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PLAYBOY IN
LAS VEGAS

DEAN

BIRMINGHAM

GOLD

STEINBECK

PLAYBILL

LAs VEGAS, probably the world’s least
deserted desert, is the object of our scru-
tiny this month. We pan lovingly over
Mr. Minskys new extravaganza there
and, to make assurance double sure, we
also dolly in on a specific Vegas showgirl,
Felicia Atkins, our Playmate for April.
The total Vegas coverage comes to a
hefty, handsome 12 pages which, we
trust, will please you (as well as the
Nevada Chamber of Commerce) no end.

Devotees of doom will take a dim view
of John Steinbeck's fable, The Short-
Short Story of Mankind, written for this
ue. Mr. Steinbeck, though well
of the troubles
planet. feels the huni
ing its own s
work out all right. The lively Steinbeck
allegory is accompanied by an equ
lively illustration from the penetrat
pen of Abner De: i
when the illustration was in the discus-
sion stage, “that the drawing should
make a parallel statement rather than
iterally illustrate an isolated incident
from the story — should be capable of
standing by itsclL" The Steinbeck and
Dean creations, you will find. go to-
gether like gin and the very driest of
vermouths.

Orville К. Snav: the name is а magic
one to thousands of people. Who is he?
What he? Where is he? And,
should excuse the expression, why
PLAYBOY tries to answer these and other

d tensions of our
is hold-

п race

nd everything

WALLACE

pressing questions in The Little World
of Orville К. Snav. LeRoy Neiman:
there's another meaningful name — and
a familiar one, too, for he has done some
of PLAYROY's most exciting. most vigorous
illustrations. In this issue, however,
you'll see another side of Neiman — the
fine artist whose serious paintings аге
becoming the enthusiasm of artwise
people throughout the land. Rolls-Royce:
talk about magical, meaningful names
... the R-R has been а саг to conjure
with for several decades now, and Ken
Purdy tells us why in Prestige on Wheels.

Herbert Gold, who needs no intro-
duction here, contributes his 10th piece
for PtAvsov, an ominous and oddball
entry called Weird Show, which takes
the lead position. John Wallace, repre
sented this month by the wry story 4
Stretch in Siberia, is the gent who wrote
Get Out of My Life and Party Girl, two
memorable hunks of PLaynoy prose.

It is our privilege and pleasure to
welcome aboard, as rLAvynoy's Fashion
Director, Frederic A. Birmingham, for-
merly the Editor of Esquire. He is the
author of two current books on fashion
and on booze ("both," ed, "ex.
tensively researched”) and is happily
engaged in "laying the groundwork for
a sequel on women." Further savvy in
the fashion field was garnered by Bir-
mingham during his tenure as Editorial
Director of Apparel Arts magazine. He
will be directing puaynoy’s editorial and
promotional activities in men’s fashions,
and his first article for us is A Slight Case
of Trichotomy, in which he goes into the
three schools of thought on male finery.
Fred's personal views on attire were
distilled into one canny comment he
dropped the other day during the after-
noon cocktail break the Playboy
Building: ly speaking,” he said,

1 believe that а man's clothes should be
seen and not heard.”

encra

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DEAR PLAYBOY

H ADDRESS PLAYBOY MAGAZINE e 232 E. OHIO St, CHICAGO 11, ILLINOIS

THE STORY'S THE THING
TI never stop buying rrAYBov as long
as you can find writers like Gilbert
Wright who can turn out stories like
The Room of Dark in the January issue.
H. W. Peters
Grand Junction, Colorado

I have been a digger of PLAYBOY for
many moons, and have often found
stories worth comment, but always I
have been content with leaving remarks
to others. No longer! Gilbert Wright's
The Room of Dark demonstrates pure
genius.

Gary L. Hall
Hailey, Idaho

The Room of Dark is one of the most
praiseworthy works of fiction ever pub-
lished in PLAyBoy.

William C. Cornwell
Peoria, Illinois

"Great" is an inadequate syllable to
convey my enthusiasm for The Room of
Dark and The Best Job in Television.
Where did you find а pair of writers as
imaginative as Wright and Wieting?
May I suggest encores trom both?
Melvyn W. Cade
Chicago, Ilinois

Congratulations on The Best Job in
Television. It's on the top of my list as
one of the all-time PLAYBOY greats.

A/lc Jerry Faulkenberry
Shaw AFB, South Carolina

Congratulations are due Gilbert
Wright for a storytelling job well done
in The Room of Dark. Kerouac and
James Jones came out a poor second
best.

Robert L. Tedhams
Baltimore, Maryland

Bouquets to Jack Kerouac for The
Rumbling, Rambling Blues. Let's defi-
nitely have more from the most refresh-
ing young writer to grace your pages.
Jim Moran
University Park, Pennsylvania

It's a shame that Jack (On the Road)
Kerouac doesn't do more traveling and
less writing

Bill Starr
Huntington Beach, California

DRINK FOR THOUGHT

Your January textand-photo takeout
on the Basic Bar was extremely informa-
tive—it gave me plenty of drink for
thought

Stanley Fierman
Jackson Heights, New York

You have come a cropper in Basic Bar
when you print a full color page of cock-
tails calling for such garbage as tomato
juice, vodka, bitters and even rum.
There is one cocktail: the martini, made
ice cold with 3.7 parts of gin to one part
good dry vermouth. All else is dross.

Paul Chapman
Oklahoma City, Oklahoma

"The article on "рге and postprandial

potables and paraphernalia” was terrific!
Dick Leonard

Holland, Michigan

MR

I was extremely impressed with Vance
Packard's article, The Manipulators, in
your December issue. To the layman,
this psychological insight into himself
should have been a rare treat, even as it
was to me. I'm looking forward to more
of the same.

Robert M. Lehmkuhl
Clinical Psychology Dept.
Eglin AFB, Florida

Tread softly, lest ye wake thine own
readers. Mr. Packard's article was quite
interesting: a good study of one of the
signs of our time. It, however, started
this reader, and heaven knows how many
others, wondering exactly why he buys
your magazine. Possibly we have been
kidding ourselves into believing we en-
joy reading your magazine. Possibly we
have just been attempting to be among
the "literate, urban and adult males" (to
quote Mr. Hefner in Mike Wallace In-
terviews Playboy, same issuc). It was an

PLAYBOY, APRIL, 1958, VOL. S, MO. 4. PUBLISMKD MONTHLY BY HMH PUBLISHING CO., IRC

оно ST., CHICAGO эз
THE ACT OF MARCH 3.
TIONS: їн THE U.S., ITS POSSESSIONS, THE PAN AME
36 FOR ONE EAR. ELSEWHERE ADD $3 PER YEAR

331 к. оніо ST, CHICAGO 1). Mi. м
ANGELES, CAL., DU 4.7382: SAN FP?

PLAYEOY BUILDING, 232 上

ENTERED As SECOND CLASS MATTER AUGUST 5. 1855 AT THE POST OFFICE AT CHICAGO, iiL , UNDER
879. PRINTED iN U.S.A. CONTENTS COPYRIGHTED © posa EY нын PUBLISHING CO., акс

susscniP-

AM UNION AND CANADA, $14 FOR THREE YEARS, $11 FOR TWO YEARS,
OR FOREIGN POSTAGE ALLOW 20 DAYS FOR NEW SUBSCRIPTIONS AMD RENEWALS.
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unfortunate combination of articles for
the same issue of a magazine, and I trust
that it won't hurt your circulation too
greatly, as I still kid myself into believ-
ing that I enjoy the magazine.
William T. Ramsay
New York, New York

When I finished reading the excellent
feature, The Manipulators, by Vance
Packard, 1 recalled the last words from
George Orwell's Animal Farm: “The
creatures outside looked from pig to
man, and from m
pig to man but already it was
impossible to say which was which,"

Jack Snyder
San Jose, California

PLAYBOY PARTY

А confused PI
a hard time choosi
campus |
Oklahoma

playboy is having
between these two

first annua

At left, Barbara Paton, a Sooner
book queen, and right, №
second r is

both
mmas; the
happy rabl "rte Mugler.
The formal was a great success.
Dennis Махсу
Phi Kappa Psi
University of Oklahoma
Norman, Oklahoma

SHEL’S PARIS

I finally managed to steal the January
copy of »LAvsov from my husband long
enough to drink in Shel Silverstein's im
pressions of Paris. I thought he couldn't.
outdo his Tokyo work, but this one
tops them all!

Mrs.
Chi

les Stern
go, Illinois

Silverstein in Paris is without a doubt
one of the wittiest things I have ever had
the pleasure to look at. Mr. Silverstein is
a genius.

Leon Backus
Buffalo, New York

/-E-E-E-E-E-O-W!

I have just picked up my January issue
of ptaysoy and have only this to say
about Elizabeth Ann Roberts: magni-
fique, wunderbar, maravilloso, and у-е-є-
ece-ow!

Henri Lapin
Los Angeles, California
If Miss Roberts is an example of to-

ay's college coed, 1 say a big hurray for
higher education.

Joel Brenner
Bronx, New York

Whoever latched onto this pert litle
miss deserves а pat on the back. She is
the best yet.
Tommy Miller
Dallas, Texas

For God's sake, please don't make us
wait until next December to see more ol

Elizabeth Ann. Robe
Jim Sissom
Dallas, Texas
Just saw Elizabeth Ann ` Roberts,
WOW! BEAUTIFUL! RAVISHIN
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FUL! STACKED! PETITE! GLAMOR-
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Donald W. Elli
Abilene, Texas

What à way to start off the new year!
Vince Seru
New York, New York
reading about your Reader Serv-
ice in PLAywoY and you stated: “If the
item in which you're interested isn't
listed, jot down the description and page
number on a separate sheet of paper."
Well, I am interested in the item on
pages 35 through 40 of the January issue.
Where can | find something like Miss
Roberts in my home town?
John A. Mullis
Chamblee, Georgia

We wish to take umbrage with the
puritanical copy that has lately been
accompanying the Playmate pictur
was bad enough when we were а
believe that 1. Winters, who stood ex-
posed behind the nothingness of a negli-
gee, virtuous maiden who blanched
at a proposition. But horrors, now you
give us a studious schoolgirl who doesn't
go out with boys (honest), but has a
weakness for posing in the nude! What
type of psychology you think you are
using we don't know!

1 Francisco, California

Those are the facts, friend. We just
happen to be getting good at talking the

nicest of girls into posing as Playmates.
Any objections?

SPORTWEAR
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PLAYBOY

farout musician friend, currently
working Chicago's Blue Note, in
formed us that he had just moved into
new digs on the Near North Side. “You
are invited, man,” said the cat, “to attend
my housecooling party tomorrow night.”

Sharp-eyed readers have been bom-
barding us with a batch of zany movic
marquee couplings cver since wc re-
ized the whiskered dodge in Feb-
ruary. Some of the newest eyebrow lift-
crs: Time Limit and My Gun Is Quick;
Fire Down Below and Hellbound; The
Bottom of the Bottle and Walk a Crooked
Mile; Love in the Afternoon and The
Great American Pastime; Living It Up
and The Girl Can't Help 1t.

a

From behind that familiar ferric Cur-
tain comes a Polish magazine called. Jazz
(pronounced “Jazz”), published in War-
w, which chatters enthusiastically about
the "be-bopowców" of the “orkiestrze
Gillespiego,” the “jazz progresywny" of
Chubby Jackson, lists Charles Mingus
among the "coolowców" (cool oncs) and
devotes a full column to “Król swingu”
(King of Swing) Benny Goodman. Ac
companying the Goodman takeout is a
photo of Benny and Janet Pilgrim, cap-
tioned, “Benny Goodman otrzymuje
medal pisma PLAvnoy" — which, raggedly
translated. simply conveys the news that
the Krol swingu received the PLAYBOY
AllStars Medal. Proof positive (if you
need it) that music hath charms to soothe
not only the savage West but also the
savage East.

of New York “delicacy
supermarkets” that go under the name
of Caviarteria pride themselves on their
line of what they call Spooky Foods.
These include (what else?) chocolate-
covered ants, cuttlefish in own in
seasoned baby bees, octopus on skewer,

The

salted whale skin and fricd silkworms,
in addition to the usual mundane grass-
hoppers and caterpillars.

There is, for those who give a hoot
about instant communication at all times,
a new way to reach wandering motorists
with important messages (in France, at
least) without ing to go to the ex-
pense of installing a phone in every car.
The canny French have erected strate-
gically placed billboards on all major
highways throughout the country. When
you wish to contact an en route friend,
you merely call a central agency and give
them your pal's license number. The
agency, in turn, flashes the number on
the billboards: when your buddy spots
it, he phones the agency and gets the
message.

A side-kick of ours has a business card
bearing, in big bold black letters, the
words "I WOULD BE DELIGHTED
ГО HELP YOU OUT.” and down at
the bottom, in small light italics, “If
you'll just tell me how the hell you
got in.”

THEATRE

William Gibson's Two for the Seesaw is
a trick play for two characters, and,
aside from an occasional assist from the
telephone, he needs no more than two
to delightfully dramatize the tiny trag-
edies and husky humor of a lilesized
love story. Jerry, a Nebraska lawyer
played by Henry Fonda, is resting his
brief case in New York after taking a
powder on his t00-possessive wife. Keep-
ing his spirits up is Gittel Mosca (played
by Anne Bancroft), a bounteous, ballet-
struck, Bronx-born bohemian who knows
the right way to play house with a lonely

guy. Inevitably, the aflair is doomed
from the start, but while it survives, the
romance is a warm and witty interlude.
New playwright Gibson displays a neat
knack for deft characterization and
diabolically accurate dialog that is at
once both flippant and deeply affection-
ate. In one scene Gittel, recovering from
a bout at the hospital, hops into bed,
determined to become an invalid. After
a few days of this nonsense, Jerry pops:
“If you don't get up off your rear end
soon, ГЇЇ advertise in pLAynoy lor one
that works" “he threat is effective.
Henry Fonda is at his mature best
throughout, and Miss Bancroft is glow-
ing in her first Broadway stint. The
show gets a further boost from clever
scenery, sensitive lighting and Arthur
Penn's delicate direction. At the Booth,
222 West 45th, NYC.

Sunrise at Campobello, by former MGM
production boss Doré Schary, limns 34
months in the life of Franklin Delano
Roosevelt to point up man's ability to
turn staggering misfortune into a per-
sonal triumph. Schary and his director,
Vincent Donehuc, start things off at the
Roosevelt summer home on August 10,
1921 — the day the athletic, 39-year-old.
ex Assistant Secretary of the Navy is hit
by polio. The action ends on June 26,
1924 — the day a smiling, confident FDR
(Ralph Bellamy) takes 10 painful steps
to the podium at Madison Square Gar-
den to nominate Al Smith for the Presi-
dency and, not incidentally, to declare
himself a man who can stand om his
own two fect again. Betweentimes, we
witness not only an absorbing personal
struggle, but also a warm nexus of hu-
man relationships — an animated family
album that includes five spritely Kids, a
harried but devoted wife, a four-masted
mother in full sail, and FDR's sardonic,
asthmatic, loyal adviser Louis McHenry

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Howe. The last three roles are respec-
tively and. winningly handled by Mary
Fickett, Anne Seymour and Henry Jones,
but the big vote goes to Mr. Bellamy,
who manages the wheel chairs, crutches,
braces — plus the grin and the cigarette
holder— with nary a soupçon of vaude-
villism or caricature. At the Cort, 138
W. 48th, NYC.

DINING-DRINKING

San Francisco's newest jazz rookery,
Easy Street (2215 Powell), is the first of a
series of similar across-the-country clubs
operated by a corporation that boasts
Mr. Turk Murphy as an exec. Tur!
course, also blows tailgate trombone and
leads his own S. F. Jazz Band, which
merrily revives blues, ballads and bawdy
songs culled from the bordellos of New
Orleans and thc cribs of the Yukon.
Street's atmosphere is red plush carpet
and cut-glass baroque; there's no grub to
be had but plenty of good whiskey and
rollicking jazz; also lacking is the usual
west coast cover charge, but in its place
is the more sensible imum ($2
per). Hard by Fisherman’s Wharf and
the North Beach area, it’s become a
favorite after-dinner haunt that stays
open from nine р.м. to two A.M. every
night save Monday. When Murphy's
boys pull out at the end of April, Kid
Ory and his saints go marching in.

Just opening its doors in Philadelphia
is the lavish supper club C'est Lo Vie
(1418 Spruce) complete with French
Legionnaire in blue tunic and red panta-
loons on door duty. The lounge on the
first floor is an Empire garden where you
and yours make brilliant. conversation
whilst sipping Dubonnet beside a foun-
tain. A carpeted stairway leads you to
the main dining room, a sumptuous red-
draped afiair with crystal chandeliers,
ntiqued candelabra and an
Canards Sauvages à la Press
other menu items. The back room,
geared for brandy and after-cating case,
sports a piano bar whose proprietor
unkles everything from Kern to Khacha-
turian. No show or dancing here, though
strolling fiddlers abound, and if you're
the sort who can't give up Bilko, the
waiter will lug a portable TV sct to
your table. Sunday, all is still.

BOOKS

We won't keep you guessing: the plaza
in the title of Peter DeVries third
novel, The Mockerel Ploza (Little, Brown,
$3.75), is a grateful township's projected
memorial to the late lamented wife of
Reverend Andrew (“Holy”) Mackerel,
youngish pastor of People’s Liberal, a
split-level exurbanite church with “a

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small worship arca at onc end." Being
a widower of sensual bent, minister
Mackerel is amorously entangled as early
as Chapter One with a Molly Calico
("finely tapered calves and well-molded
flanks”). This leads him to a clandestine
but unconsummated assignation in а
flcabag hotel, a parlous tendency to crack
Party Jokes in the pulpit, and, ul
mately, confinement in a mental clinic
("This place is a madhouse!”) If that's
not enough, there's some talk he did
away with the dear departed Mrs. Mack-
еге]. DeVries addicts need not be told that
everything works out and Mackerel fi-
nally recls in the girl, though not the onc
he originally cast his linc for. Wity
words abound and double entendre
raises both its heads ("Ball: says à
mother who has been speaking of her
daughter, "that's all she wants to play
with all the livelong day is balls," and
it is a moment before one rcalizes she
has suddenly shifted the subject to her
cat's obsession th knitting yarn).
Among the characters we hear about but
ncver actually meet are an artist who
paints unicorns th flics on them for
rcalism" and a college boy who takes
his thesis Some Notes Toward an Ехаті
nalion of Possible Elements of Homo-
sexuality in Mutt and Jeff. Though the
yoks are sparser than in the author's
earlier, funnier novels (The Tunnel of
Love and Comfort Me with Apples),
Plaza is casyrcading proof that Mr.
DeVries is no respecter of parsons.

Ever since Frederic Wakeman declared
open scason on hucksters, those men in
those suits have been sitting ducks for
fowlers in both fact and fiction, with
The Hidden Persuaders delivering the
coup-de-disgrace. And though they've
tried to strike back, they've done so
with more picty than wit. High time,
then, for a cool, thoughtful, non-fic ap-
praisal of the ad — which is what, in
a tome titled Madison Avenue, U.S.A. (Har-
per, $4.95), Martin Meyer undertakes to
provide, and, on the whole, succeeds in
doing. From his opening look at the
archetypical adman to his philosophical
finale оп the psychology of economics,
he touches all the bases. The cost of a
billboard in Kansas: the setup and stig-
of a huge agency (J. Walter
Thompson); the story of a complete
campaign (the Edsel putsch)— it's all
here, not excluding that current buga-
boo, motivational research, sometimes
called the ad versus the id. Like a good
reporter, he's careful to point out the
gravy stains on those "sincere" neckties,
but in trying to work both sides of the
avenue, he inevitably zigzags. Result:
his book will wholly please neither the
veeps in their topless towers (topless be-
cause they're always blowing same), nor
those of the Hidden Persuasion. But for

ARRIVE IN STYLE...AFTER SIX!

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anyone who wants the pros and cons of
a business in which we're daily conned
by pros, it's a zesty mess of reportage
which buttons up the buttondown boys
once and for all.

No doubt about it— Richard Math-
eson can spin a suspenseful story. His
new book. A Stir of Echoes (Lippincott,
$3) described by the publisher as “a
novel of menace," is about a quite ordi-
mary chap who suddenly finds himself
disturbingly endowed with psychic pow-
ers — he reads minds. foretells death and
disaster. divines the sex of his unborn
child, uncovers а murder and even sees
a ghost. All this is put forth in terms of
the strictest, non-Gothic, “it-could-hap-
pen-to-you" reality, and readers untrou-
bled by a tendency to pulp writing will
be ensnared by the стану, creepy credi-
bility of this fast moving yarn.

RECORDINGS
Chalk up another Tor Sinatra. A
jaunty, jazzy Frank scores solidly on

Come Fly with Me (Capitol W920), a mostly
uptempo kit of terrific tunes. Doing
right by the lovely likes of Autumn in
New York, April in Paris and Moonlight
in Vermont, Frank's greatest gassers are
a peppy Ils Nice to Go Traveling and
that wizened n On the Road to
Mandalay. а ditty we doubted could
ever sound gone. Billy May and his ork
make swinging traveling companions
and the whole package is near perfect.

A fresh fashion in 1 and we advise
vou to get hip to it fast, is the 1634 rpm
disc. More and more turntables and rec-
ord changers are now equipped to play
this laggardly speed. which affords you
as much as 50 minutes of music per side,
in respectable fidelity, and saves scads of
storage space. Among the jazz releases al-
ready available are several intriguing
items on Prestige, best of which offers a
dozen great performances by the two
MIQs, Milt Jackson Quortet and Modern Jess
Quartet (Prestige 1). Then there's Three
Trambones (Prestige 4), with no less than
24 wacks featuring various groups led
by Kai Winding and/or J. J. Johnson
and Benny Green. You save loot, too,
since these $7.98 jumbos contain as much
music as two 34.98 LPs.

For a heart-warming, heaping helping
of Paris nostalgia with a liberal side
dish of honest Gallic maize, we urge on
you Poris Night life (Columbia 978), on
which a dozen of that city’s illustrious
purveyors of chansons and le jazz hol let
go with the same number of melodies.
The Ballade de Davy Crockett is hilari-
ously lovable, Alhambra Rock as lined
out by sexy Magali Noel may well be

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the long-lost tapes
of the famous
Glenn Miller 1939 concert!
Now, for the first time,
this sensational music is
yours to enjoy, on Long Play

RCA VICTOR Records

THE GLENN MILLER
CARNEGIE HALL CONCERT

Special Contest! Fabulous prizes for
naming your favorite Miller tune and
telling why. Derails inside album cover.

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the best thing that's happened to rock
and roll on either side of the ocean, and
the purely French tunes sung by such as
Juliette Greco, Patachou, and the actor
Mouloudji are authentically, romantic-
ally Parisian.

When Brahms’ Variations on a Theme
by Haydn came in from Mercury (50154),
we inadvertently put the disc on the
turntable flip side up and got sucked
to Mr. B's Hungarian Donces. Our hand
shot out to the tone arm, but something
arrested it. That something was the
music itself — it struck us, perhaps for
the first time, as wonderfully wild and
very, very good. These poor old dances
have been scraped out by tearoom
Magyars so listlessly for so long that we
had given them up for lost. Now, on
this biscuit, conductor Antal Dorati
works up an honest sweat, the London
Symphony boys let their hair fly, and
thus — with plenty of blaring brass and
booming percussion — is restored to the
dances their intrinsic luminosity and
fun. So sweeping is this revitalization
that even the most hackneyed hop of all
(#5 in G Minor) peels the paint off the
walls. The Variations on a Theme by
Haydn? We never got around to them.

We've been twirling stereo tapes on
our nifty new Ampex Concerto System
until we've got 3-0 sound coming out of
both cars. Of all the tapes we've audi-
tioned, two of the swinging cool school
scemed to carn most frequent repetition
for friends who came to listen — usually
a pretty meaningful measure of merit.
Thot Geller Feller (Bel Canto 16) serves
up six Pacificstyled ditties dominated by
Herb's alto, but there's plenty of op
portunity for his five sidemen to display
their considerable and individual skills,
especially Lou Levy on piano and Kenny
Dorham on trampet. Lawrence Marable
(drums), Harold Land (tenor) and Ray
Brown (bass) complete the combo: all
blow just fine. Wide Range (Capitol ZC-16)
is an aptly-titled tape which shows off
the w. г. of Johnny Richards’ hig band
and also the w. r. of his arr g and
composing talents. Big bands tend to
blare and holler; this one can do both
when the occasion requires, but it can
subside to ensemble tone or toy deli-
cately with a ballad — and unfailingly
does so, with taste, when that's called
for. Incidentally, we had this one on
monaural disc a couple of months back:
it's good that way, too. but stereo is made
for just this sort of music,

Miss Lee, as should be evident from
her name, was born а girl.” That's all
the box copy tells us about The Ever-Lovin*
Miss Lee (Recotape RS-100-5). From the
tape itself we glean more: this lass has
apparently lived, in the Kinseyan sense.
Nice-enough numbers like fada, Pretty

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13

Baby and Blow, Gabriel, Blow are dealt
with as though the mike had been placed
e a seduction couch — at the proper
actic moment. Mucilaginously or-
gasmic groans alternate with hoarse
es. It's all overdone, but it's
orgy in the tallest corn.

fun — an
Barney Kessel's guitar plus bass, drums

PLAYBOY

and harp manage to keep the melodies
going when Miss Lee's voice periodically
subsides into panting whispers.

Speaking of tapes. an audiophile
buddy gave us this tip: store them on
the take-up reel and don't rewind until
just before the next plaving. He claims
fast rewinding puts tapes under such ten-
sion that they are more subject to stretch,
strain and printthrough than when
comparatively loosely wound, as they
are on the take-up reel.

FILMS

The Brothers Keromazov is a colorful,
gusty account of some wild shenanigans
in czarist Russia that unhappily comes
to a clanking halt about two-thirds of
the way along. When Yul Brynner, as Lt.
Dmitri K, is scorning or taming wenches,
throwing Russian-type orgies (with a
drunken bear yet), socking strangers or
arguing with his lecherous father (Lee
J. Cobb), the movie is magnificent make-
believe. Claire Bloom, as the lovesick
and slightly twitchy Katya, and Maria

Schell, as the luscious, volatile Gru-
shenka, are fine foils for Brynner’s
somber. aggrieved lovemaking. And

Albert Salmi, as the old man’s illegiti-
e, epileptic son. and Richard Base-
rt, as his agnostic one. are properly
dragged
to trial for the alleged murder of his
father and the entire yarn is rehashed
for the benefit of the jury, or maybe for
the people who came in late, it becomes
a howling bore. Director-scripter Rich-
ard Brooks wisely pruned most of
Dostoievsky's minor characters, but its
too bad the film cutter didn't do the
same for the courtroom scenes and much
of Brooks’ static. gratuitous moralizing
that pops up now and again. Our ad-
vice: come early, but be ready to duck
out for a vodka when the trial starts.

mixed up. But when Dmiti

Despite the splash made by the book,
ir Bonjour Tristesse is а drag. Mlle. Sagan's
一 tome was thin. but it had style and

| "Al M A N Continental candor. It also had an atti-

tude, peculi
PARFUM BY

CCo dod

idea of w the author tried to evoke,
assumes instead that the book was a
3.50 to 100.00 plus tox
ted by Coty. Inc. in USA

n

arly French. Producer-diree-

er seems to have little

comedy with a sad ending. To boot, the
film is helped not at all by bird-brained
acting and incredible lines that stick in
the throats of even such hardy vets as

14 Compounded and copy:

David Niven and Deborah Kerr. On the
other hand, it does offer lovely Cinema-
scopic views of the sunny Rivicra, some
crazy nightclub romps and the cute
topography of Jean Seberg's bottom (the
critical lumps she took as Joan of Arc
don't show). The flick's liveliest mo-
ments involve Miss Seberg scampering
in and out of bedrooms and through the
bush, adorned in a molded one-piece
swim suit. Her object is to bust up а
romance between Niven. her roué father,
and Miss Kerr, a cool fashion designer.
If Sagan had written the story as badly
as Arthur Laurents did the screenplay,
the young lady would be starving today.

Sophia Loren's first U.S.-made flick
pitches her plunk in the middle of a
rockstrewn, near-untillable New Eng-
land farm of the 1840s replete with a
bitter, sanctimonious old goat as thc
owner, and his handsome, gangly kid.
who hates dad with every ganglion. ‘The
movie is the stark, foreboding and adult
Desire Under the Elms, [rom the incest
burner of playwright Eugene O'Neill.
Irwin Shaw saw to the screen version
and has hewed close to the original,
for some slight telescoping. bowdleri
tion, and the transformation of the lead-
ing lady from a lank New Englander to
a pneumatic Neapolitan named Anna
(Miss Loren). You remember the plot:
after getting rid of two wives by slavin’
‘em to death, old Ephraim Cabot (Burl
Ives) hitches up to the bouncy, busty
Anna. His two elder sons loathe him
enough to shuffle off to California, but
the third boy, Eben (Anthony Perkins)
foolishly sticks around waiting for Eph
to kick off so he can take over the bad
earth. But Anna is as gumptious as she
is scrumptious, and has dibs on the place
herself. ‘Vo insure petting it, she wants
ine," says Old MacDonald, who
happens to be a blushing 76. Well—
vith a quack-quack here and an oink-
oink there — Anna pulls a switcheroo,
drags young Eben into the hay and gets
her baby, with Ephraim all-unsuspect
ing. In a wildly tragic ending, all three
protagonists get their due. Under thc
direction of Delbert Mann, the film is
appropriately . . . whats the word?
Downbeat,

Sweden sends us a sophisticated and
funny ‘ce, Smiles of a Summer Night,
whose amatory high jinks are so in-
volved that the audience needs a score
sheet. Principles: a lawyer, his young
bride, his son, his mistress, his mistress’
boyfriend, his mistress’ boyfriend's wife
and the family maid, all of whom are en-
sconced in the same country home.
smiling the same smiles, on the same
summer night. The ensuing game of
musical bedrooms is delightful.

CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE

PLAYBILL — 2
DEAR PLAYBOY. - eg 5
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS.

WEIRD SHOW—fiction 3: HERBERT GOLD 16
PRESTIGE ON WHEELS—modern living Е =. КЕМ PURDY 19
THE LITTLE WORLD OF ORVILLE К. SNAV—or BERNARD ASBELL 23
A SLIGHT CASE OF TRICHOTOMY—ottire FREDERIC A. BIRMINGHAM 26
SAUCES FOR THE GANDER—food THOMAS MARIO 30
THE SHORT-SHORT STORY OF MANKIND—foble : JOHN STEINBECK 32
MISS APRIL—playboy's playmate of the month... 2 37
PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor 2 = 44
A STRETCH IN SIBERIA—fiction А JOHN WALLACE 47
PAINTER OF THE URBAN SCENE 一 picteriol ... — 49
CAPS STILL ON TOP—ottire. — A BLAKE RUTHERFORD 53
5. M. O. M.—trovel.. : JOHN SACK 55
MINSKY IN VEGAS—pictoriol.. : 57
MEET THE PLAYBOY READER—erticle a ЕЕ I)
THE SMILE ON THE FACE OF THE SPHINX—ribald classic... PIERRE MARECHAL 67
PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK—travel. PATRICK CHASE 80

HUGH M. HEENER editor and publisher
A. C. SPECTORSKY associate publisher and advertising director
RAY RUSSELL executive editor ARTHUR PAUL art director
JACK J. KESSIE associate editor VINCENT T. TAJIRI picture editor
VICTOR LOWNES Ir promotion manager JOHN MASTRO production manager

ELDON SELLERS special projects PHILIP C. MILLER circulation manager

KEN PURDY castern editor; FREDERIC A. BIRMINGHAM fashion director; BLAKE RUTHER-
FORD fashion editor; THOMAS MARIO food and drink editor; PATRICK CHASE travel
editor; LEONARD FEATHER jazz editor; ARLENE BOURAS copy editor; PAT PAPPAS
editorial assistant; NORMAN C. HARRIS associate art director; JOSEPH Н. PACZEK assist-
ant art director; FERN A. HEARTEL production assistant; ANSON MOUNT college bureau;
JANET PILGRIM reader service; WALTER J. HOWARTH subscription fulfillment manager.

GENERAL OFFICES, PLAYBOY BUILDING, #32 E OHIO STREET. CHICAGO I1, ILLINOIS. RETURN POSTAGE MUST
ACCOMPANY ALL MANUSCRIPTS, DRAWINGS ANU PHOTOGRAPHS SUBMITTED IF THEY ARE TO BE RETURNED AND NO
RESPONSIBILITY CAN BE ASSUMED FOR UNSOLICITED MATERIALS. CONTENTS COPYRIGHTED ar нын ғов.
LISHING CO.. INC. NOTHING MAY BE REPRINTED IN WHOLE OR IN PART WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THE
PUBLISHER ANY SIMILAR! M AND SEMLFICTION IN тыз
MAGAZINE AND ANY REAL 1 COVER DESIGNED вт NORMAN
C. HARRIS, PHOTOS:

TECKNARSTUGANS, BARBARA CARLI

PHOTO вт RALPH cowan; r- y ED BY THE САР а CLOTH HAT INSTI-
m т PHOTO ON LEFT BY B. BERNARD, PHOTO ON RIGHT BY MY PESKIN: P. 38-39 PHOTOS BY MY PESKY
PHOTO BY B. BERNARD: P. GI PHOTO BY KY PESKIN: P. 63 ILLUSTRATION BY LEROY NEIMAN а ROBERT KOROF!

H vol.5, no. 4— april, 1958

16

fiction ву HERBERT GOLD

it was almost as if marshall the great resented being human

B ORE MARSHALL JENKINS made his
home in the Weird Show, he had
found other things. Sometimes the nasal
small-town newspaper pcople would
touch their pencils against their tongues
and ask, "But what? What other things?
What did you do before, Mr. Jenkins?”
“Other things" he would repeat,
showing his teeth in а mirthless smile,
and if the newspaper person were a
woman, she might giggle. He had a way
of creating unease on all sides. It was
part of the act. Marsh had a soul to go
with his liver, and a liver to go with
his body —a tall, thin, sallow body,
obscurely ill, and as tight and secretive
as а switchblade, The liver trickled bile
into his heart. The heart pumped like
that of a human being.

"Mr. Jenkins has had a varied carce:
little Suzanne would continue for him,
following him with her eyes as he stalked
out. Stalk is the word: too long a stride
for his stiffened form, ma
of the gesture of walki
Suzanne continued. “Mr. Jenkins likes
to entertain people. Mr. Jenkins enjoys
thrilling the folks and giving them
what 一 一

"Suzanne!
packed yet

And she ran to follow him. She would
do anything for Marsh. She did. She
was sawed in half nightly, twice on
Saturdays, when he was Marshall the
Great in most of the small towns of
Michigan, Ohio, Ill Indiana and
as far down the Mississippi as St. Louis.
"They traveled to thousands of Saturday

Suzanne! We're not un-

nights all over the midwest and mid-
south in their made-over school bus,
painted with gypsy gilt letters, wemp
SHOW SPOOK SHOW MARSHALL THE GREAT.

“Ape show,” said Will.

There was Will, a college student of
acting. who did the work of controlling
the lights and supplying macaroni. Will
was a different young man almost every
year, but Marshall always called him
Will. He trained the young man to an-
swer. He taught him how to soak and
fling the noodles.

There was Suzanne, who was sawed in
half. Suzanne is Marshall's girl, not
his joy, just his girl, and she was always
the same Suzanne.

And of course there was Marshall, who
thought of new tricks and variations on
old ones and had a knack for it. It
didn't take too much of him. He re-
served most of himself for some secret
continuing duty which no one ever
understood. The Spook Show needed
just what he was willing to give it, which
was about what every spook show takes,
which is:

‘The theatre, called the Granada, or
the Toledo or the Palace, would have
been built during the boom of the late
Twenties, when yellow stucco and false
balconies spoke for fantastic luxury, and
flickering stars in the ceiling twinkled
for romance. Popcorn machines came
later, but blended nicely with the
Moorish decor. When Marsh went into
action, the lights flickered out and the
screaming began. Reflectors sent ghostly
shadows leaping and prancing; the spook

record sang out howls and screeches, and
murderous strangling sounds; Will stood
up on the balcony, throwing great hand-
fuls of warm macaroni down onto the
crowd, while Marsh cried, “WORMS!
WORMS!"

"The usual double horror movie set
the mood, of course. One of the films
was often an old-time serial, all 15 chap-
ters spliced together. By the time Marsh
began his act, the small-town nerves,
frazzled by vampires, werewolves, pig-
men, and Reds from Outer Space, were
interacting powerfully with stomachs
that withered under successive waves of
assault by ginger ale and popcorn.

The kids loved it. A weedsprinkling
of silent adults also sat isolated in the
crowd, loving it. But mostly it was kids
at the necking age for matinees or Owl
Shows. They went steady until the
girls hems came down and the seams of
the boys’ clothes were drenched with
protest. They exchanged tender prom-
ises amid a rain of macaroni until they
thought they would die. “Oh Georgie,”
the girl would say, “you make me crazy
but stop or I'll tell Mother.”

“Stella, Stella honey.”

“TH tell her just as soon as I get
home, 1 will. Hey! Look at the ape-
m

And the hand of Georgie (or Sheldon
or Red) traveled fast, but it wasn't
Stella's fault, was it? She had a biologi-
cal, scientific, purely educational interest
in the gorilla prancing down the aisle.
“Oh-ah-oh it's beautiful!” she gasped.

Georgie’s hand was teaching her to

PLAYBOY

18

her feclings about apeness.
Marshall in the gorilla suit.

‘The kids necked, the popcorn flowed
like wine, the cola flowed like popcorn;
the happy crunch of teeth on candy and
male mouth on female mouth set up a
din of profit in the theatre-owners’ deli-
cate ears. They rubbed their hands con-
tentedly and purred. They brought
WEIRD SHOW SPOOK SHOW MARSHALL. THE
GREAT back at six-month intervals. Marsh
did nicely. Stella thought crazy, did
craz: he owners didn't even mind the
necessity of hiring extra ushers to patrol
the aisles, poking flashlights at the lovers
only when vileness seemed imminent.
Love with candy bought outside, not in
the lobby, seemed vilest of all. But love
with the Granadas Own Caramel
Crackerjack or salty popcorn only made
the owners tenderly murmur: "These
kids! This crazy mixed-up generation!
Well, at least we're winning them away
from the TV. ...

At a signal from Marsh, Will turned
up the screabie-jeebie record to full
pitch and Marsh ran up and down the
aisles in his gorilla suit while the ushers
played their lights on him. lt was
enough to scarc a sensitive girl right out
of her pants. Sometimes it did just that,
but nobody ever claimed the five or six
square inches of elastic nylon swept up
from under the seats. Marsh in his gorilla
suit was enough to weaken a moral,
strong-minded girl so that her boyfriend
could have one more good feel for the
road — which was what the moral, strong-
minded girl wanted to be weakened for,
foo. If you don't know what you're do-
e, how can you be blamed?

See argued that it was part of
their duty to help young America face
life and мор twitching.

"What an idi tid Will. “There
must be another way to learn about life
— not that I'm com ng. It's a job,
and I sure am learning.

Perhaps more than anyone, Marsh
liked the work. After the ape-show sec-
tion, he ran backstage, zipped himself
out of the gorilla suit, and moved swiftly
into the climax of his program. Orig-
inally he had used the conventional
magic act — “I Saw a Woman in Half Be
fore Your Very Eyes" — in which Suzanne
curled up in a box with false feet protrud
ing from on d. But that seemed out of
keeping with his basic theme, and so he
developed an unusual notion. Instead of
sawing and then letting Suzanne do the
sic unharmed leap out, he had her
head protrude at one end and made her
scream, twist, gurgle, and in general.
vigorously complain while she died a red
death, the red stuff supplied by genuine
Heinz ketchup.

The neckers loved it. The theatre-
owners loved: it, Suzanne needed cough
drops against an occasional hoarseness
from overindulgence in shrieking, but

Marsh relieved her of the task of help-
ing him shout “Worms! Worms!” during
the plague of macaroni.

‘This summer was one of their most
successful seasons. Will Jonas, the chief
assistant, had been on the job last sum-
mer also; he handled details with
authority. Like a shrunken caravan
crossing the laggard tail of the corn-
stubble deserts of midwestern America,
Will's slategray and dented litle tin-
can trailer followed the big made-over
school bus which Suzanne and Marsh
shared with the moth-eaten gorilla suit
and other equipment. Will, who had
been a graduate student in dramatics,
told Suzanne with great solemnity that
he believed this gave him more practical
experience in acting than the fly-by-
night stock productions of The Man
Who Came to Dinner to which most of
his friends were condemned. Suzanne
listened and turned her great starved
eyes all over his face. Will tried not to
notice and mentioned that Marsh fas-
ed him. "As a person," he added.
He believed that Marshall Jenkins was
а man who eventually would come to
accept that he was a gorilla, that the
macaroni really became worms, WORMS,
WORMS, that the horrors he imagined
and played out with tricks were real.
“Well, he is an artist — more than an
he told Suzanne.

“Oh yes, more,” said Suzanne.

“In college,” Will began, but did not
finish the sentence: I studied abnormal
psychology.

“Sometimes he's difficult." It was as if
she could read his thoughts after so many
hot afternoons together, after so many
cofices huddled over the counter of
diners and the fans turning and turn.
ing while the flies circled warily, watch-
ing. Suzanne again turned her large,
unblinking, quietly astonished eyes on
Will. "I believe like he resents how your
real name is Will.” He loved to put down
all the boys by making them answer to
what he called them. "Will" she said.
“will.”

Will laughed and patted Suzanne's
cropped head. “You're a cute kid. Some-
day when I'm a big-time director or ac-
tor, you come to me. You look like a
ballet dancer type; you know, Swan
Lake,”

“Tschaikovsky,” she said.
cultural things, too."

"I'll saw you in half any day, Susie 一
I know just the saw for you."

Suzanne's laughter rippled out, soft
and heavy, as if this particular laugh
had been waiting too long and the poor
joke was merely a needed excuse. The
colder Marsh grew toward her, the more
she needed Will's jokes. She laughed
slowly, until the tears came out of her
eyes, tears of gratitude and loneliness.
Her laughter did not yet have any joy
in it. She was no longer so sure as she

"b know

had once been that her daddy had raised
her to be sawed in balf by Marshall the
Great. Marsh took her without pl
It had been that way lor over two yeai
now. He seemed to enjoy her most when
they spun round a curve of a hillside
road, and she was frightened and begged
him to drive more slowly, and then
sometimes abruptly he braked to a skid-
ding stop and made her go back with
him into the rear of the bus. d never
thanked her for anything.

No pleasure.

Something secret in him, silent and
unmoving, nothing more.

"He's no friend," she morosely con-
fided in Will. “I wish, I wish — Oh, he's
no friend to any living person, not even
himself!”

“Lonely for him,”

said Will.

“He cares for uself in terrible
ways."

And she fell silent.

“You started to say you wish. . .. You
wish what?” Will asked, abruptly

touched by this unhappy little creature,
pretty face and small, tanned, rounded
body (white showing when she stretched,
when she moved, leaned), a hunger and
straight aim for love deflected by Marsh
for almost seven years now. Waste, waste.
"What does a pretty girl wish?" he
asked.

"Shush, you!" The smile retreated
over tips of teeth. "I wish Ui never
gotten into this," she said dully. "1 had.
to be an artist the quick way. Because
he said I was pretty and people would
like to look at me. Stare is what they do,
and think — just like him. Dirtiness is
what they think. I wish I'd stayed at
work in a dime store like a nice girl.
Maybe I could have even gone to college
for a year, business school, you know,
and met a sweet considerate fellow like
you."

Will flushed. Looking away, he put
his arm around the girl.

"I didn't mean anything by that," she
said,

“But I do. 1 heard you. I've thought
about you too, Suegirl.”

The soft, senseless, sweet little words
were like pressing a button, for with
them and with his gesture of pressing
his arm about her shoulder, she flung
herself sobbing into his arms. Loneliness
and pity and less lofty feelings — the
health and the unsureness of a young
man traveling and without women —
combined to do, very rapidly, what Will
remembered now he had dreamed of in
his trailer during the long, lonely, starlit
nights parked behind Marshall the
Great's bus. He kissed her lightly for
an instant; then her lips parted and his
mouth opened into hers; they clung to
each other, they started fearfully away
and stared. They stared and stared with
that blank searching of two people who

(continued on page 62)

WHEN T. E. LAWRENCE (Lawrence of Arabia

quietly in England after
World War 1, Lowell Thomas asked hir

ald choose if he could have
uld like

what he wi
any material thing in the world. Without hesitation, Lawrence said: “I sh

to hi
In the 54 years that have passed since u

silently down an English country road. a good r

what Lawrence held to be the most d

a Rolls-Royce motorcar, and tires and petrol to last my lifetime.

first RollsRoyce automobile roll
any men h hed for, and

rable of the world’s goods. Since the first

modern living
BY KEN PURDY

Rolls-Royce car was built, more than
3000 other makes have come and, most
of them, gone. Still, wherever automo-
biles arc known, Rolls-Royce is a mag
name, and men believe as holy writ that
it is what its makers say it is — The Best
Car in the World

Why is this so? The Rolls-Royce isn't
particularly fast, at about. 110 miles an
hour. There are many faster cars. Pt
have notable acceleration. А
good Chevrolet will leave it. It's not
very excitinglooking, since its body

doesn't

styling changes only at long intervals,
and then almost imperceptibly. How can
it be true, then, that this is the best car
in the world, and that driving one is an

experience quite apart from driving any
other automobile?
Some of its wickedly ingratiating

charm is intangible, based on such things
as the sure knowledge that nothing has
gone into this car that was not the best
obtainable in the world's markets; that
no one laid a hand on it during its
building but men who loved their work
and believed in its worth; that when it
left the factory, it was as nearly perfect
as man could make it, because otherwise,
as Sir Henry Royce once said, “The man
on the gate wouldn't let it out.” But the
intangibles are only half the story, per
haps less than half. You must drive the
car to know, and this is how it is:

I got up that morning at five o'clock,
to sce some friends living 100-odd miles
away. It was carly this spring, black dark,
and there was a thin edge of cold on the
air. The car was the model the company
calls a Silver Cloud — a standard sedan
the less costly, $12,800, of the two
currently being built. It had been loaned
to me by the New York dealer, the ven-
erable firm of J. S. Inskip, Inc. It was
painted in two colors: sand and another,
describable shade of mauve, a kind of
rosy pink. The upholstery was a yellow-
brown glove-leather, the woodwork South
African burl walnut. The driver's seat,
and all the others, too, are the proper
kind: soft centers, firm outer rolls to
hold the hips and shoulders. The driver's
seat is adjustable up and down, back
and forth, and for rake — the angle on
the vertical of the back. The arm-rests
on the doors are adjustable, too.

The engine started instantly and be-
gan to warm itself at a fast idle. I pulled
out the heater control — there are almost
infinite variations of heat and ventilation
available — and the little thumb-shaped
button moved through two positions
with soft hissing sounds from the hy-
draulic controls. I turned on the radio
and put up the aerial. In three minutes
the engine was warm and I moved the
gearselector lever to the first position
and moved ош.

After 10 miles or so to warm up the
tires and lubricants in the gear-box, the
transmission and the wheel-bearings, 1
began to demonstrate to myself some-
thing that I'd almost forgotten: the
Rolls-Royce is not only the most luxuri-
ous car in the world, but one of the
fastest over the road, point to point. At
75 miles an hour, on roads tagged for
35, you feel perfectly safe, With the
windows closed, there is no great wind
noise. The stcering is reasonably quick,
the Rolis-Royce power system gives a
remarkable "feel" of the road, nonc of
the deadness of most power steering, and

(continued overleaf)

"It's your turn, Shirley —I took care of the rent this month.”

21

PLAYBOY

PRESTIGE ON WHEELS

the brakes will take anything. You sit in
utter comfort, totally relaxed, listening
to the radio, and you run past every
other car you sec. When you pass an-
other car, incidentally, you can count on
one of two reactions: the other driver
will cave in completely, pull over a little,
almost tug on his forelock as if to sa
that he knows he's a peasant and has no
right to contest with you, or he'll glare,
stick his foot into the gas and try to
show you what he thinks of the idle rich.
He knows a Rolls-Royce when he sees
one — everybody does. If he wants to run
with you, and the road is right for it, let
him. You flick a lever on the steering
wheel that changes the shock-absorber
setting from soft to hard, and then, un-
less he is very enterprising, very good.
and can take advantage of long straights,
you run on the brakes and the gears; you
just go right up to the corner, almost
into it, before you touch the brake
pedal. Then you hit the brakes good and
hard, just once, drop down one gear, get
back on the accelerator, and around you
go. If he tries to do the same thing, he's
going to be very busy, and he's going to
get tired. He can't use his gears for
braking because usually he'll have a two-
speed transmission, against the Rolls
Royce's four. 1 ran this particular car
every day for a week, every hour I could
spare, and in that time only two cars
passed me, and I passed both of the
shortly afterwards and made it stick, I
had some very fast trips. For example,
I usually take an hour and a quarter to
go from my home to New York City, if
Tm not hurrying. In the Rolls-Royce, I
made it in 50 minutes, and 1 still didn't
feel that I was hurrying. (It's odd, but I
think it’s true that policemen find it
hard to believe that a Rolls-Royce is
going fast unless you do something
dumb, like passing five cars at a clip.)

An hour out on my first little trip.
when full light had come, I had covered
56 miles. The road now was very narrow,
winding, and bordering a river. Most of
the time, between the bends, I could
just touch 70 miles an hour before I had
to shut it off, and on one of these little
straights I passed a Mercury carrying a
young man and woman. He didn't like
being passed and he promptly repassed
me coming out of a bend, where his
superior acceleration counted. The Rolls-
Royce has remarkable acceleration for a
big five-passenger limousine-like car. but
not that much. I tucked in behind him
and waited to see what would happen
next.

My friend started to run, and when
he came to the bends he waited as long
as he dared before he braked and then
fought the wheel all the way around.
l sat there and listened to the radio,
right behind him. He became more and

(continued from page 20)

more annoyed and began to crowd his
luck to the point of going around so fast.
his back end began trying to leave him,
and a couple of times he came out of
the bends with reverse lock on the steer-
ing whecl: turning right in a left-hand
bend, to control an incipient skid. He
began to brake earlier for the corners,
not from choice, I knew, but because he
had to — his brakes were starting to fade.
Then he began to cut the corners on the
inside. He was hunched over the wheel,
working like a miner, and his companion
had begun to clutch a bit: after almost
every corner I'd see her turn to him and
give him the message. It was still early,
nd there was almost nothing on the
road, but I dropped back because I did
not want to buy a piece of his accident;
I didn't want to be there if he met some-
body on the inside of one of those bends.
Sure enough, came a Renault. He missed
it — just. His wife — I was sure she was
a girlfriend wouldn't have
chewed him out so hard — was hanging
on the dashboard. She was reading him
off continuously. But he was a tiger, and
he kept on. A couple of minutes after
sing the Renault he met another
early bird: a tractor and trailer loaded
with cement blocks. He missed again—
but by a fantastically close margin. 1
ran up and hung on him. He was all
through; I dropped a gear and ran past
and away from him. I'm sure he felt as
if he'd just done 100 miles at Indian-
apolis. As for me, I'd just been sitting
there listening to а Brahms symphony.
For all I know, he is a better driver
than I am, but he didn't have the car.
If the tractor and trailer hadn't con-
vinced him 1 would have dropped back
out of sight because I'd have been con-
vinced that rage had so affected his
judgment that he might kill himself. He
didn’t know what he was up against — a
big. high-riding sedan that heeled over
almost not at all in the corners, that
stuck to the road like a sports car, that
required no "winding" of the steering
wheel, and, most of all, that bad brakes
that will run up and down the Grand
Canyon every day and never fade at ail.
There are three separate braking systems
on a Rolls-Royce and their power-brake
apparatus, in use for 20 years, is the
world's best. The ribbed brake drums
are 11 inches by three.

I did 100-odd miles on winding roads
that day in less than two hours, and I
didn't take one chance or have one close
call. I enjoyed the corollary kicks, too:
for instance, in going through towns,
the little traffic breaks the local police
will always give a Rolls-Royce. They
don't scem to be able to help themselves.
I liked the extra attention when I
stopped for gas, too. You wait until the
attendant has the hose in his hand and

is wondering where the filler is. Then
you push a button on the walnut dash-
board and the electrically controlled flap
flics up to show him the filler-cap, which
screws tight to a threaded pipe. and is
attached to it by steel cable. You'll find
that he’s exceptionally careful. but if he
runs the tank over a little, it doesn't
matter: the pipe is set in a little housing
of its own, and the gas probably won't
slop outside to the paint. If it does, the
attendant will wash it off in a hurry,
and carefully: he never saw a paint job
like that in his life, and he doesn’t want
anything to happen to it. You don't let
him opcn the hood to check the oil: you
press a button and cut in a circuit that
gives you а necdlesharp reading on а
dashboard gauge. Water? Why should it
need water? Before the first World War
four Rolls-Royces ran for 1645 miles up
and down the Alps. in competition. and
they didn't need a cupful of water at the
end. Grease job? You push a pedal, and
lubricant is delivered to the chassis in
measured amounts. How much gasoline
does a Rolls-Royce use? Not as much as
a Ford — it is a six-cylinder engine — but
actually how much I don't know, and I
couldn't care less.

At the end of the week I gave the car
back to the dealers, and the next car І
drove was my own year-old Detroiter, a
carefully maintained automobile, and, 1
had thought up to that time, a pretty
good one. І had braced myself for the
shock but even so it was appalling. I was
all over the road trying to stcer the thing.
Every shift-point was marked with a
clank and a jerk that rattled my teeth.
My ears were assailed by the din: bang.
ings and muffled thuds from the engine,
groans from the transmission, squeaks
and rasps and grunts from the body.
When I ran into a corner it seemed to
me that the tire-howl would wake the
dead. After a few score miles, of course,
things got better—the car began to
handle again, the noise level seemed to
drop and I was comfortable once more.
Comparatively comfortable, only. Once
you've put 1000 miles on a Rolls-Royce
you'll never, never really like another
automobile. You can't. You've had it.
You may get more sheer sensual kick out
of faster cars: a Porsche, а Ferrari, but
you'll never find anywhere else the same
sensation you knew in the Rolls-Royce,
the conviction that here, by the old
Harry, is the ultimate in land trans-
portation, here is that magic. wondrous
thing — a gentleman’s carriage.

A rich man's son made the Rolls-Royce
possible, but a poor man's son built it:
Henry Royce, born in 1863 and orphaned
nine years later. Royce had little school-
ing. and when he had to go to work he
did a good many 14-hour days, running
messages in London strects, on a couple

(continued on page 16)

THE LITTLE WORLD OF

ORVILLE K.SNAV

who is this man who pilots the mighty bunab empire?

article By BERNARD ASBELL

FROM THE UPPER REACHES of Si Tower,
a corporate monolith in Mason City,
Iowa, a veritable fury of executive deci-
sions is issued daily by the President of
Orville K. Snav & Associates. His com-
pany today is the unrivaled giant in its
field, an organization of 1500 top-echelon
cutives deployed around the world,
h holding the rank of A: nt to the

dent. The major Snav product is
the Improved #7 BunaB, which con-
sists of two pieces of insulated wire, each
an inch and three quarters long, one
red, the other blue, held together at the
ends by yellow plastic tape.

During the past four years, some 17,000
people have found the Improved #7
model in their morning mail, packed in
а flat clear plastic box and accompanied
by a blue explanatory sheet which has
this story to tell
is genuine Improved #7 BunaB
will, with reasonable care, give years of
trouble-free service. It has been scien-
tifically inspected and checked against
the master model at the factory. The
Improved #7 BunaB will mect, or ex-

ceed, spe ons set up by the indus-
try for accuracy, durability and simplicity
of operation...With a minimum of

practice, results equaling those of a
skilled technician using the conven-
tional instrument may be expected...
After prolonged use the BunaB may in-
dicate a variation of one or two per
cent when checked against a new BunaB.
In that case, the old one should be dis-
carded immediately.”

What does the Improved #7 BunaB
do? It does nothing — physically, that is.
But psychologically, it's as miraculous as
digital computors or any other of the com-
plex gadgets, of real or dubious impo
which crowd our ulcerous machine ci
zation. Its devotees look upon it as a tiny.
€ Bronx cheer aimed at our mecha-
nized age. a parody of rampant tech-

Garry Moore (left) and Al Crowder, both Assistonts to the President of Orville К.
Snov & Associates, unveiled the fobulous BunoB #5 on Mr. Moore's television show
lest foll. BunoB #5, sprung on o stunned populoce severol months after ће ap-
peorance of Improved BunoB 47, is a long-ploying platter titled Companion to
TV, produced for those who like to play the hi-fi while wotching television. It con-
tains the original sound trock of the Urban-Eclipse silent film The Fatal Love.

23

PLAYBOY

24

Above: a display fram ће Snov Hall of Science, which includes a collection of imitation
BunaBs, outright counterfeits and several real ones. Assistant ta the President Crowder says:
1) "Very accurate. This would show up well if we ran it through aur testing labs, but it's
a phony.” 2) "Instead of copying our current model, they copied our old #11. That was
used for casks, the eye-pieces that knights wore on their armor helmets.” 3) "Someone
sent this in from Gackle, М.Р, If you examine it closely, you'll see it’s a BunaB with a moving
part," 4) “This works well, but it's too damn bulky.” 5) "Too small, and it doesn't have the
capacity." 6) “We almost entered a law suit over this. The explanatory sheet reads very
well." 7) "An obvious fake devised by the dial telephone people." 8) "A genuine #18

model made obsolete by the zippe
п to commemorote а sad i

nology and its highly touted advantages.

Mr. Snav's BunaB is priced at 486, or
two for a dollar. Why should anyone pay
48¢ to own a nickel's worth of wire and
plastic? Almost no one does. Practically
cvery BunaB is sold as a gag gift. Dave
Garroway's last order was for 40. He uses
them as "friend testers.” So do lots of
other people, опе of whom reported that
the BunaB had unmasked a phony he
had long held close to his bosom: the guy
read the blue sheet and stoutly main-
tained he knew what it meant.

Forty units is not a big order at Snav
Tower. The Globe Heist Company of
Philadelphia ordered 100, the S & 5 Cor-
rugated Paper Machine Company of
Brooklyn, 1700. The BunaB does have a
place in American culture, a firm place,
according to one psychologist: it catches

9) "Here's a genuine #7 BunaB, on permanent
‘ident in Peoria.” Crowder refuses to tell the story.

the eye, piques the curiosity and serves
as a reminder of the sender because of
its whacky, unusual nature. This is im-
portant in an era glutted with almost-as-
zany public-relations gimmicks. It satis-
fies the donor's sense of superiority; he
knows what a BunaB is, and the recipient
doesn't, at least not right away he
doesn't. It's a thoroughly American in-
novation — a Frenchman would be baffled
or irritated by it but would never find it
amusing.

Enclosed with each Improved #7
model is a registration card, stamped
with the serial number of the BunaB
packed with it and carrying blanks for
the name and address of the new owner,
his or her business affiliation. and com-
ments on the BunaB. When this card has
been returned to Mason City, a long.

COMPILED BY
THE BUNAB HISTORICAL SOCIETY

Jomes Buchanan McnaB
Father of the BunoB
Circa 1888

James Buchanan MenoB
Receives idea for BunaB #1
March 25, 1B88

James Buchanan McnaB
Looks at first BunaB #1
April 1, 1888

individually composed letter signed by a
gentleman named Al Crowder — perhaps
the nation's most ubiquitous correspond-
ent — is dispatched to the BunaB donor,
who automatically becomes an Assistant
to tbe President. Sometimes, Crowder
will end his letter with ап ambiguous
nicety like “Our Mr. Snav would like to
have dinner together next time he is in
town." No one has ever had the pleasure.

Who is Orville K. Snav? He is an
elusive figure, a shy, retiring man who
loathes publicity. He is well known only
to Al Crowder, who has been with the
company from its beginning, and who
some people have the effrontery to thi
is the real Orville Snav. Mr. Crowder's
ranking in the hierarchy — Assistant to
the President — is not unique, but Crow-
der has had unusual opportunities to
work with the Founder.

“Mr. Snav is a man of strong beliefs,”
Crowder says. "He believes in first things
first, unless interrupted. To have thc
daring to market a product like the
BunaB takes that sort of thinking.

"He's been very shy about accepting
tributes and acclaim ever since that epi-
sode in Peoria. The publicity affected
him deeply. He doesn’t like to talk about
it at all and I don't either. He was a
much younger man then. Now he re-
fuses to have his picture taken and he
never goes out. He'd rather send one of
his key personnel.

“The only time anyone gets to see Mr.
Snay is during our annual affairs at the
office. He takes part in these whole-
heartedly, because he thinks it's impor-
tant that everyone in the organization
feels happy and contented in his little
niche, Not only the Annual New Year's
Eve Office Party, which starts November
19th and continues to June 11th, and
the annual Fourth of July Picnic, which
starts June 20th and dwindles off in
November, sometimes overlapping with
the New Year's Eve Party, but also our
Valentine's Day Pageant, the Bastille
Day Celebration and the Burning of the
Green Ceremony. His favorite, I believe,
is suffragette Susan B. Anthony's birth-
day, February 15. АП day, he fires his
little pistol and his shotgun. The Chief
has never gotten along with the thought
of women traipsing off to the polls on
the very day that all the liquor ‘stores
are closed. You know, you're stuck in
the house with no woman, no liquor. It
can be brutal. So he just shoots up
Susan's picture on the wall.”

Crowder won't talk about his first
meeting with Orville K. Snav because it
is remotely but inextricably related to
the lamentable episode in Peoria. How-
ever, he is not reticent about his own
past.

“I was born in Louisville, Kentucky.

My father worked in a tinder mine.
When a man works in a coal mine or a
foundry, sometimes there's an odd lump
of coal or a freak casting to bring home
to the kids, but there's not much like
that to be found in a tinder mine, so we
didn't have much to play vith.

"When I was 16, I went on the road
as a banjo player in an orcbestra. I
traveled as a musician until I was 30. So
there went 24 years, the prime of my life.
Then 1 had to go to work for a living.
"There's not much to look forward to
now, but the past has been beautiful.”

"Today Crowder is in his carly fifties.
He is a large man with a solemn face. His
eyes pierce, under bloused lids, through
loose-fitting glasses, and he hardly looks
like an executive. He looks more like an
astrophysicist or a historian or an ас-
cordion teacher. In fact, he is an ac-
cordion teacher and he has been. one
ever since he left the orchestra.

Crowder spends what he calls “50
happy hours a weck" at the Carleton
Stewart Music Store in Mason City, most
of it teaching the accordion. Every
Wednesday night at 10 he goes to thc
radio studios of KGLO to handle thc
title role in a program called "Grand-
ma's Disk Jockey." These two occupa-
tions have little to do with bis true life
work — his labors for Orville K, Sna
although there are those who maintain
there is significance in the fact that the
BunaB boxes аге identical with those
in which certain clarinet and saxophone
reeds are packed.

Although he can devote only part of
his time to Snav Associates, Crowder's
tasks there are diverse and demanding.
As the company has grown, Crowder has
grown witb it. "Like many of our big
concerns," he says, "the BunaB industry
started in a small kitchen laboratory and
has flourished mainly through word of
mouth. Today its factories occupy part
of an eight-square-mile area in the heart
of Mason City." This is an ideal loca-
tion, Crowder believes, because it is half-
way between Nebraska and Wisconsin.
"Our office space alone occupies 6000
square inches of Snav Tower,” Crowder
continues. “A lot of people drive by the
imposing two-story structure and have
no idea of the things that go on inside
there. Our Hall of Science adjoins the
main laboratory.” Crowder is responsible
for many phases of BunaB research, pro-
duction, and even shipping, but it is the
voluminous correspondence with satis-
fied BunaB owners that mainly occupies
him. The company's files are kept in
notably good order, and at the drop of
a name Mr. Crowder can produce com-
ments like these concerning BunaB #7:

Senator Barry Goldwater, Washington,

(continued on page 66)

Above: one of the Assistants to the President
lays oside his duties in favor of recreation
ot Orville Snav's Annual New Year's Eve
Office Party. Photo was taken in early
March, when festivities were still in full swing.

Below: from these modest beginnings Snav &
Assodotes rose to leadership in its feld.
Actual laborotory development of BunaB #7
took place in smoll building, right of center.

Above: today, the Snay combine boasts far-
flung, modem facilities. This is Hen #2.
BuncBs are fabricated of Plant #1. Plant
#2, locking not unlike the Schenley distillery
in St. Louis, is engaged in supplying the em-
ployees of Plont #1 with the raw material

for the New Year's Eve Office Porty.

25

tribulations in triplicate on the changing fashion scene

у and large, the doy of the split-level personality is over: we're
В divided into thirds now, os becomes our тоге mathe-
matical age, ond this trichotomy hos a number of for-reaching
effects on how we live.

Drinking, for instance.

Three men enter a bor.

“Manhattan,” says the first.

"Dry mortini," says number two, "with o twist of lemon."

Number three is brief.

"Bullshot."

There—in a trivial instonce ond in brief—is on exomple of the
trichotomy facing modern mon. Every decision he is colled upon to
moke pulls him in three different directions. Sholl he be о Throw-
back, and order o manhattan, that virtually obsolete potoble?
Shall he be a Minuteman ond make with that still-smort (but oh so
familiar) spiel about “very, very dry with o twist"? Or will he jump
the field, be о Headstarter, and move out front with thot Bullshot
(the beef bouillon and vodka thing)?

The trichotomy is pervasive ond insidious. And nowhere ore its
symptoms more apporent thon in our choice of clothes.

For out purposes, we con check ош! the Throwbock ond his
problems rather quickly. likely as not he's given up his Hoover
collor and his spots, but you still moy find him donning a too-wide
Paisley tie.

But the choice between Minuteman ond Heodstarter is o very
rea! one for the rest of us.

We take the reasonable position, let us say, that changes in
men's fashions—a button moved a quarter of on inch this woy or
that, or a lapel toking on a life of its own 一 ore hardly true couse
for extraordinary sessions of Congress or for sobbing yourself
to sleep if you missed out on the new look. But every mon is
fashion conscious, even if it's a trifle subcutaneous. He may over
thot fashion as such is o matter of indifference. It's what isn't
foshion—once the matter is brought up—thot concerns him.

As on exomple, ponder the fate of the pink shirt. A few years
ago it was the bodge of the Madison Avenue executive, ће топ

HEADSTARTER

PLAYBOY

28

who shopped at Brooks. But it was con-
fined to that narrow thoroughfare—until
suddenly, the imitators reached out and
grabbed it. The elegant curl of the
Brooks buttondown collar gave way to
cheaper and starchier versions, and pink
started to blush on the bosoms of sharp
Broadway folk. From those glossy pur-
lieus, it moved with reasonable swiftness
to the pants shops and the bargain base-
ments, and today the pink shirt survives
largely as a useful implement in the
hands of a car-washing crew.

Which brings us to our immediate
problem, and the pivot of our present
fashion trichotomy, and that is to gauge
— possibly by celestial navigation, since
fashion for men is an inexact science if
there ever was one — just where that all-
pervading influence, Ivy, stands in rela-
tion to us all.

"The origins of Ivy, which is one of the
most positive fashions to come along in
many a year, were curiously negative. If
you will glance at the accompanying
illustrations to this article, and refer to
the one entitled Throwback, you'll be
looking at certain characteristics which
gave Ivy its greatest reverse-twist im-
petus. Just after World War П, men
were acting and talking big, and they
wanted their clothes to reflect this. There
were the big characteristics; very wide,
heavily padded shoulders; the lapels
wide and pointed and flared; the jacket
double-breasted with lots of room under
the arm and in the chest to suggest the
ripple of great muscles on the torso; the
trousers with a number of pleats across
the front to suggest further size, and cut
wide all the way down to the cuff; even
the hat sported a wide brim and a high
crown.

Now, Ivy existed all this time. It had
always been on the tables at Brooks
Brothers and the wealthy Wall Street
broker and his fellows preferred it for its
lack of ostentation, There was a whisper-
ing campaign at one time that it looked
better on middle-aged men with com-
fortable bay windows, and that that was
why the more well-to-do preferred it.
But the so-called Ivy college under-
graduates — who respected their elders’
money, if nothing else — also turned this
unostentation into a sort of virtuous
fashion weapon. Look at me, they seemed
to say in their expensive, conservative
suits — note well the clothes worn by a
man too intelligent and too wealthy to
care a hoot about what hoi polloi wear.

And then this snobbishness turned on
them. Their aristocratic disdain for style
created an "Ivy" style which at this
writing is a staple among night club
comics. busboys on their days off, mes-
senger boys from the corner store, and
traveling jelly bean salesmen. These lads
rejoice in the deliberately narrowed
shoulders, the narrow lapels with the
high gorge. the simple straight lines and

high-button front, the narrow trousers
and the cordovan bluchers, which not
too long ago were the very insignia of
the Ivy crowd that disdained the muscle-
bound look we saw in the Throwback.
Now, we all, even the Ivy lads wearing
Ivy, are Minutemen, for better or worse.

Ot course, Ivy is very much with us,
and will be for some time. Men's fash-
ions don't really move; they ooze along
imperceptibly like a glacier covering a
few yards every year. But it must be
observed that a great many of what one
Manhattan rental agent specializing in
swank properties euphemistically calls
"sensitive people" are mincing around
in a kind of super-Ivy which is definitely
comic. The shoulders are so narrow it
must pain their owners to squceze into.
them. The trousers are so snug and
tapered that the lads have a literally
self-contained look, They have exag-
gerated the initial simplicity of Ivy un-
til it is achieving some truly complicated
results.

There is bound to be a reaction to
this, of course. In some quarters it is
already taking place. The strong group
instinct of the college crowd will keep
it Ivy for a long time to come, but
young fellows a few ycars out are get-
ting a little uneasy over the sleazy
parodies inspired by Ivy, and are won-
dering what the next trend may be.

Right now, as so often happens when
fashions in anything are in flux, there
are baleful and malign influences at work
in men's wear. A raft of so-called Italian-
ate and European garments are scream-
ing— in cut and color — for your
attention. Most are flamboyant and
melodramatic experiments, with small
survival value except among a limited
coterie of misguided exhibitionists. Some
of this garb will inevitably be affected
by second-rate Hollywood moguls, or
middle-aged magnates from smalltown
emporia paying their first visits (com-
plete with wife and kiddies) to Miami
or Provincetown. The sapient young
sophisticate won't be tempted by such
sartorial monstrosities: they play no real
part in his trichotomy. But a residue of
good from these gaudy attempts to make
every man his own walking colorama
will probably remain in the form of a
growing awareness that a too-slavish ad-
herence to the safely drab can be as un-
exciting as last night's canapés were this
morning, and that a good gentleman's
tailor can flatter as well as fit the male
figure without distorting it.

We've had a few feelers out for what
the Headstarter will be wearing very
soon, and from the looks of things, we
figure that men are going to like what
seems to be coming up. Nobody knows
for sure, as yet, but the prognosticators
with the best weather eye (and high
batting averages) seem to think that the

new silhouette will express in clothing
much of the elegant Continental mood
you've already noticed — as, for example,
in the slimmer shoe styles that are suc-
cessfully competing with the old, hefty
"custom-type" shoe with the thick sole.
In our third sketch, labeled the Head-
starter, we've caught something of this
Continental air. The shoulders will be
natural, without the definite attempt to
squeeze, à la extreme Ivy (which too
often results in а pear-shaped appear-
ance), and there may even be a bit of
padding in them, although never as
much as the old swagger type carricd.
The suit will strive for a casualnes:
with a touch of the tailored look, which.
will probably cut a few inches off the
long jacket which hangs low — in stern
denial of any desire to suggest following
a body line. The new suit will not be
quite so deliberately unconscious of
styling: the ultra-Ivy lapel will broaden
a bit, and the top button of your jacket,
which you may have expected to find
right under your chin in about one more
year, will relax and slide down a bit
lower on your chest. The shorter jacket
will, of course, give your trousers a
longer, leaner look. European clothiers
favor tapered trousers; these will un-
doubtedly stay with us. The more dash-
ing versions will probably go in for
fancy pockets or even Edwardian cuffs
on the sleeves, The least you can expect
is something of a nip-in at the waist.
This is probably what the natural look
of a few years ago was going to evolve
into—with the Continental influences
slowly coming to bear upon it — had not
Ivy caught the fancy of everyone in sight
and temporarily blocked any further
evolution in fashion by its strong and
youthful individuality. It’s a good style,
still. But don't let our laboratory prob-
lem in trichotomy obscure the fact that
a Minuteman who never alters his ideas
or his fashions simply suffers a gradual
sea change into something strange (but
not always rich) and winds up looking
suspiciously like а Throwback. We're
not trying to push you into being any-
thing: after all, Babe Ruth wore a
camel's-hair сар in his heyday, and now
theyre coming back again. Standing
still sometimes has its virtues, if you
don't mind just waiting around (ог the
world to catch up with you. But there
ате gentle seismographic rumblings in-
dicating the first cracking in the Ivy
substratum, and we thought we'd let you
know about them in these early stages.
Fashion creates its own obsolescence; to-
day's fine-feathered friend may well turn
out to be tomorrow's dodo. It behooves
you —as the hounds of spring come bay-
ing in—to take a good look around.
Like in the pages of pLayuoy, for in-

stance.
H

“Sorry to keep you so late, but I'm determined to get to the
bottom of this werewolf fixation of yours."

ПОИ

BU

29

food By THOMAS MARIO

SAUCES FOR THE GANDER

they complement festive foods and are delights in their own right

“COOKING AND ROASTING are things to
teach,” said Brillat-Savarin; “it needs a
genius to make a sauce,"

Possibly. But a genius without a recipe
might find himself outclassed by a lesser
talent equipped with a really sound set
of instructions. Such a fellow, if he keeps
his wits about him, can turn out a fine
sauce that will do much more than
mercly Batter food — it will also stand
in its own right as an exciting expe-
rience in eating, for few snacks are more
savory than a saucy sauce and a small
heel of French bread.

What the novice American saucier
does lack, and what his French brother
has in abundance, is tradition. Ever since
the middle ages when hawkers drove
their carts through the streets of Paris
shouting their latest sauce creations, and
professional sauciers had already set up
their own independent guild, a great
culinary tradition has been nurtured.
Sauces like the mére or "mother" sauces
— the basic brown and white sauces from
which other sauces are derived — were
developed literally over hundreds of
years of labor, experimentation and cr

ism. Fortunately, Americans can dip
into this tradition and select for their
own repertoire inmunerable sauces that
no longer require 14 hours of stirring,
reduction and despumation. Luscious
velvety sauces can now be prepared in a
matter of minutes.

It's important to understand the two
main ways in which sauces are concocted.
First of all, there are the sauces that are
made apart from the food with which
they are served. The tomato sauce under
a breaded veal cutlet or the egg sauce

poured over boiled fresh salmon are ex-
amples of this type. Then there is the
second category — those sauces that are
created as part of the preparation of
other foods. For instance, if you sautéed
breast of chicken, then added sherry and
light cream, and simmered the liquid
slowly until it rcached the consistency
of heavy cream, you'd have this second
type of saucc dish. In America we often
call this type of sauce a gravy, such as the
gravy of a lamb stew.

The quantity of sauce accompanying
a particular dish may vary greatly. It
may complctely cloak the food as does
the robe of golden hollandaise poured
over fresh asparagus. At other times it
may be merely a small liquid ribbon like
the dark devil sauce poured around a
grilled pork chop. But in cither case it
must be so luscious that it transmutes
the food it punctuates. Naturally there
are some foods that require no sauce at
all. A broiled thick spring lamb chop, for
instance, should be adorned with noth-
ing more than a light brushing of butter
and perhaps a drop of lemon juice. But
other dishes —like calfs liver, smoked
ham, veal chops, duckling and filet of
sole, to mention only a few — fairly cry
for а fine piquant sauce.

A sauce cook's worst potential encmy
is flour. Now, in most sauces flour is in-
dispensable as the thickening agent. But
if the flour remains raw or semi-cooked,
as it does too often, you don’t have a
sauce but a thick mucilaginous mess that
suflocates any food with which it is
served. The graduate sauce cook simmers
his sauce not merely until it is thick but
until it is glossy, the signal that every

bit of raw floury taste has disappeared.
The most mearly perfect thickening
agent (that is, the one which conveys
practically no flavor of its own to a sauce)
is arrowroot, a powder made from the root
of a West Indian plant. It takes only one
third as much arrowroot as flour to
thicken an equal quantity of sauce, but
arrowroot leaves the sauce transparent
rather than opaque, and is therefore not
widely used. Other sauces in which rich
flavors must be maintained intact, like
hollandaise, are thickened with egg
yolks. Finally there are sauces that are
sch ening —like the tomato sauces
served with spaghetti, which become
thick as their own ingredients are gradu-
ally reduced in the saucepan. Just re-
member: the best sauce betrays as little
Iloury taste as possible.

The sauce cook and the soupçon are
inseparable, In no other branch of cook-
ery does the shred of herbs, the scintilla
of spice, the gleam of sherry or the hint
of garlic count for so much. When com-
pleting sauces, immediately before they
go to the table, you may wish to ayail
yourself of such finishers as monosodium
glutamate, Worcestershire sauce, cay-
enne pepper, garlic powder and others,
never forgetting to usc them in grains
or droplets, not shovelfuls.

The soul of a fine sauce is its liquid
or stock. Some liquids like inilk, cream,
tomato juice or melted butter are all
ready for the saucepan, and require no
previous preparation. Other liquids, like
the stock for brown sauces, once took
hours, even in some cases days, to make.
During the dark ages of American cook-

(continued on {аде 36)

32

THE SHORT-SHORT STORY OF MANKIND

an improbable allegory of human history compressed for a very small time capsule

T WAS PRETTY DRAFTY in the cave in the
1 middle of the afternoon. There wasn't
any fire — the last spark had gone out
six months ago and the family wouldn't
have any more fire until lightning struck
another tree.

Joe came into the cave all scratched
up and some hunks of hair torn out and
he flopped down on the wet ground and
bled — Old William was arguing away
with Old Bert who was his brother and
also his son, if you look at it one way.
They were quarreling mildly over a
spoiled chunk of mammoth meat.

Old William said, "Why don't you
give some to your mother?"

"Why?" asked Old Bert. "She's my
wife, isn't she?”

And that finished that, so they both
took after Joe.

"Where's AI?" one of them asked and
the other said, "You forgot to roll the
rock in front of the door.”

Joe didn't even look up and the two
old men agreed that kids were going to
the devil. “I tell you it was different in
my day,” Old William said. “They had
some respect for their elders or they

got what for.”

After a while Joe stopped bleeding
and he caked some mud on his cuts.
's gone," he said.

Old Bert asked
тос?"

"No, it's that new bunch that moved
into the copse down the draw. They ate
AL"

“Savages,” said Old William. “Still
live in trees. They aren't civilized. We
don't hardly ever eat people."

]ое said, "We got hardly anybody to
eat except relatives ‘and we're getting

brightly, “Saber

fable By JOHN STEINBECK

low on relative

“Those foreigners! id Old. Bert.

"Al and I dug a pit," said Joc. "We
caught a horse and those trce people
came along and ate our horse. When we
complained, they ate AL"

"Well, you go right out and get us
опе of them and we'll eat him," Old
William said.

“Me and who else?” said Joe. "Last
time it was warm there was 12 of us
here. Now there's only four. Why, I
saw my own sister Sally sitting up in a
tree with a sa Had my heart set on
Sally, too, Pa," Joc went on a little un-
certainly, because Old William was not
only his father, but his uncle and his

first and third cousins, and his brother-
in-law. “Pa, why don't we join up with
those tree people? They've got a net
kind of thing — catch all sorts of ani-
mals. They eat better than we do."

on,” said Old William, "they're
foreigners, that's why. They live in trees.
We can't associate with savages. How'd
you like your sistcr to marry a savage?"

"She did!" said Joe. "We could have
them come and live in our cave. Maybe
they'd show us how to usc that net
thing."

"Never," said Old Bert. “We couldn't
trust ‘em, They might eat us in our
sleep."

"If we didn't eat them first,” said

еу
jb fi axes ааа

Joe. “I sure would like to have me a
nice juicy picce of savage right now.
I'm hungry.”

“Next thing you know, you'll be say-
ing those tree people are as good as us,"
Old William said. “I never saw such a
boy. Why, where'd authority be? Those
foreigners would take over. We'd have
to look up to ‘em. They'd outnumber
us,"

“I hate to tell you this, Pa," said Joe,
“I've got a busted arm. I can't dig pits
any more — neither caa you. You're too
old. Bert can't either. We've got to
merge up with those tree people or we
aren't gonna eat anything or anybody."

"Over my dead body," said Old Wil-

PLAYBOY

liam, and then he saw Joe's cyes on his
skinny flank and he said, "Now, Joe,
don't you go getting ideas about your
а"

Well, a long time ago before the tribe
first moved out of the drippy cave, there
was a man named Elmer. He piled up
some rocks in a circle and laid brush
on top and took to living there. The
elders killed Elmer right off. If anybody
could go off and live by himself, why,
where would authority be? But pretty
soon, those elders moved into Elmer's
house and then the other families made
houses just like it. It was pretty nice
with no water dripping in your face.

So, they made Elmer a god — used to
swear by him. Said he was the moon.

Everything was going along fine when
another tribe moved into the valley.
They didn't have Elmer houses, though.
They shacked up in skin tents. But you
know, they had a funny kind of a
Gadget that shot little sticks . . . shot
them a long way. They could just stand
still and pick off a pig, oh . . . 50 yards
away — wouldn't have to run it down
and maybe get a tusk in the groin.

The skin tribe shot so much game
that naturally the Elmer elders said
those savages had to be got rid of. They
didn't even know about Elmer — that's
how ignorant they were. The old peo-
ple sharpened a lot of sticks and fired
the points and they said, "Now you
young fellas go out and drive those
skin people away. You can't fail because
you've got Elmer on your side,”

Now, it scems that a long time ago
there was a skin man named Max. He
thought up this stick shooter so they
killed him, naturally but afterwards
they said he was the sun. So, it was a
war between Elmer, the moon, and
Max, the sun, but in the course of it
a whole slew of young skin men and a
whole slew of young Elmer men got
killed. Then a forest fire broke out and
drove the game away. Elmer people and
skin people had to take for the hills all
together. The elders of both tribes never
would accept it. They complained until
they died.

You can see from this that the world
started going to pot right from the be-
ginning. Things would be going along
fine — law and order and all that and
the elders in charge — and then, some
smart aleck would invent something and
spoil the whole business — like the man
Ralph who forgot to kill all the wild
chickens he caught and had to build a
hen house, or like the real trouble-
maker, Jojo au front du chien, who
patted some seeds into damp ground
and invented farming. Of course, they
tore Jojo's arms and legs off and rightly
зо because when people plant seeds, they
can't go golly-wacking around the coun-
ty enjoying themselves. When you've

Bot a crop in, you stay with it and get
the weeds out of it and harvest it. Fur-
thermore, everything and everybody
wants to take your crop away from you
— weeds — bugs — birds — animals —
men —. A farmer spends all his time
fighting something off. The elders can
call on Elmer all they want, but that
won't keep the neighbors from over the
hill out of your corn crib.

Well, there was a strong boy named
Rudolph, but called Bugsy. Bugsy would
break his back wrestling but he wouldn't
bring in an armload of wood. Bugsy
just naturally liked to fight and he hated
to work, so he said, "You men just plant
your crops and don't worry. I'll take
care of you. If anybody bothers you, I'll
clobber ‘em. You can give me a few
chickens and a couple of handfuls of
grits for my trouble.”

The elders blessed Bugsy and pretty
soon they got him mixed up with Elmer.
Bugsy went right along with them. He
gathered a dozen strong boys and built
a fort up on the hill to take care of
those farmers and their crops. When
you take care of something, pretty soon
you own it.

Bugsy and his boys would stroll
around picking over the crop of wheat
and girls and when they'd worked over
their own valley, they'd go rollicking
over the hill to see what the neighbors
had stored up or born. Then the strong
boys from over the hill would come
rollicking back and what they couldn't
carry off they burned until pretty soon
it was more dangerous to be protected
than not to be. Bugsy took everything
loose up to his fort to protect it and
very little ever came back down. He
figured his grandfather was Elmer now
and that made him different from other
people. How many people do you know
that have the moon in their family?

By now the elders had confused pro-
tection with virtue because Bugsy passed
out his surplus to the better people. The
elders were pretty hard on anybody
who complained. They said it was a sin.
Well, the farmers built a wall around
the hill to sit in when the going got
rough. They hated to sce their crops
burn up, but they hated worse to sec
themselves burn up and their wife Agnes
and their daughter Clarinda.

About that time the whole system
turned over. Instead of Bugsy protect-
ing them, it was their duty to protect
him. He said he got the idea from Elmer
one full-moon night.

People spent a lot of time sitting be-
hind the wall waiting for the smoke to
clear and they began to fool around
with willows from the river, making
baskets. And it's natural for people to
make more things than they need.

Now, it happens often enough so that
you can make a rule about it. There's

always going to. be a joker. This one
was named Harry and he said, “Those
ignorant pigs over the hill don't have
any willows so they don't have any bas-
kets, but you know what they do? — bc-
nighted though they are, they take mud.
and pat it out and put it in the firc
and you can boil water in it. ГЇЇ bet if
we took them some baskets they'd give
us some of those baked mud pots.” They
had to hang Harry head down over a
bonfire. Nobody can put a knife in the
status quo and get away with it. But it
wasn't long before the basket pcople
got to sneaking over the hill and com-
ing back with pots. Bugsy tried to stop
it and the elders were right with him.
It took people away from the fields, ex-
posed them to dangerous ideas. Why,
pots got to be like money and moncy is
worse than an idea. Bugsy himself said,
“Makes folks restless — why, it makes a
man think he’s as good as the ones that
got it a couple of generations earlicr”
and how's that for being un-Elmer? The
elders agreed with Bugsy, of course, but
they couldn't stop it, so they all had to
join it. Bugsy took half the pots they
brought back and pretty soon he took
over the willow concession so he got the
whole thing.

About then some savages moved up
on the hill and got to raiding the bas-
ket and pot trade. The only thing to do
was for Bugsy, the basket, to marry the
daughter of Willy, the pot, and when
they all died off, Herman Pot-Basket
pulled the whole business together and
made a little state and that worked out
fine.

Well, it went on from state to league
and from league to nation. (A nation
usually had some kind of natural bound-
ary like an ocean or a mountain range
or a river to Keep it from spilling over.)
It worked out fine until a bunch of
jokers invented long-distance stuff like
directed missiles and atom bombs, Then
a river or an ocean didn't do a bit of
good. It got too dangerous to have sep-
arate nations just as it had been to
have separate families.

When people are finally faced with
extinction, they have to do something
about it. Now we've got the United Na-
tions and the elders are right in there
fighting it the way they fought coming
out of caves. But we don't have much
choice about it. It isn't any goodness
of heart and we may not want to go
ahead but right from the cave time
we've had to choose and so far we've
never chosen extinction. It'd be kind of
silly if we killed ourselves off after all
this time. If we do, we're stupider than
the cave people and I don’t think we
are. I think we're just exactly as stupid
and that's pretty bright in the long run.

“God help you, Hagley, if this ad isn't a success!”

35

PLAYBOY

36

Sauces FOR THE GANDER (continued from page 30)

ery ordinary tap water was used. In
France the fonds or foundation stocks
were always the long cooking variety.
Here is where the old-ling sauce cook
and today's bachelor chef part company.
The modern kitchen benedict uses the
bouillons now available in a bewilder-
ing variety of concentrated powders,
cubes, granules, pastes and soups. Even
in hotels noted for their haute cuisine
you will now find such concentrated
stocks in common use. Many of them are
actually superior to the ordinary run of
stocks found in the average restaurant.

Men who are absolute neophytes in
cookery can now buy prepared sauces
that require no toil whatever. First ОЁ
all there are the frozen sauces put up by
the Restaurant Maxim's de Paris corpo-
ration, processed in the United States.
"Fhese frozen gourmet sauces merely
need thawing and heating. For some
time, fresh hollandaise sauce put up in
jars and kept under refrigeration has
been available in specialty food stores.
It may not be as superb as the best fresh
hollandaise sauce, but it excels the av-
erage hollandaise youll find in public
eating places. There are now instant
hollandaise and instant béarnaise sauces
put up in powdered form under the
Maison Julien label. They are reconsti-
tuted with butrer and water. The com-
paratively new General Foods line of
gourmet items includes imported sauces
from France put up in 44-ounce cans.
Under Sardi's label you find. an
8-ounce can of Sauce Magic, a basic
white sauce that can be easily converted
to such varieties as curry sauce, paprika
sauce and others. Many of the thick con-
centrated soups are quickly adaptable as
sauces. Thus frozen shrimp soup may be
thawed, laced with sherry or brandy and
cream, and poured over fish, seafood and
egg dishes.

ОГ course, all these sure-fire ready
sauces include a certain cost in addition
to the money you pay. That cost is
simply that you give up some of your
own creative fun for a certain standard-
ization. Some fellows don’t mind if their
palates react in exactly the same way as
everybody else's. Others prefer the
unique experience that comes from coax-
ing their own individual miracles out of
a saucepan.

The following oddments of culinary
advice will be helpful for all disciples of
the sauce-maker's art. Whenever possible,
in place of onions, use shallots, the small
yellow bulbs that look like miniature
onions. Shallots give a lush mellow flavor
to any sauce, but unhappily are seldom
available at ordinary fruit and vegetable
stands. When melted fat and flour are
combined to make a sauce, use a fine
wire whip to prevent lump formation.
If lumps do form, in spite of every care,

force the sauce through a fine wire
strainer. While sauce is simmering, stir
it with a wooden or stainless steel spoon
to prevent a thick layer from forming
around the bottom rim of the saucepan.
Continued beating with a wire whip in
a soft aluminum pan may discolor a
white sauce. For eye appeal, brown gravy
color may be added to any brown sauce
and a drop or two of yellow color to any
white sauce. When wine is added at the
end of the cooking period rather than
at the beginning, use a fine table wine
rather than ordinary cooking wine if
possible, since the wine flavor will
emerge rather distinctly.

ln the following recipes for basic
sauces and variations on them, no por-
tions are indicated, since there is actually
no such thing as a portion of sauce. Most
of the recipes will yield approximately
one measuring cup of sauce.

SAUCE ESPAGNOLE

This is the basic French brown sauce
called Espagnole or Spanish because it's
dark or brunette. It should not be con-
fused with the thick Spanish sauce made
largely of unstraincd tomatoes, fre-
quently served with omelets. Be sure the
consommé used for the stock is the con-
densed type which normally requires an
equal quantity of water for serving as
soup. In the recipe below, however, it
should not be diluted with water. The
dried onion flakes, parsley flakes, chervil
and dried mushrooms in this recipe are
all excellent labor savers that perform
just about as пй as the fresh vege-
tables lor this particular job. Fresh vege-
tables, of course, can be used, if such is
your fancy. Use Sauce Espagnole, or any
suitable variation, on smoked beef
tongue, baked ham, veal steaks or chops,
calf's liver, broiled veal kidneys or lamb.
kidneys, Salisbury steak or hot meat
sandwiches.

1014-0z. can condensed consommé or

bouillon

1 cup tomato juice

14 cup water

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons flour

1 tablespoon onion flakes

у teaspoon parsley flakes

4 teaspoon dried chervil

3 medium-sized pieces dried mush-

room

14 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce

In a small saucepan pour the con-
sommé, tomato juice and water. Slowly
bring to a boil In another saucepan,
melt the butter slowly, without brown-
ing it. Stir in the flour. Mix with a wire
whip until the flour is well blended.
Let the mixture, called a roux, remain
over a very low flame and stir it con-
stantly until it turns a decp golden color
similar to coffee ice cream. Slowly stir

in the hot liquids from the first sauce-
pan. Add the onion flakes, parsley flakes,
chervil and mushrooms. Simmer over the
lowest possible flame 25-30 minutes.
Skim when necessary. Strain the sauce.
Add Worcestershire sauce and seasoning
to taste.

Sauce Chasseur: Omit dried mush-
rooms and onion flakes from brown
sauce recipe. Slice thin 3 medium-sized
fresh mushrooms. Finely mince 1 small
onion. Sauté mushrooms and onion in
butter before adding flour. Add 3 table-
spoons sherry to sauce when finished
cooking. Use the sauce, unstrained, for
glorifying braised beef, roast chicken or
guinea hen, veal cutlets or venison steak.

Devil Sauce: To consommé add 12
crushed whole peppercorns. Cook sauce
as directed. Make a paste of 1 teaspoon
dried mustard, 1 teaspoon prepared mus-
tard and 1 tablespoon cold water. Add
mustard mixture and 14 cup finely
chopped sour pickle to strained brown
sauce, Ladle it around roast fresh ham,
roast loin of pork, grilled pork chops,
smoked tongue or broiled fresh mackerel.

Red Wine Marrow Sauce: Prepare
basic brown sauce. In a separate pan
combine % cup dry red wine and 1
tablespoon minced shallots or spring
onions if shallots are not av ble. Cook
wine and shallots until wine is reduced
to Y4 cup. Strain wine into brown sauce.
With a paring knife gouge out enough
marrow from raw beef marrow bones to
fill 4% cup. Cut the marrow into small
dice. Wash the marrow and add it to the
strained brown sauce. Heat for one-half
minute. Spoon sauce ovcr minute steaks,
London broil or broiled lamb kidneys.

Sauce Bigarrade: Remove the peel, in
large pieces, from one medium-sized
California orange. With a very sharp
knife cut away the inner white mem-
brane from the outer peel. Cut the peel
into very thin slivers about one-inch
long. Put the slivers in water and boil for
one minute. Drain. To strained brown
sauce add orange slivers, 2 tablespoons
orange juice, 2 tablespoons dry white
wine, 2 tablespoons curacao and 14 tea-
spoon lemon juice. Simmer one minute.
"This is the classic sauce for roast duck-
ling or broiled baby duckling.

SAUCE BÉCHAMEL

This sauce named after Louis de
Béchamel, an officer in the court of
Louis XIV, may seem similar to the usual
white sauce untutored brides learn be-
fore they know how to boil an egg, but
a few small additions transform it into
an epicurean elixir.

2 tablespoons butter

2 tablespoons flour

l cup hot milk

1 small onion sliced

Lë small bay leaf

(concluded on page 61)

SHOWGIRL IN THE SUN

a vegas venus mixes vitamins with va-va-voom

Like the well-known mad dogs, Englishmen and other eccentrics, full-bodied Felicia
disrobes behind some friendly flora and then brownly basks in the noonday sun.

GONE ARE THE DRFAR, dread days beyond
recall when we were led to believe that
showgirls had a pretty bad time of it in
the sunshine-and-health department 一
late hours, smoke-filled rooms, nightclub
pallor, and other offenses to God and
man. Today, tongue-clucking do-gooders
would find it a tough task convincing us
that the life of a showgirl (in Las Vegas,
anyway) is anything but Reilly. Look at
Felicia Atkins, if you haven't already.
She spends her nights in the chorus line
of the sumptuous Hotel Tropicana,
gladdening the cyes of all beholders with
her finely fashioned five-feet-seven-and-a-
half-inches. By day, she sleeps late in a
swank suite of the same hostelry, cats a
mountainous breakfast, then squeezes
into a bikini and slips out to soak up a
skinful of Vitamin C and splash about
in a cool pool until it's time to dry off
the corpore sano and get ready for the
evening's extravaganza. For this, mind
you, she gets paid. Another nice thing
that's happened to felicitous Felicia is
her appearance as our Playmate for the
month of April. It's nice for us, too.

The bracing blue of the Tropicana's
pool beckons to the lovely lady.
Right: she emerges, cool as a julep.

OTHER PHOTOGRAPHS BY BILL BRIDGES

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As showtime nears, Felicia ties up her tresses and makes with the paint and the powder.

PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES

The house detective had been told to
check the guest's luggage in room 1013
for any property belonging to the hotel.
"Did you find any towels in his suit-
case?” asked the manager.
“Not a one,” replied the detective
“but I found a chambermaid in his grip.

How is it 1 find you making love to my
ег?" stormed the outraged father.
sk you, young man, how is it?!”

“Why, just great, sir,” replied the calm
young man, “just great!”

Doctor,” said the obviously disturbed
young man to his psychiatrist, “my big-
gest problem is that I always dream about
baseball. Nothing but baseball.”

"Don't you ever dream about girls?"
asked the headshrinker.

“1 don't dare," said the young man.
“I'm afraid I'll lose my turn at бас"

1 know a place,” said the sharp college
coed to her sorority sister, "where теп
don't wear anything, except maybe a
watch once in a while."
"Where is that?" the second campus
cutie asked eagerly.
"Around the wrist, silly."

A wealthy young American was wan-
dering through the Montmartre section
of Paris when he came upon a lovely
French miss who looked for all the world
like Brigitte Bardot.

“Could I buy you a drink?” he asked,
by way of striking up a conversation.

"No thank you," she said, "I don’t
drink
_ "What about a little dinner with me
in my room?"

"No, I don't believe that would be

proper," she said.

Having had no success with the subt-
ler approaches, the young man pressed
directly to the point: "1 am charmed by
your refreshing beauty, mademoiselle,
and will give you anything your heart
desires if you will spend the night with
me.

“Oh, no, no, monsieur, I could never
do a thing like that.”

“Tell me,” the young man said, laugh-
ing, "don't you ever do anything the
slightest bit improper?"

“Oui,” said the French girl, "I tell
lies."

We just heard about the unlucky fel-
low who phoned his girl to see if she
was doing anything that evening. She
said she wasn't, so he took her out. And
sure enough, she wasn't.

Your continual unfaithfulness proves
you are an absolute rotter," stormed the
outraged wife who had just caught her
husband for the seventh time in a spor»
liye romp with another woman.

“Quite the contrary,” came the cool
reply. “It merely proves that I'm too
good to be true.”

Joc sat at his dying wife's bedside. Her
voice was little more than a whisper.

"Joe, darling," she breathed, "I've a
confession to make before I go...I...
I'm the one who took the $10,000 from
your safe . .. I spent it on a fling with
your best friend, Charles. And it was I
who forced your mistress to leave the
city. And I am the one who reported
your income tax evasion to the govern-
mei r

“That's all right, dearest, don't give it
a second thought,” answered Joe. "I'm
the one who poisoned you.”

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

Sess
- E:

y

i
UR

“Since I met her, I feel twenty years younger ..

Д\ = :
754

PLAYBOY

46

PRESTIGE ON WHEELS

of slices of bread and a cup of milk. The
boy was a born mechanic, perhaps close
to a genius, and with a little break here
and there, he clawed his way along until,
at 21, he had a small company of his
own, making electrical appliances. He
went on to make bigger things — dyna-
mos, clectric cranes, and by 1899, when
he was 36, he had $100,000 worth of
orders on the books. A little later he
began to be interested in the contempo-
rary automobiles. They were, he decided,
mechanically disgraceful, He bought a
Decauville, took it apart and put it back
together again a few times, and then in
1903 announced that he was going to
build three automobiles of his own. The
depression following the Bocr War had
hurt his own business, and branching
out into anything as hazardous as motor-
cars seemed a poor idea to his associates,
but he did it anyway.

The first car ran on April 1, 1904, It
was a two-cylinder roadster of entirely
conventional design. Much of it Royce
had made himself, and by hand. He
pushed himself unbelievably hard, and
the people who worked with him would
have been excused if they had lynched
him. Royce could, and did, work three
days and nights without leaving the shop
and with almost no sleep or food. He
paid his mechanics five shillings a week,
and their week usually 100 hours.
That would be literally a dollar a week
today, say five dollars actually, devalu-
ation considered. He begrudged them
every minute of idleness, he saw no
reason they should not work and eat at
the same time — if they had to eat. As
for him, he rarely bothered. But because
he was really a kindly man, and because
he worked out of a passion to build, to
create, and not to make money, his em-
ployees took it, and even appeared to
like it. When they felt they were starv-
ing, they would send out for food, and
someone would force Royce to cat some
of it, usually an egg, a glass of milk, or a
piece of bread. He'd grumble, but usu-
ally he'd stuff it down.

Royce's intention in his first car was
primarily to make it a quiet onc. He had
been appalled by the racket most cars
made, And when the car rolled out of
the shop that day in April, exactly 54
years ago this month, it was quiet, al-
though it was hard to tell at first: every
mechanic in the place was swinging a
hammer against an anvil in celebration.

He built the other two cars and sold
one of them to a man who introduced
him to the Hon. Charles Stewart Rolls,
third son of the first Baron Llangattock.
Rolls was young, rich, and full of the
vital juices: he had raced motorcycles
and automobiles, he was a dedicated
free balloonist, and he Jearned to fly an
airplane almost as soon as it was possible

(continued from page 22

to do so. Rolls and a Claude Johnson
were partners in an automobile sales firm
in London, and when they had driven
Royce's car they abandoned their other
franchises, and the firm of Rolls-Royce
came into being. Claude Johnson was a
major figure in the firm from the first
day on, and so were two of Royce's crew
of slavedriven co-workers, one of whom
rose to be gencral manager of the com-
pany.

There were four models in the first
Rolls-Royce line: а two-cylinder, a three,
a four and a six. Later Royce added a
V-cight-cylinder model called the "Lega-
limit" because it was impossible to drive
it over 20 miles an hour, and thus im-
possible for any specd-trap cop to tag it.
It was one of his few mistakes. Then as
now, motorists preferred to take their
chances. The six-cylinder car was run in
various touring-car competitions and did
well, and the company soon had more
orders on hand than could be filled.
These cars have nearly all disappeared
now, and in any case would be notable
only as collectors’ items. In 1907 the
Silver Ghost model was introduced, and
with it, the fame of the name Rolls-
Royce really began. The Silver Ghost
was one of the milestones of automobile
history, onc of the greatest cars ever
built. The car was so good that it was in
production for 19 years, longer than any
other automobile ever built, with one
exception: the French-made Citroën,
built for 28 ycars and six months.

The Silver Ghost was a six-cylinder
car. It was phenomenally quiet, utterly
smooth in running, and built to last
almost forever. There is at least one Sil-
yer Ghost running today with 500,000
miles on the odometer. In 1907 the ac-
cepted way to advertise a car was to do
something spectacular with it. Rolls-
Royce looked for impossible hills, and
sent Ghosts up them with nine men
aboard. They ran a car froin London to
Glasgow and back nonstop at a rate of
20.86 miles to the gallon. They ran one
nonstop for 14,371 miles and had it
stripped by the Royal Automobile Club,
with instructions to replace every part
that showed even microscopic wear. The
cost was two pounds, two shillings, say
510.50. Beyond any doubt, they had
made the best car in the world.

In 1910 Rolls was killed flying a
Wright airplane. Not long afterwards
Henry Royce had a complete physical
collapse, induced by overwork and, not
surprisingly, malnutrition. He was by
now a wealthy man, and he was starving
to death because he still wouldn't take
time to eat. His physicians gave him
three months to live. Claude Johnson
took him to France to recuperate. They
stopped in a little village called Le
Canadel, and Royce said he thought he

would like to live there. A villa was built
for him and for the rest of his life — 23
years — he was never within 100 miles of
the Rolls-Royce factory. Nonetheless, he
ran the shop with an iron hand. An
office was built near his home, staffed
with draftsmen and secretaries, and from
then on Royce built automobiles by
mail. Year after year a tremendous vol-
of letters, orders, sketches and
designs flowed into the home office at
Derby. Nothing on the Rolls-Royce, not
a cotterpin or a bolthcad. could be
changed without his knowledge and con-
sent, and his wild-eyed insistence on
quality first and economy last, dead last,
motivated everybody in the company.

Royce made the best automobile the
world has seen on the simplest. princi-
ples. He ted, fanatically, everlasting-
ly, that only the best raw material in the
world be bought; then, that it be fash-
ioned into the most efficient form,
regardless of cost. Then, that every part
be tested to destruction and the flaw
that caused it to break eliminated. Last,
that the individual parts be joined by
devoted men doing the very best they
knew how. Royce once heard a mechanic
say that a certain part was "good enough
as it was.” He almost had to be physi-
cally restrained, his rage was so great. He
was monumentally disinterested in cost.
He wanted quict timing gears, and he
had quiet timing gears, finished and
stoned by hand. To finish them cost as
much as the whole price of а small auto:
mobile. The cost of making a Rolls-
Royce engine was seven times the cost of
a top-quality competitive engine, the
cost of the steering gear, 12 times. You
could buy a competitive clutch complete
for the cost of one plate alone on a
Rolls-Royce clutch.

The steel Royce used was made for
him in Sheffield, and he had a man on
full-time duty in the mill to see that
it was made as he wanted it. When
parts were processed out of this steel,
every one of them bad an extra piece,
an "car," to be cut off when the piece
was finished, and sent to the laboratory
for testing. This was solely to determine
if any change had taken place in the
metal during the manufacturing process.
1f the laboratory reported a microscopic
change, the piece was junked. Royce
used no rivets in his chassis, only squarc-
headed nuts and bolts. The holes for the
bolts were hand-reamed, and the sides of
the hole were not parallel, they were
tapered. Then the metal around them
was polished, and examined under mag-
nification to detect hairline cracks. If a
crack showed under the glass, the whole
chassis went straight to the scrap pile. If
there were no cracks, then the bolt went
in, and the castellated nut was tightened
to an exact tension. To test a completed
car, Royce had it put on his “bumping

(continued on page 68)

drake’s bad boy was determined to crash out of the school Sor brats

By JOHN WALLACE

MR, CUTTS, the English master, said: “We
will now have Mr. Drake on the mystery
of William Shakespeare's Hamlet. Mr.
Drake, if you please."

Drake came to the prescribed position
of attention апа marched to the side of
the desk. He made a smart about-face.
The paper trembled a little in his hand,
but Drake was more exultant than пет-
vous. This was showdown.

Hc cleared his throat. “Dis Ноте,”
he read, “he don’ make me sensible. Dot
mon, he t'row away hees prettybird, an’
Bet put dowi

Drake lowered the paper. The faces
of his classmates stared back at him
woodenly. OK. you tame bastards. Drake
thought. my crashout anyway.
Strictly mine. He waited for Cutts to
blow.

Suddenly,

A STRETCH IN SIBERIA

“A succinct and original précis," Mr.
Cutts said mildly. Drake's mouth tight-
ened. “However,” Mr, Cutts said, “some-
what off the question. We wanted your
thoughts, Mr. Drake, on Ophelia's sui-
cide, specifically

OK, Drake thought. OK. " he

"Mr. Drake,” said Mr, Cutts.
"Perhaps, sir. she wasn't getting

quietly, she said, "Are you faking?"

PLAYBOY

enough," Drake said. "Perhaps she was
one of these big women, you know? And
maybe he was one of these sort of runty
little guys.” He turned his head slightly
and smiled gently down on Mr. Cutts,
who was indeed a thin little man. Right
where he lives, thought Drake. Right
where he lives. Him and that big-butted
nurse of his. Very handy for old Cutts,
her having an apartment right off the
infirmary. Her and her big mouth and
her sleepy eyes, you could tell she needed
lots of it. Well, thought Drake, now he
knows 1 know. I guess he'll get off my
neck now. I guess hell be glad to get
rid of me by June.

“A true 16th Century approach,” Mr.
Cutts said. “Evidently Mr. Drake scorns
the subtleties of the contemporary Freud-
ian attitude. I will have 500 words
from you, Mr. Drake, if you please and
for the next class, on the sexual implica-
tions of Ophelia's suicid

Outraged with defeat, rigidly shaking,
Drake returned to his seat.

"E will amend that," Mr. Cutts said.
"One hundred words should exhaust
your knowledge of the subject.

Drake barely heatd him. Drake was
thinking of his red. Jaguar, now resting
on blocks in his father's garage 500 miles
away. Drake was thinking of his check-
book and his charge account plates and
his driver's license and his wallet, even,
all lying on his father's desk.

e thousand dollars," his father was
saying. “That's what it cost me this time
to keep you out of jail, to hush up just
one more mess you've got yourself into.
And if that woman you clipped with
your damn sports car had died, I'd've
been lucky to get off at 50 thousand.”
is father leaned over the desk. "
me,” he said, “you are going to jail.
It's a special kind of jail for the spoiled
brats of rich men, one of the best schools
in the country in fact, and the masters
are specialists in curing what ails you.
You'll have no Buicks to smash up. No
Jaguars to half kill people with. No

girls. No money. No privileges. And
no elective courses to horse-trade with.
At this school you pass all, or you pass
nothing. It's Siberi for you, kid
father pushed at the little pile of
belongings and symbols of belongings.
“Straighten up and be flying right by
next June," he said, "and you get these
back, and you can go on to college. Flip
it, and you stay in Siberi; all summer,
and then repeat the year.”

all right. The misters
were polite with a terrible politeness.
They were all trained in judo. They
taught, relentlessly; and Drake swore he
would be out by June. He was capable
of effort, and most of his grades were
good. But Drake had not yet learned
about тога] effort. He permitted himself.
some relaxation in the English classes,
and the master graded him accordingly.

Drake began to hate the English class
and the English master and by now he
didnt know or care which had come
first. His hatred of Mr. Cutts was an al-
mighty itch, and Drake scratched at it
pleasurably and frequently. It was nearly
Easter before he forced himself to be
realistic: Cutts would never pass him.
Cutts stood between Drake and frecdom
in June.

The period bell rang and Mr. Cutts
dismissed the class. Drake glared at him
out of his reverie. “Come here, Drake,”
the master said.

Drake stood over him. “When are you
going to cut this prepschool crap and
do some work?" Mr. Cutts said. "You
can't buy a passing mark from me with
your nuisance value.” The English mas-
ter flexed his slightly stooped shoulders
as though to ease some chronic ache. He
was a man who looked older than his
years, a man of urbanity with a vaguely
harassed air. Drake longed to hit him,
but all that had bcen settled on the
October day when Drake, new, sullen,
but confident in his six feet of height,
had aimed a contemptuous slap at Mr.
Cutts. Mr. Cutts had punched him over
the belt, so hard that Drake had vomited
right in the classroom. “You fool," Mr.
Cutts had told him then, “do you want
me to really work you over? Never raise
your hand to a maste this school, do
you understand? Never.

Drake sighed now. "Maybe I can buy
it some other way," he said.

“Do you mean your stupid reference
to my relations with my fiancée? I con-
sider the source, Drake. I consider the
source."

Drake sighed again. Here goes, he
thought. Here goes. "Well, sir," he said,
“I happen to have seen you going up to

"And coming away just before day-
light," Drake said.

And that's got him, Drake thought.

Mr. Cutts һай put his face down on
one hand. It was a little while before
Drake realized that the English master
was laughing. "God," he said, "Drake,
you're pathetic. I suppose now you're
going to threaten me with exposure to
the headmastei

“All I want is to get out of here in

June,” Drake said.
“You fool,” Mr. Cutts said, “do you
think the head is going to take your
word against mine? And besides, do you
think he cares whether I'm sleeping with
Miss Phillips? I can assure you, my de-
nial will be enough.”

Mr. Cutts leaned back in his chair.
“You're probably like most scholars in
this academy,” he said. “You've belonged
to one of these clubs that correspond
with some girls’ school. You cherish the
memory of a few half-conquests in the
back seats of cars. In a word, Drake,

you're sull a kid. You don't know the
difference between furtiveness and dis-
cretion. Now get out of here," Mr. Cutts
said, "before 1 break down all the way
and start telling you the facts of life."

PU kill him. PU kill him, I'll kill him.
Jogging across the quadrangle Drake
chanted it crazily to himself. So he con-
siders the source. So I'm a clown. So
I'm a comedian. Stick it into him, Drake
raved to himself. Get him where he lives.

But where the hell does he live? Drake
wondered later, isolated in fury in the
midst of his cavorting classmates. He had
just done a fast 400 in the pool and was
loosening up under a hot shower.

And then it сате, It came, beautiful,
absolute and complete. And a little
frightening. Brewster, a lanky youth
from somewhere in Wyoming, came yell-
ing down the tiles and stepped on a
piece of soap. For а moment he lay
sprawled. Then he stood up, grimacing.

"You buckin for infirmary, Brewster?”
somebody said.

“Gawd, no,” Brewster said. He limped
under a shower and turned up the hot
water. In Siberia, infirmary time was
lost time.

Drake held on to it for 24 hours, loy-
ing it, seeing it as perfect. Ii wi
gerous. Dangerous as hell if he ove
played his hand. But this time, Drake
promis.d himself, he would play his
hand just right. And he would smash
Cutts flat.

In the shower room, the next day,
there was the usual brief uproar. Drake
came trotting through from the pool,
shot one heel in the and came down
with a smacking thud.

"Buckin' for infirmary, Drake?"

Drake lay still, letting his cyes close
and then open very slowly. He pulled
his lips back from his teeth. "Hey,"
somebody yelled, “he's hurt! Get Sam-
uels,”

Mr. Samuels, the phy
master, came in.
Drake, mute, shook

al education
“Get up," he said.
is head.

Mr. Samuels bent over and gave
Drake's thigh a hard pinch. Drake
moaned and held himself rigid. “Well,”

Mr. Samuels said, “your back isn't broken
if you can feel that. Get dressed, two of
you, and fetch the stretcher.”

Drake was committed.

Modest under a sheet, he was carried
to the infirmary. Miss Phillips told the

bearers to put the stretcher on a long
wheeled

table. “Gently,” she said,
She bent and slid her hands
and forearms under his hips to take some
of his weight as he came down. Miss
Phillips was a tall girl; as she eased his
head to a more comfortable position
Drake found himself looking into the
falling V of her uniform. The sunlight
in the infirmary was very bright and the
nurses uniform seemed to absorb it.
(continued on page 52)

Neiman's glittering Pump Room Bar grew out af a fashion illustration far PLAYBOY which he sketched on the spot at the pash Chicago oasis.

PAINTER OF THE URBAN SCENE

the dens and denizens of the demimonde are captured in the canvases of leroy neiman

Is WAY WITH PAINT is unmistakably of
this decade,” says The New Republic

of fashionable fine artist LeRoy Neiman,
who has chosen as his forte the kaleido-
scopic dazzle of the city scene. Bars,
gambling casinos and race courses are his
raw material, and considerable fame and
acclaim are accruing to him as a percep-
tive portrayer of the sophisticated life.
“This artist picked a smart specialty,"
wrote Meyer Levin (art savant and author
of Compulsion), "and he's really good."
Neiman came to pick his smart spe-
cialty as а result of some story illustra-
tions and other drawings commissioned
by thís magazine: we sent him to the
gaming tables to illustrate The Deal and
The Crack of Doom; and to smart bistros
like the Pump Room to do thc art
work for such fashion pieces as Formal
Wear. These and similar excursions into
urban elegance excited Neiman, stimu-
lated him to go on from there and paint

the big, cycsmiting pictures for which
he is rapidly becoming famous pic-
tures bristling with bottles and babes,
croupiers and cash registers. “АП of this
is painted in what looks at first like a
very slapdash manner,” says nationally
known art criüc Frank Getlcin. “It's
anything but that. At 10 feet, everything
falls into flawless perspective.”
LeRoy's mushrooming reputation
serious painter and his chores as an i
structor at Chicago's Art Institute have
not prevented him from continuing to
brighten these pages with his work: re.
cently. he illustrated Jack Kerouac's The
Rumbling, Rambling Blues, Hoke Nor-
tis’ City Fables, John Wallace's Party
Girl and last month's fashion feature on
vests. For another example of his unique
talent, turn to the Party Jokes page in
this issue and in most any other issue —
our “femlins,” those miniature misses
who cavort between the gags, also spring
from the busy brush of LeRoy Neiman.

The artist in his studio, which is in the very
heart of the metropolitan night club belt.

49

PLAYBOY

Roulette, abave, is reminiscent of Neiman's illustration for The Deal, a story af vicissitudes in Vegas.
Mixologist, below, is one of his many bar paintings. Another such, Casino, now to Europe, copped
both the popular and professional jury prizes in the 1957 Chicago Artists’ Show. Neiman paintings
won top awards in the Twin Cities Exhibition (1953) and Minnesota State Show (1954). Relatively
unknown when he started working for PLAYBOY, he is now selling furiously to well-fixed ort patrons.

Horses and horse racing are among LeRoy Neiman's favorite subjects. Here, he hos caught the glamor of the Paddock Parade. Е

PLAYBOY

52

STRETCH IN SIBERIA

Drake moaned involuntarily, and closed
his eyes. Watch it, he thought. Watch it.

"God," Miss Phillips said, "he never
should have been moved at all. That
Samuels is a brute. АП right, boys,” she
said.

"The stretcher-bearers left in a hurry.
June was coming fast for all Siberians.
Miss Phillips rustled and crackled softly
around Drake. “The doctor's coming,”
she said. “Is it hurting much?”

Drake opened his eyes. Miss Phillips’
eyes were brown and not exactly sleepy
right now. "Some, Drake said. “A
little."

Miss Phillips glided away in the
smooth pliding way of a woman in low
heels, and went into a room marked
X RAY. She opened a farther door and
he could hear water splashing. “The
doctor will want a picture," she called
out to him. "I guess you don't feel much
like looking pretty for your picture,
huh?"

But the doctor thought the picture
was pretty enough, "Well" he said,
peering at the wet film, “this confirms
my examination, Miss Phillips. No frac-
ture.” He lowered the film and frowned
at Drake, then looked at the film again.
"ОЕ course, a disc might be . . . Well,
let's get you on your feet. Help him,
Miss Phillips. Easy now," he said to
Drake. "It will be a little painful."

It was painful, in fact. Drake had
come down solidly on the shower room
tiles. "You should see this bruise," the
doctor said, twitching up the hospital
nightgown Drake was now wearing.
“Bend,” he said. “This way. Now this
way.” His fingers moved around the
knobs of Drake's spine. “I guess you're
not gold-bricking, hey? No gold-bricking
in, ah, Siberia?"

Drake forced a patients grin.

"Flat on your back for a week, young
fella. You can use crutches once a day.
Thats a concession to your blushing
youth. Lets get him up a

The doctor snapped his bag and
moved toward the door with Miss Phil-
lips. "No strapping,” he said. "No. Let
everything straighten out on a hard mat-
tress. Massage and heat lamp . . . Let
me know if anything . . .” The door
swung to with a pneumatic shush and
Drake sighed. Just about perfect, he
thought.

The door shushed again and the nurse
came gliding to the bed. “Well, we
might as well get you settled into rou-
tine,” she said. “Open your mouth.”
She picked up Drake's hand and laid
her fingers on his pulse. “Му, my," she
said presently, her wide mouth curving.
"Holding hands upsets you, doesn't it?”

Drake took out the thermometer with
his free hand. "It's a terrible change,"
he said.

(continued from page 48)

"You don't seem to be fighting it,”
Miss Phillips said. "Usually they act as
though they're in the death house when
theyre sent here. Aren't you worried
about your grades

"VH make them." Drake said.

Miss Phillips laughed, her eyes slant-
ing, her teeth shining. She was really a
hell of а good-looking babe, Drake
thought. “Well,” she said, "I hate a
worried patient. You'll have a fine week.
if you don't worry about things. Private
nursing. too, unless I get somebody with
mumps or something. Now, here's a
nice present for you.”

Drake frowned at the needle.

"Doctors orders,” she said.
you'll have the prettiest dreams.

Drake held on to it for another 40
hours, roughly. Alone, he had periods
of magnified aloneness, of a kind of
nervous doubt, But he was not often
alone. Miss Phillips seemed to enjoy
having a patient; and Drake, rather
clumsily, groped for the word, the
gesture, that would show him a way
beyond the rou the nurse had im-
mediately and efficiently set up.

Mr. Cutts called on his fiancée the
second evening. Drake could hear a
record player, distant across the landing
between Miss Phillips’ apartment and
the infirmary. Later, there was a clatter
of dishes in a sink, and then voices. A
door opened and the voices came out on
the landing. Quite clearly, Drake heard
Miss Phillips say: “I'm getting a litle
bored with this litde lecture series of

“And

atts said: “What else сап we do
with a patient in there?”

t always a patient in
there," Miss Phillips said.

"Well there is now," Mr. Cutts said.
"Goodnight, my dear.

In the glow of his night light, Drake
grinned. Old Cuus and his discretion.
Then he stopped grinning. fecling the
small grimnes of a small triumph.
Something had been spoiled for Cutts
tonight, at least.

In the short hallway off the landing
Miss Phillips said, “Oh, hell" in a low
voice and unfastened the hook that was
holding the door open. She must have
forgotten it, Drake thought, beginning
to breathe rhythmically. The door
shushed. and Phillips came in for
her night check. Drake felt her fingers
on his forehead, then on his wrist.

Suddenly, quietly, she said, “Are you
faking?”

Drake started with surprise. “Huh?”
he said. “What?”

Miss Phillips dropped his hand.
“Never mind," she said. She drew the
covers up over his shoulders and for a
moment the tips of her fingers rested

against his face,

Drake's mind was staggering. Now?
he thought. Try it now? “Whadsa
matter?” he muttered, stalling.

Miss Phillips sighed. “Neyer mind,"
she said. She moved away from the bed.
“Go to sleep,” she whispered. “Go back
to sleep.”

Drake awoke brilliantly. He held this
brilliance in focus all through the
routine of breakfast. his shuffling trip
to the john, and his bath.

“I hope I didn't disturb you last
night.” Miss Phillips said. She had
finished his legs to midway on his thighs
and was now sponging his chest.

"Gee," Drake said. "I hardly remem-
ber."

That's good,” Miss Phillips said.
“You finish yourself, now. I'll be back
for these towels and things in a few
minutes."

"Back rub?" she said presently, after
she had cleared away.

Drake lay looking up at her, feeling
the brilliance an absolute suffusion now,
beginning to tremble now. He swal-
lowed.

"Not my back," he said.

“What?” Miss Phillips said. Her eyes
moved over Drake's nude figure. "Oh,"
she said, her eyes suddenly stopping.
She laughed a litde. "Oh my."

Drake's arm was hanging over the
edge of the bed. He now placed the
ball of his thumb very delicately against
the calf of Miss Phillips’ leg, feeling the
strange rough-smoothness of the nylon as,
still with the utmost delicacy, he traced
his thumb upward to the warm and
slightly damp little bulge behind her
knee.

It was as though be had struck the
backs of her knees a violent blow.
and mouth opening widely, she collaps
across Drake's bed. She thrashed and
rocked wildly, her face coming up to
Drake's, her elbows sharp in his ribs,
her knees painful on his thighs. It was
a moment before Drake realized that
Miss Phillips was tearing off her clothes.

Feeling triumph, and feeling too the
alınost-virgin's terror of this absolute
brink, Drake pushed down the bed
covers.

"You faker," Miss Phillips said. She

was terrificly pleased. “You gold-
bricker. Are you really telling me the
truth?’

Drake was finishing his lunch. “1 tell
you,” he said, speaking his well-rehearsed
lines again, "I just couldn't stand it.
Seeing you, feeling the way you made
me feel. I just had to do something
about it.”

“Well you certainly were clever. You
certainly risked a lot. And I never

(continued on page 78)

attire By Blake Rutherford on

Or нат Nor at all. Caps, jauntier
than ever, are bully for mer} who know
how to use [their heads. Thé new num-
bers, brief (f brim and trim| of cut, are
worn straight away on the rjoggin, with
no tilt in sight. And you cap have your
cap in almqst any kind of 中 bric under
the sun. Reading the cleverly covered
craniums ol the sports car buffs above,
from west tp east, you'll spy a flannel
affair with И peak built right into its
crown; а ndat check in corlluroy, with
leather pipi
strap; an elbgant, imported |vicuna job
r cap with

suede with
that cheers
the last in 1
of silk and
stripes. Pric
vicuna (a d

of striped cor

in tartan

wondrous wpol has to be
from the Ardes), hover around $12 for
the leather {nd suede model, then dip 1

dextrously t

PHOTOGRAPHY Bf BACON-TIRSCHEL.

Д syCHIATRy

"I'd rather not. That's how all my troubles got started.”

the world’s smallest sovereignty is half as large as a football field

iravel By JOHN SACK

б SMALLEST COUNTRY in the world is
half as large as a football field, ap-
proximately, and is located in downtown
Rome two or three blocks from Ameri-
can Express, and next door to Cucc's,
the haberdasher. Its Ilag is red and
white, like Denmark's, and its name is
rather immoderate, I think: the Sov-
ercign and Military Order of Saint
John of Jerusalem, Rhodes and Malta,
which is abbreviated, at all but the most
ceremonious of state occasions, to the
Sovereign and Military Order of Malta,
or the S.M.O.M. That the Sovereign
i Order of Malta or
is truly sovereign is shown
being recognized by ltaly, the
Vatican, San Marino, Austria, Ger-
many, Belgium, Holland, Ireland,
France, Spain, Portugal, El Salvador,
Argentina, Colombia, Panama, Chile,
Haiti, Peru and Lebanon, and that it
is truly military is shown by an air force
bigger than that of half these places—120
planes, of which three, at the very
least, are said to be in sufficient repair
to permit them to leave the ground.
The S.M.O.M. has an ambassador, or
some sort of man, in each of the 19
countries that recognize it, and vice
versa, and while it would be nonsense
for me to suggest that these people
have anything to do, I can suggest how
they sometime might. Put the case that
Signor Cucci, the haberdasher, is mur-

by its

dered today by a disgruntled client,
who flees across the border into the
S.M.O.M.; then, the only recourse for
the Italian police and the Carabinieri
is to extradite the man, something that
would be done, of necessity, through
the Italian Minister to the S.M.O.M.,
and the S.M.O.M.ian Minister to Italy.

What the Sovereign and Military Or-
der of Saint John of Jerusalem, Rhodes
and Malta lacks in territory, it also
lacks in population, being inhabited,
at the last census, by two people,
Brother Paternó and Baron Gabriel
Apor. (A halfdozen years ago, there
was another, His Eminent Highness
Prince Ludovico Chigi Albani Della
Rovere — Prince Chigi, as he was ab-
breviated at all but the most cere-
monious of occasions— who was the
Grand Master of the S.M.O.M,, its sov-
ereign, but who died in 1951 and
hasn't been replaced.) Brother Paternó
is the lieutenant grand master, and, as
such, is kept so awfully busy with mat-
ters of state that I couldn't see him.
while Baron Apor, whom I did see, and
chatted with for quite a while, in fact,
is the chancellor—a small, animated,
merry old gaffer who wears a black
Homburg and carries a black umbrella,
and is ever losing himself in old jokes
and reminiscences, a characteristic one
being that of the fellow who learned
from his doctor that wine, women and

CREASMAN

song were killing him, and who replied,
“Allora, smetto di contare" — "OK, ГЇЇ
give up singing." Between such jokes as
these, the baron told me he doesn’t
pay taxes to Italy, being a citizen of
the S.M.O.M., and that he brings in
Cigarettes, liquor and suchlike free of
duty; and he offered me a free-of-duty
Chesterfield. He travels, said the baron,
on a passport of the S.M.O.M., which
he graciously let me see: it was red
and white and very natty, and the page
that is signed by Mr. Dulles оп ту
passport was signed by Baron Apor,
himself, on his, and carried the words,
"His Eminent Highness, Fra Ludovico
Chigi Albani Della Rovere, Prince and
Grand Master of the Sovereign and Mili-
tary Order of Malta, requests all to whom
it may concern to allow the bearer,
Gabriel Apor. to pass freely and to af-
ford him such assistance and protection
of which he may stand in need." The
next several pages were full of visas.
Hereupon, the baron observed that
nothing but the espial of bootleg gold
will cause such a to-do at the interna-
tional borders of Europe as the appear-
ance there of himself or Brother Pa-
ternó with а S.M.O.M. passport, it
being generally treated by the customs
people as if it were radioactive. That
the passport is allowed, eventually, at
all of these borders, the baron said, is
a proof positive of the sovereignty of

58

PLAYBOY

56

the S.M.O.M. He added that the
S.M.O.M. doesn't give any visas of
its own, but can; that it doesn't mint
any money of its own, but did; and
that it doesn't print any stamps of its
own, but will — at some as yet undeter-
mined time in the future, after the
proper arrangements are made with the
International Postal Union and an
adequate place, if апу, is found for a
mailbox on S.M.O.M.ian soil.

Well, I think this is very unusual.
How it managed to come about is a
long story, and, with the reader's in-
dulgence, I'd like to make it as long as
possible, there being so very little I
can say about the S.M.O.M. contem-
porarily. The fact is that the S.M.O.M.
has been a country ever since 1048,
but, unlike such other countries of
those days as Slavonia, Catalonia, Low-
er Lorraine and the Caliphate of Cor-
dova, it manages to be with us in the
90th Century by having been the only
one which, whenever it was conquered,
put lock, stock and population on a
dozen or so ships and popped up some-
where else in Europe or Asia. Six hun-
dred and twentysix years of this peri-
pateticism are noted, in chronological
order, in the very name of the S.M.O.M.
—the only omissions being 100 years
at Acre, 18 years on Cyprus, 42 years
getting from one of these places to
another and, of course, all of this cen
tury and most of the last in Rome. I
suppose there's no reason why a nation
cannot behave this way —my diction-
ary, Webster's, says a nation should
have “a more or less compact terri-
tory," and in the сазе of the 5.М.О.М.,
it's less — but, I think, it's altogether
too trying on the rest of us, and some-
times the S.M.O.M. was gadding about
so much that even its citizens didn't
know where it was—for instance, at
the turn of the 19th Century, whe
thinking the S.M.O.M was in Lenin-
grad, of all places, they elected the
czar as grand master. In spite of its
aberrations, the S.M.O.M. was one of
the greater countries of Europe much
of the millennium; once, it owned a
half-dozen forts along the Mediterra-
nean, 140 estates in Palestine and 1900
in Europe; and in the protocol, it was
always the first.

In those days, the citizens of the
S.M.O.M. were known as the Hospi-
talers, for as a hospital the S.M.O.M.
had begun — in 1048 or thereabouts, in
Jerusalem, to help the pilgrims. The
hospital was named for St. John the
Baptist, and was given a kind of ex-
traterritoriality by the Moslems, mak-
ing it a kind of Vatican City, and it
stayed so after the Moslems left and
the Crusaders came, in 1087. On that
day, 10,000 people were killed in the
Mosque of Omar alone, and their

bodies floated in the blood; the Hos-
pital of St. John had much to do; it
was given money by many of the Cru-
saders it cared for, growing in power
and population. Its first grand master
was the Blessed Raymond du Puy, who
made the S.M.O.M. a military, as well
as a sovereign, state, and sent it into
the Crusades, and who prescribed a
religious rule for the S.M.O.M. that it
still uses: "Firstly, I ordain that all the
brethren engaging in the service of the
poor and the defense of the Catholic
faith, should keep the three things
with the aid of God that they have
promised to God: That is to say, chas-
tity and obedience, which means what-
ever thing is commanded to them by
their masters, and to live without prop-
erty of their own: Because God will
require these three things of them аг
the Last Judgment. And let them not
claim more as their due than bread and
water, and raiment, which things are
promised to them. And their clothing
should be humble, because Our Lord's
poor, whose servants we confess our-
selves to be, go naked and miserably
clad. And it is a wrong thing for a
servant that he should be proud, and
his Lord should be humble" The
grand masters who followed the Blessed
Raymond du Puy realized, though, that
a nation founded on chastity would
be more or less transitory, so only a
part of the citizenry took the vows.
Those who did were Knights of Justice,
and those who didn't were Knights of
Honor and Devotion or Knights of
Magistral Grace, and this diflerentia-
tion is in the S.M.O.M. today. Baron
Apor is a Knight of Honor and Devo-
tion, and Brother Paternó is a Knight
of Justice.

Jerusalem fell again to the Moslems
in 1271 and, it's written, the nuns of
the S.M.O.M. chose death to dishonor:
they' got a pair of scissors, cut their
noses ofi, and cut everything else to
ribbons, and so they were killed, and
weren't raped, by the Moslems. The
rest of the S.M.O.M. had already taken
its kit and caboodle, as it would so often
in the future, and had relocated to the
north of Jerusalem, at Acre; then it
was run out of there, too, and wasn't
seen in the Holy Land for another 663
years, till 1954, when it opened the
legation in Beirut, Lebanon. From
Jerusalem to Acre; from Acre to Cy-
prus; from Cyprus to Rhodes, by which
time even the grand master was so be-
wildered as to where, if anywhere, the
5.М.О.М. would materialize next that
he was 18 years in catching up. Pres-
ently, on Rhodes, the grand master was
Deodato de Gozon. It is said of Deo-
dato de Gozon in many histories of the
S.M.O.M. —almost all of which, inci-
dentally, are called A Short History of

the Order (or Knights) of Saint John
of Jerusalem — that һе was nominated
аз the grand master by himself, was duly
elected by himself and the others, and,
nevertheless, was spoken of by the pope
as a modest man — and little wonder,
{ог Deodato de Gozon had been the
frs knight in S.M.O.M.ian history to
slay a dragon. According to the many
Short Histories, the dragon, who had
been eating women and children for
several years, was slain by Deodato de
Gozon and two of his English bulldogs,
which, during the encounter, had held
the dragon at bay, having been special-
ly trained for the purpose on a wood,
facsimile dragon; then, De Gozon and
the bulldogs went back to the city in
triumph, De Gozon becoming the grand
master. Generally, I'm not one to put
any stock in dragons, but, in fairness
to Deodato de Gozon, his particular
dragon is pretty well documented — for
one thing, by the tombstone of De
Gozon himself, which says, in Latin,
"Skill is the conqueror of force: Deo-
dato de Gozon, knight, slew an enor-
mous dragon." The stone was put up
only 13 years after he died, by people
who should have known, and one can
only conclude that a terrible sort of
animal was prowling about in the Mid-
die Ages, but has mercifully gone ex-
tinct.

In 1444, the Sultan of Egypt laid
siege to the S.M.O.M.; it was lifted,
but many knights were dead, the forti-
fications were out (an earthquake and
a tidal wave made them worse) and the
S.M.O.M.ians were in a blue funk.
Then, Sultan Suleiman the Magnifi-
cent, of the Ottoman Empire, laid seige
again, and the people reacted in a
manner that is quite unimaginable to-
day — Ьу worrying of the enemy with-
in, and all but forgetting the enemy
without. A lady of Spain, a pilgrim,
got to be something of a celebrity by
going barefoot in Rhodes and incrimi-
nating pcople in high places, not nam-
ing any names, however; the first to be
killed was a Turkish slave, and then
a Jewish doctor, and the S.M.O.M. had
progressed so far as to torture, try and
behead the chancellor himself, D'Amar-
al, a predecessor of Baron Apor, when
Suleiman the Magnificent opened fire,
conquering the S.M.O.M. “There has
been nothing in the world so well lost
as Rhodes,” said Charles V, of the Holy
Roman Empire, incorrectly, and gave
it to the island of Malta.

Charles V was to be given a falcon
every year in return for Multa, and he
appears, at first, to have had the better
of the deal. Malta was naked when the
S.M.O.M. got there; its castle had gone
to seed; but the S.M.O.M., under the
grand mastery of Jean Parisot de la

(continued on page 71)

MINSKY in VEGAS

frenchy-flavored burlycue sears the desert sands

Out of fabulous, high-flying Los Vegas fast year соте a new and maurnful melody—the
Silver Dollar Blues. Hustling hotel poobahs along the Strip and sweating craps-palace pro-
prietars downtown—long used to watching some eight million spenders drop close to $162
million annvally—begon to feel the pinch of а tightening economy os well as some stiff
competition from the big, bustling, wide-open casinos running full blast in Cuba. ‘Round-the-
dech gambling and big-name entertainers were no longer enough to draw the monied ta
Vegas in the droves of yesteryear. Something spectacular, fresh and titillating was needed.

Called in by the canny management of the Dunes Hotel to fix things up: strippers’ sultan
Harold Minsky. In jig time, he rolled out the biggest, bawdiest barrel af fun-in-the-buff ever to
hit the deser! gaming spa, or any other spa this side af the Atlontic. Receipts saon started to
skyrocket.

Minsky in Vegas capitalizes on the fetching forms af but two energized ecdysiosts, Ihe
likes af Tempest Storm and Alexis Van Cort (a new twist for Minsky, who admits, after a
spate of strip joint shutdowns in both Chicago and New York, that "Most of ће burlycue

Left: as showgirls will,
panty-clad Marilyn Dann
gabs with pretiily-profiled
Shawn Daly between stage
stints in one of the Dunes
dressing rooms, Vegas i
loaded with more chorus.
cuties per capita than ai
other city in the worl
including Paris. Uppe:
right: minaret-sized Alad-
din grins mischievousl
atop the desert re:

main entrance. Right: bevy
of beplumed beauties com-
petes with the peppy pipes
of thrush Pamela Davis
for patrons' attention.
Current Minsky review is
dubbed “Treats of Paris.”

they fed you 10 strippers
in o row and it’s like having too much steak"
The rest of the show couples the spicy Pa
elegance of bore-breasted living tableaus
and burlycue-like comedy routines capped
by super-tremendous production numbers.

Throughout, the girls ore as nofurel as any-

thing seen at the Lido or the Folies-Bergére.
The Minsky formula is a cagey one: a fost,

frolicsome, diversified show with plenty going
оп (os well as coming off) every second of the
time. The girls he employs ore gorgeous in
both face and figure. Eoch is equipped with
ап ostrich plume, a smile and scads of zizz—
aptly defined as that obility to outpull such
Vegas luminaries os Milton Berle, Jone
Russell, Tony Mortin, Spike Jones, Nat Cole
and Benny Goodman, who dole out their

high-paid stuff at other posh hotels thot
the St

Oi lly booked for a scant eight we
last September, the show has been drawing
SRO crowds ever since, often turning away
more panting patrons than can be squeezed
into the Dunes’ Aladdin Room. “The reaso
simple," grins Minsky. "We hove something
here the people can't get on television."

Left: adorned in orchid shoes and matching spotlight, sizzling-sterned Alexis Van Cort bumps bountifully in classic Minsky
manner, exhibits top stripper’s form à l'Americaine. Above: for foreign-flavored finale, music director Garwood ЕЗ
Van strikes up the band from the wings as statuesque chorus stunners parode regally іп a winsome, wonderful windup.

PLAYBOY

62

WEIRD SHOW

know they have found something impor-
tant which they do not yet understand.
It was the middle of the dusty afternoon
and they were backstage of the Alham-
bra in Jackson, Michigan. Marsh was up
front tinkering with the lights.

"He'll hear us!”

“No, he's busy," she said with loath-
ing, and said no more. She was trying to
catch her breath,

“Oh, Suzanne!

Abstracted, pushing him away, the girl
suddenly had the face of a frowning,
pouting, thoughtful child. Her lip was
swollen, “You stay here,” she said.
“What do you mean?
‘or a while. I'll go back to the trail-
er. ГЇЇ say Um sleepy.”

"FID sec you in 10 minutes,"
whispered.

"Soon," she s

"Right away.

She turned away so that he could not
sec her face. She slipped by him. In a
moment Will heard her swect, slightly
hoarse, little girl's voice conferring with
Marsh. Then he hcard her heels on the
stone of the lobby, and out.

The 10 minutes were an agony. Like
all agonies, they had to come to an end.
Ten minutes later he possessed her, or
at lcast he claimed her, and it was the
miracle of his life. Her need was cnor-
mous; she had been deprived, mi
treated, she had been stunned with
contempt. It was as if her health had
been driven bencath the surface to wait
and had come up gasping with desire.
She was lovely in gratitude. It was what
he, like any young man, needed most of
all in the first unsure days of early man-
hood.

They discussed going away together,
but of course this was a ridiculous no-
tion. She was older than Will; they had
their loneliness and their desire in com-
mon, but they had heard that tenderness
is not cnough. They were obedient pu-
pils to what they had heard, despite the
violence they felt within themselves,
and the tender violence which they had
spent clashing against each other. He
would follow his talent through school,
and then to New York. She could do
nothing but stay with Marsh. The
thought of the Wills who might follow
him (this would have to be his last
summer in the Weird Show) maddened
Will Jonas, put a snake of jealousy to
slithering in his stomach; but he was
possessed of some of the careful egotism
of the actor — he knew that the desper-
ate clinging between Suzanne and him
would not forever be enough. He wanted
more. ‘The dank, dusty, brickcd-up
streets of small towns made him need
her—but not for always. He would
move fast in years to come. He would

Will

(continued from page 18)

remember her with a pang, sweet and
keen, but it would be a drag to try to
take her with him. Or so he tried to
decide.

"You're awfully sweet, you know,” he
told her, and that was the most he would
say, although sometimes despite himself
a groan of pleasure and gratitude
scemed to promise her more, promise
himself more. They would steal this sum-
mer —it would be enough. Or so they
promised themselves.

Suzanne was patient. Her skin grew
pink and creamy; her short black hair
had an electric vitality; she seemed once
more the girl of 20 whom Marsh had
met in a dime store seven years before,
with a deep happy privacy within her,
and the smell of her like crushed petals.
in Will's hands.

Marsh suspected nothing. He was
deep in the manipulations of his act. He
was considering buying a new gorilla
suit, When the lights went out in the
school bus, and Will lay hot, sleepless,
brooding and alone, he had jcalous fan-
He hcard the bugs crashing
ist the street lamp overhead. But
the next day Suzanne would promise
and promise him — "No, nothing, noth-
ing, honey" — and at last Will came to
believe. Marsh was too far gonc in the
tribute he paid to his nuttiness, the con-
trolled madness of the psychopath who
could pretend to be a human being and
flirt with the girl in the lobby who was
dressed up as a nurse, standing near the
smelling salts and the bottles filled with
colored powders. By smiling he got a
better rate. Не picked up a nurse in
cach town. "He's not crazy,” Will told
Suzanne, "he's a high-type American busi-
nessman. It's just his business.”

"Gorilla busincss."

“Monkey business,” said Will, smiling.

August. The heat of a low-topped
trailer. Release after boredom and a
dusty job near the ccilings of theatres,
in basements, and behind rotting cur-
tains — and only shrill pleasure to con-
sole them. Suzanne lay huddled in Will's
arms on the bed in his trailer, parked
in the lot behind the Carthage theatre
in Grand Rapids. They had left Marsh
shifting the lighting in the Carthage; he
had an itch to play with lights. Fine.
Excellent. And now Will was talking to
Suzanne, not necessarily because he bc-
lieved that she could understand, but
because the long habit of love produces
trust. He had to talk to somcone; Su-
zanne was the only someone in his life,
and she had a tenderness for him which
is better than cleverness after all. “I'm
fascinated by him," Will admitted. “He
touches the nerve of the audience be-
cause he barely pretends it about magic.
He likes the horror as much as they do.

He believes. When you scream and he’:
sawing, I think he takes it each time—

“He smiles sometimes,” said Suzanne.
“Mmm, my mouth is dry. 1 need some
gum. No, I need you to kiss me.”

He did.

“Now talk some more,” Suzanne said.
“I love to hear you talk. I don't have to
hear what you say, I hear your voice
talking to me, to your Suzanne. Now go
ahead, talk.”

He kissed her.

“Talk I said!"

He held her in their silent shared
laughter. Then Will went on. "It's as if
he resents heing human. He. Notice how
1 say that? I don't use his name. I just
y He, Him.”

She sighed, stretched, yawned. She
rubbed farewell against him. “Yes. Yes,
but I better get dressed now, honey. It's
about time for him to finish up in the
theatre.”

Him she says, Will thought.

He released the girl, but lay there
himself, still figuring, as she moved
about the room, retrieving panties, bı
the silky spume of their abrupt and un-
tidy passion flecked throughout the
small space of the trailer. “He feels right
about the Weird Show, It's his home.
He likes to throw the worms from the
balcony. I think he'd rather it really
were worms. Then he'd scrcam, Mac-
aroni, Macaroni! and if he did it they
would all scream with him. In his way
he's an artist. He can do anything he
wants.” He shuddered. “Loon

“You better pick yourself up, honey.”
She bent to kiss him, and put her check
next to his shoulder, rubbing it against
the tender fur of his chest.

"He shouldn't go too far that way.
He's playing with things a man shouldn't.
know about. Its a risk. He's going out
of control. Don't tickle, baby.

They were both mostly arranged again
when there came a rattle at the door of
the trailer. Suzanne opened. An cnor-
mous black-bellied gorilla stood bowing
and grunting in the doorway. It entered,
lurching, and brushed it claws against
her face. It swayed back and forth
through the trailer, knocking dishes off
the table and shedding its sour animal
smell. "Marsh!" said Will. “What the
devil are you doing?"

"Marsh!" Suzannc cricd.

"Worms, worms!” the muffled voice
inside called out.

Suzanne, shivering, stroked the goril-
la's head. She laughed. "Nice gorilla. I
see you got your new gorilla suit, Marsh.
It's swell. You wanted to try it out on
us?"

Marsh stopped and slipped off the
head. Inside he was perspiring fiercely,
thin hair pasted to the narrow skull,
his sallow skin stretched tight and gleam-

(concluded overleaf)

MEET
THE PLAYBOY READER

a survey of the man

who reads the magazine

we LIKE YOU to meet a personal friend
of ours. We've been closcly associated
NS with him for more than four years, and
in that time we've learned a good deal
about his tastes, attitudes and interests,
but just recently we discovered a num-
ber of new facts about him that we never
knew before, If our friend seems familiar,
it is because he is a composite of you,
yourself, and all the other readers of
ine.
Starch and Staff conducts the
only independent, continuing survey of
magazine readership in the U.S. and
it is subscribed to by a majority of the
nation’s leading magazines. Starch has
just issued its first report on PLAYBOY, in
\ a special supplement to its Fifty-second
Consumer Magazine Report, and we
thought you'd be interested in learning
how you and your fellow pLaynoy read-
ers came out,

It is important to publishers to have
an accurate picture of those who read
their publications. It is helpful to cdi-
tors in planning issues and even more
meaningful to the directors of advertis-
ing faced with the problem of selling
their particular audience to the gray
flannel gentlemen in the ad agencics
along Madison Avenue. The Starch Re-
port on PLAYBOY readers is so spectacular
that another men's magazine attempted
draw from the survey when they
saw it. We say attempted, because some
magazines are included in the survey
even though they don't like the results.
(continued on page 76)

PLAYBOY

64

Sauces FOR THE GANDER (continued from page 36)

Y cup light cream

2 tablespoons dry sherry

Y4 teaspoon salt

Dash white pepper

Heat the milk and cream in a small
saucepan, but do not boil. In another
ucepan, melt the butter. As soon as it
is melted, remove the pan from the fire
to keep the roux from browning. Stir in
the flour. Blend well. Slowly add hot
milk and cream. Stir well. Add onion
and bay leaf. Return to a slow flame.
Simmer. don't boil, or sauce may burn.
Cook. for 20 minutes, stirring frequently.
Add sherry, salt and pepper. Strain.

Combine Sauce Béchamel with cooked
fresh mushrooms, crab meat or shrimp.
Use it as an escort for croquettes or cut-
lets or as a base for cream soups.

Sauce Velouté: In place of milk in the
above recipe use a strong chicken broth.
Add a chicken bouillon cube if sauce
seems weak in flavor. Pour it over fricas-
see of chicken, grilled sweetbreads, hot
chicken or hot turkey sandwiches. Com-
bine it with chicken cut into hash-size
pieces for creamed chicken hash.

Sauce Mornay: Beat 2 egg yolks well.
Add 14 cup strained Sauce Béchamel to
egg yolks. Mix well. Pour egg yolk mix-

WEIRD SHOW (continued from page 62)

ing, the gray pouches of his eyes stream-
ing with fine tears of sweat. "I thought
you folks ought to sce it first,” he said.
“They didn't give me much trade-in on
the old one, but what can you do? Well.
I'm off to the showers. You better get
yourself some dinner — it's getting on
toward show time.”

They watched him hobble into his
bus, stripping off the costume as he
went.

“Did he see? Did he hear" Will
hissed at Suzanne.

“Does he know?”

And they looked at each other and
shook their heads. He could not have
played jokes if he knew. He could not
have been spying outside. No, it was not
possible,

No, no. He did not suspect. Even
Marsh would have some more human
response than to frighten them with the
gorilla suit, Even a psychopath has feel-
ing. Only a total madman could have
played this amiable joke on them alter
listening and spying on their love-
making from outside the trailer where
once Will's foot had rung out against
the tight tin drum of a wall. He knew
nothing, then.

The evening show went well. ‘The
theatre was filled, and the aisles crowded
with standees. After the two movies,
Vampire Attack and It, the great Weird
Show went on — bells, howls, darkness,
shrieks, worms, gorilla, explosions. When
he finished his ї stint at throwing
worms from the balcony, Will Jonas
went outside for a smoke and some seri-
ous thinking about what lay ahead. M.

be he should take a chance and take

Suzanne with him. Why not? Did a man
have to plan every step of his life? And
didn't Suzanne give what he really
vanted, and. wouldn't she forever look
slender and lovely for him?

In the meantime, Marsh, dressed in
the black tails which made him look
taller than his six feet, with the light

coming upon him from below as from
an inner flame, did the perfunctory
tricks which led to the main
event. "I now, Marshall the Great, only
and especially for you, Saw a Live Wom-
an in Half. Stand up, Suzanne!”

Suzanne, in tights and fancy bra,
leapt out [rom thc wings and curtscyed.
A roar of approval went up {тот the
crowd. They knew what to expect. Marsh
touched her with his magician's baton.
She went into the box. He strapped and.
locked it securely. The crowd howled
when he put a pillow under the head
which stuck out at one end. He turned
the box to show the audience all sides
of it. Some who had seen the act before
interrupted their necking to say, "Real-
istic, ain't И?” and returned to kissing
work.

sh picked up the shark-toothed

nd now," he said, and did not finish
the sentence. He bent to the head lying
with its eyes closed on the pillow,
the body curled up in the box. He
whispered to the head. “Z know."

She began to scream even before she
felt the vibration and crazy raw bite of
the saw. It was working so high on the
box that there was no place, nowhere,
nothing for her writhing trapped body.
‘The screams of terror and pain, the head
twisting and contorted, the mouth open
to bursting, these things gratified the
marvelous nightmares of children. A
thick red liquid trickled from the
screaming mouth. The neckers hawed

ith nervous laughter. The saw played

wi
its shrill tune.

This was the best yet.

‘The best ever.

Outside on the deserted evening
street, Will Jonas was smoking his cig-
arette, dreaming vaguely about the life
together of two people who care, need,

love.
Ba

ture into balance of Sauce Béchamel
slowly, stirring well. Add 2 tablespoons
grated parmesan cheese and a dash of
cayenne pepper. Pour over boiled or
baked fish. Sprinkle with additional par-
mesan cheese and paprika. Place under
broiler until cheese melts.

Horseradish Sauce: Add 3 tablespoons
prepared horseradish to Sauce Velouté
Dissolve 1 teaspoon dry English mustard
in 1 tablespoon cold water. Add to sauce.
Indispensable with boiled beef. May also.
be used for boiled corned beef, tongue
or chickei

Egg Sauce: To strained Sauce
Béchamel add | finely chopped hard
boiled egg, 2 tablespoons minced parsley
and a dash of Tabasco sauce. Delightful
with steamed finman haddie or boiled
fresh salmon.

SAUCE HOLLANDAISE

The richest and most delicate of all
French sauces (named after Holland be-
cause Holland was once the source of the
best butter in Europe) is largely a com-
bination of egg yolks and butter. For
best results use sweet rather than salted
butter. Sauce Hollandaise is used in gen-
erous portions with fresh asparagus, broc-
coli or cauliflower. Use it for poached
eggs Benedict. Hollandaise curdles casily
if it is hot, It is always served just luke-
warm.

% lb. sweet butter

4 large egy yolks

1 tablespoon cold water

1 teaspoon lemon juice

14 teaspoon salt

Dash cayenne pepper

Beat the egg yolks in an electric mix-
ing machine until deep lemon colored
and thick. While the egg yolks are being
beaten, melt the butter over a moderate
fiame. Remove the butter from the fire
аз soon as it is all melted. While continu-
ing to beat the egg yolks, begin adding
the melted butter in the smallest pos-
sible stream, almost drop by drop at first,
The butter will be emulsified by the egg
yolks into a sauce somewhat resembling
mayonnaise in appearance. Gradually
add the balance of the butter im small
driblets. When all the butter has been
added, stir in the water, lemon juice, salt
and cayenne pepper. Remove sauce from
mixing bowl. It may be cold. To reheat
it, place the sauce over warm, not hot.
water, stirring occasionally.

Sauce Béarnaise: Omit water
lemon juice from Sauce Hollandaise. Add
2 teaspoons tarragon vinegar, ] teaspoon
finely chopped tarragon, 1 tablespoon
finely chopped parsley and 1 ‘teaspoon
melted beef extract. Pass Sauce Béarnaise
with flet mignon, broiled chicken.
broiled scallops or brochette of sweet-
bread. Remove your beret belore eating.

ДУС "gg P
ADMINISTRATION

65

66

ORVILLE K.SNAV (continued from page 25)

D.C. (Reg. No. 10196) "Absolutely irre-
placeable. Use it constantly."

José Ferrer, Ossining, N.Y. (Reg. No.
1230) "Not a toy!"

Harold Fair, Bozell & Jacobs Advertis-
ing, New York (Reg. No. 3781) “I have
never been more."

George Banks, Kent, England (Reg.
No. 2422) “Seems that Americans need a
gadget even for pulling legs.

Jules Herbuveaux, Vice-President,
NBG, Chicago (Reg. No. 1616) “1 rec
ommend it for management teams."

Myrna Loy, New York (Reg. No.
14493) "Absolutely dispensable!”

Jerry Lewis, Hollywood (Reg. No.
5155) “What the hell is it?”

Bennett Cerf, New York (Reg. No.
1595) "I bite. What is it?”

In cases of wide-eyed naiveté, such as
Mr, Lewis and Mr. Cerf's, Crowder has
some little difficulty in conveying the
news that BunaB is really nothing at all.
Consider, for example, a letter from
his bulging files:

Office of the Postmaster
United States Post Office
Kansas City B, Missouri
[In reply refer to 43-JRF-em]

Orville K. Snav & Associates
121 North Jefferson Street
Mason City, Iowa

Gentlemen:

Patrons of this office have re-
ceived your "Improved #7 BunaB"
and have inquired as to the use Гог
whioh the article is intended.

It will be appreciated if you
will furnish this information.

Yours very truly,
Alex F. Sachs
Postmaster

Crowder's reply was immediate.

Mr. Alex F. Sachs, Postmaster
United States Post Office
Kansas City, Mo.

Dear Postmaster Sachs,

Our President, Mr. Orville K.
Snav, was slightly puzzled by the
question posed, as each Improved
#7 BunaB mailed from our Mason City
Plant, Warehouse and Laboratories
is accompanied by an Explanatory
Sheet (Blue). While we have had
some registration cards returned
to our office which contained bas-
ically the same inquiry (although
some have been tinged with a smat-
tering of profanity) yours is the
first to be imprinted "Official
Business, United States Govern-
ment."

...Rather than make a long let-
ter of explanation out of this, we
are pleased to forward to you, via
Parcel Post, one of our £7 models
for your inspection and use. We
request that you refrain from re-
garding this presentation as any

sort of pay-off or bribe, but mere-
ly as a token of good will, in the
hope that you will also find many
opportunities to save time, effort
and expense by oonfident employ-
ment of your BunaB whenever the
need for such an instrument is in-
dicated.

Yours sincerely,

Orville K. Snav & Associates

By Al Crowder, Assistant to

the President
Postmaster Sach's reply showed a

marked change in tone:

Dear Mr. Crowder:

I appreciate your sending me one
of your new #7 models, which I am
sure will prove satisfactory...

Very truly yours,
Alex F. Sachs
Postmaster

Caught up in the complexities of a
spiraling business economy, Orville К.
Snav & Associates, through Crowder, is
trying to solve some of the financial
problems it has encountered of late.

"In spite of drastic increases іп taxcs
and in costs of raw material,” he says,
“the unique economics of the BunaB
industry — notably a supply of cheap
labor — has enabled us to maintain our
established price for the #7 model of
48€ cach or two for a dollar."

"This unconventional price structure,
however, seems to invite errors, When a
purchaser of а single BunaB remits а
50€ piece, which all too frequently is
the case, Crowder writes:

We have credited your account
with the two-cent overpayment, and
suggest that you take advantage of
this credit within the next 14
months, as all monies found static
on our bocks at the end of that pe-
riod are automatically transferred
to our Sen-Sen fund for the benefit
of our employees.

While surpluses go into the employees’
Sen-Sen fund, deficits must come out of
it, so Crowder jealously watches his ac-
counts. Recently an order came from
James R. Miller of the California Insti-
tute of Technology with a payment of
12 three-cent stamps. Crowder wrote:

Our President hardly envisioned
the dire need for a dependable
BunaB at CalTech, but was con-
vinced of it after blowing our
fifth and last stand-by No. 5825
RCA tube in our homemade Univac,
trying to reooncile the figures
12x3=48. Naturally, our experi-
ments in higher mathematics have
been concentrated on improving cur
product and we have not done as much
research in multiplying postage
stamps as your distinguished
group. Our comptroller insists
that we have you on the cuff to the
amount of 12¢. Should you send
stamps, we would probably receive
three purples.

The letter indicated that a carbon
copy had gone to the Octopus Collection
Agency, a Snav subsidiary.

One of Crowder's larger transactions
to date involved a rush order for 100
#7 models, and it involved a produc-
tion crisis of sorts. But he beat the dead-
line and submitted the following bill:

100 MEG #7 BunaBs
@ .48 .....

Special rush Service
(overtime, night crew) 114.29

Grog and entertainment for

nighb'orew] creer .. 587.14
Medical aid for night crew. 6.00
Transportation to Express

(Gab) euro e .45

Tips for cab driver... 18.55
Shipping Cartons (eigh

pack Pabst) ..... 7.20

Lunch for night shift (siaw,
schnitzel, pumper-
niokel, limburger,
Braunschweiger,
kartoffle-sal.) ....

Baby*sitter A 5 c EE m

Opium for baby sitter.....

Less Special Discount for
Asst. to Pres.........

$ 4
The World Is Coming to an Ena.
Please remit promptly, we don't
want to have to chase all over Hell
for our money.

When a business becomes so big so
fast, how, you ask, did it ever get started?
“Originally the BunaB was intended,"
Crowder explains, “for a few select
friends. But these friends soon discov-
ered it filled a long-standing need. They
began buying BunaBs for their friends,
and their friends began buying them for
other friends. As a result, we are now
world-wide.” Crowder has traced a typi-
cal genealogical line of the organiza-
tion's growth:

"Our Mr. Abel Green, who is also the
editor of Variety, sent one to our Mr.
Meredith Willson, who became ап As-
sistant to the President by sending one
to our Mr. José Ferrer, who sent one to
our Mr. David C. Garroway. Our Mr.
Garroway ordered 40. We shipped 15
and back-ordered 25. One of the people
our Mr. Garroway sent a BunaB to was
our Mr. Jules Herbuveaux, who runs
NBC in Chicago, who sent one to our
Mr. Pat Kelly, a peach of a guy, who at
the time was with the Crown Crest
Stables at Lexington, Kentucky. So, as a
result of our Mr. Green originally send-
ing one to our Mr. Willson, we are now
in the official stud book. The name
"BunaB' is registered there as the name
of a fill. And the whole project has
pyramided in that way. Herb Shriner is
one of our key personnel, and so are
Marc Connelly, Bill Cullen, Deems Tay-
lor, Hugh Downs, Bob and Ray, Garry
Moore and Cary Grant.

What of the future? The future of

(concluded on page 70)

PLANE

T THE FOURTH DYNASTY, there was a fine
King of Egypt named Cheops. Under
his rule the country prospered, and he
won important wars. But while he was
away fighting battles, the government
back home always became inefficient
and ineffective, and one of his daugh-
ters, an unusually intelligent and beau-
tiful young woman, was upset by this
situation. One day she went to her
father,

“Father, you are a wise and wonder-
ful man, and you have been and are
the greatest ruler Egypt has ever known,
but you badly need someone to watch
over things while you are away. Why
don't you let me?"

"What would you do?"

“Well, first I would establish a school
to train those who are going to take
important positions.”

^I never heard of such a thing, but I
am willing to let you try your hand."

The Princess selected the handsomest
young men for her school and engaged
the best teachers she could find. She
herself taught a course in the art of
behavior in the bedroom, something she
considered of utmost importance for
political leaders. In that , too, she
was able to Get first-hand information
about the physical prowess of the men
and to appoint them to the positions for
which they were best fitted.

Soon it became fashionable to des-
ignate men according to a system the
Princess had devised. When the Prime

‘The Princess herself taught the course in bedroom behavior.

4

Ribald Classic

THE SMILE ON THE FACE OF THE SPHINX

A new translation from

the ironic Contes Saugrenus of Pierre Sylvain Maréchal

Minister passed by, women would line
the strect and whisper to cach other:

“He is a 12-time n

"A man who can accomplish such
marvels deserves to be Prime Minister!"

Some of the other ministers had rep-
utations for 10 and 11 times, and lesser
officials were eight- and nine-time men.
If on later testing the Princess discov-
ered that these men did not live up to
their reputations, they were reduced in
rank.

It is casy to imagine how the State
flourished under the auspices of such a
wise government. Hence in Egypt there
were 30 or 40 f: es that lived in great
abundance. [t is true that the others
were in rags and almost starved, but
what government can make all the peo-
ple happy?

After a few years the beautiful Prin-
cess had the government in working
order, and one day as she stood outside
her palace looking at the Sphinx she
felt sure that it winked at her. Then
suddenly a thought came to her.

“While my father is still a I must
build a monument more impressive than
the Sphinx to commemorate his great
reign, and I think I know just how to
do that.

She sent word through the kingdom
that any young and vigorous man would
be admitted to her boudoir if he would
provide a building stone of certain
dimensions. There was an element of

democracy in that the stones would
come from all the ranks of society.

It is needless to say that in a few
years huge piles of stones arose around
the palace. They were so high that on
several occasions they slid down and
crushed people who happened to be
passing by. Then one day her father
returned from his military triumphs.
He had wiped out all the opposition and
would be able to spend the rest of his
days at home. When he arrived he could
hardly believe his eyes.

“My daughter, I don't like to com-
plain, but there are so many stones
around the place we can hardly see the
sun. What in heaven's name аге we
going to do with them?"

“АП hail, greatest ruler in the history
of Egypt. I have gathered these stones
to build for you the most handsome
monument the world has ever known."

And so it came to pass that Cheops
built the Great Pyramid which became
his tomb, and there were enough stones
left over to build a small pyramid which
became the tomb of the Princess.

And Chephren, the brother of Cheops
who succeeded him, built a pyramid;
and also Mycerinus, the son of Cheops
who ruled next. It is а pity that thosc
two rulers did not have intelligent and
beautiful daughters like Cheops’ so they
could have built larger ones.

— Translated by Hobart Ryland

PLAYBOY

68

PRESTIGE ON WHE

号

machine." This was a simple rig: two
huge wheels sunk halfway in the floor.
The wheels were irregular, cam-shaped.
The car to be tested was chained in
position over them, and the wheels
started turning. Every time one of the
bumps came around, the car was shaken
from one end to the other. High-
quality automobiles were broken up on
this machine in three minutes, but Rolls-
Royce cars would sit there and take it
for 100 hours. If one of them didn't take
it for 100 hours, the men responsible
could count on some sleepless nights.
During World War 1, T. E. Lawrence
used Rolls-Royce armored cars in the
Arabian campaigns. These were ordinary
chassis stripped of their limousine or
touring-car bodies and hung with up to
three tons of armor plate. Lawrence had
nine cars like that, and they were driven
over rocks and sand, with virtually no
maintenance, for 18 months before any-
thing failed. Then one of them broke a
rearspring bracket,

Asked to sign a guestbook, Royce
always wrote, "Henry Royce, mechanic."
It was his great pride. Не never learned
how to use a slide rule, but he could
pick up a piece of brass and file out a
perfect fitting by hand and eye alone.
He made a virtue of his lack of school-
ing: he came to every problem with his
mind unhampered by preconceived
ideas. He was wonderfully original and
inventive, and his patience was limitless.
The production of one solution to an
apparently insoluble problem did not
impress him. He wanted a dozen solu-
tions, out of which the best could be
chosen. Complexity intrigucd him,
the Rolls-Royce "Merlin" airpla
gines which won the Battle of Britain
had their о ‚ years before, у
The first air crossing of the Atlantic,
eight years belore Lindbergh, was made
with Rolls-Royce engines.

Laden with honors, Sir Henry Royce
April 1933, 70 ycars of age and
ning to the end. After mature
tion, the company board of di-

conside
rectors agreed to make, in his memory, a

change in the traditional square-shaped
Rolls-Royce radiator that had not been

altered since the very first car: the red
enamel of the name plate was changed
to mourning black, and it is still black.

Rolls-Royce has made fewer models
than any other great firm. The great
ones were, and are, The Silver Ghost,
the Alpine, the Phantom I, the Phantom
Н, the Continental, Phantom III, the
20-25, the Silver Wraith, Silver Dawn,
Silver Cloud, and Phantom IV. They
were all six-cylinder cars, except the
P-HI, a 12, and the P-IV, an 8 made, so
far, only for the British royal family.
The Silver Dawn appeared in 1939, and
was the first Rolls-Royce it was possible

(continued from page 46)

to buy "off the peg." Prior to 1949,
Rolls-Royce made the chassis only, and
turned it over to a coach-maker for body-
work. In 1949's austerity, the company
decided that the day of the chauffeur-
driven car was waning, and built the
Dawn, a standard, but very luxurious
sedan, for $10,500. The Silver Cloud and
the Silver Wraith are the two models in
current production, at $12,800 and
$19,500 respectively. The Silver Cloud,
successor to the Dawn, has a standard
body. When you buy a Wraith you get
a more powerlul engine, a longer wheel
base, and custom coachwork. Inciden-
tally, if the ostentation of a Rolls-Royce
bothers you, if you are afraid that the
hired hands down at the plant are apt
to ask for a new wage scale if they sce
you driving one, the company has a solu-
tion for your problem. Rolls-Royce
makes the Bentley, and the Bentley
Model S is identical in every particular
with the Rolls-Royce save for the radia-
tor shell. Instead of the massive squared-
off R-R radiator, instantly recognizable
from Chappaqua to Canberra, the Bent-
ley has a fairly unobtrusive one. You
ride in the same utter luxury that a
Rolls-Royce provides, but only the cog-
noscenti know that you spoiled $15,000
to buy the car.

Custom coachwork, of the kind that
goes into a Wraith made for a demand
ing customer willing to spend money, is
almost unknown in this country. Literal-
ly anything is possible, and your mad-
dest whim will not raise the coach-
makers eyebrow a millimeter. He
heard it all before. He has made bodies
for Indian maharajahs who bought
Rolls-Royce cars in dozen lots, to give to
their friends. Any fabric the world
knows can be used for upholstery, and
any leather: ostrich, peccary, morocco,
zebra hide. The woodwork can be any-
thing you like: rosewood, sandalwood,
acacia, mahogany. Rearseat TV is a
standard option, so is a complete bar,
or a dictating machine. Rolls-Royces
have been made with solid silver cere-
monial ablution sets for Mohammedan
princes, they have been fitted with med-
icine chests, record libraries. An English
noblewoman had a chamber pot built
into her limousine. Folding tables front
and rear, lighted vanity-cas rear-
window defrosters and such trifles are
standard on every car. When Mike Todd
gave Mrs. Todd a Rolls-Royce he had it
upholstered in black and white kidskin.
"The folding trays in this car are marked
uz and м. Mike Todd was riding in
this Rolls-Royce, incidentally, when a
newly rich buddy, proud of the tele-
phone he'd just had installed in his Cad-
illac, called up and began, “Mike, I was
just rolling along the West Side High-
way here and 1 thought I'd give you a

buzz and . .

"Excuse me just a minute, will y
chum?” Todd said. "My other phone is
ringing."

When a Rolls-Royce is delivered, any-
thing that docs not meet the immediate
approval of the owner will be changed
forthwith, naturally. The same will be
true three years later, too. And the Rolls-
Royce guarantee not only runs for three
years, in contrast to the three-month
guarantee of ordinary cars, but should
anything break on the car, not only the
replacement part is free—the cost of
putting it into the car is on the house,
too. Almost anything one hears about a
Rolls-Royce is true—almost anything.
The most-repeated brag, completely un-
true, is probably this: that the Rolls-
Royce hood is sealed at the factory, and
its opening by any but a factory me-
chanic voids the guarantee. ‘The story
originated in the fact that the pre-war
Rolls-Royce bonnets, or hoods, were fast-
ened by outside locks. The fact is that
any competent mechanic can service a
Rolls-Royce, using the tool kit provided
with the car. It is true that the factory
maintains a school for drivers in Eng-
land, and the silver pin signifying com-
pletion of the two-week course is highly
prized. (Before the automatic transmis-
sion era, four days of the curriculum
were allocated to teaching gear-shifting!
No automatic transmission made today
offers the smoothness of which a wained
chauffeur was capable.) For a few years
in the 1920s Rolls-Royce cars were made
in America, at Springfield, Mass. ‘Che
factory was largely staffed by Britons,
and the cars were identical in quality
with the English models, differing only
in their left-hand drive, but they didn't
sell well, since they lacked the “Made in
England” and the factory was
given up

‘The original owners of Rolls-Royce
cars admire them, prize them, but the
stage of absolute veneration is reserved
for the second-, third- and fourth-hand
owners, usually men and women who
could not have afforded the initial cost
of the car, These afictonados are banded
together in The Rolls-Royce Owners
Club, with headquarters in the United
States and members all over the world.
Their cars are often marvels of restora-
tion and maintenance. There are prob-
ably more immaculately restored. Rolls-
Royce cars in existence than any other
make can boast, and some of them, like
James Melton's 1907 tourer, or Stanley.
Tarnopols 1927 Р-1 double-cowl phae-
ton, are almost incredibly perfect. (The
aluminum bonnet of Tarnopol's car is
polished with jewelers rouge!) ‘The
R.R.O.C. serves as a central repository
for all manner of information bea:
on the car, conducts elaborate meets in
which members: cars are displayed and

(concluded overleaf)

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69

I thought youd be in Moscow by now.”

dear,

“Why

PLAYBOY

70

exercised, and publishes a slick-paper
periodical, The Flying Lady. Title of
the magazine derives from the famous
Rolls-Royce radiator emblem, properly
called “The Silver Lady,” which was
designed in 1911 by the English sculptor
C. A. Sykes. The model is supposed to
have been the mistress of a British
nobleman who was prominent in the
motoring world of the day. For as long
us the radiator opened on the outside,
two caps were furnished: the Lady, and
a plain cap to be put on if the car had
to be left unattended (ог any length of
time. Good pre-war Silver Lady caps
bring up to $50 today. The contemporary
model is smaller, and, of course, perma-
nently attached,
ing is covered by the hood, as it is in
all modern automobiles.

Only hard-hcaded, realistic men can
sustain а commercial endeavor for half
a century, and Rolls-Royce policy has
always been carefully trimmed to the
times. Today's Rolls-Royce cars are not
quite so lavishly made as were the old
Ghosts, Pis, P-Ils and Р-115. Today's
buyers are not so demanding as their
fathers were.

But it is still the best car in the world,
legitimate descendant of thc fast and
rakish London-Edinburgh model, the
fabulous Continental, and the Phantoms
and Wraiths that have borne the world's

great men, and witnessed great events.
The old Rolls-Royce cars— you must
never call one a “Rolls” — be with
us for decades more, oiled like watches,
guarded as Renaissance paintings are
guarded. The litany of the old body
styles— Salamanca, Tilabury, Riviera,
Mayfair, Carlton — will be recited as
long as we ride in automobiles, and
while there are men willing and able to
pay for perfection, Rolls-Royce will pro-
vide their transportation.

ORVILLE K. SNAV

(continued from page 66)

Snav Associates throbs with rich prom-
ise. The research laboratories are busy,
and great developments are in work.
There is, for example, the Improved #6
BunaB, which omits the registration card
but carries the imprint of the thoughtful
giver in a translucent etch on the plas-
tic box. “Aside from these modifications,
conhdes Crowder, "the only difference
between the #6 and #7 is thcir simi-
larity.

Another crowning achievement is the
BunaB #5, an LP for people who like
to have a record on while watching tele-
vision. The liner notes are models of

FEMALES BY COLE: 46

informative Stiavian prose. Side One,
they tell us, is for drama, mystery, ad-
venture and afternoon serials, and Side
Two for panel shows, interviews, news,
weather and sports. "Many fanciful ef-
fects," says the liner, "such as the sound
of 8000 violins playing in unison, are
easily possible through skilled employ-
ment of echo chambers and multiple
recordings. However, such devices tend
to detract from the underlying dignity
and simple directness revealed by the
elimination of strings, reeds, brasses, per-
cussion and human voices. Therefore,
none of these tricks of modern electronic
magic will be heard on this recording.”
Not only that, but “In the entire history
of recording the general public has never
before been granted an opportunity to
obtain a disc which may be played at
all speeds (3314, 45, 78 and the now
obsolete 80 revolutions per minute
favored by Mr. Thomas Alva Edison,
the inventor of the phonograph) with the
assurance that regardless of playing
speed, there will result no discordant
auricular deviations."

By this time it will have dawned on
anyone imbued with the BunaB orienta-
tion that the #5 provides 40 minutes of
ringing silence, despite Snav's final obiter

: "Critical listeners may claim to
Echo of
Your Shadow, Drop Me a Pin, Tuba
Full O' Honey, My Tacit Farewell, Ap-
plause for Judas, Bouncing Marshmal-
lows, Underneath the Rockies, and the
less familiar Beat of a Heart of Stone.”
The liner notes also suggest the record
can be invaluable in teaching parrots,
parakeets, mynahs and canaries to shut
up.
Production of the #5, Crowder claims,
was no easy matter; “You can realize the
problem of keeping 50 musicians quict
for more than half ап hour."

Still another Snav product that has
burst into the market is the PMM (Post
Meridian Morning) Shield. The PMM
Shield is a black half-circle of suitably
reinforced material. It is pasted over the
left half of your clock, thus obliterating
what Crowder calls “one of the anathe-
mas of modern civ tion — the morn-
ing.”

Sometimes, in Crowdcr's normal busi-
ness life, someone asks him point-blank
if there is really any Orville К. Snav at
all He's never been seen. He never
writes to anyone. At U question
Crowders face assumes a look of in-
credulity, and he's likely to answer, "My
friend, that's like pointing to a bca ati-
ful fountain and saying maybe there's
no such thing as a plumber. Why it's
obvious. There it is. It exists. You can
say, if you wish, that there's no such guy
as the Wright Brothers, but if you're
flying up there in the sky, you'd better
be wearing a parachute before you say

S wm O Ti

(continued from page 56)

Valette, worked for 36 years to fix it
— even the women, and even La Valette,
were carrying stone to the parapets—
and the S.M.O.M. had its powder dry
when Suleiman the Magnificent, who
conquered it in Rhodes at the start of

his reign, said he'd conquer it in Malta
in the end. In 15
a

5, he laid siege — one
es of history, fought, for
a third of a ycar by 30,000 Turks and
only eight or nine thousand S.M.O.M.-
ians. On land, crockery pots of wildfire
were thrown, like hand grenades, from
one to the other, and there were frogman
fights at sea. It took a month for the
Turks to get St. Elmo, an outpost, but
8000 of them had died in doing it,
which got the Turkish general so angry
that he cut a Maltese cross, with his
scimitar, into every dead 5.M.O.M.ian,
and sent the bodies downstream to La
Valette, which got La Valette, in turn,

of the gn

so angry that he beheaded his prison-
ers and fired а fusillade of human
heads onto the Turks, “and from that

day onward, no quarter was given on
cither side,” in the words of a Short
History. La Valette was told to sur-
render; he pointed to the trenches,
saying, “There is the only ground I
plan to surrender, and that as a grave
for the Turkish army."

‘The catastrophe was at hand. The
S.M.O.M. was reinforced, to a degree,
by a Mesquita, the Governor of Nota-
bile, who stormed the ‘Turkish hos-
itals when nobody was about, and the
‘Lurks were reinforced by Hassan, the
Begler Beg of Algeria, and, on Thurs-
day, August 23, they assaulted all parts
of the S.M.O.M. at once. The S.M.O.M.
had been forewarned — someone had
shot an arrow into the fortress with
the one word “Thursday” — and almost
every knight was out of the hospital,
at the battlements. They held for more
thin a week; then, 8500 reinforcements
came from Spain, and the Turks ske-
daddled in panic, many of them being
killed, as they did so, by their very
general, Mustapha Pasha. When Sulei-
man the Magnificent heard of this, he
hit the ceiling, and resolved, at the
age of 70, to lead an army himself;
und he sent a letter to La Valette, in
which he swore “by the god wch hath
mayd heaven and yearth and by our
Proffites and the foure Musaphi
which fell downe out of heaven and
by our chief proffit Mahomet" that no-
body would be hurt if the S.M.O.M.
surrendered. “But yf," added Sulei-
man, in his second sentence — his first
sentence had been 279 words long “but
yf you will not yeald yor selves as wee
have said wee will roote out the foun-
dacion of your castell upsid downe,
and make you slaves and to die an

xxv

evell death according to our pleasure
as wee have dann to manny others and
of this be you right well assured." La
Valette, after reading this, sent а few
men to Constantinople, blew up the
Turkish navy and that was the end of
that.

Suleiman the Magnificent died in
mortification that very year, and Jean
Parisot de la Valette died, of sunstroke,
two years later, and from then on the
Ottoman Empire and the S.M.O.M.
went downhill The people of the
S.M.O.M. gave in to luxury and vice,
ard Malta, won by bravery on August
was lost by cowardice on
Seed 23, 6—to use the language of
the French Directory, as it directed
Napoleon to conquer Malta. Chiefly,
the cowardice was that of the grand
master, Ferdinand Joseph Anthony
Herman Lewis von Hompesch, who,
poleon hove up with 14 sailof-
ne, 30 frigates, and 300 cargo
ships, did nothing, and the S.M.O.M.
was conquered apace. (“How fortu-
nate,” said one of Napoleon's staff.
“for a couple of dozen men could have
held the city against из”) Taken to
Napoleon, Von Hompesch asked for his
chinaware and jewelry: he was turned
down, and when he died, he was too
poor to have a funeral. The other pco-
ple of the S.M.O.M. took kit and ca-
boodle once again and went, in a quan.
dary, to Austria, England and Russi
and the ones in Russia, as I have a
ready said, elected the czar as their
70th grand master. (That a czar should
© the vows of chastity, and obedi
ence and poverty, and still keep his
crown, had not seemed at all irregular
to the S.M.O.M. since the 13th Cen-
tury, when it took King Andrew of
Hungary in, and got, in gratitude, 700
silver marks a year.) After a while, the
S.M.O.M. was given the halfacre of
downtown Rome that is, still, its only
territory, but part of the bargain was
that only three men — the grand mas-
ter, the lieutenant grand master, and
the chancellor — could have the right of
citizenship there. The other S.M.O.M.-
ians were to be citizens of the country
they live in. Today, there are four or
five thousand members of the Order of
Malta who are citizens of Europe and
the Americas, and, for them, it’s very
like the Order of Odd Fellows or the
Benevolent and Protective Order of
Elks, though 19 of them get to be real
ambassadors. A few of the members in
the United States are Francis Cardinal
Spellman, Mr. Frank Leahy, Mr. Frank
Folsom and Mr. Henry Ford П.

The two contemporary citizens of the
S.M.O.M., Brother Paterné and Baron
Apor, are well-behaved, exemplary
men, and there isn't any need for the
S.M.O.M. to have any laws or law
court and, if we wish to learn of that

How to
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Hie yourself over to your favorite
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PLAYBOY

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ZONE STATE.

aspect of the S.M.O.M., we must study
it when it was more heavily populated,
on the island of Malta. It was against
the law, in those centuries, to throw
rocks into a window or dirt onto a
door, or to go to the ballet; slavery
gainst the law (there w
market in the capital city,
but cowardice was, and a General St.
Clement, who ordered a withdrawal,
was found guilty of it in the 16th Cen-
tury. It was against the law to duel,
but in Valetta there was a narrow
sucet, the Strada Stretta — the Nar-
row Street — where the people of the
S.M.O.M. used to get jostled, at times,
and fly extemporancously off the han-
dle. and whenever they did, the law
and the law courts would look thc
other way. Pretty soon, anybody who
cured to duel did so on the St
Stretta, it being closed to pedestrian
traffic by the seconds. A common pun-
ishment for many of these crimes was
to get no food: torture was legal, and
General St. Clement, the coward, was
strangled to death and thrown in a
burlap bag into the Mediterranean,
The S.M.O.M. gave sanctuary to the
civil criminals of other countries —Ca-
ravaggio, the artist, a murderer, was
one of them — and the S.M.O.M.'s hos:
pital gave sanctuary to the civil crimi
nals of the S.M.O.M,, although, in the
course of time, conspirators, traitors,
murderers. perjurers, poisoners, pillag-
ers, sodomites, arsonites, assassins, debt-
ors, highwaymen and thieves were
barred from the hospital by one regu-
lation after another.

Historically, the. S.M.O.M.'s hospital
was that of 1048 — part of the caboodle
taken from Jerusalem to Acre, Cyprus,
Rhodes and Malta. The hospital
seems to have gone downhill, though,
as the S.M_O.M. did: it was visited in
the 18th Century by John Howard,
the philanthropist, who said it was
dirty and offensive as to create the
necessity of perfuming (the beds — of
which there were 745, by the way) and
yet I observed that the physician in
going his rounds was obliged to keep
a handkerchicf to his face,” while the
май of the hospital were “the most
dirty, ragged, unfecling and inhuman
persons I ever saw. I once saw eight or
nine of them highly entertained by a
delirious, dying patient." He also com-
plained that the vermicelli was dirty
and the bread was moldy, but, Baron
Apor has assured me, this latter was
on the inenu for its penicillin content,
the drug having been known, but not
isolated, by the S.M.O.M.'s hospital in
the 15th Century.

All of which brings us to the Sov-
ereign and Military Order of Saint
John of Jerusalem, Rhodes and Malta
today — i.c.. Brother Paternó and Baron

Apor. The latter of these has an apart-
ment in the Italian quarter of Rome,
but the former has made his abode on
S.M.O.M.ian soil. in the Order of Malta
Palace, 68 Via Condotti, a solemn,
gray. fourfloored building that takes
up all the S.M.O.M.ian soil. ‘The pal-
ace, a minute's walk from the bottom
of the Spanish Steps. may readily be
identified by the letters соссі in front,
in gold, which I took, at first, for some
sort of Roman numeral but soon re-
alized was a sign for Signor Gucci, the
haberdasher. Here, at the front of the
palace, Signor Cucci has rented a store,
filling the windows of it with silke:
bathrobes and ties, and the several
other stores in the palace have pearls,
coral, gold tea services, and Buddhas
of jade in their windows: none of the
stores have extraterritoriality. Between
the door to Cuccis and the door to
Rapi's is the ponderous door to the
S.M.O.M., indicated by a small silver
plaque, SOVRANO INTERNAZIONALE MILI-
TARE ORDINE DI MALTA, and by another,
INTERNATIONAL MILITARY SOVEREIGN OR-
DFR OF MALTA — two further variations
on the name of the country that, Baron
Apor tells me, are erroneous, as is the
variation on his own passport — and

beyond the door is a court, much
smaller than a tennis court, but clcarly
large enough for the mailbox that

Baron Apor is thinking of. ‘The court
is full of automobiles by day, some of
them with S.M.O.M. plates, and is
rather pretty at night: a Maltese cross,
in red and white, is floodlit at the far
end, and a gargoyle is spewing water
into a pool of goldfish; and the whole
thing can be appreciated till one A.M.
from the Via Condotti, in Italy.
There is a concierge at the border of
the 5.М.О.М., but he graciously let me
by. without any trouble, on the day I
visited Baron Apor The baron's office.
as chancellor, is on the palace's third
floor; it is well-appointed, but, unfor-
tunately, it doesn't look into the court-

d but onto a typical scene of back-
а Italy, a pasticcio ol dirty wood

and rickety balconies, one above the
other and populated, for the most part,
by white, restless pieces of laundry, like
mountain sheep. For five or 10 min-
utes, I sat in the anteroom and looked
at all this—a cat lurked, a woman in
black drew the laundry in — until,
presently, I was shown into the cham-
bers of Baron Apor, who grected me
enthusiastically in English and Italian,
told me the story about wine, women
and song of which 1 have already ap-
prised the reader. told me several facts
about S.M.O.M. of which I have also
apprised the reader, gave some hurried
orders to a secretary, who was standing
by with a pyramid of state papers in
his hands, and took me, directly, on a
furious tour of the S.M.O.M.— first,

the red and gold halls of state, where
the Peruvian ambassador had presented
his credentials a weck earlier; then, a
red and gold dining room with medi-
eval tapestries; then, the green and
gold room where the delegates of the
four or five Soe Haye of the

S.M.O.M. who doi have extraterri
toriality meet. every now and then, to
elect a grand master; and, last but not
least, the S.M.O.M.'s hospital, in the
back rooms of the асс. АН of thesc
rooms were tidy, shipshape, and hung
with paintings and maps of Malta, and
of the 76 grand masters — Deodato de
Gozon. the dragon killer, looking like
Man Mountain Dean, and Prince
Chigi, the one who died in 1951, look
ing like a perfect old man, bald-headed
and white-goatecd.

The hospital was excellent, 1 thought.
Its waiting room was lit by ultraviolet,
germicidal light, and I learned that the
160 or so patients who pass through
it every day are given the newest of
the miracle drugs — isolated, at long
last —and the best of dietary food (а
far cry from the 18th Century, when
the rules of the S.M.O.M.’s hospital
specified, for the patients, a diet of
“the best soup, made of fowls, herbs,
vermicelli, rice. etc, and every sort of
meat . . . such as chickens, pigeons,
poultry, beef, veal, game, hashes, fricas-
sees, stews, sausages, etc, in such quan-

tities are necessary; also fresh eggs,
pomegranates, plums. and grapes, and
every kind of freshment allowed to

sick people; such as biscuits, apples,
fruit, su i

is the sume hospital that has been with
us, interruptedly, for nine centuries,
but, as I learned from Baron Apor, the
S.M.O.M. also has a number ol hos-
italy on foreign soil, some of them
5.M.O.M., and some of
s far aficld as London and
Schleswig-Holstein. Germany, where at
first the red and white S.M.O.M.ia
flags were taken for those of Denmark
by the Schleswig-Holsteiner, who de-
cided the Danes weren't up to any
good.

Before I left. I learned from Baron
Apor that two other things the
$.M.O.M. does, in this 20th Century,
are to fly pilgrims from Italy, Ireland
and Sardinia to Lourdes, and to fly
missionaries out of. Africa for what, in
the United States Army, is called an
R&R —a Rest & Recreation leave. For
these purposes. the S.M.O.M. uses its
air force, such as it is, which is kept
on Italian soil, is flown by Italians, and,
as a matter of fact, was gotten gratis
from Italy at the end of World V
П. The S.M.O.M,, itself, was strictly
neutral in that war, as in every war
since the Napoleonic ones, and its am-
bulances went north and south of bat-
tleline, and, as a consequence, the

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S.M.O.M. now considers itself on friend-
ly terms with every country on carth
— except one, a country 200 times as
large and scarcely a mile away, Vatican
City. The cause of the falling- out of
these two Roman Catholic nei
is that root of all evil, moncy: the
Vatican has wanted the S.M.O.M
at least, the right to audi
since the S.M.O.M. went into the red
a halfdozen years ago, when all of its
navy—a rented navy — disappeared on
the Atlantic Ocean with 10,000 bushels.
of wheat. It turned out that а Count
Thun, a federal cmployee of the
S.M.O.M., was using the S.M.O.M.'s
money to play the wheat market, and
it also turned out that someone che
at the S.M.O.M. was playing the stock
market, and that someone else was
smuggling radios from the United
States to Italy, via the 5.М.О.М., in
boxes that were marked “penicillin.”
Prince Chigi, the grand master, died of
a broken heart when he heard of this,
and the Vatican investigated; now the
S.M.O.M., though, is in the black, and
has written a secret 100-page paper
telling the Vatican to make itself
scarce. What will come of this is hard
to say, for relations between the
S.M.O.M. and the Vatican have been
off-again, on-again since the 13th Cen-
tury, when Pope Gregory IX threat-
ened to excommunicate it. (Pope Greg-
ory thought it was in cahoots with the
Order of Assassins, a Moslem one, and
the S.M.O.M. didn't help any by going
to war, soon afterwards, with the Order
of thc Temple, a Catholic onc.)
Relations between thc S.M.O.M. and
the nonsovereign, nonmilitary Order
of the Holy Sepulchre also are none
too good; they have been off-again, on-
again since the Ith Century, when,
according to the Church of the Holy
Sepulchre, the Church of the S.M.O.M.
made too much noise. Nowadays, the
schism is over real estate, some profita-
ble land at Sorrento, which both the
S.M.O.M. id the Order of the Holy
Sepulchre lay claim to. The Grand
Commander of the Order of the Holy
Sepulchre and enemy of the Order of
Malta is Nicola Cardinal Canali, who
was, nevertheless, named by the Vati-
can to investigate the Order of Malta,
and who, moreover, in the Order of
Malta — a pretty kettle of fish, I think,
and one that I wouldn't dare to elu-
cidate any further.

I suspect, by now, that many of my
lers, who have visited Italy and the
n City, are cursing themselves
for having been a block or two away
and, ус, baving missed the chance of
doing third country, the. S.M.O.M.
They will be comforted to know, ac
cordingly, that if they saw everything
in Rome that is expected of them as
tourists, they have done the S.M.O.M.

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— unwittingly. They will recollect be-
ing taken, as part of their itinerary, to
a shady hill by the Tiber, and being
directed by the American Express man
to peck through a keyhole in a large,
wooden door; and what they saw was
a lovely thing, a long, green avenue of
trees, and the dome of St. Peter's a
mile beyond. The dome of St. Peter's
is part of Vatican City, of course, and
the keyhole is part of Italy — indeed,
a national monument — but the door
in which the keyhole is situated, and
the avenue of trees, are part of the
S.M.O.M.: it's the summer villa of the
grand master, and, like the summer
villa of the Pope, at Castelgandollfo, it's
extraterritorial.

One doesn't know how the Pope
would feel about such a practice, but,
I'm pleased to report, the grand mas-
ters of the S.M.O.M. have never taken
exception to the thousands of tourists
who visit their summer villa and peck
into the keyhole. The door itself is not
opened for the tourists, though; it is
opened only for the grand master,
when there is a grand master, and for
those people, like me, who are given
what amounts to a visa by Baron Apor,
and it is opened on these occasions by
Signor Cesare Giacchet idly old
Italian who has opened the door,
closed the door, cleaned out the fluff
in the national monument, pruned
the avenue of trees and some persim-
mon trees, out of sight, and dusted
the villa of the grand master since the
end of World War 1. Signor Giacchetti
performed the first two of these func
tions for me, and said he uses a pen-
knife to perform the third, the fluff
being frequently put into the national
monument by a couple of young imps
in the neighborhood; he also observed
that until quite recently, the scene to
be contemplated at the end of the
avenue of trees wasn't St. Peter's Cathe-
dral but an Italian smokestack: there
was an outcry in the Italian press, and
the indignity was taken down. Signor
Giacchetti and I had been chatting of
these matters, in the garden of the
grand master's villa, for barely a min-
ute, when one of those tinted, air-con-
ditioned buses arrived, and
three dozen tourists got out, to peer
into the keyhole; and Signor Giacchetti
and I peeked back.

‘The tourists had the better peek. It
encompassed not only Signor Giacchet-
ti, me, and a national monument or
two, but no fewer than three countries:
Italy, the S.M.O.M., and Vatican Ci
It is, I think, the most extraordinary
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anywhere on the Continent but the
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commend it to the vacationist in Rome.

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(continued from page 63)

AGE

It is thc young man who is willing to
try new ideas, new styles, and as a result,
starts new trends. Witness the national
popularity of young men's fashions:
walking shorts, the cap and the Ivy
League suit The median age of the
PLAYBOY reader is 25—seven years
younger than the average reader of any
other magazine in the men’s field. 75.5%,
of pLaynoy's male readership is concen-
trated in the J8-to-34-year age group —
the highest percentage of amy of the
more than 50 magazines in the survey.

EDUCATION

"The riaynoy reader is younger and he
is also better educated. 54.6% of the
male readers of eLAvnov are college edu-
cated—the highest percentage of any
men's magazine in the survey. PLAYBOY
is В.М.О.С., too— Big Magazine On
Campus — with a [ull 22.7% of its male
readers currently enrolled. in college.
Thats a higher percentage than any
other magazine surveyed. by Starch and
more than four times the percentage for
the next magazine for men.

INCOME

The rLAvnov reader is younger, and
better educated, and he also enjoys a
higher family income than that of any
other men's magazine. The median in-
come for the PLAYBOY houschold is
$7,234 — more than 30% above the na-
tional average — а full 10% higher than
the income for any other magazine in
the men's field — and second only to the
New Yorker among all magazines sur-
veyed by Starch. The Starch Report also
includes a median income for the upper
zazine's readership and
ations rate $10,0004- in

and U.S. News & World Report.
MARITAL STATUS

Approximately hall of pLavuoy’s read-
ers (46.8%) are free men and the other
half are free spirit only. But a ma-
jority of those married are newlyweds:
36.6% of the heads of PrAvmoy house-
holds have been married within the past
five years — by far the highest percentage
of any magazine studied by Starch.

APPAREL

Married or single, the rLAysoy reader
has the wherewithal and is willing to
spend it. 41.7% of PLAYBOY households
spent more than $500 for apparel during
the past 12 months, the highest percent
age of any magazine studied.

TRAVEL

The rravsov reader gets around.
14.8%, of PLAYBOY households spent more
than $200 during the past 12 months on
vacation travel; 26% spent more than
$200 on business travel Among all
magazines studied, pLAynoy ranks second
only to the New Yorker on vacation
travel, third to the New Yorker and

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AUTOMOBILES

58.1% of рїлүвоү households pur-
chased an automobile during the past
year. And 6.3%, of PLAYBov's readers are
able to ride high, wide and handsome in

three or more family-owned cars. Both
figures are unmatched by amy other

magazine in the Starch survey.
TOBACCO

79.8%, of plAyYBovs male readers smoke
cigarettes — the highest percentage of
any magazine studied by Starch. 21.5%
smoke cigars— the highest figure re-
ported by Starch for any men's magazinc.

LIQUOR

80.5%, of rrAYnOY families drink or
serve alcoholic beverages at home — the
highest percentage of all the more than
50 azines im the report. PLAYBOY
ranks first in beer and whiskey, second
only to the New Yorker in wine.

INSURANCE

26% of PLAYuoy households purchased
life insurance during the past 12 months.
In this characteristic of responsible sta-
bility, PLAYBOY is second only to Parents
among all magazines studied by Starch

HOUSEWARES,

A larger percentage of PrAvsov fam-
ilies bought new electric coffee makers,
food mixers, fans, irons and toasters dur-
ing the past 12 months than those re-
ceiving amy of the other magazines re-
ported on by Starch, confirming the pic-
ture of the PLAYBOY reader as being at
the peak period of purchasing.

DUPLICATION

Advertising men are interested in the
duplication of magazine readership with
other magazines and this part of the sur-
vey produced some startling facts. The
young man who reads PLAYBOY doesn't
spend a lot of time with the most popu-
lar mass circulation magazines. 93% of
the PLAYBOY readers reported they had
not read the current issue of Life, 92%
had not read The Saturday Evening Post
and 91% had not read the current Look.
‘Phe PLAvaoy man is not only a perfect
prospect for advertisers 一 PLAYuov is the
tical way of reaching him.

vas Robert Burns who voiced the
hope that God would give us the gift to
sec ourselves as others see us. A difficult
: each of us is, primarily, an indi

rather than a one-man repository
of statistics. But we — you readers and we
editors — do have a kinship of tastes and
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gratifying to know that this constellation
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STRETCH IN SIBERIA

guessed. If only you knew what I
thought of myself Iast night. If you only
knew," Miss Phillips said. standing up
and beginning to unbutton her fresh
uniform. "Darling," she said. "Are you
all right now?"

Miss Phillips, in the peculiar seclusion
of the infirmary. unbuttoned her uni-
form a great many times in the follow-
ing days, and in the nights too. Dis-
oriented, indeed overwhelmed by Miss
Phillips’ cagcrness, Drake could do no
clear thinking about Mr. Cutts. Mr.
Cutts was peripheral to what was hap-
pening to Drake, for a while.

Darling," Miss Phillips said. "Don't
you like it any more?"

“Oh sure,” Drake s;

. He shrugged
Out of stcam, 1

lows how to fix that," Miss

But Drake was thinking very con-
structively about Mr. Cutts again, and
now Drake was armed. So he hits me
again, Drake thought. So he beats the
hell out of me. It was a sucker punch
anyway. Maybe I could take him.

Darling," Miss Phillips said.

He'll pass me, all right, when he
knows, Drake thought. He wont be
able to stand the sight of me. Briefly,
Drake considered the possibility of Mr.
Cutts’ exposing him, of expulsion. He
won't do that, Drake thought. He won't
blow it around that a Siberian’s had his
woman, *

"Darling," Miss Phillips said.
on your mind?"

“Cutts,” Drake said.

"You mustn't worry about him. I
know him. 1 know him very well. He
wouldn't believe we'd been doing this if
you walked right up and told him."

Drake stared at her, shaken.

Miss Phillips’ eyes crinkled at the
corners. "Ah," she said, and laughed.
“Jealous?”

Drake nodded, going along with it, his
mind busy.

"What's

“We'll go to bed together" Miss
Phillips said.
Whatz" Drake said.
n my bcd. In my bedroom. АП

night, darling, Maybe you'll still be
jealous, but you'll have everything any-

She led him across the darkened land-
ing before midnight. "Don't worry,” she
said. "He won't come. He never comes
late when I have a

Drake wasn't worried. He wished Mr.
Cutts would walk in now and find them
together. That would get it over with.
That would get it over with, with a
bang. But not Cutts, Drake thought.
And she's right, too, he thought with a
kind of vicious anger, he wouldn't be-
lieve it if you told him. Неа just sit
there and laugh.

(continued from page 52)

"Darling, you're marvelous" Miss
Phillips said. "Oh, it's good for you to
be jealous. You keep right on being
jealous. Darling, do you realize that
your week is nearly over? We can't stop
when you go back to classes. I couldn't
stand that.”

Stop pawing me, will you?" Drake
1 suddenly
“What? What did you say?” She sat

up. bouncing on the soft mattress, and
Drake appalled by the rage in her
face.

I'm sorry," he muttered. “I'm sorry."
I'm sorry," she said, stroking his
face. "You need a little rest, darling.
Darling. will you come to me at night?”

Now everything was falling аран.
"What about Cut Drak D

"Never mind about him, darling. 1
can look after him."

"I don't see how 1 can work it,”
said.

We can work it," she said. "And you
can get ош. I know."

She was right. It was easy enough to
sneak out of the dormitories because
Siberia's authorities knew there was little
temptation to do so. There was nowhere
to go. All of the buildings were within
a high stone wall.

Drake said. "I think we'd
p the whole thing when I

Drake

id.
" Drake said.

His stomach felt

Miss Phillips looked at him out of her
sleepy eyes and her full mouth curyed
gently. “Supposing I tell?" she said.

Drake laughed at her. "You've already
said he wouldn't believe it.

"Not Mr. Cutts,” she said. “I'm not
stupid. No, dear boy, not Mr. Cutts.
Your father."

The bloody end, thought Drake,

"Don't make me do it,” Miss Phillips
said. She put her head down on the
pillow and began to с "Don't make
me do it! God," she said, wrenching her-
self around, “I know what I am. Do you
think I don't know what I am? But it's
not much out of your life, after all.

Darling," she said. "Please don't be
selfish."

"Well" Drake said, "all right, I
guess.”

“This is no time for guessing.”

She was right about that, Drake
thought It was certainly no time for
guessing. He touched her in a way he
had lcarned that she liked. “All right,"
he said. "ГП come over."

She wakened him early. "It's your last
day,” she said. “Go and use the infirmary
shower while I tidy myself and get this
place straightened up. Then I'll make

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After his shower, Drake wandered
back to the apartment. The bed, he
noticed. had been made. Miss Phillips
was in the kitchen.

“It’s getting pretty late," she said.
"And the doctor's coming to check you
out"

"OK," Drake said.
“Try to make your bed look slept in,”
she called after him.

Drake wandered back down the short
hall of her apartment. and then stepped
quickly into the bedroom. He had a
“avy silk handkerchief that. bore his
Als boldly. Drake pushed it under
the pillow

And that. he thought. shafts Cutts,

He should have known, Drake thought
afterward. long afterward, that the thing
was shot to hell as soon as he saw Mr.
Cutts. The little English master came
into the classroom like a man six feet
tall. He was very dapper that morning,
very. Nothing harassed about Mr. Cutts.

Damn, thought Drake. I'll have to
think of a new one. The little bastard
looks good. 1 guess he needed the Layoff.

“Mr. Drake." Mr. Cutts said when he

was dismissing the clas. “PIE have a
word with you.
"You know," he said when Drake

stood at the desk, "that there's no chance
whatever of my giving you a passing
grade this year. don't you?”

“No, sir," Drake said, “I don't. I think
there's a very good chance.

Mr. Cutts put his chin in his hand
and looked up at Drake. He was grin-
ning. “You thought there was a very
good chance.” he said.

"Drake," Mr. Cutts said, "you will
perhaps be interested to learn that my
engagement to Miss Phillips is termi-
nated.

“What”

Drake said. “What?” It w
shot to hell. all right.

“We had a long talk about it, of
course,” Mr. Cutts said. "Thats one
thing about engagementbreaking, as
you'll someday learn. There has to be
a lot of talking. Women expect it. Well,
out of all this talking something emerged
with great clarity: it will be quite im-
possible for me to pass you. You'll have
to spend another year here with us in
Siberia, Drake.”

“1 don't get th

Mr. Cutts was laughing openly now.
He reached into his pocket and took out
Drake's silk handkerchief and handed it
to him. “My sincere thanks, Drake,” he
said. "Under ordinary circumstances, Га
be happy to pass vou, out of gratitude.”

Drake stared at him

"But the lady, as you'll have time to
observe more fully, can be very рег-
suasive,” Mr. Cutts said, and he beamed

at Drake.
H

Drake said.

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FOR THE KIND of whirl you'll be talking
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