ugly and old and not as
fast as the new jobs, but they knew some
things, by God, they knew some tricks
the hot-dogs would never find out.

Buck glanced at the tires, nodded, апа
went into thc hotcl. He left a call for
5:30. The old man at the dcsk said ће
wouldn't fail. Buck went to his room,
which was small and hot but only cost
him three dollars, and what can you
expect for that?

He listened to the rain and told it,
Look. I'll find second or third tomorrow,
you can't мор me, I'm sorry. A man's
got to cat.

He switched off the light and fell into
a dark black sleep.

When he awoke, he went to the win-
dow and saw that the rain had stopped;
but it had stopped within the hour, and
so it didn’t matter. He went out and
found a place that was open and ate a
light breakfast of toast and coffee.

Then he drove the Chevy the 13
miles out of town to the Soltan track.
It sat in the middle of a field that would
normally have been dusty but now was
like a river bank, the surface slimy with
black mud. The tra elf was like
most others: a fence of gray. rotting
boards; а cre

and a narrow oval of wet dirt. А big
roller was busily tamping it down, but
this would do no good. А few ћог qua
fying laps and the mud would loosen.
One short heat and it would be a lake
again.

Dawn had just broken, and the gray
light washed over the sky. It was quiet,
the roller making по sound on the dirt,
the man behind the roller silent and
tired. It was cold, too, but Buck stripped
olf his cloth jacket. He got his tools out
of the trunk and laid them on the
ground. He removed the car's mufflers
first; then, methodically, jacked up the
rear end, took off the back left tire and
examined it. He checked it for pressure,
fitted it back onto the wheel and did
the same with the other tires. Then he
checked the wheels. Then the brake

Soon more cars arrived, and та while
the pits were full. When Buck had fin-

(continued from page 22)

ished with the Chevy, when he was as
sure as he could eyer be that it was right
and ready to go, he wiped his big hands
оп an oily rag and took a look at the
competition.

It was going to be rougher than he'd
thought. There were two brand new
supercharged Fords, а 1957 fucl-injection
Chevrolet, three Dodge D-500s, and a
hot-looking Plymouth Fury. The remain-
ing automobiles were more standard, зсу-
ста! of them crash jobs, almost jalopies,
the sides and tops pounded out crudely.

Nineteen, in all.

And I've got to beat at least 17 of
them, Buck thought. He walked over to
a new Pontiac and looked inside. It was
а meek job, real meek. But you can't
tell. He examined the name printed on
the side of the car: Tommy Linden.

Nobody. Buck put the rag away, re
turned to the Chevy. Several hours had
passed, and soon it would be 12 o'clock,
qualifying time. Неа better get some
тем.

He lay down оп a canvas tarpaulin
and was about to close his eyes, when he
saw a young r walking up to the
Pontiac, They apparently hadn't heard
of the No Females Allowed rule in Sol-
tan, for a girl was with him. She was
young, too; maybe 21, 22. And not hard
and mannish, like most of them, but soft
and light and clean. Some girls always
stay clean, Buck thought. No matter
what they do, where they are. If Anna-
Lee had been more that way (or even a
пије) maybe he'd of stuck with her. But
she was a dog. Why the hell do you
ату a damn sloppy broad like that in

first place? God. He looked at the
girl and thought of his ex-wife, then
focused on the kid. Twenty-five. Hand-
some, brawny: he thinks he's got a lot,
that one. You can usually tell. Look at
his eyes.

Buck half-dozed until a loudspeaker
announced time for qualifying: he sat
up then and listened to the order of the
numbers. Twenty-two, first. Ninety-one,
second. Seven. third.

He was ninth.

People started running around in the
pits; customers drifted up into the grand-
er blared: then number
22, a yellow Ford. rolled up to the line.

It roared away at the drop of the flag.

Others followed.

When he was called, Buck patted the
Chevy, listened to it. and grunted. The
track was getting chewed up, but it was
still possible to get around quickest time.
He cased off the mark slowly as the
flag dropped, got up some steam on the
backstretch and came thundering across
the line with his foot planted. He grazed
the south wall slightly on his second
wy, but it was nothing, only а scratch.

He went to the pits and removed his
helmet іп time to hear the announcer's
yoice: “Car number six, driven by Buck
Larsen — 26:15.”

The crowd murmured approval. Buck
decided it would be a decent gate and
settled down again. The Fury went
through at something over 26:15.

‘Then it was the Pontiac's turi
“Car number 14, driven by Tommy
Linden, up.”

‘The gray car's pipes growled savagely
as it rolled out. The track was bad,
now. Really bad. Buck felt better: he
had second starting position sewed up.
No one could drop a hell of a lot off
of 26:15 in this soup.

The Pontiac accelerated so hard at
take-off 0 the rear almost slewed
around. Easy, 14, Buck thought. Easy.
III impress the little girl but your
ахі be at the end of the pack.

Number 14 came through the last
turn almost sideways, straightened, and
screamed across the line. It stuck high
on the track, near the wall, at сусту
curve. Buck saw the 5 face as he
went by. It was unsmiling. The eyes
were fixed straight ahead.

‘Then it was over, and the loudspeaker
roared: “Tommy Linden, number 14,
turns it in 26:13!

Buck frowned. The other super-
charged Ford would probably make it
under 26. Sure it would, with that
torque.

The kid crawled out of the Pontiac
but before he could get his helmet off,
the girl in the pink dress jumped from
the stack of tires and began to pull awk-
wardly at the strap. The kid grinned.
Соте on, leave it go,” he said, and
pushed the girl gently aside, Already his
face was dirty, no longer quite so young.
He looked at his tires and walked over
to Buck, "Hey," he said, "I had some-
body fooling with my hat, I didn't get
the time. You remember what I turned?”

"26:13." Buck said.

"Not too bad, huh?" the kid said,
happily. Then, he spit out his gum.
“What'd you turn?”

The kid appraised Buck, looked at his
age and the worry in his face. "That's
all right,” he said, “hell, nothing wrong
with that. You been around Soltan be-
fore:

Not for а while,”

“Well. like, sometimes І steal
practice: you know?" He paused.
"Tommy Linden, live over to Pinetop."

Tuck did not put out his hand. "Lar-
said.

The young man took another piece
of gum from his pocket, unwrapped it,
folded it, put it into his mouth. “I'll
tell ჯის something," he said. "See, like
I told you, ] practice here once in a

(continued on page 74)

Buck said.

Playboy's Christmas Cree

milady's bounty

Top row: a sparkling key ring in multicolored stones or rhinestones, 85 each, but
you supply the key. Second row: a magnificent dyed red mole sports car coat, $575,
with matching skirt available; boodle bags, each a combination wallet and purse
that holds everything from charge plates to cosmetics, in bluc, red or flax cow-
hide, $5 cach. Third row: if she's really the bee's knees, get her four or five Chanel
gold ropes that dangle to her knees, $4 cach; or a bracelet of cultured pearls
and gold, 8100; if you really feel expansive, throw in the pearl and gold char
with a tiny revolving globe inscribed, “Love Makes the World Go Round.
$90; or try her with a pair of earrings, each with three cultured pearls and three
sapphires in a gold setting, $75; or give her the Lady Elgin Valera, 14K gold, 23
jewels, $85, or the Lady Elgin Ballerina bracelet watch, 14K gold, with tinkli
bell and heart charms, $75. Bottom row: imported hand-knit cardigan of Swer

Wool and angora, $112; Rolfs soft buckskin and grained cowhide bag with passport
case inside, 825, or navy shrunken grained cowhide bag, also with passport case, $25.

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PLAYBOY

“Га give anything for a necklace like that — І wonder
if they'd be interested?"

NOTHING BUT THE TRUTH

A newly translated tale from Juan Timoned

IN ORDER FOR YOU to understand this
tale it is necessary to know that there is
to this day within the walls of Rome at
the foot of the Aventine Hill a strange
stone. It has the dimensions of a mill-
stone and on it appears the ferocious
face of a creature half-man and half-
n, with the mouth open. It is known
even now as The Stone of Truth and
for the following rcasoi olden days
when people needed to swear а solemn
oath to satisfy their accusers, they thrust
their hands into the open mouth; if
they lied, the stone jaws would close,
and the guilty one’s hand would not be
freed until he had made full confession;
but if there was no guilt, the jaws stayed
open and the accused was absolved.

Back in those Old Roman days there
lived a famous captain named Scipio
"Torcatus, descended from the Caesars.
He was married to a Roman matron
whose virtue and beauty were unparal-
leled. Her name was Aenea Sabelina.
She was 28 ycars old at the time of the
story, and the living personification of
every feminine charm and grace.

It happened one day that Captain
Torcatus had to go to the war that
raged along the Danube and in Tran-
sylvania to put down some resistance
from the barbarians. He had to stay
away longer than was expected as the
war dragged on without a decisive vic-
tory. It was during this delay that a
battle was fought and many Romans
died in the fray, and because of dis-
псе there were no reports as to who
had died and who had not.

Aenea Sabelina+ heard and fell ill
almost immediately. She felt certain
that lorcatus was among the slain. No
doctor who came to her side was able
to help her or effect a cure. Her fam-
ily was frantic. Then they heard of
a young doctor recently arrived. from
Greece where he had been studying.
Tt turned out that his name was Ar-
sinius Rufus and that he was a Rom:
by birth.

Rufus visited the fair patient and was
captivated from the first, and as he had
to visit the lady every day and be alone
with her in her bedroom, the fires of
love soon consumed him. Before too
long, he made bold to tell her how he
felt. Imagine his joy to find Aen
Пацетей by his words, obviously as
en with him as he with her.

"Besides" she said to herself, “what
if Torcatus is really among the dead, as
I have supposed? What better match
could І make than with Rufus who is
rich as well as young and handsome?
We could marry in due time,

з El Patranuelo

But her conscience bothered her all
the same at the thought of committing
what would be adultery if Torcatus still
lived. She held out, but Rufus was too
much in her company for long resist-
ance, and at length they made a reality
out of what had until then been the
stuff of drcams.

This delightful state of affairs went
on for some wecks under the most strict
and careful secrecy, but in spite of all
their efforts Aeneas family grew sus-
picious. No sooner had word arrived
that Torcatus was alive and well at the
front, than they sent him an urgent
note, concise and to the point; "Get a
furlough, Torcatus, and hurry home.
Your family needs attention,"

The captain came, and no one gave
him a more royal and loving reception
than his wife, Aenea. Torcatus, because
he loved his young wife above all
things, refused to believe his relative's
hints until there was concrete proof.

But nothing came to light, for Aenea
and Rufus were very careful and stop-
ped seeing one another, even though it
cost them great anguish.

One day Torcatus said to Aenea,

“My dearest onc, I must return to the
front very soon. Therefore, І must con-
fess to you that something has greatly
upset me. I really think you should
hear it and tell ine what you think
1 should do.”
You should have told me sooner,
said Aenea sweetly, careful as only a
woman knows how to be, to betray
nothing by look or word or even tone.
“What is it?”

"ortus hedged a bit, but finally
told her of his family’s suspicions and
said it would please him if she would
consent to go with him and his rela-
tives to The Stone of Truth and there
take an oath that no other man had
ever touched her. “І know, of course,
dear Аспса, that the oath is unneces-
sary, for I place complete and everlast-
ing trust in yo
suspicions of my famil
confess are à great annoya
Таке the oath, Aent
happily to the war.
s that all you want me to do,
Torcatus?” laughed Aenea, but with a
lump of fear in her throat. “I'll swear,
of course, but don't you think that
people will see in this a great lack of
trust on your parti

"You will take the oath, though,
won't you, Aenea?"

ОГ course, and the sooner the bet-
ter,” she said, wondering how long it
(concluded оп page 80)

се to me.
and 1 can go off

Ribald Classic

о other man has
touched mel" declared Aenea.

PLAYBOY

62

GORRIDA continued from page 58)

who held athletic exhibitions in arenas
around 2000 в.с. The height of the pro-
grams came when the performers would
vault spectacularly over the charging
bulls.)

Are bullfighters hopeless neurotics?
Sadis? Masochists? Are they, as one
free-wheeling psychiatrist put it, “latent
homosexuals who cannot level a woman
with their penis and so must level а
bull with their sword?” Are they brave
men ог really terrible covards who must
daily prove to themselves and the world
that they are not? And just what is cour-
age? Is't the clerk who day after day
makes the drab haul to his accounting
stool to support his family exhibiting
courage? It would take more guts for
some people to live out his life of quiet
desperation than to pursue the career
of an arctic explorer.

We аге all cowards — it's just that we
are each afraid of different things. І
vividly remember taking the fearless
Sidney Franklin—fearless in a bull ting,
that is—for a fast ride on a midget
motorcycle through the winding streets
of Sevilla’s barrio de Santa Cruz and
he was babbling with fright before it
was over.

“Мапу would be Cowards, if they had
Courage enough," wrote Thomas Fuller
back in 1732.

Probably many toreros fight bulls
simply because they lack the courage
not to fight bulls. As І wrote in the in-
troduction to Carlos Arruza's autobiog-
raphy. My Life as a Matador, much mys-
tic claptrap has been ascribed to the
reasons men fight bulls, from relig
to homo: ity to thwarted patricide,
and perhaps in rare instances it has

I believe in the cases of the majority of
who get a supreme thrill from
ng а bull pass by their legs, the
basic underlying reasons аге contained
in this excerpt from the excellent paper
entitled The Counter-Phobic Attitude
by the late psychiatrist Otto Fenichel:
“When the organism discovers that it
is now able to overcome without fear
a situation which would formerly have
overwhelmed it with anxiety, it experi-
ences а certain kind of pleasure. This
pleasure has the character of ‘I need not
feel anxiety any mor
.. “It will generally hold true that
the essential joy in sport is that one ac-
tively brings about in play certain ten-
sions which were formerly feared, so that
one may enjoy the fact that now one can
overcome them without fearing them."
l am convinced that the reasons for
king up bullfighting are usually
her more nor less neurotic or mys-
tical than those which propel a man
to take up high-diving. mountainee
giant slalom or sports car racing.

The one thing that all bullfighters
have in common is that they are true
adventurers, Of course the economic
factor figures in there very heavily also.
“Toreros and royalty are the only ones
who live well,” they say in Spain, In
Mexico, it's toreros and politicians. Bull-
fighting is just about the only way for
а poor boy to make it. All he has to
do is lay his life on the line; not just
once, though, in one jaw-clenched, do-
ordie act of bravado, but coldly and
methodically, day after day, month after
month and season after season.

"Take the rather typical case of Fer-
nando de los Reyes, "El Callao" (pro-
nounced cah-yow), a shy modest man
who looks as much like a matador а
man can. 1 recently came back from sce-
ing him take the alternative in Mexico
City — that is, graduate to the status of
a full matador — and 1 have never seen
such beautiful, slow, languid, insouciant
right hand passes in my life—no, not
even from the great Мапојск

At the comparatively advanced age
of 26, he had finally done it, finally re-
ceived his Doctorate of Tauromachy,
and he was on top of the world. Ever
since he was. 16 he'd been working to-
ward this goal, and he finally came
through with flying colors, to let none
of his rabid supporters down. But if it
hadn't been for a certain afternoon, Fer-
nando de los Reyes, El Callao, would
probably still be just а novillero.

El Callao—the Silent One— was
brought up hungry poor, the son of a
day laborer, in Mexico City. Nothing
is poorer than the poverty of М.
City, or maybe it just looks poorer than
any place else, set, as it is, against the
gaudy newness of the buildings and
the big cars of the politicians. Eernando
started working in a grocery store when
he was 14 und graduated to the body
shop of a garage when he was 16. Some
of his fellow workers were aficionados
practicantes — that is, they used to spend
their days off looking for opportunities
to fight bulls, Fernando got in with
them and found himself going out to
the small village pachangas where half-
young animals are caped in make-
shift arenas for fun and for the CI
ment of the drunken villagers оп feast
days.

At first Fernando just went along for
the ride and couldn't see too much in
these wild unorganized affairs. But then
one day he was persuaded to go out
there with a cape in his hands, ‘The
big morucho bull was in the middle of
the arena pawing the sand and waiting
for someone to come into range when
Fernando slid through the burladero
opening in the fence. Thin but perfect-
ly built, he already had a natural tore-
ro’s walk and grace. He held the big

cape out in front like a boxer, the right
lower and closer to his body.

“Toro!” he shouted at the bull and
shook the cape. Then he watched with
his heart pounding louder than the
bull's hoofs as it charged down on him.
But he held his ground and just before
the horns hit the cape he swung his
arms, the left hand snapping down even
with the right and then the two of
them swinging together, moving the ma-
genta cloth just а few inches in front
ი! the animal's snout and guiding the
terrible head by his thighs.

It worked! It was a veronica, a jerky,
ungraceful one, but still a veronica, And
the bull had gone by — this great lethal
hunk of black muscle had been made
to miss him and he hadn't moved his
legs back an inch! With just his wrists
and this cloth he had sucked death
close into him and then controlled and
dominated death and sent it avay from
him.

He experienced the greatest emotion
he'd ever felt in his life, and he knew
that he could never be anything else
but a torero. He knew also that these
bulls held his one chance to get out ot
a garage or maybe to own a garage, or
maybe a string of garages. "Bullfighting
is a pile of riches guarded by а pair of
sharp horns," people told him. Here was
а way, an exciting, quick, easy way to
get а decent house for his parents and
fivc brothers and sisters. Here was a way
to become somebody overnight!

It wasn't quite that easy, he found
out. In fact that first day, after his lucky
initial pass, the bull began to point out
to him just how difficult it was going to
be. Because he didn't know anything
about the complicated science of ter-
rains and. querencias and. bull psychol-
ogy. the first time he tried to make the
bull pass between him and the fence it
tossed him sky high. If the bull had had
a little more breeding and sharper horns
it would have made а sieve out of
him. Right then he learned а h
tenet: don't try to take a bull between
you and the fence because it will in-
stinctively swerve away from the hard
boards and head into your body with-
n aiming for you. And just to
matters he was told that,
every once in a while, one draws a bull
that hugs the fence for protection and
you can make him pass well only be-
tween you and the fencel

He was tossed several times that day
and many times afterward in the years
to come. He began to see why so many
boys who want to become bullfighters
never make it, boys who like the pagean-
try and the big money and the easy
women and the fast cars, but who can't
ery young boy in $
ums of being а torcro,
is, a professional bullfghter of

(continued on page 66)

pictorial

some feud for thought, in the hollywood tradition

LOREN VS. MANSFIELD

The Loren lineaments
were displayed in de-
tail (tight) in Ero Lui,
Si, Si (t Was He, Yes,
Yes), a vintage Ita-
lian film. But the new,
more sophisticated
Sophia is shown mir-
ror-gazing below in a
costume she consid-
ers better suited to
her present position,
with sex appeal han-
dled more sedately.

ებ”
fore: we've heard it, too—the old "feud"
bit between the European screen siren
and the homegrown Hollywood honey
is at least as old as the Lollobrigida-
Monroe fracas of a few years back, and
probably a good deal older. But there's
a slightly different twist to this newest
version of the story, so stick around.

In this corner, we have stackuesque
Sophia Loren of Italy, ап earthy girl іп
the classic mold, femmina incarnate.
Early in her carcer (we almost said when
she was but a stripling), she portrayed
а bare-from-the-belly-up harem morsel
in an Italian film called Era Lui, Si, St,
which contained scenes too torrid for
even Italian consumption. Today, Sig-
norina Loren is probably more beautiful
than ever, but she reveals relatively litle
of that beauty to the public—a change
in behavior that is not at all unusua
in fac

it's par for the course. For
starlets rise in the Hollywood heavens,
becoming honest-to-gosh stars, they just
scem to naturally shy away from all that
sexy їшї that helped put them up there
in the first place.

In the opposite corner is our good
friend Jayne Mansfield of the U.S.A.
Never a shrinking violet, ever an ebul-
lient extrovert, Jayne endeared herself
to us early by ever posing in both public
and private in divers states of delightful
dishabille. Jayne is now one of the
brighter twinklers in the cinematic fir-
mament, and it should logically follow
that—like Loren, Lollobrigida. Monroe,
et al. — her days of daring-undo are all
behind her. But not so—the more stellar
Jayne becomes. the greater the alacrity
with which she divests herself of her
duds. We applaud this attitude as most
refreshing: | IC has no delusions about
the cause of her popularity (a noble
cause it is) and to deny or ignore it at
this stage of the game apparently strikes
her as the worst sort of snobbery.

At a party held at Romanoff's Crown
Room in Hollywood to launch Loren
upon ‘Tinseltown society. the two ladies
met, eye to eye, bodice to bodice. Jayne's
publicity agents had shochorned her
into a gown that, even. by Hollywood
standards, was cut breathtakingly low
Sophia, more decorously decked-out,
lamped with anxiety the Mansfield. as-
sets— ап anxiety that proved justified
а few minutes later when Jayne, bend-
ing lensward, was completely taken. out
of herself, thus writing another charm-
ing chapter in the history of Holly-
woodensis Sexualis.

Though a firmly established star, Jayne continues to pose for publicity photos like one above,
in which she is completely nude under transparent nightie; she would throw off the nightie if
her studio would let her. Below: at Romanoffs Sophia glims Jayne's southbound neckline un-
easily, and with good reason; a moment after photo at right was taken, Jayne inhaled her-
self out of the dress completely. A news photographer snapped the picture, but UP killed it.

65

PLAYBOY

66

GORRIDA‘ (continued from page 62)

some rank or other, but there are only
about 30 first-class matadors (killers of
selected, big bulls) in the world. Men
who want to become matadors often
think that somehow bullfighting will
solve their problems, the way some рео-
ple believe Tahiti would solve theirs.

They want to be matadors but they
don’t want to do what a matador has to
do. They like the romance of it all, the
color, the position, the being the center
of attention, the getting away from
whatever is bothering them, the impress-
ing of a parent or a brother or a girl.
But they don’t like the hunger, the rid-
ing the rails from one village fair to an-
other, sleeping in corrals, scrounging a
cape pass here, acting as bandcrillero
there, and always tangling with bulls
that have been fought so many times
that “they know Latin,” ignore the cape
and batter the man's underfed body.
Many would-be torcros like everything
about bullfighting except fighting bulls.

Fernando liked to fight bulls, any
bulls. He kept at his job at the garage
but he fought and practiced every
chance he got. Finally when he was 19
a big break came his way. It was at the
tiny ring of the Rancho del Charro and
it was for free. But it was in Mexico
City, and he was to kill his first animal.
He'd done plenty of work with the ca-
pote and the muleta cape but he'd never
had a chance to kill a bull. He did well,
well enough to earn him a fight in El
Torero, the second largest ring in Mex-
ico City, also for free. In this fight he
caped well, killed well, and was awarded
his first ear as а trophy of a fine per-
formance. He was immediately con-
tracted for La Plaza Mexico, the largest
bull ring in the world, which seats 50,000
people. He was paid $80, quite a dif-
ferent sum from the $26,000 which
Manolete received in that same plaza in
1946, but it was Fernando's first bull
money and he was delighted to get i
Of course it was more than used up im-
mediately in expenses — rented costume,
swords, banderilleros and picadors,
bribes to the critics, and so forth, but he
was on his way. It would be no time at
all, he thought before he would be a
full matador, not just a minor novillero,
and get in on that big money and those
good bulls.

But then he was badly gored in the
groin. It was his baptism of blood, his
first real cornada, and the toreros claim
a man sheds his brave blood first. It cer-
tainly looked that way because Fernando.
— or LI Callao, as they were billing him.
now because of his shyness — went way
down and stayed down for the rest of
the year. When he came back it was
almost like starting from scratch. He
went to Spain, did fairly well, but then
«e he received a terrible goring

in the stomach. He missed the entire
season again. Back in Mexico he found
that because of his long absence and
bull ring politics he wasn't offered a sin-
gle decent fight.

By 1956 he was ready to go back to
the garage: Іа fiesta brava had beaten
him to his knees. But a spark in him
wasn't quite dead, and he wangled a
fight with Chano Ramos, one of the new
young novilleros. It was to be a mano-
amano —a hand to hand contest be-
tween the two of them with mo third
matador on the bill. For El Callao this
was it — he had to make good now or he
was through.

I suppose the memory of that fight
wil be around as long as the people
who witnessed it are. On his first bull,
he strode out there like Manolete —
whom he resembles — and had the crowd
going wild with those fantastic right
hand passes of his, passes that controlled
the bull and geared down its charges
so that the whole performance seemed
like a slow motion film or a dream se-
quence. When Бе killed well he was
awarded both ears of the dead bull and
received a great ovation.

On his sccond bull Fernando was out
to cinch his triumph, even though this
animal had a dangerous left chop. On
his first quite he flipped the cape over
his head. started a gaonera series, and
the bull slammed its head to the left
halfway through the charge. The torero
was flung high into the air and crashed
down to the sand unconscious. His men
lured the bull away and rushed ЕІ Cal-
Јао to the infirmary. The doctors brought
him to quickly and he saw that he
hadn't been gored. He lurched to his
{ect but fell back groggily. He got up
again and the nurses tried to make him.
stay down. "Watch it from here on la
televisión," said onc, pointing to a sct
on the floor.

‘This wasn't the best move, because El
Callao took onc look at Chano Ramos
out there receiving tremendous applause
with his — El Callao's — second bull, and
he struggled to his feet again. “Got to
go back in there!" he gasped, starting
for the door shakily. But two nurses
blocked his way. "I'm all right," he said.
"Look, І know whether I'm all right or
not!"

One of the nurses, Maria Herején,
answered him with a Spanish saying:
“Tantos años de marquesa sim saber
mover el abanico!" —“A Marquise for
so many years and I don't know how to
flutter a fan?" Meaning she'd been а
bullüght nurse for 33 seasons and when
she said а man was too groggy to go
back into the ring she knew what she
was talking about. With her arm around
his shoulder affectionately she walked
him around, helped adjust his uniform,

and gave him a little more time to col-
lect himself, Finally she said "Мом!" He
gave her a kiss on the cheek and ran out
of the infirmary back into the arena,
From the little opening in the gateway
to the ring Nurse Herrején watched
him take on his third, and last, bull.

What followed then was the greatest
performance that the Mexico City fans
had seen in years, El Callao did every
pass he'd ever learned in his 10 years of
apprenticeship, and he did them closer
to the horns than people believed could
be possible. Later, in the cafes all over
Mexico, those passes would be com-
pared to passes by Silverio and Garza
and Arruza. Especially those incredible,
right handed, the round" passes —
“ay, chihuahua, aquellos pases en те-
dondo! Better than Manolete's, even
slower and smoother!”

Like a king he was out there alone
in the center of the world with that
mass of black death charging and re-
charging, the two of them drunk with
what they were doing. He was tossed
again, frighteningly, but he climbed off
the sand blazing mad and let the bull's
horns pass closer to his body than be-
fore and the audience was a howling
pack of maniacs. Then he lined the ani-
mal up, getting its feet together so that
the shoulder blades would be open to
take the sword down into the aorta. He
profiled himself to the animal, sighted
down the blade, shouted “toro!” once
as he shook the muleta in his left hand,
and then, as the bull charged, he ran —
lunged forward to meet it. The two be-
came one for a long instant before they
separated. Then the bull spun twice and
crashed over backwards dead.

You already know what happened:
The crowd began that spine-tingling
chant —“to-re-ro, to-re-ro, готето the
greatest tribute they can pay a matador,
and the presidente signaled for one
саг, and as the chant kept up, another
ear, and finally the tail of the dead ani-
mal. Then the crowd spilled down into
the arena and hoisted the exhausted
man onto their shoulders. Fernando de
los Reyes had earned his right to be-
come a full matador, and life was good
— maybe better than it would ever be
again.

This story of the making of ЕІ Callau
is really the eternal story of most mat-
adors. People tell me that bullfighting
will die out, that there is no place for
it in this modern world. But I believe
there will always be Callaos in Spain
and Latin America, and that there will
always be people who will thrill to the
sight of courage in the afternoon.

Cossio lists the biographies of over
10,000 toreros since 1700 in his monu-
mental work, Los Toros. Whether the
next 250 years will produce another
10,000 one cannot tell. But bullfighting,

{concluded on page 74)

PLAYBOY

68

ELLA

(continued from page 42)
nother time, when we were touring
Switzerland, instead of gossiping with
the rest of the troupe on the bus, she
and I would get together and she'd take
some tune like Blue Lou and sing it
every way in the world. She'd do it like
Mahalia Jackson and like Sarah and
finally make up new lyrics for it. She
would try to exhaust every possibility,
as if she were trying to develop i
provisation to a new point by ad libbing
lyrically too, the way Galypso singers
do.

"Ella does that even on shows,” re-
calls another musician who toured with
her for years. “If there's a heckler
she'll interpolate а swinging warning
to him in thc middle of a number, or
the mike'll go wrong and she'll tell the
engineer about it in words and music.

"But she's terribly sensitive socially.
Whenever she hears a crowd mumbling
she feels that they are discussing her —
and always unfavorably. I think she
lays so much stress on being accepted
in music because this is the one area of
life into which she ICCI§ she can fit suc-
cessfully. Her marriages failed; she
doesn't have an awful lot of the normal
activities most women have, such as
home life, so she wraps herself up en-
tirely in music. She wants desperately
to be accepted.”

Lest these observations lead to the
impression that Ella is а subject for the
analyst’s couch, let it be made clear
that she is a happy extrovert whom her
fellow-workers consider one of the gang,
a whiz at tonk or blackjack when the
cards are pulled out on bus trips. She
is also endowed with many of the
naively enthusiastic qualities of one of
her own fins. ("Do you know who
caught the show the other night? Judy
Holliday—and she came backstage
afterward to see me! And she went on
and on about how she liked me! Imagine
that— Judy Holliday!") Once when а
restaurant owner for whom she
just tape-recorded an interview picked
up the check for her dinner she ex
pressed astonishment and intense grati
tude, as if this gesture were without
precedent.

Constantly contributing to the sup-
port of a number of relatives and
friends, and quietly generous with her
earnings, Ella has never been money-
ded. Her accountant now has her on
weekly allowance; much of the гез!
of her earnings goes into a special
ps account. Her weekly night club
stipend now is never less than 5500
this year she will probably gross а cool
quarter-million.

Her imperviousness to all this is
best illustrated by an incident backstage
at the Copa soon after her opening last

spring. Several people had buttonholed
her at once, her press agent and a
woman who, with her two daughters,
had just caught the show. The dialogue
went roughly as follows:

AGENT; Ella, І have terrific news for
you!

ELLA: Yes? Say, have you met this
lady? She brought her daughters with
her, and she says she has all my records
and —

AGENT: "They want you back in the
Copa next year and this time you're
going to headline the show!

„A: Gee, that’s swell, Say, Virginia,
did you know this lady's two daughters
buy my records too, and they came all
the way from Paramus, N. J. to see me?

AGENT: Not only that. they want you
for four weeks instead of two!

ELLA: hnagine—all the way from
Paramus, М. J.! Virginia, hand me some
paper so І can sign some autographs
for this lady and her daughters!

Ella's modesty and graciousness €x-
tend to her professional life as well.
оте actresses will insist on showing
their good profile and upstaging others,"
Granz points out. “Ella is just the op-
posite. When she made the album with
Armstrong she insisted that he select
the tunes, and sang them all in his keys
even if they were the wrong keys Гог
her. She defers completely to other peo-
ple. She'll apologize for even the slight
est goof, where most artists would blame
(and curse out) the orchestra. She'll
say ‘I'm sorry, fellas, that was my fault,’
when actually her le fluff comes on
the heels of 10 goofs by the fiddle
players.”

But perhaps the real indication of
Ella's stature was voiced immediately
after the historic night at the Holly:
wood Bowl, when the classic tribute to
great performers was paid by the con-
certmaster of the Los Angeles Philhar-
шо! “Ella Fitzgerald,” he said, “could

sing the Van Nuys telephone directory

with a broken jaw and make it sound
good. And that," he added, "is а par-
icularly dull telephone directory.”

BJ
THE DUKE

(continued from page 38)
what the Palace was to vaudeville. (The
Palace itself was to open its stage to the
band less than two years later.) Elling-
ton was then, and is now, an imposing
figure. An inch over six fect tall, sturdily
built, he had an innate grandeur that
would have enabled him to step w
unquenched dignity out of a mud pud-
dle. His phrasing of an announcement,
the elegance of his diction, the supreme
courtesy of his bow, whether to a
Duchess in London or a theatre audi-
ence in Des Moines, have lent stature

not only to his own career but to the
whole of jazz. Since the music he repre-
sented was stifled for many years by
several kinds of segregation —social,
esthetic and racial — this element cer-
tainly played a vital part in bringing to
jazz its full recognition, just as his music
itself brought the art he epitomized to
а new peak of maturity.

Though he and his band have slipped
from first place in some of the popu-
larity polls, musicians and critics rema
almost unanimous in their respect for
Ellington and in their conviction that
nothing and nobody = no matter how
loud the fanfare, how fickle the votes —
can replace or surpass his position as the
greatest figure in the 50-year dynasty of
jazz. None but Ellington can claim the
reverent respect of an eclectic unofficial
fan club composed of Woody Herman,
Milton Berle, Arthur Fiedler, Peggy
Lee, Percy Faith, Deems Taylor, Pee
Wee Russell, Lena Horne, Lennie
Tristano. Benny Goodman, Guy Lom-
ardo, Dave Garroway. Cole Porter,
Morton Gould, Lawrence Welk, André
Kostelanetz and Gordon Jenkins. all
of whom not only tossed verbal bou-
quets at Ellington on the occasion of
the silver anniversary of his Cotton
ub debut but also listed five of their
favorite Ellington records. No other
bandleader alive could persuade such a
galaxy even to name five of his records,
far less select the five best.

The Ellington orchestra, which aside
from a few leaves of absence (including
a Hollywood jaunt for its movie debut
in а sleazy Amos and Andy feature,
Check апа Double Check) spent all of

later years into a р:
tern more r to dance orchestras,
that of the floating band with occasional
home bases. Ву 1957 Ellington and his
demen had long been accustomed to
the necessity of interminable one-night
stands, with only an occ
two-week stint at а major city a
rarely, a [ew days of comparative leisure
in New York to complete a disc date.
Duke has been constantly under pressure
from well meaning friends and relatives
who point out that his income might be
boosted rather than diminished if he
were to keep the band on salary, and on
tour. for three or four months out of
each year d spend the rest of his
time at ease іп New York, stretching
legs and mental muscles, writing music
for shows and possibly acquiring the
permanent television program that has
long been one of his dreams. But Elling-
ton without his musicians would be lost.
1 want to have them around me to play
my music," he has often said: "I'm not
worried about creating music for pos-
terity, І just want it to sound good
right now!”

sional onc- or
па, very

(continued on page 71)

M0V

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JANUARY 1958

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s|e|7|8|9 iojn sirva voy vp to Clona Nine. E]
12 | 13 | 14 | 15 | 16 | 17 [18
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28 | 27 | 28 | 29 | 30 | 31

From her first appearance within the pages of prarsoy, the provoca-
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asking for a Playmate Calendar. So, with considerable pride,
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PLAYBOY

THE DUKE

Ellington's background upsets most
of the convenient legends that envelop
jazz giants. After having the poor taste
to be born not in New Orleans but in
Washington, D. C., ће was raised not in
poverty but in relative security, the son
of a successful butler who worked at the
White House and at many great parties
held in the Capitol's embassies. Despite
the rigid Jim Crow system that held in
Washington, Ellington grew up a well-
adjusted child.

Duke's nickname awarded him, in
obvious deference to his elegant style
and manners, by a young neighbor,
Ralph (Zeb) Green. Zeb and Dukes
mother both liked to play piano, but
apart from a few piano lessons when he
was seven, Ellington had little interest
in music until his middle teens. Before
then, studying at Armstrong High in
Washington, he became absorbed in art,
revealed a nimble talent for sketching
and even won a poster contest spon-
sored by the NAACP. The kicks he got
out of making posters and working with
colors paled as he developed a more
intense concern for tone colors; by the

ne the Pratt Institute of Applicd Arts
in Brooklyn had offered him a schol:
ship, just before he left high school, his
interests had switched to music and Бе
turned the offer down.

During this period, the ragtime sur-
rounding Duke Ellington provided am-
ple evidence that jazz had long been
flourishing far from New Orleans, often
wrongly credited as its sole birthplace.
Talking of the “two-fisted piano play-
ers” of that era, he recalls “men like
Sticky Mack and Doc Perry and James
Р. Johnson and Willie “The Lion’ Smith
= With their left hand, they'd play big
chords for the bass note, and just as
big ones for the offbeat . . . they did
things technically you wouldn't believe,"
He had little time for the garrulous Jelly
Roll Morton, whose reputation was
built on ЈеПуз own cgo rather than on

cal values: “Jelly Roll played
c one of those high school
teachers in Washington; as а matter of
fact, high school teachers played better

music education,
нед from pianists he heard around
Washington and later іп New York,
combined with his meager formal tra
ing, enabled him to make а substanti:
living out of music almost from the
outset. Engaged in sig g by day
and combo gigs by night, he was well
enough fixed financially to get married
in June, 1918, to Edna Thompson.
whom he had known since their grade
school days. The following year Mercer
Ellington was born. By 1919, supplying
bands for parties and dances, Duke was
making upward of 5150 а weck, He at

(continued from page 68)

tributes much of this early success to his
decision to buy the largest advertise
ment in the orchestra section of Wash-
ington’s classified telephone directory.

Ellington's first sojourn in New York
in 1999 — with Sonny Greer, Toby Hard-
wicke, Elmer Snowden and Arthur
Whetsel —was the only period in his
life marked by real poverty. Jobs were
so scarce, Duke remembers with a smile,
that at one point they were forced to
split а hot dog five ways. With the help
of Ada Smith, who was later to achieve
a degree of fame in Europe under the
cognomen "Bricktop," the band opened
at Barron's up in Harlem under Snow-
den's nominal leadership. When they
moved into a cellar club called the
Hollywood at 49th and Broadway, Duke
became the leader and Freddy Guy took
over Snowden's banjo chair, This was
their first downtown job, and it was
during their incumbency at the Holly-
wood, later known as the Kentucky
Club, that they made their first records.

‘The Kentucky Club era, which lasted

four-and-a-half years, provided а warm
storehouse of memories for the band:
memorics of wild breakfast parties after
the job; of the patronage of Paul White-
man and his musicians, working a block
down Broadway at the Palais Royale; of
$50 and $100 tips; Duke's first attempt
to write the score for a show (The Choc
olaie Kiddies, in 1924, which never
made Broadway, but ran for two years in
Berlin); and the uninhibited bathtub
gin busts of Duke, Bubber Miley and
Toby Hardwicke in the very face of
prohibition,
‘ed Husing. one of the carly and
regular ringsiders, helped to secure the
band its first broadcasts at the Kentucky
Club. East St. Louis Toddle-O, а minor-
to-major lament with an acute accent on
plunger-muted brass, became the band's
radio theme.

“TH never forget the first time | heard
Edward's music,” says his sister Ruth.
"Of course, we'd heard him at home,

i е, but here he was playing
с with his own ad on

his own mu:

the radio from New York, coming out of
реакег.

this old-fashioned horn-s
radio had just about been invented, ог
iat least just launched commercially.

“It was quite a shock, Here we were,
my mother and І, sitting in this very
respectable, Victorian living room in
Washington, my mother so puritanical

I think

she didn't even wear lipstick, and the

announcer from New York tells us we
are listening to ‘Duke Ellington and his
Jungle Music! It sounded very strange
and dissonant to us.”

Black and Tan Fantasy, on which Bub-
ber growled the famous interpolation
from Chopin's Funeral March, may have
horrified the Ellington family, but it

succeeded in catching the attention of a
man named Irving Mills. A successful
song publisher who was beginning to
extend his practice by dabbling in the
management of artists, Mills soon formed.
а corporation in which he and Duke
each owned 45% and a lawyer the other
10%. It was the start of a partnership
that lasted through the Thirties. through
the first great years of the Ellington
story. Confident that his counsel and
guidance were tantamount to full col-
laboration, Mills published the Elling-
ton songs and also appeared on record
labels and sheet music as co-composcr
of most of the famous Ellington hits of
the Thirties, among them Mood Indigo,
Sophisticated Lady, Solitude and I Let a
Song Go out of Му Heart. Mills wrote
years later that he "withdrew" from his
relationship with Duke. because ће
sensed that Ellington had “fallen into

different attitude toward his mu nd
was taking off into what I thought to
be a wrong direction." This claim was

never disputed, nor was Ellington ever
quoted on his side of the story. His
characteristic avoidance of subjects that
could not be discussed without personal
recriminations precluded any public
comment.

Matters about which Ellington. feels
more able to comment include а run-
down of several high spots in his career,
such as the band's first gig at the Palace
Theatre when they opened the show
with Dear Old Southland. “The men
hadn't memorized their parts" recalls
Duke, “and the show opened on a dark
ened stage. When 1 gave the down beat,
nothing happened —the men couldn't
see a note,

A somewhat more recent highlight, but
one that flickered out prematurely, w
1941's Jump for Joy, a stage review in
which the whole band took рап.
number of aitics felt this was the hi р-
pest Negro musical,” says Duke, but
this fact notwithstanding, the show ran
for only three months and never
got the New York unveiling for which
every Ellington well-wisher had hoped.

The evening of Saturday, January 23
1943, was auspicious not only for Ellin,
ton, but for jazz itself. This was the
first Ellington concert at Carnegie Hall
and it was given under conditions that
could not be duplicated today. A con-

cert by a jazz orchestra was a rare novel-
ty then (the last comparable event had
been Benny Goodman's, five years

earlier), and the orchestra played а new
work, Black, Brown and Beige, de-
scribed by the Duke as a “tone parallel
to the history of the American Negro.”
In its original form, it ran for a full
50 minutes and was casily the most am-
bitious, spectacular and successful сх-
tension of Ellingtonia to longer musical
forms.

As Ellington has pointed out, the

71

PLAYBOY

72

quality of the appreciation, the attentive-
ness of the $000 who listened that night,
was “a model of audience reaction that
has proved hard to duplicate.” Ironi-
cally, when an Ellington jubilee concert
was set for November, 1952, the presen-
tation of a self-sufficient orchestra intro-
ducing al works was no longer
considered desirable: it was announced
that the show would also include Billie
Holiday, Charlie Parker, Stan Getz and
others. The concept of a jazz concert as
Ellington had visualized it was dead.
To bring his listing up to date,
Ellington would have to add the chaotic
scene at Newport, Rhode Island, during
the three-day jazz festival in July, 1956.
During an extended and revitalized ver-
sion of a fast blues entitled Diminuendo
and Crescendo in Blue, first recorded in
1938 and lengthened on this occasion to
14 minutes and 59 choruses, Ellington
and his band whipped the audience
into such a frenzy that elder jazz states-
men present could recall no comparable
scene since the riots occasioned in the
aisles of New York's Paramount Theatre
two decades сапісг during Benny Good-
man's first wave of glory.
ш the years of his undisputed

career moved forward in three different
From the economic standpoint
important was his work as a
song writer. Some of his biggest hits
were written casually in taxis, trains and
recording studios (but never in planes;
his aversion to flying is intense) and аге
simple single-note lines designed to be
set to lyrics; others, whether written
casually or more formally, were pri-
marily instrumentals for the orchestra
but were later furnished with lyrics. At
this stage, Ellington is in the беја
Cole Porter, and Richard Rodgers.

From the esthetic standpoint, Elling-

ton's significance as a contributor to the
culture of the Twentieth Century lies in
his orchestrations of original music for
the instrument he plays best — his own
orchestra. These range from simple blues
and stomps to such elaborate efforts as
the Liberian Suite, New World А-Сот-
in’, Blue Belles of Harlem and Вішоріа,
all of which were heard during the
annual Carnegie Hall series but few of
which have been preserved on records.
In this department, Ellington's countei
parts are Jimmy Giufire, John Lewis,
Shorty Rogers, Ralph Burns and a large
number of other men, none of whom
has yet achieved anything approaching
the stature of Ellington.

Thirdly, there is Ellington the dance
band leader, who occasionally tries for
a hit record and comes up with some-
thing like Twelfth Street Rag Mambo
or Isle of Gapri Mambo in an attempt to
sail with a prevailing trade wind. This
Ellington, more acutely conscious in
recent years of the implacable exigen-
cies of the commercial world, is wont to
open a dance date or even a stage show
with an arrangement of Stompin’ at the
Savoy, which was neither composed nor
arranged by anyone in the band and
has about as much of the Ellington
stamp as a Sammy Kaye arrangement of

Solitude. In this sphere, Ellington's
competitors include Ray Anthony,
Count Basie, and Woody Herman.

Not content to limit himself to mere
composing, orchestrating and leading а
band, Ellington has also set his sights
on other fields. As a composer-dramatist
he was responsible in 1956-7 for 4 Drum
Is a Woman, a sort of jazztinged opera-
cum-ballet in which he was the slightly
specious narrator; earlier he had shown
himself capable of achieving a simple
beauty in the pyramid-lined construc-
tion of The Blues, the only lyricized
passage in Black, Brown and Beige, and
a sophisticated brand of hip humor in

E FEMALES BY COLE:

41

Monologue. As а librettist he has had а
few misadventures: one hears of his plans
to stage his own Broadway musical, or a
straight drama, or a comedy with music,
or some other venture that fails to mate-
vialize after months of rumors. “What
the hell, you have to have some direc-
tion, you've got to go somewhere,” he
was heard to remark recently when his
insistence on entering this field was
questioned. Having scaled every moun-
tain peak available to him, he has had
to look for new heights to conquer. “I'm
so damned fickle," he once said. “І never
could stick with what I was doing — al-
ways wanted to try something new."

Ellington's personality is riddled with
paradoxes, "I may be a heel,” he is re-
ported to have said, “but І hate for
people to think so.” His warm personal
attachments are few, but intense. When
his mother died a lingering death in
1935, he was at her bedside for the last
three days, inconsolably griefstricken.
Two years later his father died in а New
York hospital with both his children
beside him. His sister Ruth, 16 years his
junior, became Duke's closest friend and
confidante. Dr. Arthur Logan, the fam-
ily physician for the past 20 years, caters
to his hypochondriacal tendencies.
Fundamentally strong and healthy,
Ellington gave up his heavy drinking
around 1940, but never stopped indulg-
ing his insatiable appetite until, іп 1956,
he embarked on a diet and reduced his
contours by some 35 pounds.

Ellington's vanity takes strange turns.
His son, Mercer, tall and good-looking
like his father, has had scveral chaotic
carcers — bandleader, trumpet player,
band manager, liquor salesman, record
company executive, and general aide-de-
camp to his father—and has suffered
from Duke's vacillations between par-
ental pride and the desire to hide from
the calendar. Mercer played E-flat horn
in the Ellington band for a few months
1950, but was dropped without notice
from Fllington Sr.

Ellington's customary demeanor, with
strangers or casual friends, is one of
sardonic badinage or subtle sarcasm that
catches the victim unaware. “We are in-
deed honored by the presence of such
luminous company,” he will say with a
low bow to a song publisher with whose
company he would be delighted to dis-
pense. His capacity for small talk is end-
les. Complimented by a feminine guest
on a striking blue and gray checked
jacket he wore during a recent Birdland
engagement, he promptly rejoined: "Yes,
l was up all afternoon sitting at the
loom, weaving it to impress you." It is
difficult to coax him into an intellectual
discussion; his reluctance to bruise any
feelings and his desire to remain noncon-
troversial are jointly responsible.

Ellington is a magnificent and mag-
niloquent mixer, as befits one who, alone

among jazz musicians, enjoys the respect
of Leopold Stokowski (who came іп
alone to the Cotton Club, sat discussing
the music with Duke and invited him to
his own concert the following evening at
Carnegie Hall); President Truman
(‘whom І found very affable and musi-
cally informed," during a half-hour
private audience at the White House);
the Prince of Wales (now the Duke of
Windsor: "he sat in with us on drums
in London and surprised everybody, in-
cluding Sonny Greer”); George, Duke
of Kent (“І fluffed off the guy who kept
requesting tunes all night, then found
out he was the King’s son”); as well as
Jackie Gleason and Orson Welles.

Some of his fans have wondered why
Ellington, who used to set so many
trends, has tended to follow others in
recent years. His was the first band to
use the human voice as a wordless musi-

cal instrument (Creole Love Call, in
1927); first to devote an entire work to
a e jazz soloist (Clarinet Lament
for Barney Bigard, in 1936); first to u:

extended forms beyond the standard
three-minute length of the 78 rpm rec
ord (the six-minute Creole Rhapsody
and 12-minute Reminiscing in Tempo
in the Thirties); first to use the bass as
a melody solo instrument (Jimmy Blan-
ton, 1939); first to make elaborate use
of rubber-plunger mutes and Latin
rhythms in the U.S. Asked why ће now
reverts to the likes of /n the Mood and
One O'Clock Jump, which have none of
the Ellington sound, and why he writes
so few new long works, he remarks
brusquely that nobody can dictate to
him what is meant by “the Ellington
sound,” that the pieces thus criticized
are warmly received by the audience,
and that there is no call for the longer
works, Perhaps this can be explained by
one of his greatest frustrations — that
Black, Brown and Beige was coolly re-
ceived by a number of critics and was
never recorded in its entircty
Ellington's oldest and closest friend
within the band is Нату Сатеу, now.
in his 31st year as an Ellingtonian, and
usually Duke's driving companion be
ht stands. Musically, his
closest ties are with Billy Strayhori
sidekick lor almost two decade:
since he joined the orchestra, Ellington
has had an almost telepathic under-
5 ng with “Strays,” whose wri
for the band so closely resembles Elling-
ton’s own that vetcran dsmen are
sometimes unable to discern where one
leaves off and the other begins. Elling-
ton, a lenient employer, gives him com-
plete freedom to come and go as he
pleases, a freedom Strayhorn exercised
not long ago to the extent of wandering
oft briefly into a job as accompanist to
his friend Lena Horne.
The Ellington employment policy has
(concluded on page 77)

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73

PLAYBOY

74

GORRIDA

(continued from page 66)

anachronistic as it is in this jet and
atomic world of today, appcars to be
here to stay; for example, there were
288 corridas in Spain in 1945, as op-
posed to only 241 in 1915, and this year
there should be close to 300. The e:
traordinary interest manifested by Amer-
icans in the Jast 10 years should insure
steady customers by itself. Bullfighting
books and records are best-sellers. there
is a rash of bullfighting movies, and the
torero's costume has influenced Milady's
wardrobe quite considerably.

Periodically there are attempts to
hold corridas in the United States, but.
they are generally abortive attempts in
Texas or bloodless parodies in Califor-
nia. Far from encouraging this activity.
I deplore it and will do anything to
discourage bringing bullfights to the
United States. This country is culturally,
historically and ethically incapable of
producing an El Callao, just as IL
capable of furnishing an arena with
50.000 people who would deliriously
chant “to-re-ro” to а man who'd risked
his neck to do a couple of arabesques
around a bull.

No — let us leave la fiesta to the La
ins, to the LI Callaos, for only they
truly have the proper talent and history
and breeding and decadence to savour
the pagan spectacle, to know how to
enjoy the death ritual, Let us continue
to go to the source. Let the gates of fear
continue to swing on their original
hinges in their original sites, for when
the bolt is thrown they creak open onto
yellow sand that is steeped in centu
of blood and lore with layer upon 19
of cowardice and bravery on top.

THE DEADLY WILL
(continued from page 52)

while. I got Andy Gammon's garage
backing me — they're in Pinetop? — sec,
nd the thing is, I’m kind of after 36.
You know? The blown Ford?”

“Yeah

“бо, what I mean is, if you can pass
me, what the hell, go on, know what
I mean? But, uh—if you can't, Id
appre f you'd stay out of my
way." The kid's eyes looked hard and
angry. “I mean I really want me that
Ford.”

Buck lit his cigar, carefully. "ТИ do
what І can,” he sai

“Thanks а lot," the kid said. Then he
winked. got the chick along, see. She
thinks I'm pretty good. І don't want
to let her down; you know?” He slapped
Buck's arm and walked back to his car,
walked lightly, on the balls of his fce
His jeans were tight and low on his
waist and the bottoms were stuffed into
а pair of dark boots. He doesn’t have a
worry, Buck thought. He may be a little
scared, but he's not worried. It's better
that way.

to feel the old impatience, the agony of
waiting. Why the hell did they always
take so damn long? he wondered. No
rezson for it.

He started to walk across the track,
but the plate in his leg was acting up —
it did that whenever it rained — and he
sat down instead. His face
had caked into the shiny scar tissue
behind his ear, and perspiration beaded
the tips of the black hairs that pro-
truded from his nostrils. He looked over
and saw Tommy Linden and the girl
із the pink dress. She was whispering
something into the kid's ear; he was

"I wanted to start my own bank.”

laughing.

Damn the heat! He wiped bis face,
turned from Tommy Linden and the
l and rechecked his tires. Then he
checked them again. Then nc
for the first race, a five-lap trophy dash.
It didn't count for anything.

The race started; the two Fords shot
ahead at once; Buck gunned the Chevy
and took off after them. Number 14 spent
too much time spinning its wheels and
had to drop behind. But it stayed there,
weaving to the right. then to the left.
pushing hard. Buck knew he could hold
his position — anyone could in a five-
lapper— but he decided not to take any
chance didn’t mean a goddamn. So he
swung wide and let the Pontiac rush past
on the inside, It fishtailed violently with
the effort, but remained on the track.

Within a couple of minutes it was
over, and Buck's Chevy was the only
car that had been passed: he'd had no
trouble holding off the Mercs, and they
kept daylight between themselves and
the Fury.

But of course it meant nothing. The
short heats were just to fill up time for
thc crowd; nobodv took them seriously

A bunch of motorcycles went around
for 10 laps, softening up the dirt even
more; there were two more dashes; and
then it was time for the big one — for
the 150 lap Main Event.

Once again Buck pulled into line; it
was to be an inverted start. Fast cars
to the rear, slow cars іп front.

He slipped carefully into the shoulder
harness, ched the safety belt tight
across his lap. checked the doors, and
put on his helmet. It was hot. but he
might as well get и: he'd have
the damn thing on for a long time.

Number 14 skidded slightly beside
him, its engine howling. Tommy Lin-
den fitted his helmet on and stretched
theatrically. His eyes met Buck’s and
held.

“You know what?” Linden yelled. “I
don't think them two Fords is exactly
stock, vou know what I mca

Buck smiled. The kid's OK, he
thought. A pretty nice kid. "Well, are
you?” he shouted.

it was

ed to і

“Hell, no!" Linden roared with amuse-
ment.
"Me either."

"What?

‘The loudspeaker crackled. "Red Nor-
ris will now introduce the drivers!"

Up ahead, the track was like a
rained-on mountain trail: great clots of
mud and sticky pools of black surfaced
it all the way around; there wasn't a
clear hard spot anywhere.

Buck glanced over at number 14 and
saw Tommy Linden waving up at the
grandstand. A middle-aged man waved
back. Buck turned away.

"Gonna let me get him?” The kid was
pointing at number 36.

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Don't ask me! Ask him!”
Yeah, why don't I do that!”

After the introductions, the official
starter walked up with a green flag,
furled. The drivers all buckled their hel-
mets. The silence lasted a moment, then
was torn by the successive explosions
that trembled out of the 19 racing stock
cars.

Buck stopped smiling; he stop-
ped thinking of Tommy Linden, of any
other human being. He thought only of
the moments to come. ГИ follow 36 ће
decided, let it break trail; then I'll
hang on. "That's all I have to do. Just
don't get too damn close to the wall.
You don't want to spend time pounding
out a door. Be smooth. Hang on to 36
and you're in hardware.

The cars roared like wounded lions
for almost a full minute, and some
sounded healthy while others coughed
enough to show that they were not so
healthy; then the man with the flag
waved them off, in a bunch, for the roll-
ing start. Buck could scc the Pontiac
straining at the leash, inching forward,
and he kept level. They circulated slowly
around, the starter judged them, he
judged they were all right, and gave
them the flag.

IL was a гасе.

Buck immediately cut his wheel for a
quick nip inside the Pontiac, but the
kid was quicker: he'd anticipated the
move and edged to the right to hold
Buck off. At the first turn, number 14
threw its rear around viciously, and
Buck knew he'd have to kiss the wall
and bull through or drop back. He
dropped back. There was plenty of timc.

He followed the Pontiac closely, but
he found that it was not so eas ter
all The car cowboyed through сусгу
turn, scaring off the tail-enders, and it
was everything he could do to hang on.
Ahead, the Fords were threading their
way through traffic with great case,
leaving a wake of thick mud.

He relaxed some and allowed the long
years of his experience to guide the car
Gradually the Pontiac was picking off
the stragglers; within 15 minutes it had
passed the filth place Mercury, and was
drawing up on four.

You better not try it, Buck said. Those
boys aren't working too hard. The
go а lot faster. І hope you know that.

But the Pontiac didn't settle down,
it didn’t slacken its pace any, and Buck
knew that he would have to revise his
strategy. He'd planned to wait for num-
ber 14 to realize that it couldn't hope
for better than a third; then he was
going to bluff him. You can bluff them
when the fever’s passed, when they're
not all out and driving hard.

But he could see that he wasn't going
to be able to bluff the Pontiac.

He could only outdrive him, nerf him

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a little, maybe. shake him up. cause him
to bobble that one time, and then streak
by

Once the decision was made, Buck
moved well back in the seat. They were
about halfway through now. Give it
seven more laps; then make the bid.

He swung past a beat-up Dodge on the
north turn and was about to correct
when the driver 105 The Dodge went
into a frenzied spin, skimmed across the
muddy track and bounded off the wall.
Buck yanked his tape-covered wheel vio-
lertly to the left, then to the right, and
managed to avoid the car. Damn! Now
number 14 was four up and going like
the wind. Well. Buck put his bumper
next to the Merc in front of him and
stabbed the accelerator. The Merc wav-
ered. moved over; Buck went by. It
worked on the second саг, too: and he
was in position to catch 14 as it was
passing a Ford on the short straight.

He waited another three laps, until
they were out of the traffic somewhat,
and began to ride the Pontiac's tail.
They both hit a deep rut and both fish-
tailed, but по more than three inches
of daylight showed between them.

Buck tried to 5 on the west turn
by swinging left and going in a lite
ძილით, but the Pontiac saw him and
went just as deep: both missed the wall
by less than a foot.

Perspiration began to course down
Buck's forehead, and when he tried
nerfing 14, and found that it wouldn't
work, that 14 wasn’t going to scare, the
thought suddenly brushed his mind that
perhaps he would not finish third after
all But if he didn't, chen he wouldn't
be able to pay for gas to the next town
or for a hotel, even, or nothing.

His shoulders hunched forward, and
Buck Larsen began to drive: not the
way he had been driving for the past
two years, but as he used to, when he
vas young and worried about very little,
when he had friends and women.

You want to impress your girlfriend,
he said to the Pontiac.

I just want to go on eating.

He made five more passes during the
following six laps, and twice he almost
made it, but the track was just a little
too short, a little too narrow, and he
was forced to drop behind cach time.

When he was almost certain that the
race was nearing its finish, he realized
that other tactics would have to be used.
He dung to 14% bumper through the
traffic on the straight; then, as they
dived into the south turn, he hung back
for a fraction of a second — long enough
to put a bit of space between them.
Then he pulled down onto the inside
and pushed the accelerator flat. The
Chevy jumped forward; in a moment
it was nearly even with the Pontiac.

Buck considered nothing whatever ex-
cept keeping his car in control; he knew

that the two of them were at that spot,
ight there, where one would have to
give; but he didn't consider any of t

The two cars entered the turn to-
gether, and the crowd screamed and
some of the people got to their feet апа
some closed their eyes. Because neither
car was letting off.

Neither car was slowing.

Buck did not move his foot on the
pedal: he did not look at thc driver to
his right; he plunged deeper, and deeper,
up to the point where he knew that he
would lose control, even under the best
of conditions; the edge, the final thin
edge of destruction,

He stared straight ahead and fought
the wheel through the turn. whipping it
back and forth. correcting, correcting.

Then, it was all over.

He was through the turn: and he was
through first.

He didn't see much of the accident:
only a glimpse, in his rear view mirror,
a brief flash of the Pontiac swerv
to miss the wall, losing control, going
up high on its nose and teetering
there...

A flag stopped the race. Two other
cars had crashed into the Pontiac, and
number 14 was on fire. It wasn't really
a fire. at first. but the automobile
had landed on its right side. and the
left side was bolted and there were bars
on the window, so they had to get it
cooled off before they could pull the
driver out.

He hadn't broken any bones. But
something had happened to the fuel line
and the hood had snapped open and the
windshield had collapsed and some gaso-
line had splashed onto Tommy Linden's
shirt. The fumes had caught and he'd
burned long enough

He was dead before they got hi
the ambulance.

Buck Larsen Jooked at the girl in the
pink dress and tried to think of some-
thing to say, but there wasn’t anything
to say; there never wa:

He collected his moncy for third place
—it amounted to $850— and put the
mufflers back on the Chevy and drove
away from the race track, out onto the
long highway.

The wind was hot on his face, and
soon he was tired and hungry again; but
he didn't stop, because if he stopped
he'd sleep, and he didn't want to sleep,
not yet. He thought one time of number
14, then he lowered the shutters and
didn't think any more.

He drove at a steady 70 miles per
hour and listened to the whine of the
engine. She would be all right for an-
other couple of runs, he could tell, but.
then he would have to tear her down.

Maybe not, though.

Maybe not.

into

THE DUKE
(continued from page 73)

always been unique. The idea of firing
anyone is so repugnant to Duke that he
will tolerate unparalleled degrees of in-
subordination. It is no less painful to
him to find a sideman quitting without
due cause, which in his eyes means
nothing less than complete physical di
ability or retirement. Men stepping out
to form their own groups have hurried
off the bandstand to the echo of Ellin;
ton's laconic comment, "He'll be back,"
and in a matter of months or years this
has almost always been true, Johnny
Hodges, Ray Nance and Cat Anderson,
all members of the 1957 orchestra, had
at one time left to launch ventures of
their own that petered out.

Observers of Ellington rehearsals, and
even of public performances at which
two or thrce men may amble in an hour
late. find it hard to believe that the
apparent lack of band morale can pro-
duce such exemplary music. They are
no less bewildered by the team spirit in
the brass, recd and rhythm sections,
despite the fact that certain men ma
not be on speaking terms with Ellington
or cach other or both.

Duke's escapism and aloofness have
had the valuable effect of keeping him
clear of any musical hybridization. any
involvement with other musical forms.
He rarely listens to classical music, but
when he does, his taste runs to such
works as Ravel's Daphnis and Chloe. De-
bussy's La Mer and Afternoon of a Faun
and Delius’ In A Summer Garden.

In addition to its complete independ-
ence from classical and modern concert
music, Ellington’s orchestration tech-

nique cannot be said to have founded

any particular school within jazz itself.
Direct imitation has often been found
in the recordings of Charlie Barnet,
Woody Herman and others; the impact
of Ellington on Ralph Burns and other
contemporary arrangers is unmistak-
able. Yet there is no true parallel be-
tween Ellington and any lesser jazz
scorer comparable to that which exists,
say, between Milhaud and Pete Rugolo.
‘The reason is simple: Ellington's works
remain inscrutable. He has never al-
lowed his orchestrations to be published,
preferring to take the secrets of his voic-
ings on solo journey to posterity

The result is best summed up by
André Previn, a musician who was not
yet born when the Cotton Club era be-
gan. "You know," said Previn, "another
band leader can stand in front of a
thousand fiddles and a thousand brass,
give the down beat. and every studio
arranger can nod his head and say ‘Oh,
yes that's done like this.’ But Duke
merely lifts his finger, three horns make
а sound, and nobody knows what it is!”

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71

PLAYBOY

98

Holiday Smorgashord
(continued from page 36)

paper thin, One of the most natural
didates for a smorgasbord table is
thinly sliced smoked turkey. Corned
pigs made into а jellied loaf
nown as head cheese is a traditional
Swedish meat for the holiday season. In
large city gourmet stores you can buy
canned game such as wild boar, venison,
pheasant and mallard duck. If you and
your guests are game fiends and appre-
ciate the rich high favor of these
viands, you can now obtain them for
bout $1.50 to $2.50 per pound, cooked
ight. Naturally if you have your own
me, frozen or hanging in your club
refrigerator, you'll want it for the
smorgasbord. Alongside your meat plat-
ters, arrange relish dishes filled with
such liveners as senfgerken (imported
cucumber pickles with a mustard flavor),
bur gherkins, pickled English black
walnuts and the Swedish preserved
lingonberies or the German preisel-
beeren, both tart cousins of the cran-
berry.

CHEESE TRAY

First on the cheese tray is the Swedish
gjetost, a chocolate colored hard cheese
made from caramelized goats milk.
Gjetost has a sweet intense flavor that
must be "learned" before it's appre-
ciated. There are many caraway-flecked
cheeses of which Scandinavians are very
fond. They may be bought in imported
or domestic versions. Danish munster or
Dutch gouda cheeses are both fine re-
cruits for a smorgasbord. Cut a few
slices off each cheese, and leave the re-
mainder standing with a knife or cheese
slicer nearby.

Yeomen of the holiday table
want to put their own perso
ture on a smor

who

to create some of their own dishes for
the feast days. rLavnoy's smorgasbord
recipes which follow are all designed
for 10 smorgasbord (snack size) portions.

HERRING AND APPLE SALAD

In a large salad bowl combine 3 cups
diced boiled potatoes, 1 cup diced
canned beets (well drained), 2 sweet red
apples (pared, cored and cut into dice),
11% cups diced matjes herring fillets or
herring tidbits, 6 tablespoons salad ой,
2 tablespoons vinegar and 1 tablespoon
finely chopped scallion. Toss thoroughly.
Let the mixture stand in the refrigerator’
for at least one day before serving. Salt
may be added if necessary, but the salt
ინ the herring is usually sufficient.

SALMON AND EGG SALAD WITH CAPERS

Boil a 1 Ib. salmon steak until tender.
Drain and chill the salmon. Remove
bones and skin, and break salmon into
chunks. In a g bowl combine salm-
on chunks, 3 hard-boiled eggs cut into
dice, У; cup mayonnaise, 14 teaspoon
Worcestershire sauce, 14 teaspoon lemon
juice, 1 tablespoon drained capers and
2 tablespoons finely chopped fresh dill.
Toss lightly. Add salt and pepper to
taste. Turn salmon salad into a bowl
lined with lettuce leaves. Sprinkle a few
capers over the top of the salad. Garnish
the salad with wedges of tomato and
large ripe olives.

SWEDISH MEAT BALLS

Break two slices of stale hard. white
bread into small chunks. Soak the bread
in 14 cup light cream. Set aside. Boil 1
medium size potato until soft. Force the
potato through a ricer to mash. Chop
1 medium size onion extremely fine. Put
the onion in a saucepan with 1 table-
spoon butter and slowly sauté until the
onion tums yellow. In а deep mixing
bowl combine the bread and cream,

“I think ГИ start this one off at $35.00 myself.”

mashed potato, onions, 1 beaten egg, 54
Ib, lean ground beef, M Ib. lean ground

pork, 1 teaspoon salt, 14 teaspoon
ground allspice and ур teaspoon pepper.
Mix very well until no pieces of bread

are visible. Shape into balls linch іп
diameter. Place the balls in a shallow
baking pan. Place the pan іп an оусп
preheated to 475°. Bake until the meat
balls are brown, about 20 minutes, turn-
ing опсе.

1ი a large saucepan melt 2 tablespoons
butter. Stir in 2 tablespoons flour, blend-
ing well. Gradually ада а 10/2 ounce
can of condensed consommé, stirring
with a wire whisk until smooth, When
the sauce comes to a boil add the
browned meat balls Turn the flame
very low. Cook, covered, for 14 hour,
stirring occasionally. Stir in M Cup light
n. Bring to a boil. Turn off flame.
Add brown gravy color very slowly, stir-
ring until the sauce is a rich brown color.
Season to taste.

сте;

SWEDISH BROWN BEANS

Soak 1 Ib. white pea beans in 2 quarts
cold water overnight. Chop 2 medium
size onions and 2 medium size cloves of
garlic extremely fine. Cut 14 Ib. bacon
slices into very small dice or chop the
on with a heavy knife until it is
minced. In a large heavy stewing pot
combine the bacon, onions and garlic.
Cook over а slow flame, stirring fre-
quently until onions just turn yellow-
Do not brown bacon. Add the beans
together with the water in which they
were soaked. Add 1 pint additional cold
water. Bring to a boil. Add 4 chicken
bouillon cubes. Cook the beans slowly,
keeping the pot covered, for 1 hour. Add
14 cup dark molasses, М cup dark brown
sugar, 14 cup vinegar, І tablespoon pre-
pared mustard and 1 teaspoon Kitchen
Bouquet. Add salt and pepper to taste.
Continue to cook beans over a very slow
flame for about 1 hour more or
tender. Watch the pot carefully, stirri
the beans on the bottom to avoid scorch-
ing, keeping the flame low all the time.
Swedish brown beans should be pre-
pared the day before the smorgasbord
and should be rcheated just belore serv-
ing.

Maybe you've noticed we have
tionally avoided all those charming little
Scandinavian accent marks over the
word “smorgasbord” throughout this ar-
ticle. That's because we've naturally used
the word quite a few times and we were
afraid thc pages might get to looking as
if somcone had shaken pepper all over
them. Also, few people in this country
pronounce the word in the authentic
Swedish manner, anyway. But for those
few purists who insist on having every
accent in its proper place—here you a
5 + Scason the агі

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PLAYBOY

THE TRUTH

(continued from page 61)

would be before she could sce Rufus
and ask him what to do.

Rufus could not contrive а satisfac
tory solution to this problem, and it
grieved him to think of his sweet
Aenea’s hand being crushed by the
cruel stone jaws, so he sccured the
services of a professional wise mam.
The spirits say,” said the wise man
after be id. "that you must dis-
gui: 5 the most poverty-
Stricken farmer you can imagine. You
must carry a few farm implements for
the sake of reality, and above all you
must have some of those tweezers farm-
ers use for pulling thorns out of their
hides, and even one little thorn to be
shown when the time comes.

“I can't see what all this is for,"
interrupted Rufus angrily. “Tweezers,
thorns . .

“All in good time,” snapped the wise
man. "Now: when you're dressed as I
have ordered, go to the intersection of
the Via Ostia and the Avenue of thc
Colosseum, and wait. It is here that
Aenea Sabelina will pass with her hus-
band and his relatives оп their way to
The Stone of Truth. You will have to
get word to the lady that you will be
the farmer and that she must. pretend
to step on a thorn precisely at the inter-
section. You will ‘remove’ the thorn
from her foot. You will take her foot
in your hands, press it as though trying
to squeeze the thorn out, and finally
you will use the tweezers after you
have pricked her foot with the thorn

they all see the thorn and the blood,
Aenea and her companions will go on
to The Stone of Truth, and she will
take this oath and по other. Lean over
and let me whisper the exact wording
into your car."

Rufus leaned over and a broad smile
across his face.
When the hour for the oath

had

come, when all was in readiness and
Aenea had been carefully informed of
the part she was to play, she ap-
proached the intersection, complained

foot to

nd submitted her
mer who came forw
tweezers with which he offered to ex-
tract the thorn. Everything went as
planned down to the finest detail. With
head held high and leaning on her
husband's arm, Aenea Sabclina pro-
ceeded directly to The Stone of Truth
Thrusting her hand deep into the fierce
jaws, she spoke in а firm and dear
voice.

“І swear,” she said, “that since my
marriage to Scipio Torcatus and indeed
ore, as he who consummated the
e well knows, no other man has
touched my person except that good
n who just now pulled the thorn
from my foot.”

of а pain,

The terrible stone jaws remained
open; those who had accused Аспса
went home with sheepish looks: and

Torcatus returned to the wars a happy
man. Аспса, however, after that. med.
ways to be suffering from some com-
plaint, for scarcely а day passed when
sh not require the scrvices of the
good doctor Rufus.

— Translated by J. A. Gato

“Say, isn’t that your wife that
just came in, honey?”

Buttondown Boys
(continued from page 32)

were through. The scene would have to
be edited out. Luckily, the men in the
raft weren't badly hurt. “Strike it!” I
called wearily and the Weasels came
bumping down through the drifted
snow to be loaded. That's all there was,
there wasn’t any more.

At the base, I gave the order to pack
up for the flight back to the Si
Operations promised us a plane
thing in the morning.

Mike had his farewell party started
before he got his mittens off. He invited
everybody and it was just shaping up
into а real wing-ding when there was a
knock on the door. It was Colonel
Nesbitt. The security major was with
him and you could smell trouble like
garbage burning in their pockets. As
they came in, I saw a couple of М.Р
standing in the hall.

The Colonel laid
A-67-R capsules missing.”

“Missing?” Bert gasped.

The major read from
“February 1100 —40 ow
8 used, 12 unaccounted for.”

“AIL n l and mat

his records:
20 returned,

ve

the base, MacClure,” the Colonel said.
Nobody has left since your gang got
back. Whoever took those capsules is

still here. The М.Р. are going to scarch
everybody.”
“Have a drink, everybody," Mikur

muttered thickly.

Mentally, І was on my third Miltown.
"OK. Colonel,” I said. my voice sound-
ing far away, “start searching.

Those M.P.s made the old fir
comb look like a garden rake. They
sed every room. closet by closet, draw-

er by drawer. They didn't miss a corner
ora canny. And they found the сар-
sules Eight of them anyway. In the

neckband of one of Ted's shirts.

The room was deathly silent. The
capsules lay in the M.P.'s open hand like
drops of guilt. Nobody moved. Ted's
face was like suet. ] could hear some-
body's watch ticking.

Finally the Golonel asked, “Where are
the rest of them?”

"Ted shook his head woodenly. "I
don't know. I don't know anything
about any of them. I didn't..." His
voice trailed off

“I'm afraid you're under arrest, Pen-
noyer. ГЇЇ radio the States to expect
you. You'll go under guard.”

When they'd gone, Ted turned to me.
“Is this for real?" he asked in a dazed
voice. His eyes were wide and there was
a little dry coating in cach corner of his
mouth. “Believe me, Мас, I didn’t take
those damn things. You have my word

I tried to smile, "That's good enough
for me.

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It wasn't for the Colonel, though.
With Bert, he was waiting for me in
the hall when I came out. "He's dead,
MacClure,” he said. “Timmer here tells
me he needed mon Two, we all know
he spent a lot of time with Pesdorfl.
Three, he had access to the stuff. And
four — hell, they found it on him.”

"Not all of it,” I began but he cut
mc off:

"Enough," he said flatly and walked
away.

“Well,” Bert said, "I guess it just
proves all the bad guys don't wcar black
sombreros." I could have clobbered him.

I got damn little sleep that night. As
soon as I hit the pad, cverything crowded
to my head. I woke up next morning
tired.

And one look out the window and І
just wanted to quietly open my veins.
А real arctic gale was blowing. T phoned
‘We're socked in," the зе
geant said. “Nothing's coming or рої

"For how long

“Who knows? The last one lasted five
days."

1 saw the Federal Auto account buried
in a snowdrift.

When I broke the news to the others,
Mikur flipped. “In fife days I am dead!”
he screamed, brandishing a bottle of
Scotch,

Bert frowned at the can of film.
“What about this stuff we shot yester-
day? It still needs some lapidary work
and Monday's the target date, y'know

*Die with that, will you?" I growled.
"I know."

"Just trying to keep our lens clear,
that's all.”

"We could pull a neg on i
we're ng" Mike's assi
“The Air Force has a lab here for the
aerial photo guys."

It was a chance, anyway. І phoned
Opera:
was unchanged. “OK. let's go.” I said.
grabbing the film.

"The lab was small and cold but when
our stuff began to come out it looked
great. Contrast, composition — every-
thing. And it was lousy with realism.
Mikur was an artist.

Near the end of the гес! I came on
some sloppy out-of-focus stuff like noth-
ing he ever shot in his life. The sky,
part of the rubber raft, ant ice-

while

berg. In the dark, Mike's assistant
chuckled. “That furlincd DeMille got
his licks in, after al

“Uk Luk?”

“Yeah. He must have shot this when
we were all down on the beach chasing
the flotsam and jetsam. Mike'll kill
him.”

There was another shot of the sky.
A blurred hand. Somebody opening a
can of film. The raft again. Then a ——

“Hey, wait a minute,” I said. I felt
the cameraman tense forward at my

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shoulder. Slowly I reversed the reel.
‘There was thc figure opening the сап
again. “Who the hell would be opening
Taw Бїт > + “ა
The camcraman's
‘That's not film!”
We knocked heads crowding over the
reel. I spun it at action speed. The
figure — ап Eskimo — bent over the can,
took the capsules from it, started away
—and there was the goddamn raft
gain

“Red-handed!” I shouted, pounding
the cameraman on the back.
wonderful Uk Luk! III hug.
blubber bubbles!”

Colonel Nesbitt almost bit through
his pipestem when we showed him the
film. Even in the negative he recognized
the Fskimo Uk Luk had photographed.
“Pakoot Bad actor, been in trouble
before. Never should have been assigned
to you people in the first place.”

“Не must have planted that stuff in
Ted's shirt as soon as we came back
from location,” I said. “What was that
all about?”

“Red herring. Old Pesdorff picked
himself a good finger-man this time.”
He grabbed up the phone and machine-
gunned questions into it. He was grin-
ning when he hung up. “Pakoona’s still
on the base. With the restrictions and
the storm he hasn’t had a chance to get
into town.

"Going to grab him?"

‘The Colonel shook his head. "He's
our bait now. Soon as the weather lifts,
he'll turn the rest of the capsules over
to Pesdorff. When Pesdorff tries to take
them off the island, then we nail him.”
He had the look of a man who's been
waiting a long time.

But we weren’t there when he snap-
ped the trap. The storm blew itself out
by midafternoon and within an hour
we were ready to take off. Two М.Р»,
all jazzed up with .45s hustled Ted
aboard the plane. He looked very ar-
rested. The Colonel came down with
the security major to sce us off. Uk Luk
was there, too. Out of gratitude, I let
few bones in my hand as
we said good-bye. “So long, Joc,” he
grunted, with that big grin. He was
still standing there waving when we
roared down the runway.

The minute we got in the air, І broke
the news. The place came apart. Even
the М.Р. cheered. Everybody crowded
around to shake Ted's hand. Mikur
kissed him on both cheeks. The script
1 began to cry. Bert tapped Ted's
chin with his fist. “That's the way to
field the hot ones, fellow,” he
somberly.

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"Yes," I said. "Send them to Uk Luk,
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them charged to the account of Mr.
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he had the Federal Auto account. the
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1 strolled up the avenue to Pipp's.
Somehow the familiar faces at the bar
looked pale, the familiar New York talk
sounded empty апа meaningless. I guess
alter а man has been up in the wilds
of the frozen north, the city palls. I
guess...

Wait a minute, now, I jumped gears.
"hats the way my ТУ script will go
when you see it on the Federal Auto
Playhouse next month. As for me, per-
ly — dad. there never was anybody
pier to see New York again. That
dirty concrete island looked like para-
dis. Тһе people were great, the talk
was supercharged and when I saw Miss
Scotch Tape coming chest first through
that door at Pipp's, I knew the long,
cold Greenland nights were over. It was
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PLAYBOY ON POKER

(continued from page 28)

help you, because there is probably
something wrong with your head,

In fivecard stud, fold immediately
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card you can see. (If high man has to
bet and you are high you will have to
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possible thereafter.) Note that it is your
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it you can hope to win, other
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win. To stay with а threellush or a
three-straight is madness itself, unless
you have other values, eg, A-K-Q. А
straight is dealt in five cards once in 254
times, and a flush is even worse at 1/508.

Seven-card stud presents special prob-
lems because it offers seven cards. After
buying five or six cards it is often the
case that you will have just enough to
force you to stay to the end—at which
point you will usually lose to a hand
that was developing steadily from the
beginning. Don't stay in seven-card un-
less you have a pair, three of a kind,
or three cards to a straight or flush.
1 don’t recommend staying on any other
holdings, even something as tempting as
ace-king in the hole and nine up. Re-
member that you are looking at three-
sevenths of your hand right here. Unless
you can see something worth following
up it is best to go now.

Having taken a fourth card your hand
should have delinite possibilities—and
1 mean possibilities that an unbiased
observer would readily concede. Too
many poker players proceed with the
idea that as long as there's life there's
hope. Turn it around. As long as there's
hope there's life, and as long as there's
life the poor poker players are in there,
contributing to another pros-
ретку. If your hand has definite possi-
bilities you should naturally play. If not,
fold it and forget и. There'll be another
one along in a minute.

There is a player for whom none of
the foregoing is really relevant—the in-
tuitive “if you get a hunch, bet a bunch"
player—and the perfect example in my
ncc is Nelson Algren. Here,
is the man with the golden arm.
When he's hot, that is. To win seven out
of eight pots in a row is just about par
when Algren is hot.

Here he is at the top of his form. We
are playing five-card stud. On the third
card I show a pair of sixes. He shows a
four and a three, I bet. He calls. 1 figure
he's chasing with a small pair. The next
round he catches а pair of fours. Natur
ally І check. He checks. "Then, on the
last card, he gets a three. I retire,
babbling incoherently. With onc hand
he draws in the pot and with the other
he generously reveals his 10 in the hole.
What happened that he came on
when he had only one card he could
pair to beat me (and always assuming
l didnt help or didnt have trips
backed)—and спаса up doing it the hard
y with two small pair.

This is, of course, suicidal. But these
intuitive players (as opposed to those
who simply don't know any better)
make their own rules. They arc glor-
iously inconsistent. And before such
confidence—and such results —I yield
"Were there many such players
around and were they doing this sort of
thing very often the game would quickly

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take on a different aspect from the
familiar one we all know so well. Such
a player is unprotected. against the in-
evitable dry periods Не
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negative. If in the six-man game you can
expect to win only once every six deals
Запа inasmuch as you are bound to
lose some expensive hands along the
way-it is of the importance
that you see to it the ones you do win
are fat ones. And so to the second prin
ciple: Build the largest possible pot [or
the hands you figure to win.

It is regrettably true that what you
figure another player may disfigure —
usually some screwball who came to play
and bets like there were no tomorrow.
But except for that once in a blue moon

n he gets red hot and wins everything
ght, this guy is a generous со
wibutor. His presence in the game im.
proves your chances of being а winner,
so don't begrudge him his victories. Be
sides, it won't do any good. His tenacity
brings tears to the eyes, and his courage
n the face of overpowering superiority
is marvelous to behold — or it would be
if he weren't forever grimly hanging on
and managing to come up with a scrawny
litte straight—a_ belly ch оп the
seventh card—to render your three
hty aces impotent and contemptible.
Ah, ше!

То build the pots you have a good
chance of winning, the greatest need is
for restraint. And this is just the quality
that is lacking in the play of the average
player. He is overeager. His aggressive-
ness scares off the others before they are
properly set up for a killing. А prem
ture raise drops the other players be
cause it occurs before their hands have
developed sufficiently to commit them
in the pot to a degree that practically
demands their continued participation.
You cannot raise simply because your
hand warrants it. You must consider the
probable effect of a raise on the other
players. For if it drops them it was a
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is committed and the first better is on
your left. Then, alter the stayers have
seen his bet and it is around to you,
make your raise, But to raise when the
bet is on your immediate right is pre-
cipitate.

It is lack of restraint that prevents the
poor player from building the pots he
wins. He raises like а madm
folds, and he turns his hole-cards and
reveals three of a kind backed up. He
feel he is unlucky, but he isn't. He's

ი there was no need to
start pushing so soon. If you have such
a holding let them stay in. If the high
man is on your right and he checks, you
check, too. Let someone on the left bet.
And when he does and the bet reaches
you, call, don't raise. Save that raise un.
til the doubled round (most local rules
allow the betting limit to be doubled on
an open pair and before and after the
last card is dealt). If the round is checked
out, don't fret. You've learned some-
thing. They're weak, and a bet might
have dropped most of them, Now they
get a free card and some will improve
and be able to stay in

In draw poker, raise with two pair
before the draw. no matter where you
sit. You must e before the draw if.
you expect to raise at all, because the
chances of filling are опе in 12. and you
arc unlikely to be able to raise after the
draw. Мухі І haven't filled two pair
since 1941 . . . but it’s ап interesting
and important hand and h

II you hold апу
pair do not raise before the draw unless
are already several stayers or un-
les you are the last man. Be patient!
Call the opener. Your
two or three live ones who would have
stayed.

А raise on a Гош-Пизћ or оре
Боа лађе is 3 warranted only

this number of stayers
der for you will be getting sai
nd if you catch, you figure

a fce diving tte Tre თ рака
house, but anyone can have one оп апу
given hand, and the mark of the expert
is that he bets it almost diffidently, nurs-
е the hand along, coaxing bets from
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the end, the authoritative raise as
coup de grace.

In fivecard stud, with an ace in the
hole or a small pair, you must raise at
once, no matter where you sit (assuming,
of course, that no higher hands show).
If уоште going to make your ace or
stand up you've got to give па
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almost surely weaker than you, resist
the impulse to raise him back, unless
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chances of a large pot (and generally
this would be the case when there are
only the two of you left in the hand).
Don't be insulted by the raise and reply
in kind. Keep your feelings out of it.
You should be analytical and calculat-
ing. not hotheaded. Poker is no game
for the emotional — which may explain
the absence of firstrate women players.

Sand-bagging (i.e. checking and then

raising when another man bets) is ап
excellent pot-builder, provided the bet
comes on your left. If the man on your
left

is one of these “checks are for
players who bets as а matter of
ple, check to him when youre
high, then raise in turn. Sand-bagging
has two advantages: it builds a pot and
make the others more hesitant to
bet on those occasions when you have
checked a weak hand.

Bluffng is generally unavailing in
limit poker, and its chicf function is to
advertise itself by being discovered. It
will help thc bluffer find callers on
other hands when he is loaded and wants
action. Contrary to the belief cherished
by many players that they "run"
regularly, very few hands of limit poker
are won by bluffs. A player may think
he has run one, but if the hands were
examined it will usually be found that
his was the strongest of all, no matter
how weak it may have seemed to him.
Bluff just enough to assure callers when.
you want them.

And these final precepts: Develop a
philosophical attitude about the game.
Don't let prosperity, boredom, animosity
or despair cause you to change your
principles of play;

Learn to lose graciously. If you can
lose graciously it will be because you
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While it is important to master the
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tion that the other players are also doing
the right thing. In fact this is not always
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The outstanding characteristic of a
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