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ENTERTAINMENT FOR МЕН. AUGUST 50 cents 


KEAIS 


PLAYBILL 


BLOCH 


GUST 15 HARDLY a month for poring 

over history lessons, but when the 
historian is a photographer of pulchri 
tude like Jerry Yulsman, there's good 
reason to look upon history as onc of 
the most pleasant of pastimes. His cam- 
era loaded with color film, Yulsman has 
stripped away the cobwebs of musty 
fustian surrounding several famous his- 
torical personalities and given us a racy 
new slant on them in the five flavorful 
pages of his History Revisited. 

‘The chrome-crusted hussies of Detroit 
— those sex-symbol cars we sce all around 
us—are the subject of an incisive ex- 
pression of opinion from John Keats, 
author of the forthcoming book The 
Insolent Chariots. Тһе automotive trol- 
lops get their wallops from Keats in his 
exclusive PLAYBOY article, Eros and 
Unveason in Detroit. 

Eros and unreason in the minds of 
men and maids provide cartoonist Jules 
Feifler with the stuff his Sick Little 
World is made on. The creator of an 
illuminatingly ill Greenwich Village car- 
toon feature and a well-selling bilious 
book, Feiffer takes a bow in this issue 
h a sati 1 that introduces 
him to PrAvsov readers for the first — 
but far from last — timc. 

Bill Iversen is back with some coronary 


d 


FEIFFER 


cutups called You Gotta Have Heart; 
so is Fred Birmingham, with Summer 
in the City, an article on attire that is 
also an evocative essay on the conquer- 
ing of dog-day doldrums. 

In the fiction. bailiwick, newcomer 
Fred McMorrow has given us a stinging, 
hard-hitting lead story, Drop Dead, a 
tale of the tensions and terrors of the 
ollbeat generation; Robert Bloch con- 
uibutes Word of Honor, science-fiction 
with a searching philosophical query 
slipped in; rrAvmov favorite Henry 
Slesar has whittled a neat one-page twist- 
croony titled A Very Rare Disease; S. В. 
Abelson freshly translates A Dish for the 
Gods, a Ribald Classic by (of all people) 
La Fontaine, a writer more famed for 
little moral fables like The Ant and the 
Grasshopper than for ribaldry. In the 
words of translator Abelson: “He took 
ions from the ants and the grass- 
hoppers every so often and concentrated 
on the birds and the bee 

There are a few more appetizing, pro- 
vocative tures in 
this issue, but we'll let vou discover them 
on your own. Robert Browning yawn- 
ingly maligned the month of August as 
being "past surprises," but we think 
we've given him the 


vac 


and/or humorous fc: 


мс MORROW 


DEAR PLAYBOY 


БІ лоск РЕАУВОУ MAGAZINE . 232 Е, ОНО ST., CHICAGO 11, ILLINOIS 


OUR CAUSE 

At last, а man to champion our cause: 
Wi m Iver: Down with the РЛ = 
Lawrence Welk, TV Westerns, McCall's 
and Togetherness! Mr. Iv 
has inspired me to new heigl 
ness. Unfortunately, we Togetherness- 
haters cannot unite, Гог, as any fool 
knows, tl would be Togetherness. 
Ugh! So we must carry on our fight 
singly. Viva Apartness! 


Bob Lloyd 
Tyler, Texas 


OASIS WITH EARS 
Congratulations on the liveliness and 
good taste of рілувоу. 1 commend it 
to my students д5 а noteworthy oasis іп 
the contemporary desert of conformity. 
Atwood H. Townsend 
Department of English 
New York University 
New York, New York 


THE RARE ROUND ROLLS 

Readers ol your Rolls-Royce article, 
Prestige on Wheels, may be interested in 
learning of the existence of a round 
R-R, owned by Mr. and Mrs. Max Obie 
of Paramus, New Jersey. Im enclosing 


a photo of this automotive oddity. It 
was made in 1934 for the then Prince 
of Wales (now the Duke of Windsor), 
and among dozens of unique features, 
it boasts a king-sized tail fin down its 
а Hoor covering of lamb's wool, а 


ceiling lined with velvet, and round 
doors. There's a sliding skylight roof, 


and the seats let down into а bed. It's 
the only R-R ever built with а slanting 
radiator shell. Constructed entirely by 
hand, it took four y to complete, 


originally cost $100,000 (today, it would 
probably run a quarter of a million). 
The Duke unloaded the саг for $30,000 
in 1937 when he abdicated to marry 
Wallis Simpson. The Obies picked it 
up in 1952 on a trade-in, 

Charles V. Mathis 

Wildwood-by-the-Se: 

New Jersey 


SAY CHEESE 
Although my tastes in food and drink 
do not always coincide with Thomas 


Mario's, 1 have often found his articles 
informative. But why hasn't he written 
anyth about cheese? 
Myron С. Bennett 
incinnati. Ohio 


1e has: "The Sophisticated Cheese" 
in our May 1955 issue. 


PLAYBOY EVERY WEEK? 

Each month I know when pLaywoy's out, 

Because it quickly brings about 

The transformation of my spouse 

To roaring lion — from meekest mouse! 

From dalliant dolt to torrid lover 

Before he hardly cracks the cover!! 

So, please, if 1 may hint obliquely — 

Why don't you publish prayuoy weekly? 
Mrs. M. L. Louis 
Cadillac, Michigan 


NEIMAN 
Just a note to commend you on using 

LeRoy Neiman's work in rrAvnox. I dis- 
like modern art but his pictures thrill 
ше. Please send me all back issues in 
which his work has appeared. 

S. L. Holladay 

Salt Lake City, Utah 


GLITTERING GOLD 
One ol the things that makes PLAYBOY 
continually popular, Pm sure, is that 
every issue contains such great fiction 
Congratulations to Herbert Gold for his 
fine Weird Show in April. 
Larry Shurlds 
Marianna, Arkan 


Herb Gold's Weird Show was a dy, 
but he missed out on the title. Should 
have been / Came, I Sawed, 1 Conquered. 

Richard S. T: 
Prairie du Chi 


PLAYBOY, AUGUST, 1958, VOL. S, но. B. PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY HMM PUBLISHING CO., INC., 
LL, ENTERED AS SECOND CLASS MATTER AUGUST 5, 

CONTENTS COPYRIGHTED 
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CHANGE OF ADDRESS. SEND BOTH OLD AND KEW ADDRESSES AND ALLOW 30 DAYS FOR CHANGE 

NEW YORK. M. Y.. 

* MI 21000; LOS ANGELES REPRESENTATIVE, FRED E. CRAWFORD. (12 5. SERRANO AVE., LOS 
DU 4.7381: SAN FRANCISCO REPRESENTATIVE, А. 5. BABCOCK, воз MARKET ST., 


омо sT., CHICAGO i 
THE ACT OF MARCH 
TIONS: ін THE V. 


1078. PRINTED IN U.S.A 


OFFICE, HOWARD LEDERER, EASTERN MANAGER. 720 FIFTH AVE 
232 Ж. өніс ST.. CHICAGO 11, ILL 
ANGELES, CAL 


PLAYBOY вино, 

5 АТ THE POST OFFICE АТ CHICAGO, ILI 

FOR THREE YEARS, 

FOR KEW SUBSCRIPTIONS AND RENEWALS. 
ADVERTISING: MAIN ADVERTISING 

Ci 5.2620; WESTERN ADVERTISING OFFICE 


SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.. YU 2-3934. 


... and Borge's famous birds are for 
sale by mail! For the perfect party 
cook-out (or cook-in), try succulent 
Rock Cornish Game Hens; their plump 
all-light meat makes barbecue magi 
At least 18 oz. each, one bird feeds 
two discriminating gourmets or one 
hungry gourmand. Oven-ready, dry-ice 
packed, Box of 6, $10.50; 12, $17.50. 
Make check or money order payable to 
ViBo Farms, Southbury 6, Conn. 


West of the Mississippi. add $1; West of Denver, add $2. 


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ditionally our si 
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PB93. White oxford....... 6.00 
. British stripe double 
cluster—blue or grey 6.00 
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Exclusively ours to add a touch 
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chains and clip. Indieate fabric, 
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Fob, 3.50 Watch, 9.50 
Ties fo match, 2.50 


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Write fer free Ilustrated color perfe ef eur apparel for men 
‘Address: Eddie Jacobs, Ltd, Battimere 2, Maryland 


EDDIE SA JACOBS Ltd. 


OUT AGAIN, IN AGAIN 
ripe: what has happened to the 
Ribald Classic? This has been one of 
your better features — hope you haven't 
given it up completely! 
Max Bridgeman 
Marshalltown, Iowa 


I was most disappointed to discover 
the Ribald Classic missing from recent 
issues. Has it been banished to limbo? 

James H. Labadie 
Chicago, Illinois 

Fear not, fellows — the Ribald Classic 
was pushed out of the May and June 
issues because we had so many other ex- 
citing things to crowd in, but if you peck 
at page 60 of this issue, you'll find it’s 
back, as ribald and as classic as ever. 


MR. AVERAGE 
Your “What 
PLAYBOY" campaign 
However, your readers are not always 
glamor-boy, cocktails-at-seven, gotta-beat- 
the-women-off-with-a-stick types. І could 
be wrong, but it is possible that more 
young men would buy rrAvsov if you 
were to aim your campaign at Mr. 
Average a little more, instead of direct- 

ing it at the young executive group. 
Wayne D. Peterson 
Enderlin, North Dakota 
There are plenty of magazines for Mr. 
Average, Wayne. тглувоу is edited for a 
special sort of guy — а bit above average 
in laste, education and income. 


sort of тап reads 
very impressi 


D. J. PLAYMATE 
Got to gassin' with the staff here at 
Station КОЙ the other afternoon and 
we've come up with an idea we think 
has merit. We've some beautiful hun 
of feminine pulchritude out this way 
that aren't receiving the attention duc 
them. We'd like to hold a D.J. Playmate 
of the Month contest and if the winner 
ва beauty, ме wonder if you might 
be interested in featuring her as a real 
Playmate in rLAvBoy? Perhaps other 
stations across the country might become 
interested and pick up on the idea, too. 
Bill Cross 
Program Director 
Station KDJI 
Holbrook, Arizona 
We'll be happy to consider the winner 
of your Playmate contest as a possible 
Playmate of the Month in rraysoy, Bill. 


WIZARDS 
In his Wizards of а Small Planet, 

Anthony Boucher says science-fiction 
writers "goofed" іп not predicting 
Russia's getting а head start in the space 
race. He's mistake around 1947, L. 
Ron Hubbard wrote a novelette called 
240,000 Miles Straight Up, in which the 
Russians reached Luna just as we were 
getting ready to blast ой. They spelled 
out "U.S.S.R." across the moon. 

Jim Harmon 

Mount Carmel, Illinois 


Dunhill Tailors . . . catering to 
the "International Man" 


E 


New Blue Blazer, $85 


(representing a saving of at least $2000) 


Here's what we mean. You'd have to spend 
the money to сауа to London, Rome ог 
ano . . . to a tailor оп Bond Street, 
О get a 
blazer anywhere near as smart as this. We 
can tell you that it’s made of the best 
British flannel, is double breasted, has 
flapped pockets, side vents and four check- 
ered gold-plated buttons. We can 
not tell you how very smart you'll 
look in it. You'll have to see your- 
self in it! Si 38 to 46, 
regular, short and long. You 
сап order by mail. 


Dunhill Cailors 


East В Street, New York 


Тһе newest version of 
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Epaulets add а lively 
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the domino 


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з Sensational new 
Johnny Mathis album 


BEETHOVEN: ERROLL GARNER 
EMPEBOR CONCERTO OTHER VOICES 
Кш MITCH MILLER Orchestra. 
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8 Solitaire, Misty, 
Dreamy, 7 more 


1 The greatest of 
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if you join the Columbia (бр) Record Club 
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2 Moonglow, The 
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JULIE ANDREWS 
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16 Jealousy, High 
Кооп, 10 more songs 


7 Where or When, 
Be My Love, 10 тоге 


9 


tures and marches 


Six thrilling over- 19 Almost one 


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14 Complete score 
includes 16 numbers 


5 Mean to Me, Blue 
Skles, 10 more 


ANDRE 
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Beat of My Heart 
TONY BENNETT 


SCHUBERT: 
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[MENDELSSOHN || 
[MIDSUMMER NIGHT'S DREAM 


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10 The Duke 


17 Classic portray- 
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12 


Starlight, 10 more 


Laura, Stella by 22 Tony with a 


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35 Two truly vir- 
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13 2 lovely works— 
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Eugene Ormandy, compucTon 


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20 Suave arrange- 
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Each month the Club's staff of musical experts 
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You may accept or reject the selection for your 
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О Clossicol [] Listening and Dancing [ Jezr 
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Т agree to purchase four selections from the more 
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@Columbia,"* ©), “Eple, 


Ф Marcas Reg. 
Columbia Records Sales Corp., 1058 


CIRCLE 3 NUMBERS BELOW: 


23. 
24. 


. Johnny Mathis’ Greatest Hits 


+ Norman Luboff Choir—Just А Song 


. Fronkie Loine- Commond Performance 


. Eddy Duchin Story 


«+ Strings of Philadelphia Orchestra 


Beethoven: Emperor Concerto 
Doris Doy- Doy By Night 


South Paci і Broadway Cost 
Fronk Sinotra- That Old Feeling 
Dvorak: New World Symphony 

"5 Marvelous—Roy Conniff 

Erroll Gorner—Other Voices 
Rossini: Williom Tell Overture, ete. 
Ellington at Newport 


Andre Kostelonetz- Colendor Girl 
Schubert: “Un 
Mendelssohn: 
My Fair Lody- Orig. Broadway Cost 

Pagonini & Saint-Soens Violin Concertos 


Vivaldi: The Seasons 


Lester Lonin ol the Tiffany Ball 
Percy Faith~Gershwin Hits 


Tony Bennelt—Beat of Му Keort 
Brahms: Symphony No. 4 


Dave Brubeck Digs Disney 1-20 


PLAYBOY 


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THREE CLASSICS FROM PLAYBOY 
Building your own library of great 
books? You'll want to include these 
three PLAYBOY volumes. The 


very best featu: 


magazine permanently bound in 
hard-cover editions. 


THIRD PLAYBOY 
The best storie: 
Special feature: 


third year. Includes more than 
two dozen pages in full color. 


PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES $3 
Hundreds of PLAYBOY’s most 


hilarious jokes 
a sprinkling of 


PLAYBOY'S RIBALD CLASSICS $3 
Sophisticated stories by the great 
writers of the past smartly retold for 
today's readers. 


ALL THREE FOR 


PLAYBOY BOOKS, DEPT. 848 
232 Е. Ohio St., 


res from your favorite 


ANNUAL $4.95 
5, cartoons, jokes and 
s from PLAYBOY's 


and limericks—plus 
spicy cartoons. 


$10.50 


Chicago 11, Illinois 


FLAT FOOT FLOOZIE 

Your May Playmate, 
left me speechless. 

John W. Gr: 

Long Beach, California 


How does a fellow get into that Knoll- 
wood Country Club? 
Stanley P. Tigges 


La aine certainly has а well-rounded 
figure, but my, my, what flat feet! 
anna Laird 
Las Vegas, Nevada 


Doesn't that fetching floovie, Lari 
e, һауе a hard time delivering a 


Lai 
“stinging overhand smash" with thosc 


flat feet? 
Stephen Patrick 
Seattle, Washington 


How Miss May must suffer. Isn't that 
а corn on her little pinky? 
Charles B. De Walt 
Paxton, Massachusetts 


Why didn't you tell us? Had to read 
it in Jimmy Star's column in the Los 
Angeles Herald & Express: namely, that 


1 Laine is the great-great grandniece 
of James К. Polk, 11th President of these 


United States! 
Thomas Griffith 
Los Angeles, California 
That's called president-dropping, Tom; 
we're above it. 


PLANEBOY 

Due to the popularity of your fine 
magazine among the students in pilot 
training here at Vance Air Force Base, 
we chose р.лувоҮ as the theme for Plane- 
boy, our class book, when graduation 
time arrived. By way of saying thank you 


PLANEBOY 


CLASS FIFTY EIGHT A 


for your magazine and for the idea for 
our class book, 6: Force officers who 
received. their wings thought you would 
like a copy of Planeboy for your files. 

Lt. W п D. McGuth 
се Air Force Base 
id. Oklahoma 


PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS 


[еен of the great indoors might Бе іп- 

terested to know that during the cur- 
rent summer, members of the Fred R. 
Lanagan 14,000 Foot Peak Non-Climb- 
ing Club succeeded in not climbing most 
of the major Colorado mountain peaks. 
Executive vice president John Barrows 
tells us that a few years ago the club had 
10 face the problem of whether they 
should not not join the Everest Expedi. 
tion. "Various committees made various 
studies," Mr. Barrows says. "It was finally 
decided to not join. We couldn't 
face the thought of sitting around, Satur- 
day after Saturday for six months, keep- 
ing our strength up with martinis and 
other medicines, when, using the same 
medicines, we could not climb a differ- 
ent peak every week for six months. 
Had we the slightest idea that Hillary 
and Tenzing would actually get оп top 
of old Everest, we would, of course, have 
endured the tedium of not climbing the 
same old peak week after week.” Mr. 
Barrows adds that non-dues paid in by 
non-dues-paying members go to swell the 
coflers of the Foundation for the Assist- 
ance of Non-Climbers of 14,000 (or 
Higher) Foot Peaks (or Lower) With 
the money not in the till, says Barrow 
the Foundation can establish а Fund 
with which not to buy any crampons, 
gryphons, phytons, pitons, pythons, 
bergschrunds, berserks, cornices, cre- 
vasses and all the other gunch a non- 
dimber does not have to stuff in his 
cul-de-sac, Those interested in not par- 
ticipating should write Mr. Barrows, 
Non-First National Bank Bldg., 624 
17th St, Denver 2, Colorado, no later 
than. 


The “sack look,” in Madison Avenue 
advertising cant, docsn't mean that an 
agency has been taken over by а horde 
of chic femmes. What it means is that 


things are shaky and a wave of 14-day 
notice slips is expected to hit the em- 
ployees shortly. 


Тһе pendulum, we're pleased to re- 
port, is swinging away from those satiri- 


cal desk cards reading “Thimk,” "Don't 
Just Sit There— Worry!” “This Is А 
Non-Profit Organization: We Don't 


Mean It To Be But "That's What It Is,” 
etc., etc. It's now hip to lampoon those 
observations which lampooned the orig- 
inal observations, and if you get the 
feeling you're right back where the 
whole thing started it's because you are. 
Today's minuteman is panicking people 
with such signs as "If You Can't Help, 
Don't Hinder,” "Too Many Cooks Spoil 
"The Broth," "Honor Thy Father And 
Thy Mother" and "The Important 
Thing Is To Have Your Health.” 


A rover we know who just returned 
from Italy tells us about а most unusua 
girls’ school located in downtown Naples. 
Seems the school, whose headmistress is 
a middleaged matron named Donna 
Francesca, tcaches promising young 
ladies the lightfingered art of pocket 
picking. The girls learn by doing, in the 
best educational tradition. They practice 
on fully clothed dummies on which lit- 
Че silver bells have been hung at strate- 
gic spots. Woe to the bungling babe who 
causes any sort of tininnabulation while 
dipping inside a pocket. Should she get 
inside without making a racket, an ad- 
ditional trap remains: a mouse trap 
which would bang shut at her slightest 
wrong move. There's no tuition. After 
graduation (a modest affair, our reporter 
ys. no mortarboards or stuff like that), 
the alumnae practice their craft, turn 
back a percentage of their profits to good 
old Donna Francesca and alma mater. 


RECORDINGS 


The Hi-Lo's Love Nest (Columbia CL 
1121) and The Four Freshmen іп Person 
(Capitol T1008) showcase those eight dis- 
sonant dandies at their best. Тһе Frosh, 
caught amid a concert at Compton Col- 
lege, deal mostly in Frosh favorites (In 
This Whole Wide World, It’s a Blue 
World), add to them all the spontaneous 
high-jinkery of a live performance. Lay- 
ing aside their pipes now and then, 
Ken Albers (trumpet, mellophone) and 
Bob Flanigan (trombone) break up the 
student body (and us) with some stun- 
ning fireworks in brass; the platter is 
a gas. Like Steve Allen says on the liner 
notes, the Hi-Lo's feature stereophonic 
breathing — both lungs. For the most 
part, they eschew their usual violent vo- 
cal nip-ups and turn to a set of semi- 
straight softies (But Beautiful, In the 
Wee Small Hours, The Lamp Is Low). 
And you never heard it so good. 


ruso" is one of those names that 
has almost become a word: it is synony- 
mous with the zenith of vocal art. On 
The Best of Caruso (Victor 1.М-6056, two 
discs), the lyrical Enrico can be dug in 
30 songs and arias recorded between 
1904 and 1920, and culled from the 260- 
odd pressings the Italian tenor made in 
his flamboyant lifetime. "Though waxed 
before the days of electrical recording 
and thus sounding a bit as if they аге 
sung by a genii from a tightly capped 
pickle jar in the rear of the bottom shelf 
of a shut fridge, Caruso's thrusting tones 
knife through the barriers of time, death 
and primitive recording technique to 
emerge victorious and, if not golden, at 
least a richly burnished copper. Most 
famous number: Vesti la giubba from 
Pagliacci, sung with the bitterness the 


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surprise: the dark, classic stateliness he 
brings to the "Largo" from Handel's 
Xerxes; oddest oddity: Over There, 
which, in broken English and fractured 
French, he belts right in the labansa. 

On a recent LP, Way Up There (At- 
lantic 1270), Shorty Rogers and his 
Giants are not as high up as they've 
been in the past. This is closer in than 
it is far out, dig, and a good thing, too. 
For with a magnificent gaggle of cool 
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can combine West Coast with blues and 
swing very mightily 


Rave reissues: Frank Sinatra's Put Your 
Dreams Away (Columbia СІ. 1136), оп 
which Frank does the title tune plus 11 
other richly roasted acorns (Г Dream of 
You, It Never Entered My Mind) to a 
turn, The band in the background is the 
beatless generation belonging to Axel 
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of the way. The winner: Sinatra . . . 
Billie Holiday's The Blues Are Brewin’ 
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squealing Lady Day, circa 1946-1949, 
blowing lilting larynx with a variety of 
bands both big and small. Most of the 
tunes are obscure, but top drawer (big 
drag: Billie sings the expurgated version 
of Gimme a Pig Foot and a Bottle of 
Beer) and on two of them, she shares the 
mike with gravel-gulleted Louis Arm- 
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ef Song (Decca DL 8695) is smooth and 
sassy Ella, vintage 1947-1955. That w 
man (then, as now) is зо consummately 
professional and infectiously jazzy that 
she doesn't know how to bollix a tune. 


Bel Canto has come up with four 
show-tune tapes you might want; though 
none offers the complete score, most all 
the hit tunes are present. The Music Man 
(STG/37), South Pacific (STB/36) and se- 
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Game, on a single tape (STB/40) are 
reasonably facsimiled by The New 
World Theatre Orchestra — whatever 
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mentioned by The Hollywood Sound 
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some unnamed soloists. (Liner informa- 
tion on tapes is as sparse as it is apt to 
be wordy on LPs.) Pal Joey (STB/39) is 
given nice representation of its filmed 
version by Bobby Sherwood and his 
orchestra, who did the honors in the 
movie; the tape includes three tuncs 
which weren't in the Broadway musical: 
My Funny Valentine, The Lady Is а 


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Nothing makes a woman 


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(THE MAGNET) (2 


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THE ESSENCE OF BEAUTY THAT IS FRANCE 


10 Compounded and Copyrighted by Coty, Inc., in U.S.A. 


Tramp, There's a Small Hotel. 

If, as is likely, you cut your classical 
teeth on César Franck's Symphony іп D 
Minor and then went on to other things, 
you now have an excellent opportunity 
to rediscover it in stereo. On a new 
taped version (Victor ECS 58), Charles 
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interplay you just don't get in monaural. 

On the lighter side, Ray McKinley 
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tunes — Anything Goes, Lullaby of Bir 
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lay- 


BOOKS 


In the shadow of the mushroom cloud, 
two new heroes have walked the pages 
of postwar fiction — the beat American 
“hipster” and his British cousin, the 
angry "hypergamist" (a man who social- 
climbs on a matrimonial ladder). Now 
their explosive exploits have been lov- 
gly anthologized by Gene Feldman and 
Max Gartenberg, whose The Beat Genera- 
tion and the Angry Young Men (Citadel, 
$4.50) brings them face to face, and 
etches their jagged profiles via excerpts 
from their creators, chroniclers, and too 
few critics. It's all here—from Allen 
Ginsberg’s anguished Howl (“angel- 
headed hipsters burning for the ancient 
heavenly connection . . .") to the tragi- 
comic "Merrie England" episode from 
Amis Lucky Jim: from William Lee's 
Му First Days on Junk to the gall-bitter 
dimax of John Braine's Room at the 
Top; from Norman Mailer's The White 
Negro to Jack Kerouacs The Time of 
the Geek. And more. In fact, most of the 
aportant names in both groups are 
somehow represented. Glaringly absent 
is any part of or comment on PLAYBOY'S 
own tripartite appraisal of beat — per- 
aps because it put the finger оп the 
hilist, anti-social, anti-cr nents 
in the beat mystique, a vital aspect of 
the matter which doesn't jibe with the 
book's generally adulatory premise. The 
editors have supplied a thoughtful in- 
troduction showing how both Angries 
and Beats are reacting to a world they 
never made — the latter in a search for 
sensation, a "sordid dance of violence 


and pain,” the former by strangling 
their "betters" with their old school tics. 
In the process, both have produced some 
of the most dynamic writing of our time, 
and you can read the best of it here. In 
short, a bloody cool collection. 

For the second consecutive year, a 
PLAYBOY story has been reprinted in 
Judith Merril's anthology of top science 
fiction. This time, George Langelaan's 
novelette, Тһе Fly (it copped our 51000 
Best Fiction Bonus), occupies a major 
niche in SF 58: The Year's Greotest Sciences 
Fiction and Fontosy (Gnome, $3.50; Dell, 
35¢) as “one of the great horror stories 
of this or any year.” And, among the 
stories Honorably Mentioned, is Robert 
Bloch's The Traveling Salesman, also 
from this magazine. In addition to fic- 
tion, Miss Merril has, this year, slipped 
in some Sputnik-inspired non-fic of the 
Where-Do-We-Go-From-Here variety. 


Pa 


There was the time in Paris whey 
Patrick. Dennis Auntie Mame replaced 
an ailing friend at the Folies-Bergére in 
а costume that was all front but almost 
no back, with little Patrick holding her 
train while she walked down the runway. 
On that historic occasion, a capricious 
customer tripped her with his cane and 
she, with her six Russian wolfhounds on 
leash, plunked into the lap of an austere 
banker they knew from home. In Lon 
don, Auntie Mame saved an amorous 
friend from a fortune-hunting Spaniard 
by allowing him to learn that her for 
tune was суеп greater. He probably is 
still trying to figure out who locked him 
in the lavatory of a plane carrying vol 
unteers to the Spanish Republican Army 
Her cagerness to do anything for a friend 
involved her and her compliant nephew 
in misadventures in Venice, Vienna and 
the Middle East, and they're all part of 
the latest Dennis delight, Around the 
World with Auntie Mame (Harcourt, Brace, 
$3.95), sequel to a famous best-seller 
Broadway Бопапга/ film. 
“Maybe next summer we can start all 
over again,” Mame forecasts in Chapter 
Last. “Just a short trip, up or down the 
Amazon. Possibly Бо..." Either way 
Auntie will be back soon, we hope, like 
an indestructible champagne bubble. 


DINING-DRINKING 


Should pleasure or biz you to 
Hollywood this month, you owe it to 
yourself to sample some of the finest 
аге forthcoming from the kitchen of 
any restaurant on the land. At Lo Rue 
(8631 Sunset Blvd.) you can dine in 
sumptuous and quiet elegance on pheas- 
ant, guinea hen, a variety of game, or 
more common viands like roast beef, all 
prepared superbly, served with just the 

(continued on page 70) 


CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE 


PLAYBILL . 2 
DEAR PLAYBOY 3 
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS 7 
DROP DEAD—fiction FRED McMORROW 12 
EROS AND UNREASON ІМ DETROIT—opinion JOHN KEATS 16 
LONG LIVE THE LOBSTER—food THOMAS MARIO 19 
A VERY RARE DISEASE—fiction HENRY SLESAR 21 
ON THE SCENE—personalities 22 
THE SICK LITTLE WORLD OF JULES FEIFFER—sati 25 
SUMMER IN THE CITY—attire FREDERIC А. BIRMINGHAM 29 
PLAYMATE ОМ А PICNIC—playboy's playmate of the month 35 
PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor 40 
GO TO BLAZERS—attire BLAKE RUTHERFORD 43 
YOU GOTTA HAVE HEART—humor WILLIAM IVERSEN 45 
HISTORY REVISITED—sctire JERRY YULSMAN 47 
WORD OF HONOR—fction ROBERT BLOCH 55 
THE PERILS OF PUBLISHING—humor 57 
A DISH FOR THE GODS—ribeld classic 1A FONTAINE 60 
PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK—travel PATRICK CHASE 72 
HUGH M. HEENER editor and publisher 
А. с. 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 Ш promotion director Јон mastro production manager 


ELDON SELLERS special projects PHILIP с. MILLER circulation manager 


KEN vuRDY contributing editor; FREDERIC А. BIRMINGHAM fashion director; 
DLAKE RUTHERFORD fashion editor; THOMAS mario food & drink editor; 
PATRICK CHASE travel editor; LEONARD FEATHER jazz editor; ARLENE BOURAS сор 
editor; РАТ РАРРАЅ editorial assistant; JERRY WHITE, JOSEPH Н. PACZEK assistant art 
directors; FERN A. HEARTEL production assistant; ANSON MOUNT college bureau; THEO 
FREDERICK reader service; WALTER J. HOWARTH subscription fulfillment manager. 


GENERAL OFFICES, FLAYHOY BUILDING, 232 к. DMIO STREET. CHICAGO 11, ILLINOIS. RETURN POSTAGE MUST 
ACCOMPANY ALL MANUSCRIPTS, DRAWINGS AND PHOTOGRAPHS SUBMITTED IF THEY ARE TO BE RETURNED AND NO 
RESPONSIBILITY САМ BE ASSUMED FOR UNSOLICITED MATERIALS. CONTENTS COPYRIGHTED © 1938 вт нын тик. 
LISMING CO., INC. NOTHING MAY BE REPRINTED IN WHOLE OR IN PART WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THE 
PUBLISHER, ANY SIMILARITY BETWEEN THE PEOPLE AND PLACES IN THE FICTION ANG SEMI-FICTION IN THIS 
MAGAZINE AND ANY REAL PEOPLE AMD PLACES IS PURELY COINCIDENTAL CREDITE: COVER DESIGNED AND PHOTO. 
GRAPHED BY JERRY WHITE, WITH COLLAGE ау BEA PAUL; Р. 22 PHOTOGRAPH АТ TOP BY MAYNARD FRANK WOLFE, PHOTO. 


а. vol. 5, no. 8 — august, 1958 


ILLUSTRATED 8Y CARL KOCH 


тие TURK felt good 

He stretched, catlike, оп the mattress 
and took a big pull at the cigarette and 
watched. the smoke eddy up to the one 
bright light on the ceiling 

Inside his hard, flat stomach was the 
est meal The Turk had ever known. 
crything he liked, starting with a 
blast of rye and 7-Up. highlighted 
by a fat steak up to there with onions 
and mushrooms, topped off by a whole 
apple pie and three plates of butter 
pecan ice cream. 

If they could see me now, The Turk 
thought. Those punks. He was а Big 
Man now. 

Chick! went the electric clock out in 
the hallway. 

Another minute gone. The Turk 
sighed long and deep. There was a lot 
to think about. 

Joc McGee, for instance ~ . - 

He never told Joe McGee the guys 
called him "The Turk because that was 
попе of Joe McGee's business or any- 
body's business at the newspaper whe 
Joe McGee was a rewrite man and The 
Turk had becn a copy boy. To every- 
body on the nightside staff of the paper 
The Turk was just plain lazy, impudent, 
back-talking Bob Hannesen. 

The Turk remembered the night those 
three kids got the chair for killing that 


old guy in the delicatessen and the real 
great story Joe McGee wrote about it. 
He was nowhere near Sing Sing that 
night but wow, that story made you feel 
you were there. 

"You know, Mr. McGee," The Turk 
said, "I think they're better off, you 
know? 

"Let's say everybody's better off,” Joe 
McGee said. 

“No, I mean like, what if they got life? 
I wouldn't want to spend the rest of my 
life in no jail. Not me. They can give 
me the chair any time. 

“That's just about the stupidest thing 
I've ever heard out of you and you're 
pretty stupid,” said Joe McGee. The 
‘Turk smiled. That was what he liked 
bout Joe McGee. He never weaseled 
around anything, he told you. 

"Why?" said The Turk. “Now you tell 
me, why am I stupid?" 

П tell you,” said Joe McGe 
old are you? 

"Sixteen. 

"What do you know about living?” 

"Whaddaya want me to do, write a 
book or something? 

"Write a book? Га like to see you 
write a whole sentence." 

“Well, 1 still say it's better to get the 
chair than life. 

"You know something? You'd make a 


. “How 


good soldier.” 

"Whaddaya mean?” 

“I mean you're so goddamn stupid and 
that’s what makes а good soldier, stu- 
pidity. Look: You take an older man, 
you ask him, go out there and kill those 
guys who are shooting at you, and he'll 
try to get out of it. But a young jerk 
like you, you'll fight with your weth if 
you got nothing else." 

“Yeah,” said The Turk with discovery 
in his tone. “I guess I would at that. 
How'd you know?” 

“Now I'll tell you a war story,” said 
Joe McGee. “1 was in the Army and they 
sent me overseas and | w іп three 
battles and 1 was all of 20 years old and 
I only get the willies about it now. You 
could get killed doing that! But 1 never 
thought about it while it was happening 
because I was a dumb, jerky kid, just 
like you." 

"Well, now, wait a minute, wait а 
minute,” said The Turk. "You got a 
wife and Kids now, right? Maybe you're 
thinking about them, am I right? 

“No, that's not all there is to it,” 
Joe McGee. "Its just that you live а 
little more, you get to like it, you know 
something about it. You don't have to 
ball all the time, you get to just enjoy 
living. Ah, whats the usc? You won't 
know what I'm talking about until you 


fiction By FRED McMORROW 


DROP DEAD 


his world was divided into turks and jerks—and he was the turk of turks 


PLAYBOY 


14 


get to be my age. If you live that long." 

Who wants to be your аре?" said The 
‘Turk. "I want a good-looking corpse, 
you know?" 
et the hell out of here," said Joe 
Мебее. 

“Іі е you, Mr. McGee," said The 
Turk. “Lemme do something for you. 
Cup of coffee? Sharpen your pencils? 

But The Turk meant it. Of all the 
people at the paper Joe McGee was the 
only one Тһе Turk respected and with 
The Turk, respect came first. Joe 
McGee, he knew. 

The Juvenile Aid Bureau got The 
Turk his job at the paper. The editor 
was a member of the Big Brother mov 
ment. He liked to help young kids in 
trouble. The J.A-B. thought The Turk 
had a brain or two in his head so they 
asked the editor to give The Turk a 
chance as a night copy boy. Maybe 
something would come of it, something 
like what Angelo Patri did for John 
Garfield. And it would be bad if The 
Turk had his nights free. 

One of the first jobs they gave The 
Turk was making the coffee-run to the 
Greeks, the dirty litle diner behind 
the police station where the cab drivers 
and bakery deliverymen hung out at 
night. 

The Turk was waiting for the Greek 
to fill the containers when Joe McGee 
came in, two hours late to work. It was 
snowing and Joe McGee was bundled 
up in a shaggy tweed overcoat with a 
shaggier fur collar. He was a big, beefy 
guy in his thirties, with red hair and a 
bushy red mustache. The Greek poured 
him a glass of buttermilk and Joe 
McGee threw it down in one gulp. The 
Turk thought his eyes looked sad, like 
a dog's he once had. 

Joe McGee stared around the place 
nd his eyes fell on The Turk and 
stayed there. The Turk felt like it was 
a priest or a cop looking at him, look- 
ing into him. 

“Hi,” The Turk said challengingly, 
but Joe McGee just kept looking. 

“That's your new copy boy," said the 
Greek. "He's gonna be the boss tomor- 
row, the way he talks around here. 


m pleased to meet you,” The Turk 


said. "My name's Bob Hannesen. 
"Well, you can live that down," said 
Joe McGee, and turned away like а 
book closing. "Gimme a coffee regular." 

Later, in the city room, The Tu 
watched Joe McGee working. 

He had just taken a story over thc 
phone from the night police reporter 
and he was sitting there with his arms 
folded. chewing the ends of his тиз 
tache. and staring at The Turk. 

"Hey kid," he said. "Come here. Do 
me a favor. Take a walk down the end 
of the room and come back real slow, 
like you were going to meet your girl 
and you didn't want to get there too 


soon." 

"Wha-at" said The Turk, 

“No, I mean it,” said Joe McGee. “1 
got a story here where a kid is walking 
down the street like that with the cops 
waiting for him where he's going and 1 
want to describe it. Do what I said." 
The Turk shrugged and obeyed, even 
swaggcred a little. 

“That's it, that’s it!" said Joe McGee. 

He bent over his typewriter and began 
stabbing the keys as if in anger, and 
stared at the paper as if it were the face 
of a man he was fighting. 

The Turk slumped into a chair at the 
copy boys’ desk. "What's that guy, nuts 
ог something?” he asked. 

“You gotta be a little nuts to be in 
this business,” said the head night copy 
boy. 

“No, I think he's really a little nuts. 
Making me parade up and down like 
that. What the hell was that for? 

“He told you. He wanted to write 
about it. Wait till you see the story. 
He's a hell of a writer." 

Later, the night editor gave the story 
to The Turk to take out to the com- 
posing room. Once out of sight of the 
city desk, The Turk stopped to read it. 

It made him feel naked. 

It was about some punk getting ar- 
rested for raping a girl and how the 
cops tailed him as he strolled along to 
meet her. But when Joe McGee de- 
scribed the kid walking, it was The 
Turk. Everything —his black leather 
j t his blond, Detroitcut hair, his 
ight chino pants, his pointed shoes, 
пазоте. sullen face with the mean, 
thin lips. and that insolent, heel-drag- 
ging walk. 

“Mr. McG he said when the re 
write man wasn't busy, “that kid in that 
story, does he look like ше?" 

"Scarch me,” said Joe McGee. “I 
guess he looks something like you. He's 
got a name like yours and he was about 
the same build.” 

“How about the rest of 

“You mean what he did? 

"Yeah, with the girl. Would I do 
something like tha 

"Why noU" said Joc McGee. "Put 
yourself in his place. You got this girl, 
she says yes, there you are. Nothing any 
red-blooded, clean-cut American boy 
wouldn't do.” 

“Well, I know, but 
You read the story?” 

Yeah, I read it.” 

ou didn't read it too well." 
"Sure I did. You said rape." 
1 said statutory rape.” 

Yeah, I saw that.” 

"Do you know what it means?” 

"Sure. Rape. You rape somebody 
you're violatin' the statutes. Right? 

“Not exactly. It means she was under 
18, the age of consent, and Mama found 
out about it and went to the cops. Like 


ре...” 


I said, put yourself іп the kid's расе 
She tells you, help yourself, daddy-o 
What are you going to do, spit in hi 
eye? 

ГИ have to remember that" ‘The 
Turk said, grinning. "Next time ГИ tell 
the girl, lissen, you know what my friend 
Joc McGee told me? 1 can't go raping 


по statues, honey!" 

“Don't be a wise guy,” said Joe 
McGee. 

“I like you, Mr. McGee,” said The 
Turk. "You're my friend.” 


"Drop dead," said Joe McGee. But 
they got along and The Turk learned 
to appreciate Joe McGee's insatiable 
curiosity about people's motives, guts, 
meanness and goodness, and where the 
line was between those last two qualities. 
Mr. McGee,” The Turk said once, 
"you don't belong in this crappy busi- 
ness, You can write stuff so it sounds 
like it was real important. 1 mean it’s 
like you see it happening when you read 
it. Why don't you write a book?” 

"You mean just start wriüng and 
when Ive got a couple of hundred 
pages I've got a book, huh?” 

"You know you could do п. You 
could make a lot of money. Why don't 
you?’ 

"Anybody can до this; said Joe 
McGee waving at the city room. “Not 
everybody can write a book. | can't 
write a book. I don't even want to write 
a book. Nobody reads books any more.” 

“PI read your book, Mr. McGee. I'm 


your friend.” 
‘ou gotta have something you want 
to tell somebody when you write а 


boo! 

"So? So? 

"So 1 don't want to tell anybody any- 
thing. 1 got a message. I'll go to Western 
Union. I just want everybody to mind 
their own business, including you. Drop 
dead. now, I got work to do here 

One morning after work The Turk 
and Joe McGee and one of the photo- 
engravers stopped in the bar across from 
the Greck's. 

Joe McGee and the engraver got 
pretty drunk and The Turk decided to 
go сазу so he could listen to them talk. 

It soon became a one-way convers 
Чоп, a lecture by Joe McGee on the 
decline and fall of practically everybody. 

То everything Joe McGee said, the 
engraver would answer "right" or 
“that’s right" or goddamn 
right.” 
ally the engraver was sound asleep, 
е buried in his апп» on the bar, 
but Joe McGee lectured on. 

"You. you're a journeyman in your 
trade. You can get а job anywhere, you 
сап make enough money to live like a 
man. You could get a job shop. make 
cuts for house organs, work in the day 
time and hire other dumbbells to work 

(continued on page 52) 


“you're 


“ГИ be with you т a minute, Keep your shirt off.” 


EROS and UNREASON in DETROIT 


how the makers and manipulators built a dream that boomeranged 


John Keats, author of this article and 
such talk-provoking, bile-churning books 
as “Тһе Crack іп the Picture Window” 
and “Schools Without Scholars,” wields 
one of America's angriest young pens. 
Herein, Mr. Keats’ deep dudgeon is 
aimed foursquare at a medium-sized mid- 
western metropolis that sits on the north 
bank of the Detroit River and is chiefly 
responsible for the conception, design, 
production and marketing of the Ameri- 
can car. He performs an incisive autopsy 
on the still-thrashing carcass of a de- 
pressed automotive industry and deliv- 
ers a scathing diagnosis of the corporate 
yelps. (Next month, Lippincott is pub- 
lishing his expanded broadside on the 
subject, titled “Тһе Insolent Chariots") 
Whether or not you take umbrage at 
Mr. Keats’ nasty nouns and acid adjec- 
tives, we have no doubt that his piece 
provides an. indignant, provocative case 
against the automakers of Detroit. 


Е SLIGHTLY MORE than the price of a 
college education you, too, can own a 
kind оГ rolling, illuminated Crystal 
Palace, wherein you can recline on a 
couch, idly pushing buttons and won- 
dering what might lie in front of the 
glistening hood, while the sun burns 
into your eyes through a windshield that 
is strangely overhead. This Chinese love 
junk, or Perpetual Wurliver, is popu- 
larly supposed to float on air and to be 
powered by jets or rockets, somehow 
aided by wings and fins. It scems ludi- 
crously appropriate that the best way 
to enter it is by crawling on all fours. 

If you buy— or own-— such a mon- 
strosity, you may be interested to know 
what the people who made it think 
of you. Briefly, they think you are in 
dire need of the mii tions of a com- 
petent alienist. They imagine that you 
are the victim of aggressive impulses, 
or that you aren't so hot in bed and 


opinion By JOHN KEATS 


PLAYBOY 


18 


need a kind of mechanical aphrodisiac, 
or that you're a frustrated lecher or — 
at best— that you are simply infantile. 

Furthermore, they say they're not mak- 
ing all this up. They say they're giving 
you just what scientific research proves 
you secretly most want—a great big 
shiny automobile festooned with sexual 
symbols that will tell the world that 
you're really not what you really are. 
What you really are, they say, is a sick 
fetishist who isn't sure he is male. 

"There might be a kind of shy, poign- 
ant charm in all this if they — meaning 
Detroit's designers — would only occa- 
sionally turn out a sick dream in metal 
to sell to some specific wealthy nitwit 
who suffers from some specific psychosis. 
Who is to quarrel with the idea of giv- 
ing the customer what he wants? King 
Farouk ordered, and got, an automobile 
horn that imitates the howls of dogs 
being mangled beneath his wheels. Why 
not turn out custom-made symbols of 
psychosexual fantasies for those іп nced 
of them? 

Of course, the trouble is that Detroit 
doesn't operate on a custom but on an 
assembly-line basis. Now that Detroit 
has heard a little third-hand gossip about 
Freud from the prophets of motivation 
research, Detroit is operating on the 
theory that we are all as daft as Farouk; 
that none of us is in а state of mental 
health; we all want to buy auto- 
mobiles that are portable symbols of 
twisted desires. For the sake of argu- 
ment, perhaps we could stomach this 
preposterous assumption И Detroit 
thercupon mass produced a variety of 
representations of different desires. But 
no—mass production admits no 
riety. Therefore, Detroit merely seized 
upon what it was led to believe to be 
the one great fault with most American 
males: an irrational fear of impotence. 
Hence, as noted semanticist S. I. Haya- 
kawa observed in his paper Sexual Fan- 
tasy and the 1957 Car, Detroit decided 
to "give the men . . . the One Big Sym- 
bol that will make them feel they are 
not impotent.” The result: a four-eyed 
blather of chromium schmaltz, hoked ир 
with meaningless temperamental gad- 

rocket ship containing enough 
‘al apparatus to illuminate Boston 
and enough power to make paterfamilias 
think he is the Four Horsemen of the 


Apocalypse. 
‘The worst things about these "fantas- 
tic and insolent chariots" as Lewi 


Mumford calls them, are not that they 
are too expensive. The worst things are 
that their design has nothing to do with 
any mechanical or human reality, that 
they are as unsafe as they are unsightly, 
that they are shoddily built of inferior 
stuffs, that they are idiotically costly to 
operate and to repair, that at the very 
most they are little more than four- 
wheeled insults to men of good taste. 


An exact case in point is the Cadillac 
Efdorado Brougham, the most lavish 
and pretentious of all Detroit dream- 
boats; the car the shamans of motivation 
research insist that you are most lusting 
for because you're such an impotent 
wretch. 

General Motors tells us the newest 
Eldorado has “anti-dive control, out- 
riggers, pillarless styling, projectile- 
shaped gullwing bumpers, outboard 
exhaust ports, four metal magnetized 
gold-finish drinking cups, [а bottle 
of] perfume, an antenna which auto- 
matically rises to urban height, venti- 
panes, [and a] sound-wave opening for 
the horn.” 

This contraption is more than 18 feet 
long, and more than 6% feet wide, but 
it has only 5-3/10 inches of road clear- 
ance and its roof rises no higher than 
the average Texan's belly button. Once 
you're inside it, you discover there is 


and only 43.7 inches allowed — hip to 
toe — for your legs. Before we explore 
it, however, lets try to examine the 
Eldorado from a rational point of view, 
beginning with an attempt at English 
translation.of that ad сору 

The name implies it is a light, closed 
carriage that comes to us from an Eng- 
lish lord's estate that is curiously located 
in an imaginary land abounding in 
gold. "Pillarless styling" might mean 
the top is as collapsible as а Japanese 
lantern, as you may discover in case of 
accident. The carriage has "anti-dive 
control," which doubtless means there 
is some built-in device that keeps it from 
not diving when you slam on the brakes. 
A ve opening for the horn” 
apparently means the horn's noise is 
permitted to be heard outside the car. 
"Ventipane" is gibberish. The image of 
a projectile shaped like a gull's wing, 
ога gull's wing shaped like a projectile, 
is not for the rational mind to grasp. 
One wonders what is meant by “urban 
height'— presumably it means the av- 
erage height of all cities. Why an anten- 
na should automatically seek such a 
mean altitude is difficult to understand. 
One also wonders why a light carriage 
from a golden land should have out- 
iggers attached to it. Only when опе 
comes to the outboard exhaust ports do 
the words fall sweetly on the ear, because 
one can readily imagine how difficult 
ordinary respiration would become were 
the exhaust pipes to empty themselves 
within the car. 

At this point, it is clear the Eldorado's 
description is not meant to be taken 
literally. Instead, it is designed to create 
the impression that the Eldorado is 
really not an automobile at all. It is a 
souvenir of English gentility. Your at- 
tention is directed to the dreams of 
Spanish conquistadors. You are asked 
to think of Hawaiians skimming past 


sunny lagoons in outrigger canoes: of the 
intimacy of milady's boudoir: of 16-inch 
naval shells; of gulls soaring and, ар- 
parently, oddly bumping into cach other. 
You are asked to don a white suit to 
enter a laboratory to measure sound 
waves with your fellow-physicists. All of 
these potency-symbol associations can be 
yours for a measly $18,000, plus tax. 

The price. like the description, im- 
plies that this thing which is more than 
an automobile is not built for 
people. Phys spection proves it. It 
is a thing built for very rich, very short 
people who have no parking problems. 
Let's wander around an Eldorado and 
sce for ourselves. 

1f you can keep up a brisk pace of six 
feet per second, it will take you slightly 
more than eight seconds to circumnavi- 
gate the Eldorado. In slightly more than 
one second, however, you have marched 
past all the linear room reserved for oc- 
cupants. Or, to put it another way, of 
the 117 square feet the Eldorado mcas- 
ures, only 35 square fect — less than one- 
third the area— is devoted to people. 
Barely one-filth of the 503.1 cubic tect 
of the Eldorado's vast bulk is reserved 
for human habitation. In short, either 
two-thirds or four-fifths of the Eldorado 
is not concerned with human reality, 
depending on the way you choose to 
compare the usable space with the over- 
all size. 

Next, we discover the usable space to 
be equally aloof from reality. A six-foot 
man will have only 6.2 inches tolerance 
sitting inside the thing because the total 
maximum number of inches of com- 
bined head and foot room is 78.2. It is 
therefore obvious that a six-foot man 
cannot wear both a hat and ripple-soled 
shoes at the same time and drive an 
Eldorado Brougham. On the other 
hand, the scats are more than в e feet 
wide, and so we say that an 
happens to be five feet tall and four fcet 
wide would һауе at least a foot of room 
in which to bob up and down, and six 
inches to sway from side to side. 

Suppose, now, we аге to fill the Eldo- 
rado with six skinny midgets. They sit 
three in front, three in back. One 
reaches for the perfume bottle and dabs 
at a tiny ear. Applying Boyle's law gov- 
erning the expansion of gases in a con- 
fined space, we discover that not one, 
but all six people will immediately take 
on the odor of crushed rose petals, 
whether they want to or not. 

There are other, minor contradictions 
about the Eldorado from a humanistic 
point of view, but let's get on to some 
mechanical aspects. 

Why the power steering on this or 
any other car? To move the sow fat, 
squealy tires and the enormous front- 
end weight. Why power brakes? To stop 
the overpowered, overweight јиррег- 

(continued on page 24) 


most 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY DAVE CUNNINGHAM. FELDKAMP & MALLOY 


fair white flesh in armor plate 


LONG LIVE THE LOBSTER 


THE LOBSTER is the playboy of the deep: he is a Night Person, an epicure, a traveler. 
During the daylight hours, he remains relatively stable on the ocean bed: after sundown 
he becomes noticeably restless, moving about with vigor and dash, despite his armor- 
plated bulk. He has the true gourmet’s fondness for seafood, being partial to clams in 
the shell, and he has been especially equipped by nature to enjoy this delicacy: one claw 
is larger than the other —with this he holds the dam, while with the daintier claw he 
xtracts the tasty tidbit piece by piece. As for his traveling preferences, he finds the 
plane more congenial than train or truc 
\ century ago, the lobster's travels were limited. ‘The shipping of the first live lobster 
from New England to Chicago back іп 1842 was a major event, (continued on page 32) 


19 


PLAYBOY 


\ 
“Just think, Georgie, someday ГЇЇ look just like that!” 


though as old as mankind and as catching as measles, this was... 


А VERY BARE DISEASE. 


fiction Ву HENRY SLESAR 


neo got to the restaurant first. and sat 
silently on a plump semicirde of 
leather cushions, sipping a cold. dry 
martini and listening to the lunch talk. 
Big talk, little talk, deal, deal, deal; it 
was just like the talk he'd heard in every 
restaurant in every city where the selling 
business had taken him and his black 
suitcase. But today, the talk jarred. То- 
Spiro had big wori 
showed up at 12:30. Hc 
“come home, Joe. You knock 
ad in Chicago?” 

Spiro edged over for his lunch partner 

and picked up a spoon. "Yeah, I knocked 
‘em dead, all right" He rapped the 
spoon against а glass and rang a clean 
sweet bell that made the waiter look in 
his direction. "You want a martini, 
right” 
“You got it," O'Connor grinned. "Tell 
you the truth, Joe, I kind of think you're 
lucky. Т hate being stuck behind a desk. 
Me, 1 like to travel." 

“I like it all right, 

“Then 
worried.” 

“Tam.” 

“Bad trip?” 

“No, good trip. Best three weeks on 
the road since last year. 1/5 no business 
rry. I's а health problem." ` 
"No kidding? You having trouble. 
Joe?" 

Spiro slumped in his seat 

“No, not ше. It's Katherine.” 

“Your wife? 

“Yeah, 1 guess the worst is over, but 
she really had me scared for a while. 1 
been through hell these past three 
days —" 

"Well. what happened?” 

“It must have started a couple of 
weeks ago, when I called her from Chi 


Spiro said. 


whats wron, You look 


w 


cago, just to say hello. She complained 
of a headache. some dizziness, nothing 
very serious. But that’s the way this 
thing is— hardly a symptom at all. 
That's what's so frightening about it. 
"About what, for Pete's 
"About this disease, 1 forget what it's 
called. exactly — mono, monotheocrosis, 
something like that. It's а very rare di 
ease, one of those medi 
show up once in a hundred years. The 
symptoms are practically non-existent; 
the doctor told us some people don't 
realize а thing until it's too late.” 
O'Connor's jaw slackened. “Until it 
too late? You mean this thing's fatal? 
“That’s right. If you don't catch it 
in time—" Spiro snapped his fingers 
crisply, "— that’s it” 
“But she’s OK now? You found out 
time? 
"Yes, thank God. It was pure co- 
incidence that saved us. My doctor came 
to our house on Thursday night to play 
some bridge. Г told him about Kathy's 
cold, and he looked her over. He 
thought she was looking funny, so he 
decided to take a blood sample: that's 
when he found this crazy bug. It’s a 
amn good thing he did — for both of 
us.” 
"How do you mean 
“This monothcocrosis — it’s catching 
as hell. A couple of nights more, and 1 
would have had the damn thing in my 
system, too.” 
O'Connor's drink 
gulped it gratefully 
"But what did you do about it? Is 
there a сиге?” 
“That was my first question, too. My 
doc was a little baffled by the whole 
thing, but luckily he remembered the 


n 


arrived, and he 


NEIMAN 


name of a man who made a study of the 
disease. A Dr. Hess, on the third floor of 
the Birch Building. We shot right down 
there and saw him. and he was very 
comforting. He said they might not haye 
been able to do anything 10, 12 years 
аро, but now they had drugs that could 


do the trick. І was so relieved 1 almost 
cried." 
"Boy! 


No wonder you look so beat. 


nce." 


the 


rest of his drink. 

They left the restaurant at two, and 
Spiro said good-bye to O'Connor on the 
corner of Fifty-cighth апа Madison. 
Then he stepped into a cab and gave 
the driver the address of the Birch 
Building 

He was there іп 10 minutes, In the 
lobby. he stopped at a newsstand and 
bought a pack of ciga 
and entered the ele 
told the operator. 

The corridor was bustling with people 
settling back into the afternoon work 
routine. He lounged near the clevator 
for another 10 minutes, and the hall- 
ways emptied. 

At 2:30. O'Connor stepped off the 
elevator, looked up and down the hall, 
and then headed left. 
piro called out: "O'Connor!" 

O'Connor whirled. looked bewildered, 
and then walked up to his friend. 

“I just wanted to be sure,” said Spiro, 
“you son of a bitch.” Then he drew back 
his fist and drove it into O'Connor's 
cheek, O'Connor yelped and fell sprawl- 
ing to the marble tiles. Spiro, fecling 
better than he had in a long time, 
pressed the Down button. 


“Three,” Әс 


21 


22 


UNTIL RECENTLY, Brother Theodore 
freely admits, his life was unimportant. 
“I lectured on how to manufacture baby 
oil, using live babies: the joys of making 
love to а raincoa 
cial pap." enjoying а certain success 
with lovers of the macabre in small East 
ern nightclubs and on TV. But then 
one day he reccived The Word. The 
ailments of mankind, he discovered, 
were caused by man's walking оп his 
hind legs. So. putting Two-Leggedism 
and Two-Leggedism together, he emerged 
with a glorious panacea, Four-Legged- 
ism ог Quadrupedism. “Walking on all 
fours,” proclaims Brother Theodore, “ 

living as nature meant you to live; with 
your vertebrae held horizontal. from 
сам to west; your posterior pointing to 
the North Pole; with the navel as the 
center of gravity, transmitting poise and 
sclLexpression to all parts of the body." 
Nee Theodore Gotlieb, he cracked 
showbiz as a grisly club comic їп 1947, 
seven years alter escaping from Май 
Germany, where his family was liqui 
dated. Dropping his last name, Theo 
dore attracted а faithful following іп 
various urban pubs and clubs with a 
program called Blossoms о) Evil. His 
audiences found in him the sume sort 
of ghoulish humor previously popular- 
ized by The New Yorkers Charles 


and other commer- 


Addams. John Huston described him as 
one-man Grand Guignol.” (It is no 
coincidence that his name is identical to 
that of the tide-character of а PLAYBOY 
story, The Distributor. Author Richard 
Matheson confesses that the disturbing 
Distributor was, at several removes, in 
spired by Theodore's more ghastly rou- 
tines.) Resembling a pudgy pile of mud, 
with egg-beater hair, satanic eyebrows, 
and a hangdog lower lip, Theodore 
punctuated his dissertations with roll- 
ing eyeballs, blood-stopping shrieks, 
slobbering, and what he labels “good 
old-fashioned death rattles.” An LP of 
these rantings was cut, and Theodore 
scemed well on the way to becoming 
what the New York Daily № led 
a genius of the sinister.” But then he 
saw The Light. His posters and hand 
bills were changed to read: "Brother 
Theodore (formerly "Fheodorc)" Не 
Went Forth. Now, in such temples as 
New York's Town Hall. as well as оп 
the Jack Paar and Night Beat television 
shows, he expounds on his new-found 
faith. His greatest satisfaction, he finds, 
is derived from seeing his litle group 
of disciples grow. Just recently, а young 
lady wrote him: “Before I became а 
Quadruped, 1 was so nervous nobody 
could sleep with me. Now everybody 
can 


slenderella in the sky 


ONE OF THE LATEST giants to thrust its 
head into New York's skyline is a stern 
but startling 38story edifice sheathed in 
stunning bronze. Austerely geometrical 
and devoid of any ornamentation, the 
House of Seagram is referred to sneer 
ingly as “that whiskey building” by 
Frank Lloyd Wright. But to the rapidly 
multiplying admirers of its 72-year-old 
architect, Mies van der Rohe, the build- 
ing is the crowning manifestation of a 
lifelong principle: maximum effect with 
minimum means. Mies (as he prefers to 
be called) is a man of ample proportion 
and great personal warmth; his archi 
tecture is spare and rigid ("skin and 
bones," he calls it). Mies’ career began 
officially іп 1919 іп his native Germany 
where he designed a truly revolutionary 
skyscraper, sheathed wholly in glass and 
stripped almost to the structural skele 
ton. After 20 years of advancing his 
avantgarde theories іп Europe, he came 
to this country. At the Illinois Institute 
of Technology, he headed up the Dc 
partment of Architecture (a job he still 
holds). With relish he proceeded to re-do 
the entire LLT. campus, making bold 
use of immense glass areas and blanket 
ing the 100-acre project with his archi 
tectural X-ray look. Then іп 1918 the 


a pudgy pile of mud 


unique Mies touch appeared on Chica- 
роз Lake Shore Drive in two towering 
apartment with floor-to-ceiling 
windows, standing on stilts of месі 
Though somewhat resembling up-ended 
ice-cube trays and thus termed “icy cold" 
by critics, this Slenderella approach to 
architecture elicited huzzahs from many 
of Mies’ confreres in the field. But his 
genius might never have been acknowl- 
caged outside the circle of Architectural 
Forum readers if the Seagram people 
hadn't been secking fresh talent for the 
New York scene. With the assistance of 
architect Philip Johnson, Mies gave 
them the world’s first bronze skyscraper, 
with huge. tinted, glare-resistant win 
dows, overlooking a paved. fountain 
doued plaza (Рак Avenue's first 
park”). Now that Mies, like his build: 
ing, а place im the sun, the 
pacans to his artistry are filling the air. 
They are summed up in the words of one 
of his fellow architects: 

"Mies very perfectionist attitude to- 
ward detail, his insistence on order, his 
uncompromising truth to material, his 
precise adjustments of scale and propor 
tion have all been brought together to 
achieve an architecture for the ‘whole 
of the 20th Century 


houses 


enjoys 


man 


"| NEVER THOUGHT ГА use that horrid 
expression, "musical genius; " the late 
critic Olin Downes once said: 
“You can blame Lenny for making me 
sound trite.” Downes’ Lenny, af course: 
was Leonard Bernstein, who t No- 
vember became the first American-born 
(Lawrence, Mass.) conductor to be ap- 
pointed Musical Director of the New 
York Philharmonic and, at exactly 40, 
is the second youngest ever to hold the 
position. For the past two decades, 
Wunderkind Bernstein has had hi l- 
ented fingers in a variety of musical 
pics: he'd tear off a symphony or a 
movie score, knock out a Broadway 
show (West Side Story, Wonderful 
Town, On the Town), give lively lec- 
tures on jazz and Bach via "TV's Omni- 


music 


hot podium for a wunderkind 


bus (he got an Emmy for the Bach), do 
some serious conducting, compose an 

(Trouble in Tahiti), play a little 

i ome sourpusses have called 
this Spreading Himself Thin, but for 
the next three years, Bernstein will have 
plenty of chance to prove the strength 
of his symphonic baton. Conducting the 
Philharmonic full time should serve as 
an excellent maturation index for 
Lenny. It will also put him on a hot 
podium, as the first Yank to break into 
what has been so far a strictly European 
dub. While Lenny strives to prove his 
baton wizardry, there will be much toc- 
qunching and yowling along the way. 
He has already promised to inject lit 
eral doses of American music into his 
programs. at the expense of the Old 


Masters (sheer blasphemy to the concert 
Tories. Another concern of the old 
guard is that Bernstein's long association 
with Broadw will besmirch the dig- 
nified name of the Philharmonic. Some 
still wince at the way he good-humoredly 
referred to his predecessor at the Phil's 
helm (elderly, distinguished, Greek-born 
Brynnerbald Dimitri Mitropoulos): “1 
feel,” said Lenny, "like an actress who 
has to follow Tallulah Bankhead.” 
‘Those who ought to know believe that 
if any homegrown American can tri- 
umph in a field that has been dominated 
up to now by foreign imports — and 
even make the world forget that one ol 
America's musical products of late has 
been more longsideburned than long- 
haired — that person is the Wunderkind. 


PLAYBOY 


24 


UNREASON in DETROIT (continued from page 18) 


naut. Power steering can whisk а novice 
off the road at 80 miles an hour, and 
power brakes сап hurl him through the 
windshield. 

Why the electrically driven windows? 
Why, indeed? Temperamental as most 
of today’s gadgets, the electrical windows 
on one car of vivid memory stuck shut 
on the hottest Texas day in 30 years. On 
another, they jammed open during а 
Vermont blizzard. Those on a third 
caught a three-year-old child's hand. 
On another, a child was actually 
strangled to death. There is almost 
no point to such gimmicks, unless it be 
that they keep repairmen in food and 
beer. 

There is an automatic light dimmer 
mounted on the dashboard, which itself 
resembles the answer to a pinball ad- 
dic's dream. It dims your lights as 
another car approaches. But it also 
clicks on and off while you pass street- 
lights, and, worse, it doesn't dim your 
lights when you follow a car. 

‘Air suspension? Many а cheaper car 
on the market today gives you a better 
ride on metal springs. 

Automatic transmission? A wretched 
device, wasteful of gasoline. hard on 
brake linings. less accurate and less safe 
than a manual transmission in the 
hands of a good driver. 
pray tell, should drive? 

That big, soft, gooey ride? Here is a 
superficial advantage indeed, because it is 
well known that you can operate an In- 
dianapolis racing car at 100 miles an hour 
with far greater safety than а profes- 
sional race driver can operate a Detroit 
dreamboat at 60. For one thing, there 
is no feel of the road in a dreamboat — 
the driver doesn’t drive the thing, gad- 
gets drive it for him. For example, there 
is that passing gear. Idea is, you floor 
the accelerator and are at once jolted 
from 35 to, зау, 55 miles an hour in a 
matter of seconds. The excuse is that 
this will save your life if you have to 
get around another car in а hurry. But 
such a device is also an excuse for a 
loose mind to weave through tangled 
traffic. Worse, it sometimes may not 
work, and you will never know that it 
is not working until you desperately 
call on it. 

Automatic choke? Here is yet another 
dingbat that can easily go out of kilter, 
thus divorcing the driver in still an- 
other way from practical control of his 
machine, 

Four headlights? Why the hell not 
cight, or 16, or 32? Anybody want to try 
for the 64-headlight car? 

Shoddy? Of course. Why the “metal 
magnetized gold-finish drinking cups? 
Lady Nora Docker uses gold lavishly in 
her custom-made Daimler. She's even 
plated the exhaust pipe with the stuff. 


If you're going to sink 13 Gs into a bit 
of rolling stock, you'd think the least 
you'd get would be 14 carats. Likewise, 
look with suspicion upon the Eldorado's 
"high-pile nylon Karakul rugs. No 
doubt nylon lasts longer. But if we're 
going to do the extravagant thing, let's 
have genuine Karakul. Steel? The Stan- 
ley Steamer used a heavier gaug 

Expensive to operate and repair? You 
said it. Not only does today's monster 
engine suck up nothing but the most 
exotic fuels, delivering eight to 13 miles 
a gallon in return, but if you dent a 
fender it doesn't cost you eight bucks 
to hire a man with a ball-peen hammer. 
Instead, you'll find yourself faced with 
а repair bill slightly larger than the 
price of a Caesarean section. Further- 
more, to find the spark plugs on most 
Detroit cars these days, you require the 
services of a specialist in a white suit, 
equipped with Geiger counter and con- 
tour maps. 

Finally, we come to style, The idea of 
a luxury automobile is that it is sup- 
posed to reflect the quiet good taste of 
a man to whom money is no object. 
There is nothing about the Eldorado, 
for example, that is not blaring ostenta- 
tion, as far removed as Jupiter from the 
graceful not-a-line-wasted simplicity of 
the Rolls-Royce. 

It is necessary to take such an acid 
look at the Eldorado because it is Gen- 
eral Motors’ theory that the Cadillac is 
the most beautiful car there is. It is 
beautiful, thinks GM, because it costs 
more than any other GM product. GM 
therefore believes the more a car looks 
like a Cadillac, and the closer it ap- 
proaches the Cadillacs price, the more 
beautiful it is. Thus, all GM cars are de- 
signed to look like apprentice Cadillacs: 
and since GM sells more cars than all 
other manufacturers put together, all 
other Detroit manufacturers, with the 
exception of George Romney's Ameri- 
can Motors, try to make cars that look 
as much as possible like GM cars. And 
they have succeeded — not only in style, 
but in performance as well, as adver- 
tising agency president David Ogilvy 
rightly notes. 

"There isnt any significant differ- 
ence among American automobiles, 
any more than there is among cake 
mixes,” he said. Raymond Loewy, the 
industrial designer who did the postwar 
Studebaker, says the reason for this lack 
of difference is that every company pro- 
duces “imitative, overdecorated chariots, 
with something for everyone laid over 
а basic formula design that is a copy of 
someone else's formula design." 

Detroit spends an annual fortune to 
ensure its lack of originality, and its 
effort takes the form of a perpetual Key- 
stone Cop comedy. To protect its styling 


studios, Ford has a force of 20 security 
guards commanded by an ex-FBI agent. 
Differentcolored passes admit different 
people to specific. different rooms and 
to those rooms only. Unused sketches 
and clay models destroyed. Ford's 
studio locks can be changed within an 
hour if someone loses a key. To pierce 
such a wall of secrecy, each company 
employs spies and counter-spies, rumor- 
ists and counter-rumorists. Rival hel 
copters flutter over high-walled test 
tracks. Ford guards peer at an adjacent 
water tower with a 60-power telescope 
to make sure no long-range camera is 
mounted on it by a rival concern. One 
automotive company installed а micro- 
phone in a blonde’s brassiere and sent 
her off to seduce a secret. There is 
just about everything this desperate 
hugger-mugger that you might expect to 
find in an Eric Ambler thriller, except 
а genuine sense of humor — although 
the results are laughable enough. All 
secrets are discovered! The shape of а 
Ford hubcap! The number of square 
inches of chromium on the new Buick! 
The final result is that all the companies 
know all the secrets of all the other 
companies, and everyone brings out the 
same car. But the cars would have come 
ike, anyway (with the pos- 
ptions of the Corvette and the 
Rambler), because they are not designed 
to be automobiles in the first place, nor 
are they advertised and sold as such. 
Instead, from Eldorado down, they are 
sold as dreams, because the pseudo- 
scientists of motivation research told 
Detroit that people don't buy automo- 
biles. Instead, they said. people buy 
dreams of sex, speed, power and wealth. 
Your problem, the researchers told De- 
troit, is to find some way to provide 
everyone with his private variation of 
these favorite illusions, while, at the 
same time, practicing mass production. 
According to Vance Packard's incisive 
best seller, The Hidden Persuaders, опе 
psyche-probing agency discovered what 
every automobile dealer knows to be 
true — that a convertible in the window 
lures men into the store, whereupon 
they buy sedans. Mr. Packard says 
Ernest Dichter, president of the Institute 
of Motivation Research, chose to regard 
all this with Viennese eyes. The con- 
wertible, it seems, was the mistress the 
теп wanted. It represented a perpetual 
daydream of youth and beguiling sin. 
The man who stared at it like an Elder 
at Susanna knew perfectly well he would 
never have the courage, the brains nor 
the money to keep a mistress, but he 
dreamed his little dream, anyway. Then 
he marched into the store and bought 
the plain old frump of a sedan that rep- 
resented the humdrum wife the cus- 
tomer knew to be the best female bar- 
gain he had any right to expect, and 
(continued on page 28) 


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а new cartoon talent probes and prods the boy-girl relationship 


THE SENSITIVE SCRATCHINGS on these pages spring from 
the mordant mind of Jules Feiffer, a kind of Mort Sahl 
of the drawing board, who has more than a touch of 
psychoanalyst and social critic in his makeup. These 
cartoons first appeared in The Village се, unofficial 
organ of the Greenwich Village bohemian belt, under 
the apt title Sick, Sick, Sick. Now gathered into a book 
of the same name (McGraw-Hill, $1.50), they are creat- 
ing new Feifferphiles beyond the confines of the Village. 


They appear here by way of introduction to a unique 
talent who is joining Jack Cole, Shel Silverstein, John 
Dempsey, Alden Erikson, Gahan Wilso ic Sokol 
and other popular PLAYBOY cartoonists as a regular 
contributor to these pages. In the months ahead, 
Feiffer will analyze, in addition to sex, such subjects 
as jazz, sports cars, hi-fi, double vodk: rtinis on the 
rocks with a lime twist, and other frantic phenomena 
of our gay, enchanting, urban, sick-sick-sick society. 


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PLAYBOY 


UNREASON in DETROIT 


Mr. Packard tells us that Detroit swal- 
lowed this bilge without blinking an eye. 
Mr. Packard also tells us that when 
Ше hardtop burst upon the scene to be- 
come the fasteseselling innovation since 
the self-starter, the motivation research- 
ers smoothly said this was because the 
hardtop represented both mistress and 
wife in one sanitary package. Thus, 
gullible Detroit's current view of a hard- 
top or convertible customer is that he's 
a frustrated lecher whose automobile is 
а portable symbol of his baffled desires. 
Likewise, Mr. Packard says. motiva- 
tion rescarchers told Detroit that people 
buy big, powerful cars to relieve thei 
aggressive impulses and to be reassured 
of their masculinity, Detroit's general 
decision, as noted above, was that most 
American men feel sexually insecure. 
Detroit never questioned the advisability 
of allowing some insecure nut to vent 
his psychosis by speeding 90 miles an 
hour through a school zone. Instead, it 
deliberately made cars more powerful, 
in order to capitalize on what it mis- 
takenly believed to be a serious defect 
in the American male's character. 
wise, it built ostentatious cars, believing 
that most people equate ostentation with 
good taste, and that conspicuous con- 
sumption symbolizes high social status. 
Now. motivation research certainly 
has its place, but as Hayakawa pointed 
out in last spring's issue of Etc, А Re- 
view of General Semantics: “Motivation 
researchers . tell their clients what 
their clients want to hear; namely, that 
appeals to human irrationality ате likely 
10 be far more profitable than appeals 
to rationality. . . . What [they] failed 
to tell their clients . . . is that only the 
psychotic and the gravely neurotic act 
out their irrationalities and their com- 
pensatory fantasies — апа it is because 
they act them out that we classify them 
as mentally Ш. The rest of us— the 
mildly neurotic and the mature, who 
together constitute the majority . . . are 
reasonably well oriented to reality. . . .” 
In other words, Detroit cynically 
sought to exploit mental illness for 
profit, unaware that most people aren't 
really sick. But Detroit should have 
known this. For instance, sober market- 
ing research long ago turfed up the news 
that most new-car buyers are in their 
twenues and thirties, and since when 
have young Americans ever doubted 
their abilities in the sack? (Check, if you 
must, the rapidly rising number of 
babies born every year.) Young America 
needs potency symbols like it needs a 
second set of elbows. 

Detroit managed the difficult feat of 
swallowing the depth-probers nostrum 
while keeping its head in the sand. 
"Thus, Detroit not only put a dream girl 
in every advertisement of a dreamboat, 


(continued from page 24) 


but also built deliberate sexual symbols 
into automobile design in the expecta- 
tion that the cars’ outward appearance 
would precisely represent the shape of 
the customers’ sexual shortcomings. 

This is the reason the manufacturers 
stick penial shapes on the hoods of their 
cars. This explains why Cadillac's stylists 
candidly talk of the breasts on their 
bumpers; why Buick came up with its 
famous ring pierced by a flying phallus: 
why knowing Detroiters complimented 
the Edsel people for achieving "the vag- 
inal look"; why so many Detroit stylists 
lavish so much attention on the rear 
ends of automobiles. 

Meanwhile, Detroit also was advised 
that 65% of this nation’s population is 
found in the upperlower and lower- 
middle classes — the bulk of the nation's 
consumers. Further, Detroit 
that women do 80%, of the nation's buy- 
ing (a dubious statistic at best), and so 
it would be logical to assume that most 
women would have at least something 
to say about the cars their husbands 
bought. Detroit therefore thought of a 
lower-middle-class woman, and it sort 
of naturally envisioned one of its own, 
which is to say, a somewhat paunchy. 
mentally restricted, myopic aardvark 
with stringy hair. Because of this mid- 
western beauty, Ford's design chief 
George William Walker says Ford spent 
"millions" trying to find a floor cover- 
ing that would duplicate the insipid rug 
in her Philistine living room. Because 
of her, Chevrolet hired seven psycholo- 
gists to investigate the Chevy's sounds 
and smells, and you can imagine the 
glee at Chevrolet when the company 
came up in 1957 with what it proudly 
called “the finest door slam tl year 
we've ever had—a big car sound.” Be- 
cause Detroit cared about а blowzy. 
lower-middle-class hausfrau, а farmer 
can't just go out and buy a pickup truck 
at looks like a truck. а 
something done up i alls. 
two tones of bile green, chromium 
knickknacks and tufted upholstery. 
There isn't anything else available in 
these days of market research and mo- 
tivation research, 

Hence, if you suspect there might be 
something unpleasant about Detroit's 
automobiles, you might reflect that De- 
troit is trying deliberately to mass pro- 
duce something that will app: t once 
to a male misfit and to a rather com- 
mon, empty-headed bag. 

How do you market something that is. 
а symbol of speed, sex, wealth and power 
to Pop when it must also appear un- 
imaginative, unspontaneous, routine 
and unexciting to Mom? 

So far, Detroit's answer is that you, 
as a designer. need not uy to do any- 
thing well. First, you start out with a 


shape— an oblong over four 

with а smaller oblong on top. 
like à matchbox on a shoebox. You do 
not depart from this basic pattern lest 
you wend into the area of the unique, 
the unfamiliar and the unconventional. 
Then, you put breasts on the bumpers 
and a gaudy stern on the thing to titil- 
late Pop. You shove Mom's rug inside 
to make her [eel homey. You go on and 
on, putting curlicue on curlicue, adding 
the fragment of onc illusion to the frag- 
ment of another. 

Whatever you have created cannot be 
called а motorcar. What you have done 
defies description for the simple reason 
that it is not designed to be any one 
thing, but is an agglomeration of the 
constituent elements of wet dreams. 

For the first five years after World 
War П. Detroit congratulated itself, 
People were buying cars as last as 
Detroit could smash them out and slap 
them together. Therefore, Detroit told 
itself, "We're obviously giving the public 
what it w: 


ats. Freud was right — eve 
body is screwy. Barnum was right - 
there's a sucker born every minute.” 


What Detroit failed to understand was 
that the automobile had become essential 
to America. During the war, the govern- 
ment discovered 24 million automobiles 
had to be kept on the roads to get war 
workers to their jobs. One out of every 
seven businesses in this land is con- 
cerned, directly or indirectly, with the 
manufacture, distribution, sale nd 
maintenance of automobiles. More than 
6,000 American towns lacking rail or 
water transportation simply could not 
exist without automobiles. 

Naturally, therefore, Detroit sold auto- 
mobiles, but it is not quite correct to 
that Detroit was giving the customer 
what he wanted. It is more correct to 
say that Detroit could sell whatever it 
decided to make, since the public had 
no choice but to buy from Detroit. 

In the spring of 1952, however, a cloud. 
no bigger than a Volkswagen appeared 
on Detroit's horizon. By the end of 19 
only 27.000 foreign cars had been sold 
in this country. and Detroit paid no at- 
tention to this phenomenon. As one 
Pontiac dealer r ked at the time, 
“There'll always be а few nuts" By 
1 however. foreign car sales had 
s nothing 
percentage of six 
million sales is 54,0007 

The following year, foreign car pur- 
chases nearly doubled again, to 107,675 
units, and Detroit stopped pooh-poohing. 
The next year, 1957, foreign car sales 
more than doubled to 995,000, and at 
that point, Detroit went into conferenc 
In fact, when Detroit brought out i 
“new, all new" 1958 models іп 1957 
(they were designed in 1954) it took 
care to import some ol its own European 

(continued on page 12) 


doubled to 54,000 units. It w; 
to Detroit. WI 


attire By FREDERIC А. BIRMINGHAM 


AS purveyors of fashion information 
and advice to the young urban male, 
we feel the time has come to convey a 
great big fat secret to our readers. This 
hot bit of news ік that — virtually all 
other magazine illustrations to the con- 
trary notwithstanding — the average and 
even the above-average young man does 
not spend his summers vacationing in 
Cannes, Newport, Banff or Kamp Kill 
Kare in the skills, but (except for a 
couple of weeks) stays right in the city. 
at his office. 

This stunning hunk of info used to 
be bad news. A guy had every right to 
feel sony for himself while he toiled at 
the rolltop desk and had his hair ruffled 
at droning intervals by a hot, wet wind 
from the office Гап. No more. Summer 
in the city can be wonderful fun. 

What happens is this. The aged and 
the rich. the housewives and their 
broods, do take off for the country. Be- 
hind them they leave a much less 
crowded city of smart young folk, a city 
that may shimmer in the heat, but shim- 
mers romantically and excitingly. A city 
whose gleaming glass and steel and 
concrete. buildings аге air-conditioned, 


whose restaurants, bars. theatres and 
clubs (air-conditioned, too) are less 
jammed, less apt to be filled with yam- 


mering suburban matrons and middle- 
aged drunken conventioneers, With 
daylightsaving time, there are hours of 
daylight after work in which to play — 
or тей up іп one’s airconditioned 
apartment for later liying-itup through 
the lush summer night. 

We know some happy commuters who 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY PHILIP О. STEARNS 


SUMMER IN THE CIT 


the urbanite has it made, as cool heads prevail 


PLAYBOY 


30 


Above: on his mind, designs. On hers, designs on him. On his back, 
а breeze-light dacron/wool suit, dark, and eminently air-conditioned. 


bitch bitterly about their daily stint in the city 
and talk big about the bucolic joys of their 
split-level junior estates. But we also know (and 
tend to identify with) quite a few happy toilers 
in the city salt mines who get a sadistic clout 
out of going from office to railroad station, now 
and then, to watch the poor pseudo-hayseeds 
scurrying to make the 5:05 or the 5:39, dutifully 
homeward bound to the little viragoes who. 40 
minutes hence, will be waiting for them in the 
jet-propelled marshmallow called а station 
wagon. It's fun for the confirmed urbanite to 
watch the station's sweaty bustle and rush — 
and then to turn his (concluded on page 67) 


Above: twilight time on his penthouse roof garden, variations on a cocktail theme (spritzers), then а quiet dinner for two while the 
city simmers below. His suil's a blue note in sleek and lustrous mohair and he couples it with an English tab-collar shirt. Right: 
they're still fresh and frolicsome in the wee small hours. The cobby in the back sports the new (circa 1900) all-purpose topper. 


a 


PLAYBOY 


32 


LONG LIVE THE LOBSTER (continued from page 19) 


something like the launching of a satel- 
lite. The crustacean got as far as Cleve- 
land (traveling by the fastest possible 
overland route), where canny Cleveland- 
ers, sensing it was not long for this 
world, boiled it with much pomp and 
circumstance before whizzing it on to 
the Windy City. 

Those were the days when lobsters 
were sold for a penny apiece on- the 
Maine coast, but, not far inland, brought 
fabulous sums in so-called lobster pal- 
aces. New York's Broadway, where well: 
fixed bachelors took their blonde рорвісв 


for fancy seafood dinners, became 
known as lobster alley. 
Today, lobsters— freed from the 


shackles of the leisure class — are avail- 
able to everyone. The wonderful thing 
about lobsters is that while they're no 
longer the rare romantic food of the 
gaslight cra, they've lost none of their 
gustatory enchantment whatever. Even 
now, in the full tide of the summer 
lobster season, the most jaded epicurean 
will tighten his bib at the sight of a 
bright red lobster, lifted from a steaming 
pot, hiding beneath its armor the firm 
white flesh, the soft green liver or tomal- 
ley and (if the lobster happens to be 
female) the heavenly crisp roe. 

It's not quite fair to compare the 
northern lobster, with which the present 
thesis is concerned, and the spiny lobster 
taken from warm waters off California, 
Mexico, South Africa and Australia, The 
latter, sold in frozen form as rock lobster 
or langouste, is as different from a Maine 
lobster as veal is different from beef. 
While rock lobster is easy to handle and 
never too costly, it lacks the moist v 
cious flavor of the cold-water titans and 
their incredibly sweet claw meat. 

Just because two lobsters аге al 
doesn’t by any means indicate that 
they're of equal quality. The very best 
lobster is one which is snatched right 
out of the "pot" (a trap of wooden lath) 
in which it was caught, and rushed to 
the boiling water. If you live in South 
Bend or Santa Fe, this ideal state of 
affairs isn't practicable. Lobsters will stay 
alive out of their own habitat about two 
weeks, provided their gills are kept moist 
with ice, seaweed or water. If your fish 
dealer happens to һауе a tank of freshly 
pumped water, and if he receives a daily 
supply of the restless thoroughbreds, 
you'll usually have no problem. If you 
have any doubt about the condition of 
a live lobster, simply lift it up and ob- 
serve its tail movements. Collar the 
fellow on the top of the back with the 
pincers pointed forward, so they'll be un- 
able to swing around and nip you. Look 
at its tail. If it barely shows signs of 
movement, the lobster is on his way to 
an early demise, and should be rejected. 
If the tail snaps underneath, you've 


got your hands on a lively. luscious 
specimen. 

Generally, the color of a good live 
lobster is a deep charcoal brown tinged 
with green or blue, and showing, here 
and there, speckles of red or orange. 
Like all creatures in the sca around us. 
variations of this main color theme will 
be found. Some lobsters are black; in 
rare instances, cream colored. If, how- 
ever, a barely moving lobster shows large 
patches of orange or red, it means that 
its life is ebbing, and it has no place 
on your bachelor b 

After you've lifted and held a number 
. you'll learn more or 


are heavy for their size. Lobsters that 
have just molted and replaced their 
shell will feel somewhat hollow and will 
show deep red at the joints. They're 
perfectly edible, but the meat isn't as 
succulent as that of lobsters that haven't 
recently thrown ой their old armor plate 
for new. Look for lobsters with large- 
size claws, since the meat is so delectable. 
A lobster who loses a claw in battle will 
simply grow another onc to replace it, 
but it takes several moltings before the 
new claw reaches full size again. 

If you're buying a cooked live lobster, 
a really wonderful labor saver, again 
check the tail. It should be tightly curled 
underneath the body. Lift the tail up. 
If it snaps back impudently, the lobster 
was good before it was boiled. A cooked 
lobster should have a clear salty sea- 
shore fragrance, not a dank fishy smell. 

Chicken lobsters weighing from 34 to 
one pound apiece — it takes six years to. 
attain even this baby size — are tender 
and toothsome, but the amount of labor 
necessary to extract a fairsize portion 
always makes a hungry seafood man 
hone for something more mature. Lob- 
sters weighing from 114 to 134 pounds 
е just about perfect for single portions. 
Real lobster-lovers will demand double 
or triple portions. Above two pounds, 
the specimens tend to be tough and dry, 
Normally а 114-pound lobster when 
cooked will yield one cup of lobster 
mcat for such dishes as lobster cocktail 
or lobster newburg. Frozen cooked 
northern lobster meat is always more or 
less of a frustration. It looks luscious in 
the can, but the moment it thaws, all 
of the lobster's goodness flows out in 
sad little rivulets. Unlike shrimp, which 
can take freezing. well, northern lobsters 
are still best when they're alive and 
kicking. 


BOILED LOBSTERS 


The best way to boil lobsters iss not 
to boil them. Steam them. Old Maine 
lobstermen are forever reminding you 
that the lobsters prepared in a clambake 


are not actually baked but are steamed 
by the seaweeds covering the hissing hot 
rocks. The essential point to remember 
is no matter how you cook a lobster, 
don't overcook it. A lobste i 
sublime, sensuous broth, and it shouldn't 
be drawn or spilled in vain. In spite of 
the fact that seafood houses submerge 
lobsters in boiling water (a convenience 
for them), you'll do better to cook the 
lobsters with only enough water to fairly 
cover the bottom of the pot. about one 
cup to a gallon pot. Choose a pot into 
which your lobsters will fit comfortably. 
Be sure the pot has a tight-fitting lid. 
Bring the water to a boil. Place the lob- 
sters in the pot on their backs. Cover 
the pot. Let the water come to a second 
boil, and then cook for 10 minutes for 
a medium-size lobster. Seven or cight 
minutes will do for a chicken lobster. 
The small amount of water will generate 
enough heat to cook the lobsters without 
washing away too much of their own 
natural nectar. 

To serve a boiled lobster, remove it 
from the pot with a pair of large tongs. 
Wait a moment or two, so it isn't too 
hot to handle. Use potholder mitts if 
necessary. On a heavy cutting board lay 
the lobster on its back, pincers forward. 
Insert а heavy French knife (the heavier 
the better) into the beily. Split the tail 
in two without separating the halves, if 
possible, Turn the head toward you. 
Cut toward the head and down until 
the lobster is divided. Remove the small 
sac, sometimes called the " right 
іп back of the head. 105 the lobster's 
stomach and usually contains some gritty 
matter. Remove the v running the 
length of the body. Don't discard the 
tomalley or roe, if any. Twist off the 
claws by hand. With the heavy knife, 
crack the claws for easy dissection at the 
table. When you crack the claws before- 
hand, you eliminate the use of a nut 
cracker at the table, a clumsy weapon 
if ever there was one. Serve the lobster 
with a sauceboat of melted butter to 
which a healthy squeeze of lemon juice 
has been added. Lobster etiquette, cer- 
tainly the least dainty but the inost 
practical in the world, is usually ob- 
served with oversize bib napkins as well 
as extra hand napkins, oyster forks or 
the smaller-tined lobster forks, large 
finger bowls and a whopping salad bowl 
or platter for lobster shells discarded 
in battle. 


BROILED LOBSTERS 


Preheat the broiler at 400°. To split 
a live lobster for broiling, place it on 
its back, pincers forward. Insert a knife 
between the tail and body sections to 
cut the spinal cord. Then cut the lobster 
in half in the same manner described 
above for the boiled lobster, removing 

(concluded overleaf) 


“Yessir, he was a great park commissioner!" 


33 


PLAYBOY 


34 


LONG LIVE THE LOBSTER | (continued from page 32) 


the sac and intestinal vein. Leave the 
daws intact. Brush generously with 
melted butter or salad oil. Sprinkle the 
flesh side lightly with salt, celery salt, 
white pepper and paprika. Place the 
lobster Hesh side up in a shallow baking 
ап. Place the pan under the broiler 
flame. Broil five minutes. Remove the 
lobster from the broiler section. Cover 
the lobster with aluminum foil. Place 
in the baking section of the oven and 
bake eight to 10 minutes for a medium- 
size lobster. Allow more baking time for 
largersize lobsters. Remove the claws 
and crack them with a heavy French 
knife before sending the lobster to the 
table. Serve with large lemon wedges 
and melted butter livened with lemon 
juice. For broiling lobster outdoors over 
charcoal, fasten the lobster in a wire 
broiler rack. Broil six to eight inches 
above the source of heat. The flesh side 
will get done very quickly. Remove the 
claws and broil them a minute or two 
longer close to the charcoal. 

Either boiled or broiled lobsters are 
always sensational lead spots at the 
table. Other dishes seem pale by com- 
parison. However, a large platter of crisp 
salty French fried potatoes, some sliced 
beefstea atoes and a bowl of cole 
slaw with mustard dressing are quite 
compatible. For the finale, а cold billowy 
wedge of lemon chiffon pie, along with 
coffee. 

Once you've mastered the basic skills 
of boiling and broiling, you'll want to 
go on to other specialties in the great 
lobster variety show. Here now are a 
gaggle of lobster recipes all approved 
by PLayBoy: 


COLD STUFFED LONSTER 
(Two portions) 

2 boiled lobsters, 114 Ibs. each. chilled 

% cup diced ripe avocado 

1 large fresh tomato 

М cup mayonnaise 

2 tablespoons chili sauce 

Jf teaspoon Worcestershire sauce 

у teaspoon lemon juice 

Salt, pepper 

2 teaspoons finely chopped chives 

Split the lobsters in two, removing 
the claws and saving the lobster shells. 
Remove sac and yein from each lobster. 
Remove meat from the lobsters. Cut the 
lobster meat into dice Y-inch thick. 
Bring a saucepan of water to a rapid 
boil. Lower the tomato into the water 
for 15 seconds. Then place it under cold 
running water, peel off the skin and cut 
out the stem end. Squeeze the tomato 
gently to eliminate excess juice and cut 
it into \4-inch dice. Combine lobster 
meat with diced avocado, diced tomato, 
mayonnaise, chili sauce, Worcestershire 
sauce and lemon juice. Mix thoroughly. 


Add salt and. pepper to taste. Carefully 
spoon the lobster mixture into the lob- 
ster shells. Sprinkle with chopped chives. 
Serve very cold. 


LOBSTER FRA DIAVOLO 
(Two portions) 


No. 2 can Italian-style tomatoes with 
tomato paste 

2 live lobsters, 114 Ibs. each 

1 small onion minced 

2 tablespoons olive oil 

114 ozs. brandy 

1 teaspoon garlic powder 

1 tablespoon minced parsley 

y4 teaspoon basil 

И teaspoon rosemary 

Salt, pepper 

Put the tomatoes with tomato paste in 
a blending machine. Blend until no 
large pieces of tomato remain. Іп а 
medium-size saucepan, sauté the onion 
in olive ой until it just turns yellow, 
not brown. Add the brandy, light it and 
burn for a few seconds. Add the toma- 
toes, garlic powder, parsley, basil and 
rosemary. Simmer over a very low flame, 
stirring occasionally, Split the lobster 
following previous directions. Remove 
the tomalley and set it aside for later 
use. In a large pot fitted with a tight 
lid, bring 1 cup water to a boil. Add 
the split lobsters. Steam for five minutes, 
no longer. Remove lobsters from the 
pot. Pour liquid in which lobsters were 
steamed into the tomato mixture, Re- 
1nove lobster meat from shells, cut into 
slices Vginch thick and add to the 
tomato mixture. Simmer a few minutes. 
Slowly stir the tomalley into the sauce- 
pan. Simmer. don't boil, stirring con- 
stantly, about two minutes longer. Add 
salt and pepper to taste. 


LOBSTER NEWBURG 
(Two portions) 


Meat of 2 boiled lobsters, 114 Ibs. each 

И cup butter 

\ teaspoon paprika 

% cup dry sherry 

1⁄4 cup light cream 

% cup milk 

1 envelope instant chicken broth 

2 egg yolks beaten 

М cup milk 

Salt, white pepper 

Cut the cooked lobster meat into slices 
14-inch thick. In a heavy saucepan melt 
the butter over a low flame. Add the 
lobster. Sprinkle with paprika. Sauté 
one minute. Add the sherry, light cream 
and М cup milk. Slowly bring to a boil. 
Add the instant broth. Combine the 
beaten egg yolks with И cup milk, mix- 
ing well. Add 3 tablespoons of the hot 
liquid (rom the pan to the cgg yolks. 
Gradually stir the egg-yolk mixture into 
the pan, stirring constantly, and cooking 
only until the sauce thickens. Overcook- 


ing will cause it to curdle. As soon as 
the sauce begins to bubble around the 
edge of the saucepan. remove from the 
fire. Add salt and pepper to taste. Spoon 
the lobster newburg over hot fresh toast. 


LOBSTER STUFFED WITH GRAB MEAT 
(Two portions) 


? live lobsters, 1/4 to 154 Ibs. each 

1 cup fresh crab meat 

У cup light bread crumbs or cracker 

crumbs 

Butter 

3 tablespoons minced onion 

2 tablespoons minced green pepper 

1 tablespoon minced parsley 

1 teaspoon lemon juice 

Salt, pepper. paprika 

Prepare the lobster as for broiling, 
following previous directions. Remove 
the tomalley, and set it aside. Melt 3 
tablespoons butter in а saucepan. Add 
the onion and green pepper. Sauté until 
onion is yellow. Combine bread crumbs 
with sautéed vegetables and parsley. Add 
lemon juice, crab meat and lobster 
tomalley. Add salt and pepper to tast 
Broil the lobster as directed. After re- 
moving the lobster from the broiler and 
before transferring it to the oven, stuff 
the cavities of the lobster near the head 
with the crab-meat mixture. Sprinkle 
lightly with paprika. Bake as directed. 


LOBSTER STEW A LA PLAYBOY 


Meat from 2 boiled chicken lobsters 
14 cup butter 
Salt, white рерре 
2 cups milk 
И cup light cream 
14 teaspoon onion salt 
14 teaspoon monosodium glutamate 
Tabasco sauce 

Separate the lobster tomalley and the 
roc, if any, from the meat. Slice the meat 
yyinch thick. Force the tomalley and the 
roe through a coarse sieve ог colander 
into a heavy saucepan. Add the butter. 
Sauté very slowly, stirring constantly, 
about two minutes. Add the lobster. 
Sauté about two minutes more or until 
each piece of lobster has absorbed some 
of the butter. Sprinkle the lobster lightly 
with salt, white pepper and paprika. 
Add the milk and cream, Add the onion 
salt and monosodium glutamate. As 
slowly as possible bring the liquid up 
to the boiling point but do not boil. 
Remove from the fire. Add a dash of 
Tabasco sauce. You can eat the lobster 
stew at once, but to permit the flavors 
to really ripen and "marry," keep the 
lobster stew in the refrigerator over- 
night. Then reheat it in a double boiler 
only until hot. not an instant longer. 
Eat the stew with pilot crackers or 
Trenton crackers. Eat it with Relish. 
Gusto and Alacrity, too. 


paprika 


LAST MONTH, 


, in a tasty treatise on totable 


treats entitled The Picnic Papers, 
Thomas Mario outlined an array of 
delectables for outdoor enjoyment. 


You'll remember he talked about Hot 
Clam Madrilene, Cold Glazed Duckling, 
Onion Turnovers, Frogs’ Legs Proven- 
gale, icy thermoses of vodka martinis, 
сіс. It was an appetizing essay, but in 
our opinion, Tom didn’t place quite 
enough emphasis on the prime рге- 
requisite for picnic pleasure — the com- 
pany you choose to enjoy it with. Take, 
for example, Myrna Weber. 

Myrna, a fetching Floridian just 
turned 19, is а sunny-tempered, sun- 
toasted miss who would enhance any 
fun-function, be it cocktail party, téte- 
a-téte dinner, or—as in the case т 
point —a private picnic. And a picnic 
is a picnic whether it takes place in a 
sylvan glade or on а sandy shore. The 
sandy shore got our vote for an August 
picnic with Мута: this particular 
shore, far from the madding crowd, 
provided plenty of privacy for the 
healthful, pleasurable pursuit of over-all 
sunning and swimming. Later, near twi- 
light time, we roasted hot dogs over an 
open бге. They couldn't hope to 
measure up to Frogs’ Legs Provencale, 
but with Myrna there to share them 
with us, we couldn't have cared less. 


PLAYMATE 
ONA 
PICNIC 


a pulchritudinous 
p.s. to mr. mario's 
recent essay 


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PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES 


Тһе two sorority sisters were babbling 
gaily over a double malted. "How did 
you like the bridge party that the Sigs 
threw last night?" asked one. 

"Fine," answered the other, "until the 
campus cops came and looked under the 


bridge." 
a 


fT, 


Р % 
d 


№ jp 
NI 


Our Unabashed Dictionary defines 
courtship as an entertaining introduc- 


tion to a dull book. 


Yes, you heard correctly,” said РЬШ 
rather pensively to the cute cigarette & 
"My wife has run off with my very best 
friend." 

"Oh, Y'm terribly sorry, sir," said she. 
"I suppose he was a handsome scoun- 
drel.” 

"I don't really know," said Phillip, 
brightly. “Гуе never met the chap." 


Did you pick up any Italian on your 
vacation?" the secretary asked the honey 
blonde at the next desk. 

"ГИ say I did," enthused the honey. 
Let me hear you say some words." 
"] didn't learn any words." 


Arthur sat brooding at his favorite bar. 
“Charley,” he said to the bartender, "I'm 
a rat. I've a lovely wife at home and in- 
stead of appreciating her, I've been out 
getting into trouble with another woman. 
But a guy can reform. I'm going home 
right now, Charley, and I'm going to tell 
her everything, beg her to forgive me, 
and start anew as a model husband." 

Thereupon, Arthur paid his tab, went 
home, told his wife everything and 
begged her to forgive him so he could 
start anew as a model husband. 

“ТИ forgive you on one condition, 
Arthur,” his wife said. “I want to know 
the name of the woman." But Arthur 


was too gallant to tell. 

“Was it Susan Adams?" she asked. 

“I can't tell you, dear,” he said. 

"ГИ bet it was Mrs. Simpson," the 
wife declared. 
My lips are sealed," said hubby. 

"I know," exclaimed the wife, "it's 
that hussy Mrs. Higgins." 

"Тһе next day Arthur was seated again 
at his favorite bar and as he sipped on a 
vodka martini, the bartender asked how 
he'd made out with his good resolution 
of the night before. 

"Not bad," said Arthur. "My wife 
didn't forgive me, but she gave me three 
pretty good new leads.” 


W hy, hello, there,” said the sultry bru- 
nette to the young exec as he entered the 
elevator. "How's tall, dark and hands?" 


The distraught father hurried down the 
beach to the spot where his lovely 
daughter lay. A bronzed lifeguard stood 
over her. 


ted her, sir,” he said. 
xclaimed the father, 


A dedicated bachelor is one who be- 
lieves in the adage wine, women and 
s'long. 


1 don’t know what's wrong with me, 
doctor," said the curvy callgirl. “I feel 
tired, dragged out. Pooped. No pep. 


. No 
get up and go. Is it vitamin deficiency, 
low blood count, or what?" 

The medico gave her a tip-to-toe ex- 
amination and then his verdict: "Young 
lady, there's really nothing wrong with 
you. You're run-down, that's all. You've 
been working too hard. I suggest you 
try staying out of bed for a few days." 


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


Gohan Woon 


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“Looks lik 


PLAYBOY 


42 


UNREASON in DETROIT. from page 25) 


cars — automobiles made by Detroits 
European subsidiaries. Typically, Gen- 
eral. Motors modified its foreign cars to 
make them slightly larger. heavier, more 
bechromed and more expensive. As the 
miserable sales year of 1957 wore on into 
the ible sales year of 1958, it be- 
came hideously apparent to Detroit that 
loreign car sales were not only steadily 
increasing іп proportion, but that in 
ict, foreign cars were the only cars sell- 
ing at any sort of clip, except for the 
American Motors Rambler, which had 
been specifically designed to compete 
with them. Thus, in midwinter, word 
went around that every manufacturer 


would produce some small cars іп 1960. 
At this point, it scems safe to predict 
that 


Detroit will miss the boat once 
зе Detroit simply doesn't 


understand that the virtue of the small 
European car is not specifically that it is 
small. 


lt might pay Detroit to tike another 
look at those Europcan cars and at the 
people who buy them. For instance, il 
the foreign car's small size сап be con- 
sidered а virtue, it is only when the 
purchaser's specific use of the car is such 
that any larger car would bc too big; any 
smaller car would be too small. 

Гһе real virtues of the European 
models are that they bear something 
resembling an honest price; that th 
quality is all the advertising they really 
need (thus they are advertised as auto- 
mobiles, and not as sick dreams); that 
they are soundly built of good materials 
and are well painted; that their horse- 
power is no greater than necessary to 
meet any legitimate demand: that their 
fuel consumption runs closer to 30 than 
to 13 miles a gallon; that their repair 
rate is low; that the driver actually 
drives the car instead of being at the 
mercy of capricious gadgets; that they 
are a much more adequate means of 
transportation economically, aesthetical- 
ly and in every other way than anything 
Detroit is currently selling — again with 
the exception of the Corvette and the 
Rambler. This is true of foreign cars 
in all sizes, from Rolls-Royce sedans to 
Volkswagens. Thus, it is quality and not 
size that speaks for the foreign car. And, 
the quality is essentially that the design 
exactly matches the intended function. 
This is the real test of good taste in 
industrial design, just as it is in the 
fine arts. 

Now, who usually buys the foreign 
car? Answer: young men buy most new 
cars; of these, the most youthful in fact 
and in heart buy most forcign cars. 
Youth has always had the ability to see 
through sham because youth is naively 
honest, rebellious and suspicious of con- 
vention and pretense. In this case, when 


youth buys a machine, it wants to buy 
ап honest machine, responsive to youth's 
dominant control. Detroit could find 
out why people buy foreign cars simply 
by asking its own young executives why 
they don't buy the Fords, Plymouths, 
Dodges, Cadillacs, Buicks and Mercuries 
that their companies make. Why are 
these young exccutives driving Jaguars, 
Porsches, MGs, Triumphs and Citroëns 
Price has nothing to do with that list of 
preferences. Neither has size. But some- 
thing called quality ha 

Everything indicates Detroit is blind 
to the implications of the foreign sale. 
While all manufacturers promise even- 
tually to produce some small cars, they 
don't promise many. In fact, they're 
thinking in terms of 15% of production. 
It precisely this preoccupation with 
bigness in cars that led Ford to ruin 
whatever raison d'étre the Thunderbird 
ever had. The Thunderbird. looked like 
а sports car. И is a sports car's function 
to provide the driver with sport, how- 
ever, and sports buffs were quick to 
say the "Thunderbird was nothing but 
и small Ford in disguise, not to be men- 
tioned in the same breath with Corvette, 
much less with Jaguar. Instead of build- 
ing a sports function into. the 
Thunderbird's appearance, however, the 
Ford company next abandoned its tenta- 
tive step in the sports сағ» direction іп 
favor of a giant step in exactly the op- 
posite direction. It converted the Thun- 
derbird into a small, fourseater hardtop, 
thus winding up with something not 
quite a sedan, certainly not a sports car, 
and not even a Thunderbird. Here is 
yet another example of Detroit's char- 
acteristic remoteness from reality, but 
the worst is yet to come. 

The 1959 models to be unveiled this 
fall will be wider, lower, longer, more 
bedizened and befinned than ever. As 
The New York Times puts it, they will 
be “devoid of any radical engineering 
principles" Learning nothing and for- 
getting nothing, unwilling to admit that 
lagging sales may reflect consumer ге- 
vulsion, Detroit, plagued by depression, 
this year will spend 81.5 million on those 
"new, all new" 1959 models (designed in 
1957) merely to lengthen Ford's wheel 
base two inches; to substitute spears for 
fins on Plymouth's stern; to abolish 
Chewolet's folded rump effect in favor 
of sharp fins; to lower roofs; to bend 
those glaring windshiclds even farther 
up and around; to slap multicolored 
aluminum about in the interiors; to 
fritter and fiddle with trivia. Sic semper 
Detroit. 

Detroit dug itself into its own bog 
largely because it has always been an 
introverted, provincial town. Detroit's 
provincialism is almost self-explanatory. 


Our automotive pioneers, humble men 
with the hayseed's fear of being laughed 
at, never got over the embarrassment of 
equipping the first Oldsmobile bodies 
with whipsockets. Thus, Detroit turned 
its attention to itself, where it felt safe. 
It has been estimated that Motor City's 
conversation consists of 75%, talk about 
automobiles, 15%, about sports and 109; 
about television. More important, every 
observer of Detroit reports that Detroit's 
executives talk of almost nothing but 
automobiles at home, at the office 
lunch, and at the country club. Thu: 
far from being in touch with the outside 
world, far from understanding the real 
implications of market and motivation 
research, Detroit became as remote and 
as inbred as the Jukes family. 
Additional oit has rarely con 
lea to automotive 
ys been afflicted 


dedi dynamic obsolescence.” 
lie Wilsonism сап best 
ned in terms of General. Mo- 
tors’ research and development center, 
which is dedicated neither to research 
nor to development, but to applied tink- 
ng. This bespeaks the dicta of Charles 
Wilson, former director of GM destiny, 
who said: "Basic research is when you 
don't know what you're doing." and 
again, "И we want to go ahead and have 
pure research, let us let somebody else 
subsidize it." 

The result of this policy became 
apparent when The New York Times 
asked Edward T. Ragsdale, GM's gen 
eral manager of the Buick division, what 
Buick was doing in 1958 toward achiev- 
ing fuel economy. "Oh." Mr. Ragsdale 
id lightly, "we're helping the gas com- 
panies, the same as our competitors.” 

Thus, GM devotes more effort to fid- 
dling with superficial styling than to 
increasing the efficiency of its products. 
In styling as in engineering, however, 
the word is sloth, For instance, GM 
introduced из vile two-tones іп 1940; 
s dangerously unsupported hardtop in 
1948; its vision-distorting windshield 
in 1954 and Europe's old air springs 
in 1958. 

This brings us to "dynamic obsoles- 
cence" for which there is no excuse or 
English translation. other than blind 
greed. The trick is to bring out a car 
just a little different cach year, but not 
{оо dificrent, зо that this year's drcam- 
boat will become next ycars old hat 
without causing а sudden drop їп used 
car prices. Detroit calls the process “су- 
cling” and this is how it's done at GM: 

For its more than 50-odd models, GM 
has three basic body shells, forthrightly 
called А, B and C. Chevrolet and Pon- 
tiac use A bodies. B bodies go on Olds- 
mobiles, Buick Specials and Centuries. 

(concluded on page 65) 


Аян 


SRG 


ge 


DYEDIN-THE-WooL lazer (bugs (you 
need not own a banjo to qualify) con- 
sider their breed|of jacket niftily 
nonpareil for skylarking — day or 
night. Ever since the whoopdedoo of 
the Twenties, yachtsmen \wouldn't 
think of putting to sea (even in a 
canoe) without their solid blue flan- 
nel jobs, while club fellows lived for 
their Ма bartsttiped models 
(both, of course, sporting metal but 
tons, the distinguishing mark of a 
bona-fide blazer), А fresh wrinkle on 
the subject, here beswatched in but 
three of its myriad color combo$, is а 
zephyr-weight woolen fabric féatur 
ing subtly muted regimental stripes 
—unabáshedly borrowed from your 
better |neckties. "The jacket's | cut: 
slimly trim. Lap high-notched and 
narrow, Pockets: flapped and patched 
Buttons: burnished |brass. Fab: $5 


АУ 


| 
| 
| 
А 


PROVO 


Ха 


PLAYBOY 


“Well, good night, gang—it's time I was crawling into the sack.” 


15 there no escalator to ecstasy? 


т THE Risk of being called Ishmael, 1 

have been sitting here on my duffel 
bag reading Moby Dick in the flickering 
glare of a three-way binnacle lamp, and 
brooding over a newspaper clipping 
pasted inside my sou'wester. “RECORD 15 
SOUGHT OF WHALE HEART," reads the curi- 
ous legend nailed beneath the masthead 
of The New York Times. “9 Expeditions 
Aim to Take Electrocardiograms — One 
Will Use Tranquilizer. 
Scurrying down the ratlines of print 
with muffled cries of “Shiver me Mil- 
towns!" we learn that the two parties 
were all set to shove off from the quaint 
old port of Los Angeles "on hunts for 
whales on which to make heart experi- 
ments.” Led by Dr. Paul Dudley White, 
the Eisenhower heart specialist, one of 
these expeditions was bound for Scam- 
mon Lagoon on the west coast of Lower 
ifornia, where they would 
а whale nursery in a helicopter. 
he plan calls for darts to pierce the 
muscle tissue of the whale, then transmit 
by radio signal an electrocardiogram to 
specialists waiting on the beach," the 
Times yarn continues, copping the plca 
that “precise pulsebeats will add to sci- 
entific knowledge of human hear 

“We'll put our electrodes into а 
mother whale from the Dr. White 
is quoted as saying. "We believe we сап 
make our approach a little better that 
way than in a boat." 

Now, I don't wish to be dragged into 
а ѕеа-аіг controversy over the best way 
to approach a mother whale. As an able- 
bodied landlubber with a phobia against 
ferryboats and flying machines, it doesn’t 
inatter to ine whether Dr. White, and his 
trusty crew use surfboards, Sputniks or a 
ficet of old inner tubes. But I should 
think that being hovered over by a heli- 
copter would make any whale so nervous 
and fidgety that a recording of precis 
pulsebeats would be impossible. 

It was this consideration that prompt- 
ed Dr. Frank G. Nolan, leader of the 
second whale chase, to enlist the aid 
of a tranquilizer. According to the same 
news account, Dr. Nolan planned to 
“Jead an expedition of small boats in the 
Catalina Channel sea lane used by south: 


bound whales off southern Californi: 
What the doctor's attitude would be 
toward northbound, westbound or cross- 
town whales, I don't know. The last 1 
heard, he was eagerly pacing the poop- 
deck with a tranquilizer-tipped harpoon. 
The drug, he hoped, would produce “а 
very happy whal 

Ofthand, it sounded as though it had 
already produced a very happy doctor. 
But I still couldn't see how a depth study 
of whale ра ations could add to the 
scientific knowledge of the human heart. 
Granted that whales are maminals, just 
like people — but are we really coronary 
cousins? Brothers beneath the иу 

In my thirst for further enlighten- 
ment, I began combing the local bars 
and beaches for notes in bottles that 
might offer some clue as to how the doc 
tors made out. Peering into empties and 
whistling hornpipes, Г was just getting 
to the point where І по longer cared, 
when along came a series of medical 
clif-hangers written by Гай Ubell, 
Science Editor of the New York Herald 
ribun Will YOU Have a Hcart 
Attack?" Mr. Ubell shouted across the 
top of the page, like а hard-of-hearing 
houseboy passing the hors d'oeuvres, 

"Heart attack," The words rattle like 
а machine gun . 

"Are you the muscular месі worker 
who feels a little numbing pain in your 
shoulder from time to time? Are you the 
diabetic housewife? Or the fast-paced 
executive who lives at his desk? Or the 
70-year-old woman who lives alone? 

“Which one will it be who staggers, 
clutches his fist to his chest, blinking and 
sweating with pain . . .?" 

Up until that moment, 1 had been 
fecling no pain at all. Аз а slow-paced 
non-executive type, with no more muscle 
than it takes to hoist a double bourbon 
and change the ribbon in my Smith 
Coroi I had no trouble staying away 
from my desk for days at a time. True, 
my left foot sometimes got a little numb 
from sitting on it, and I have been 
known to stagger, but the only thing 
that made me blink and sweat was the 
machine gun rattle of Mr. Ubell’s prose: 

“Sometimes the heart beats wildly — 


humor By WILLIAM IVERSEN 


PLAYBOY 


46 


180 times a minute compared to a пог 
mal 90 times а minute. Sometimes it 
skips beats, and loses its syncopation . . . 
the familiar and constant sound of lub- 
dub... Ішкі»... lubdub ... lub- 
dub... may become lub-dub-dub ... 
lub-lub .., 

Picking up the beat of my own off-sync 
ticker, } found that it could also throb 
with a familiar and. constant. chugza-lug 
22 drinkchuga-lug ... chug-a-lug. As 
Mr. Ubell's series rolled on, however. 
the rhythm changed to a rapid. tippy: 
tippy-tin of anxiety, because the more 
Tread the worse my odds became. 

“IT you were a Bantu in South Africa 
or a Japanese in Japan your chances of 
suffering a heart attack would be small. 
You might be protected by your low fat 
dict, by your heredity or even by your 
way of life,” he informed me, one bright. 
grim morning. 

"But as an American you could, at any 
moment. become a victim of the greatest 
plague that has hit mankind since small- 
pox swept Europe . . .” 

A handicap chart based on “Dict 
and Cholesterol” indicated that safc- 
money bets on coronary health could be 
made on the Japanese farmers of Кор; 
the clerks of Shime and the doctors of 
Fukuoka, with the Caucasians of Los 
Angeles running as no-can-do long shows. 
In fact, it appeared doubtful whether 
the average American male could run at 
all, what with smoking, overeating and 
working at a sedentary job. 

І had just about decided to swear off 
food, cigarettes and. sitting down, when 
Mr. Ubell pulled the rug out from under 
me with a chapter on the “Effect of Sex- 
ual Intercourse on а Weakened Heart.” 
lt seems that а certain Dr. Willi 
Dock, of the Palo Alto Medi, , 
has discovered that “sexual intercourse 
mposcs sustained circulatory stress 
comparable to that caused by running 
up four to nine flights of stairs.” Worse 
yet, the late Dr. Ernst Boas, "who did 
one of the first studies of heart rate 
during sexual intercourse," found that 
"many cases of cardiac infarction. (heart 
attack) occur during coitus. 

That was it, as far as I was concerned. 

Recalling that "as an American” I 
could. "at any moment, become a victim 
of the greatest plague that has hit man- 
kind since smallpox swept Europe,” 1 
canceled all engagements that might 
involve running up stairs, and stretched 
out in my heartsaver chair to read the 
article through from the beginning. 

“One of the most urgent questions 
asked by a recovering victim of a heart 
attack i 

"Мау I have sexual intercourse with- 
out danger to my heart? Will I have 
another heart attack if 1 do?“ 

To which Ме. Ubell replied: “This is 
a dificult question for the doctor to 
answer because there is litte scientific 


information that can bc used as a guide." 

What information there was seemed 
pretty damned complete to me, however, 
For instance: 

“Dr. Boas, іп his pioneering work, 
measured the heart rate of various activi 
ties. The rate during sex orgasm was the 
highest, 148 times a minute. The others 
were: moderately violent exercise, 1 
dancing, 130; cating, 102; sitting and 
talking, 107; telephoning. 106; walking. 
118." 

No score was given for sitting and 
reading hearcrate statistics, but [im sure 
it was at least on a par with moderately 
violent drinking. се Dr. Boas’ studies 
were made back in the 1930s, 1 tried to 
console myself with the fact that his fig- 
ures may have been high due to the 
emotional strain of celebrating Repeal 
and listening to Rudy Vallee records. 

Not so. howev 

Only last year Dr. Roscoe G. Bartlett 
and Dr, V. С. Bohr "reported new meas 
urements made on three married couples 
during sexual intercourse," and "found 
that with heart rates that normally beat 
70 to 80 times a minute, the rates 
jumped to 170 to 190 beats. The breath. 
ing rate tripled. ‘The electrocardiograms 
showed abnormal and skipped Бе 
which never occurred when the couples 
ater did exercise.” 

Whether they did toe-touches and 
push-ups or frolicked about courting 
cardiac infarctions with a spirited game 
of leapfrog. Mr. Ubell didn't say, but 
it's evident from the figures that the 
national pulse is pounding at a р 
rate tl пу time in recent history. 
In line with the general inflationary 
trend. the “physical effort and emotional 
excitement” of conjugal sex has risen 
42 heartbeats in the past 20-004 years— 
an increase of almost half the number of 
lub-dubs required to eat or telephone 
when Dr. Boas made his pioncering stud- 
ies in the 19305, Reduced to its simplest 
terms, this would seem to indicate that 
а mid-Depression couple might have еп» 
joyed а L18-beat orgasm under the NRA, 
and still have had 42 beats left over to 
put through a short call to the corner 
delicatessen, while the 190-beat couples 
of today are triple-breathing under a 
ed circulatory stress comparable 
At caused by running up four to 
nine flights of stairs. 

Pausing to catch our breaths, it be- 
hooves each of us to consider what the 
ates must be Гог unmarried couples — 
nd then ask, quite honestly. "May Z 
have sexual intercourse without danger 
to my heart?" 

Are all women walk-ups? 

Is it not possible to meet love on a 
lower landing? 

15 there no escalator to ecstasy 

Faced with blanks instead of answers, 
we can only hope that Doctors. Nolan 
and White will come up with some 


sound scientific guidance. Though they 
may appear to be all at sca in their 
attempts to record the electrocardio- 
grams of whales, I've come to suspect 
that they may be on the right wack after 
П. Did not Melville speak of hovering. 
over а whale herd and espying “youn 
Leviathan amours in the deep”? Has he 
not made а footnote of the fact that 
“When overflowing with mutual esteem, 
the whales salute more hominum" — т 
the same manner as humans? 

Sulphur-bottom, humpback or sperm. 
we are all closer to being Moby Dicks 
than anyone who saw the movie might 

лоте. Open the book to Chapter 
LXXXVIII, for instance, where the In 
comparable Herman. describes the two 
predominant schools of whales: “those 
composed almost entirely of females, and 
those mustering попе but young vigor 
ous males.” 

“Like a mob of young collegians,” the 
males “are full of fight, fun. and wicked: 
ness. tumbling round the world at such 
а reckless, rollicking rate, that по pru 
dent underwriter would insure them апу 
more than he would a riotous fad at Yale 
or Harvard. They soon relinquish this 
turbulence though. and when about 
three fourths grown, break up. and sep 
arately go about in quest of settlements 
that із, harems.” 

“In cavalier attendance upon the 
school of females, you invariably sec а 
male of full grown magnitude ... In 
truth, this gentleman is a luxurious Otto. 
man, swimming about over the watery 
world, surroundingly accompanied by all 
the solaces and endearments of the 
harem...” 

It's a cinch that few 
grads ever had jt as good as these 
freestyle alumni of the 20,000 Ivy 
Leagues under the sea, and I'm all for 
manning the whaleboats and learning 
as much as we € 

“Г was already aware 
whaling business they p 
Ishmael informs us, "but all 
including the captain, received. certain 
shares of the profits called lays. and that 
these lays were proportioned to the 
degree of importance pertaining to the 
respective duties of the ship's com 
1 was also aware that being a green hand 
at whaling, my own lay would not be 
very large; but considering that 1 was 
used to the sea, could steer à ship, splice 
а rope, and all that, 1 made no doubt 
that from ail I had heard | should be 
offered at least the 275th lay — that is, 
the 275th part of the clear net proceeds. 
of the voyage, whatever that might 
eventually amount to. And though the 
275th lay was what they call a rather 
long lay. ус it better than 
nothing . . <" 

Which are my sentiments exactly 


Harvard. or Old 


that in the 


was 


HISTORY REVISITED 


suppressed for centuries, the truth shines forth at last 


“aisroky,” in the opinion of Tolstoy. "is 
nothing but a collection of fables.” “АП 
the coloring of history,” wrote Dr. John 
son, "is conjecture." George Santayana 
went on record as saying, “History is al 
ways written wrong, and so always needs 
to be rewritten," а view also held by 
Oscar Wilde, who declared: "The one 
duty we owe to history is to rewrite it." 


Historian [ету Yulsman (ће also 
takes pictures) agrees wholeheartedly 
with these eminent gentlemen, so, de 
ciding that one man’s conjecture is an 
other man's truth, he has set about 
rewriting history not with the pen but 
with the camera. Future generations may 
k his findings with the uncovering of 
the Rosetta stone, and іп the meantime, 


By JERRY YULSMAN 


The рглүвоу Historical Society gives 
them its unalloyed approval and еп- 
dorsement. We have long suspected that 
the nored men who shaped history were 
not the dullards our school textbooks 
made them out to be. Mr. Yulsman has 
mercly confirmed our belief that behind 
every outstanding figure of history was 
another kind of outstanding figure. 


ARCHIMEDES, previous historians tell, observed things about the relationship of bulk to water displacement 
when he lowered his own bulk into a bathtub, causing him to cry out, "Eureka! I have found it!" This is true, 
except in one significant detail: both the bathtub and the beautiful bulk belonged to a nubile next-door neighbor 
of Peeping Archimedes’. Her name: Eureka. 


47 


PLAYBOY 


48 


LEIF ERICSON, valiant Viking, discovered America long before Columbus, but did his best to play down 
the fact. History has been at a loss to explain this—until now. It seems Leif, ever eager to propagate Scan- 
dinavian customs, taught Swedish massage to the daughter of a savage Indian chief and things went so 
well that her father soon started talking about a tomahawk wedding. Leif left the New World under a cloud 
and the daughter was exiled to the wilds of the inland territories, where she founded the Scandinavian 
community which, to this day, is known by her name, Minne-So-Ta. 


MARCO POLO endured the long, 
perilous journey to the Far East for 
the sake of those exotic Oriental 
spices, conventional historians claim, 
and for once they are telling the 
truth. However, they cravenly 
abridge the list of spices, which in- 
cluded Nutmeg, Ginger, Pepper, 
Curry Powder, Cassia Leaf, Lotus 
Blossom, and Lotus Blossom's sis- 
ters, Golden Bell, Fragrant Incense 
and Exquisite Form. 


SIR ISAAC NEWTON, sometimes known as 
Mr. Gravity, hit upon the what-goes-up-must- 
come-down theory when (so the story goes) he was 
boinked on the bean by a falling apple. Actually, 
it was the apple of his eye who boinked him— 
inadvertently, with a slipping slipper, whilst 
sneaking out to meet Sir Isaac's younger rival. 


WILLIAM SHAKESPEARE really did write all those plays and sonnets which bear that illustrious 
byline, and cranks who aver they were written by Francis Bacon, Christopher Marlowe, the Earl of Oxford, 
the Count of Derby and others are all wet. А point not so well known is that William Shakespeare was а 
woman, probably the one who started the "modern" trend for masculine monickers on girls (Billie, Bobbie, 
Jackie, etc.). The fellow in the foreground? That's Bacon or Marlowe or Oxford or Derby or someone. 


PLAYBOY 


PAUL REVERE was not revered 
by Colonial men, no matter what 
Longfellow said. His famous ride 
was planned as a hoax to lure hus- 
bands, brothers and fathers away 
from their homes so Paul could 
be alone with their wives, sisters 
and daughters. Coincidentally, the 
Redcoats did attack that night, all 
unbeknownst to pleasure-prone Paul 
and his fair friends. They read about 
it in the papers the next morning. 


ULYSSES S. GRANT, Northern general, won the War of the States all right, but not even Southern 
textbooks give the true reason. Things had been going badly for both sides and General Grant had 
every intention of surrendering to General Lee on that fateful morning of April 9, 1865. However, 
having tented on the old camp ground with an appetizing little abolitionist the night before, Grant 
awoke somewhat later than usual. Lee, who also planned to surrender his sword that morning, best 
Grant, so to speak, to the draw. 


TOI 


~e, "ma à dva 
рут 


NAPOLEON BONAPARTE, аз everybody knows, set out to conquer the Russian Bear and suffered ignominious 
defeat. Until now, chroniclers have suppressed the fact that it was not the Russian Bear but the bare Russians, 
or camp followers, that so distracted the Little Corporal with vodka and venery that all his maps began to look 
alike and his famed strategy dissolved like the mists of the morning. This fiendish forerunner of brainwashing was 
known as Russian Coquette. 


51 


PLAYBOY 


52 


DROP DEAD (continued fram page 14) 


the night shift. So whats the matter 
with you? Why are you still here, why 
do 1 sec your ugly face every night, why. 
why? Well, I don't know why. Me, Г 

а damn good newspaperman. 1 know 
1 can work for anybody and I've worked 
for most of them. Гуе done other мий, 
Advertising, PR — I didn't like it, 1 tried 
to write а book. L didn't have any book 
in me, You think what I do around here 
is writing? It p. It's for Mrs. Schultz 
о tsk-tsk and then she wraps the fish 
in it. That's all I'm good for. Mrs. Schultz. 
always a dance in the old dame 
yet. Everybody wants recognition. You 
know what I mean? We never any of us 
really grow up, we always got to have 
somebody else telling us listen, you're а 
Big Man, you did a great job, you're 
really somebody now, And that's what it 
is with these punk kids getting in trou- 
ble. You think they do it for kicks like 
they when they get caught beating 
up on some old аре in the alley? No, no, 
they do it for recognition. Nobody gives 
them a second look until they get in some 
big trouble and then they get their name 
in the papers and the other punks step 
aside, this is a Big Man now, a Big Man. 
Ah, your mother's big nose. Recognition. 
Innkeeper! Innkeeper! Fill us with the 
old familiar juice, for the love of God." 

The job didn’t last. The Turk lost his 
interest in it as he eventually lost in- 
terest in everything. He started calling 
in sick again and again and finally he 
didn't bother to call at all, and they 
took it eight times, and then the night 
editor took iside and told him he 
was fired. 

The man took it seriously and tried 
to be nice but The Turk laughed in his 
face. 

Joe McGee stopped him on his way 
out. 

"Where do you go from here, kid? 
You got а job, something to keep you 
busy?" He sounded a little more ұш! 
than usual. 

“No, I don't hive no job. 1 don't 
want no job for a while. I'm just gonna 
ball and bop around awhile, You know 
h, I know. With the statutes." 

“Maybe.” 

“That's just swell. Listen, what's the 
matter with you? What did you get 
yourself fired (ог? Kicks?" 

"Yeah, for kicks." 
ybe you'll do something real big 
now, huh? Rob a bank? Push some old 
lady down the stairs like Richard Wid- 
mark? Kill somebody?” 

"Sure," said The Turk. 

“Well, ГИ see you," said Joe McGee. 
“And you know where I'll see you. 1 can 
write the story now and fill in the names 
when it happens. Go ahead. Be a Big 
Man. Go all the way. Go to Sing Sing. 
Go to the chair. Go to hell. Have а good- 


looking corpse, you stupid little jerk." 

“I said I like you and I still do, Mr. 
McGee," said The Turk. "I mean it, it's 
been real nice knowing you. You're а 
good guy." 

"Drop dead," [oe McGee said. The 
Turk turned to go and Joe McGee 
touched his arm. 

"Wait a minute," he said. He fished 
a handful of bills and change out of his 
pocket. “Неге, take this, maybe it'll pay 
the rent or something. Look. Take care 
of yourself, you dumb, dumb little — 
ah, get out, get out, get out...” 

Well, they weren't all like Joe McG 

Some of them were like Teddy . 

It would be supper time in their 
cheesy little apartment over the laundry, 

eddy would be home from the Navy 
Yard and planted in the only comfort- 
able chair reading the horse pages and 
drinking beer. 

The cooking smell would get into 
your ears and soon his mother would 
set the table with the glass plates and 
the food still in the pots and pans and 
they would all sit down and Vhe Turk 
would dread every moment of it. 

He would just sit and eat and try to 
mind his own business and hope Teddy 
wouldn't start something but one thing 
or another always brought it on. 

Teddy had an annoying habit of pre- 
tending to be deaf and he would get 
into conversations in the middle. 

"What did you do in school today, 


e. 


dear?" his mother would say. 
Nothin’, 2 
"Nothing at all?" 
"Well, nothin’ special. Today's 


м 


Inesday. History, Phys Ed, Сіуіс-" 

"What's fizz ed?" "Teddy would rum- 
ble. 

"Physical 
would say, 

"Mise 
is that?" 

"He said physical education, dear," 
his mother would say, 

"Never mind what you think he said. 
Let him tell me. What am I sending him 
to school for, to learn to mumble? Let 
him talk decent.” 

“You're sending me to school? Some 
cruddy public school I've got to “қо, 
you're sending me there?" 

And so it would start, and finally Тһе 
Turk would just leave without finishing 
his meal. 

Or in bed, late at night. The Turk 
would listen to "Teddy, drunk, giving 
his mother a bad time in the kitchen. 

"What the hell were you before 1 
came along? Tell me that. What were 
the pair of you, you and the kid? Hah?" 

“Teddy, please go to bed. You're tired, 
dear. You have to get up in the morn- 
ing." 

“I don't have to do nothing in this 


education, Тһе Turk 


ble education? What the hell 


life but die, everything else I got a 
choice. ГИ tell you what you were. You 
were а pair of bums and for my moncy 
that punk won't never be nothing but а 
bum." 

“Teddy, Teddy, Robert is ап only 
child, he's all I've got besides you." 

"You hear the way he talks to me? 
Is that any way for a young kid to talk 
to his old man, even if 1 am his si 
Where'd he get that snotty habit, 
? I'll tell you where, From that 
no-good crud you were married to, his 
father, that no-good crud, 

“Teddy! The Dead!” 
his is what 1 think of the dead! 
Dead he's better off. He wasn't nothing 
but a lousy weakling and his son is 
nothing but a bum and soon as the punk 
gets his wofking papers he goes out, 
understand me, unless he learns how to 
act nice...” 

A lot to think about, a lot to go over, 
a lot of good and bad stuff to mull over 


and decide — decide what? Well, just 
decid 

с Another minute, 

The guys . 

"Will ya get a load of this jerk?" said 


Roger Connolly, leader of The Invaders, 
as the new member stood before him and 
his boys. "What's your name, stupid 

“It's Bob—" 

Crack! 

A sunburst of pain blinded The Turk 
as the fist hit him. 

"Don't you know how to talk to peo- 
ple, stupid?” 

"The Turk blinked hard and the little 
room in the cellar took shape and here 
was Roger Connolly standing in front 
of him. 

"What did you do that for?’ The 
"Turk sai 

Connolly's 
fell open 


қарса and his mouth 
burlesque of incredulity. 

"Will ya listen to him?" the gang 
leader said. "What did I do that for? 
What do I think I am, running tl 
outfit or something? Look at him stand- 
in’ there like he was a T 

"A Turk! A Turk! A jerky Turk! А 
turkey Jerk!” chanted The Invaders, 
circling the two boys like wolves. 

"Listen, stupid . . Connolly. 

“You listen, stupid. 

“What did you call me?” 

“I said stupid. You're a stupid bastard, 
you stink, you're a fruit," 

The leader flung his jacket off. 

“I guess you want a real initiation," 
he said. “I'll give you one, ГИ make you 
4 member. А dead member, We'll put 
your name on the honor roll. I'm gonna 
like doing—" 

Suddenly The Turk crunched his heel 
down on the other boy's instep. As the 
gang leader's head went down in reflex, 
The Turk slammed his knee into Con- 
(continued overleaf) 


"I'm worried about Sonny. Nineteen years old 
and he still plays up in his old treehouse.” 


PLAYBOY 


54 


DROP DEAD 


mollys face, then rabbitwhacked. him 
on the neck 
Vhup! ‘Vhup! Thup' The Turk 


Kicked the boy as he lay squirming on 
the floor, until he stopped squirming. 

“Anybody else The Turk said. They 
were all gaping at their fallen leader. 
One had the sense to answer. 
©. m: he said. "You're the Man 
now. You're Big Boss. if vou want to be." 

"MI right," Ehe Turk said. "MI right. 
Throw him out of here, Jump!” Three 
of them hustled the battered boy out 
and flung him into an alley. 

They led him The Turk from that 
day on, and as leader, one of his first 
official actions was to change the name 
of the gang to The Turks. For two won- 
derful years he led them, picked and 
chose their victims and his women, made 
his guys jump for him like а bunch of 
trained. monkeys. 

He felt like he really belonged to 
something, for the first time. He was 
able to keep it from Teddy until his 
stepfather found out that he and seven 
Turks had been closely questioned about 

pocketbook snatch in which an old 
woman was pretty badly beaten up. 
Vhere was a showdown at supper that 
night. 

"You're nothing but a lousy little 
gangster. You're one of those teenage 
hoodlums in the papers. Well, is it-true?” 

“You know all the answers.” 

This is how you get your money.” 

"No, this isn't how 1 get my money. 
You know I got à job nights down at the 
paper. 

“You weren't there last. night. 
called up. Where were you?” 

None of your goddamn busine: 

Veddy came at him but The Turk 
was ready. and one good jab in that beer 
belly deflated the older man like the bag 
of wind he was, That was the night The 
Turk finally left home for good . 

Chick! 

Then, man, there was Lorna, 

The Turk shut his eyes against the 
ceiling light and lolled in an ecstacy of 
memory, of those nights with her in the 
Polack's cellar, of the way she would 
exult in every violent thing he did, of 
her looking across а crowd at him with 
the wide hunger in her eyes, until they 
had to sneak away somewhere for half 
an hour... 

The night he met her the gang had 
crashed a Police Mhletic League dance. 
They were incognito: they had left the 
“TURK” jackets home. The Turk strolled 
along the wall of the drafty old gym, 
looking them over, until he saw her. 

That jerk she was dancing with, he 
didn't rate girl like that, h her 
night-black hair, her tall. proud body, 
the dark, insulting eyes. the full. hungry 
looking lips. The Turk went out and 


They 


(continued from page 


lapped the guy on the shoulder: 

“Td like to dance with your girl.” 
t lost.” 

“I said it in a пісе w buddyroo, I'd 
like a dance with your girl. 

“L told you to get lost." Magically, 
The Turk's men had cut them ой from. 
the rest of the dancers bur in а way that 
did not attract attention, 

By the way she was looking at him — 
there was fear there, but something else, 
too— The Turk knew he was on sure 
ground. One of his guys stepped close 
to the jerk 

“Thi: 
"He's gonna dance with the 

"He's real brave with ci 
help him,” said the jerk. 

“You don't dig, man. We're not pro 
tecting him, we're protecting you.” 

"Wait a minute," said The Turk 
staring at the girl. "Let the lady decide 
You want to dance with me, ? 

‘Look, lets not have апу troubli 
the girl said. "Sure, I'll dance with vou. 
Jimmy, ГП see you later, huh?" 
"You bitch," Jimmy said. 

“Thats по way to talk to a lady,” 
Turk said 

“I wasn't talking to a lac 
said. 

"Maybe you and me better take a 
ише walk.” The Turk said. 

"Sure, you and your friends herc 
Just you and me, buddyroo." 
“Turk,” said the one who had spoken 
хо Jimmy, “this is the P.A.L., you know? 
There's cops all over the place, Turk, 
listen, take it easy.” 

“I'm not afraid of him,” Jimmy said. 
He left. with The Turk strolling after 
him. The other Turks cased the girl 
over to a chair and stood around her. 

Presently The Turk came back in. 
massaging his right wrist, and silently 
led the girl out on the dance floor. 

"So you're The Turk," she said. 

“That's me, lady. 1 suppose you got a 
те? 
reputation, too." 

ГИ take the name first.” 

"Lorna." 

“Lorna.” The Turk said 

"What did you do to h 

"What did 1 do to who?" 

"You know who." 

"You must be talkin’ about somebody 
who isn't here," The Turk said. “Some- 
body who just blew away, you know?" 

"АП Туе got to do is yell, Turk," the 
girl said. “АП you'll sce is cop." 

“Go аһеа 

“I might.” 

"Go on, yell.” The Turk said. 

"Maybe not right now,” Lorna said. 
staring all over his face. “Maybe later 
Much later." 

The way she was dancing with him, 
the way they fitted. together, like they 


The 


* Jimmy 


“I like that." 


were meant to do something about it 

"Lets take а ride.” The Turk said. 

“You got a car? 

“Sure,” The Turk said. 

АП right, man.” 

You go sit over there and ГИ bring 
it around front.” The Turk said. “You'll 
be here, won't you 

"I'm not going anywhere, man." 
said. 

Не was back inside of five minutes. 
He led her out to a Pontiac convertible 
and she climbed in the front seat with 
him. When The Turk figured by the 
speedometer he had put 10 miles be 
tween them and the P.A.L. hall, he 
swung over to the curb and parked. 

“АП right, man,” Lorna said 
where did you get this car?" 

"I got it the same way I got you.” 

“What's that supposed to mean?” 

“I found it.” 

Are you going to keep the c 
“Nah, ГИ ditch it over in —" 
Then he realized what she was asking. 
Later with the radio humming softly 

and their cigarettes two coals in the dark, 
Lorna asked him, “Turk — what did it 
feel like 

"Wow," The Turk said. 

"No, man, I mean what did it feel like 
to you?" 

"What did it fe 
think it felt ike 

"| want to hear you talk abont it. Say 

it, man. I've got to hear you say it." The 
‘Turk thought. 
IH tell you what it felt like," he 
said. "My old lady and me live up on 
top of a laundry and outside my window 
there's some telephone poles and the 
wires are real close, When the wind 
comes up hard I can lie in bed and listen 
to them wires — thumm, thumm, thumm. 
Once there was a big storm and a coupla 
the wires busted and there маза big 
blue flame and a terrific 
brraack. brraack —like а loudspeaker 
turned up all the way. That big noise — 
that’s what it felt lik 
You want to know what it felt like 
to me?” said Lorna. "It was like you 
were six hundred guys, all at once. Hey, 
man, what's the matter?” The Turk was 
sitting up and peering into the dark. 
Far up the street was a blinking red 
light, blinking like a burst artery. 

You better hold on to something,” 
‘The Turk said, “because we're gonna 
move, and we're liable to bust into litte 
pieces all at once. 

He vaulted into the front seat and 
gunned the motor and swung the big 
machine around and gave it the gas. He 
didn't know the neighborhood and he 
had to keep the lights on. Behind them 
the police car's siren began to screech. 
The ‘Turk gripped the wheel hard and 
swung the powerful machine in and out 
of the streets with Lorna screaming “go, 

(continued on page 62) 


she 


Now 


What do you 


TWEUM FP 
у ж 
ROBERT CHRISTIANSI 

° 


v 


the dangerous game of 
truth—and consequences 


WORD 
OF 
HONOR 


fiction By ROBERT BLOCH 


АТ 2:27 ім THE AFTERNOON, Homer Gans. 
cashier, entered the office of his em. 
ployer, the President of the First 
National Bank 

"Гус got something to tell you,” he 
murmured, “It's about the reserve fund 
I'm into it for 40,000 dollars." 

"You're what?” 

"E embezzled from the reserve fund,” 
Homer said. “Been doing it for years 
now, and nobody ever caught оп. Some 
of the money went to play the races, and 
а lot of it has been paying somebody's 
rent. You wouldn't think to look at me 
that Га be keeping a blonde on the side 
But then, you don't know how it is at 
home.” 

The President frowned. "Oh yes | 
do," he answered, taking а deep breath. 
"Аз a matter of fact, | happen to be 
keeping a blonde myself. Though to tell 
the truth, she isn't a natural blonde.” 

Homer hesitated, then sighed. “To tell 
the truth,” he said, “neither is mine.” 

Between 2:28 and 3, quite a 
number of things happened. А model 
nephew told his rich and elderly uncle 
to go to hell and quit trying to run his 
life. An equally model husband told his 
wife he had hated her and their children 
for years and frequently wished they'd 
all drop dead. A star shoe salesman told 
a female customer to quit wasting time 
trying on small sizes and go out and buy 
a couple of rowboats. At one of the en 
bassies, a visiting diplomat paused in the 
midst of a flattering toast and abruptly 
emptied the contents of his glass upon 
the bald head of the American Am 
bassador. 

And — 

"Holy Toledo!" howled Wally Tib- 


A strange thing took hold of the city. 


5! 


PLAYBOY 


Managing Editor of the Daily Ex- 
press. "Has everybody flipped?” 

Reporter Joe Satterlee shrugged 

“In nine years on this rag, I've never 
pulled that ‘Stop the presses!” stuff. But 
we're standing by for a replate right 
now — and we're going to stand by until 
we find out what gives. Got enough lead 
copy for a dozen front pages right now, 
nd none of it makes sense.” 

"Such as?" Satterlee далса calmly at 
his boss. 

“Take your pick. Our senior Senator 
just issued а statement of resignation— 
says he’s unfit to hold office. That labor 
leader who built the big new union 
headquarters uptown went and shot 
self, Police headquarters can't. keep 
up with the guys who are coming in 
and conlessing everything from murder 
to пюрегу. And if you think that's 
something, you ought to hear what's 
going on down in the advertising depart- 
ment. Clients аге canceling space like 
mad. Three of the biggest used-car deal- 
ers in town just yanked their ads. 

Joe Satterlee yawned. "What goes on 
here?" 

“That's just what 1 want you to find 
out. And fast.” Wally Tibbets stood up. 
"Go see somebody and get a statement. 
Try the University. Tackle the science 
department, 

Satterlee nodded апа went downstairs 
to his car. 

Traffic seemed to be disrupted all over 
the city, and something had happened 
to the pedestrians. Some of them were 
running and the others moved along in 
а daze or merely stood silently in the 
center of the sidewalk. Faces had lost 
their usual mask of immobility, Some 
people laughed and others wept. Over 
in the grass of the University campus, а 
number of couples lay locked in close 
embrace, oblivious of still other couples 
who were fighting furiously. Joe Sattcr- 
lee blinked at what he saw and drove on. 

M 3:02 he drove up to the Adminis- 
tration Building. A burly man stood on 
the curb, doing a little dance of impa- 
tience. He looked as though he wanted 
cither а taxi or a washroom, but fast. 

"Pardon me," Satterlee said. “Is Dean 
Hanson's office in this building: 
I'm Hanson," the burly man snapped. 

“My name's Satterlee, I'm with the 
Daily Express ——" 

"Good Lord, do they know already?" 

"Know what?” 

Never mind." Dean Hanson shook 
is head. "Can't talk to you now. Got to 
nd a cab. I suppose ГИ never get to the 
airport. 

"Leaving town?" 

“Ко. Гус got to get my hands on 
Doctor Lowenquist. He's at the bottom 
of all this ——" 

Satterlee opened the door. “Come on, 
get in,” he said. “I'll drive you to the 
rport. We can talk on the way.” 

A wind came out of the west and the 


sun disappeared to cower behind a cloud. 

"Storm coming up," Dean Hanson 
muttered. “That damned fool better 
land before it hits." 

"Lowenquist," Satterlee said. "Isn't he 
head of the School of Dentistry?" 

"Thats right. Hanson sighed. “АП 
this nonsense about mad scientists is bad 
enough, but a mad dentist — 

"What did he до?" 

“He chartered a plane this afternoon, 
all by himself, and took it up over the 
city. Нез been spraying the town with 
that gas of his." Hanson sighed. "I don’t 
know anything about science. I'm just a 
poor University Dean, and my job is to 
get money out of rich alumni. But the 
way I hear it, Lowenquist was monkey- 
g around with chemical anesthetic 
He mixed up а new combination — like 
pentothal sodium, sodium amytal — onl; 
а lot stronger and more concentrated.’ 

"Aren't those used. іп psychotherapy 
for narcohypnos Satterlee asked. 
"What they call truth serums? 

“This isn't а serum. It's a gas." 

"You can say that again." Satterlee 
agreed. “So he waited for a clear. wind- 
less day and went up in a plane to dust 
the city with a concentrated. truth gas. 
Is chat a Face?” 

"ОГ course it is" Hanson replied. 
“You know I can't lie to you." He sighed 
again. "Nobody can lie any more. Ap- 
parently the stuff is so powerful that 
one sniff does the trick. Psychiatry 
department gives me a lot of flap about 
inhibitory release and bypassing the 
superego and if a man answers, hang up. 
But what it all boils down to is the gas 
works, Everybody who was outside, 
everybody with an open window or an 
air-conditioning unit, was affected. Al- 
most the entire city. They can't lie any 
more. They don't суеп want to lie.” 
Wonderful!” tterlee exclaimed, 
glancing up at the gathering storm 
clouds. 

‘Is it? Fm not so sure. When the 
story hits the papers, it'll give the whole 
school а bad name. I shouldn't even 
have told you, but I can't help myself. 
I just feel the need to be frank about 
everything. That's what I was telling my 
secretary, before she slapped my face—" 

Satterlee wheeled into the airport. 
“That your boy up there?” He pointed 
upward, at a small plane careening be 
tween the clouds in the sudden gate 

"Yes," Hanson shouted. "He's tying 
to come in for a landing, I think. But 
the wind's too strong —— 

A sudden lance of lightning pierced 
the sky. The plane wobbled and began 
to spin. 
tterlee gunned the motor and turned 
off onto the field. In the distance a siren 

vailed, and through the rushing rain he 
could sce the plane spiraling down in a 
crazy dive... 


Wally Tibbets leaned back and pushed 


his chair away from the desk 

“That's how it happened.” Satterlee 
tokl him. "The poor guy was dead be- 
fore they pulled him out of the wreck- 
age. But they found the tanks and 
equipment. He had the papers on him. 
and | persuaded Hanson to turn the 
stuff over to me; he was in such а daze 
he didn't even think to object. So now 
we can back up the могу with proof. 
Гуе got copies of the formula. Ве dis- 
covered. I suppose we'll feed the dope 
in to the wire services. too." 

Tibbets shook his head. "Nope. 1m 
going to answer all inquiries with a flat 
denial.” 

“But the story — 

“Isn't going to be any story. All over 
now, anyway. Didn't you notice how 
people changed after that storm hit? 
Wind must have blown the gas away 
Everyone's back to normal. Мом of 
them have already convinced themselves 
that. nothing ever happened." 

"But we know it did! What about all 
those story leads you got this afternoon?" 

“Killed. Ever since the storm, we've 
п getting denials апа retraction. 
urns out the Senator isn’t resigning 
alter all—he's running for Governor. 
The labor boy's shooting himself was an 
accident. The police can't get anyone to 
sign their confessions. The advertisers 
are placing new copy again. Mark my 
words, by tomorrow morning this whole 
town will have forgotten — they'll will 
themselves to forget. Nobody can face 
the truth and remain sane.” 

a terrible way to think," 
Satterlee said. “Doctor Lowenquist was 
а great man, He knew his discovery 
could work — not just here, but every 
where. After this trial run he meant to 
ake a plane up over Washington, fly 
over Moscow. all the capitals ef the 
world, Because this truth gis could 
change the world. Don’t you see that? 

“OF course I же it. But the world. 
shouldn't be changed." 

“Why not?” Satterlee squared his 

shoulders. “Look here, I've been th 
1 have the formu 1 could carry 
on where Lowenquist left ol. Гуе saved 
some money. I could hire pilots and 
planes. Don't you think the world necds 
dose of truth?” 
No. You 
today, on ju: 
s. Criminals confessed, crooks re- 
formed, people stopped lying to one 
nother, Is that so bad?" 

About the criminals, no. But for 
ry human beings this could be a 
terrible thing. You don't see what hap- 
pens when the doctor tells “his patient 
that bi ing of cancer, when the wile 
tells her husband he's not actually the 
rather of their son. Everybody has secrets, 
or almost everybody. Its better not to 
know the whole truth ~ about others, or 

(concluded on page 68) 


he 


aw what happened here 


] scale.” 


а sm 


а day т the life 
of a men's 
magazine editor 


1 ат aroused, bright end early, 
by my French moid, Henrietto. 


155 EDITORS of men's magazincs arc like 
the legended busman — often you will 
find them having a high old time reading 
other men's magazines. One of our fav- 
orites is а sprightly British periodical 
called Man About Town, published in 
London and (to quote several issues" 
mastheads at random) "edited by John 
Taylor, and jolly well too," "edited by 
John Taylor, who is known and loved by 
all,” “edited by John Taylor, who lives 
like a monk.” 

In a recent issue, Mr. Taylor devoted 
several pages to 24 Hours in the Life 
of a Great Public Figure, himself. These 
24 hours contained segments of simi- 
larity to a typical day in the lives of 
PLAYBOY's editors, so, after a lengthy 
transatlantic correspondence, several 
cablegrams and an appeal to the inter- 
ests of Anglo-American understanding, 
we finally prevailed over Mr. Taylor's 
modest nature long enough to secure 
his permission to reproduce the feature 
here. It demonstrates that the life of a 
men's magazine cditor (іп Mr. 
words) “is not all beer and s 
even, indeed, all beer." 


THE 
PERILS 
(f 


„опа the breck- 
fost prepared by 
my monservont. 


«leave for my office... 


affectionate chat with my 
deor wife ... 


PUBLISHING 


57 


58 


ТНЕ 

PERILS 

OF 
PUBLISHING 


(continued) 


С: ow и є 
А TN cm. 
22. Where 1 om greeted by my loyal Меңді, | prepare myself for o conference 
secretary. with the Chairman of the compony.. 


...Ond affer that | may be Кей up Loter in the morning, | may rehearse our Ad- 
with the Managing Director for a while. — vertising Representatives in their soles talk . 


In the meantime, a Copy Editor will be checking 
proafs for mistakes. 


| і са 
1 may possibly have оп exchonge of opinion with 
my Art Director... 


... end possibly follow up 
with a little dictation. 


з 1 
опа will surely discuss fiction 
with some short story writers . . . 


) 
Л e x 

my secretary is checking my luncheon 
oppointments. After luncheon, | may return to 
the office... 


| NM : 

Later in the afternoon, | will instruct the Ac- 
Deportment to prepare the Ad- 
vertising Director's salary . .. 


..- for a con- 
ference with 
on author . . . 


o'clock, the staff will slowly begin to 
leave the office. 


a 
А few colleagues may persvade meto ... and |, in return, may persuade one of them 
portoke of а little refreshment before to give me c lift. 
1 stort for home... 


sured of on offectioncte greeting by 
my devoted wife—porticulorly on 
payday. 

59 


А new translation from the Contes et Nouvelles of La Fontaine 


A DISH FOR THE GODS 


t 


The Duke's hand lingered at her bosom. 


HE DUKE DE RENARD married a well-born 
maiden of incredible beauty. He had 
loved her long and passionately, and for 
the first few months of their marriage 
he was sublimely happy to be alone with 
his bride and felt no need for any other 
woman. But soon the youthful noble- 
man, who had hitherto sought entertain- 
ment in diverse places, once again began 
to seek it, away from his wife's side. 
Among the Duke's men-at-arms there 
was a robust fellow named Jean, who was 
of an age with the Duke and had served 
him since childhood. Shortly after his 
master's wedding Jean, too, had married. 
taking a pretty village maiden as his 
bride. When the Duke's gaze began to 


seck diversion, it came to rest 
Jean's wife. 

Jean observed this; and, though not 
overly wise in the ways of the world, he 
was well acquainted with the s of his 
naster. He loved his wile, and was con- 
cerned lest her refusal anger the Duke. 

His concern grew deeper when he be- 
gan to fear that the Duke might have no 
cause for anger. 

One afternoon, the Duke made Jean's 
wife a gift of some flowers, and held her 
hands overlong in the giving. She made 
no show of reluctance, smiling up at him 
while he looked down at her. Nor did 
she make any protest when he gallantly 
offered to decorate the spot which he 


upon 


m 


Ribald Classic 


had been most steadily regarding; in 
deed, she displayed no impatience while 
he did so, although surely, Jean thought, 
he need not have taken so long only to 
place a few blossoms on her bosom. 

Now truly disturbed, Jean resolved to 
reason with the Duke, hoping that he 
could persuade him not to pursue thi 
course further. He therefore made occ 
sion to accompany the lord on a ride 
through the forest. 

“Му lord,” Jean said when they were 
alone, “each of us has one who belongs 
to him. You have, in your castle, a wife 
whose value is one hundred times that 
of my wife. I ask you, then, not to con 
cern yourself further for my wife's hap- 
piness; it is too great a burden for you, 
too great an honor for her. She has no 
need of joy from so great a lord, and 
you—you have no need of pleasure from 
so insignificant a woman, especially since 
you are wedded to one who is all that 
апу connoisseur of women can and 
more." Now Jean dared to raise his eyes 
to his master and, seeing that he showed 
no displeasure, continued. "Most men, 
were they wed to a gem of womankind 
like your lady, would be content with 
her were they offered a queen in ex- 
change. How, then, can your passions 
and your reason urge you to stoop to toy 
with the wife of one of your servants, 
herself no more than a servant?” 

De Renard gave ear to his man-at-arms, 
but did not give answer. They ended 
their ride in silence, and Jean began to 
fear that he had offended the Duke. 

That evening a messenger from the 
Duke came to Jean, bearing a huge bowl 
filled with pdté de foie gras. He pre- 
sented the bowl to Jean, telling him that 
the Duke requested that Jean accept it 
and that he vow to eat only this delicacy 
until the master bade him stop. Jean 
gave his word eagerly, delighted at this 
sign that he had not angered the Duke, 
and even more delighted at receiving so 
great a quantity of his favorite food, 
which until now he had tasted only 
rarely. He ate of it that evening with 
much pleasure, observing to his wife that 
he hoped the Duke would never ask him 
to stop. The next day, too. Jean wa 
happy with the páté brought by the mes- 
senger, and so was he the third day. But 
when it was placed before him on the 
morning of the fourth day, he found 
himself taking less pleasure in it than 
before, and on the fifth day, he dis- 
covered that the mere smell of the food 
made his appetite vanish. 

Soon Jean was unable to bear even the 
thought of páté de foie gras. Не longed 
desperately for the taste of plain black 
bread — indeed; for anything but pate. 

(concluded on page 69) 


“Whoopee! Does that bring anything to mind, Miss LaVerne?" 


61 


PLAYBOY 


62 


DROP DEAD {continued from page 54) 


go, во!" When he had shaken the police 
they ditched the car and caught а bus 
home. The night was lifting and every- 
where therc was the stirring cacophony 
of the city awakening. 

"What about your folks?” The Turk 
said when they were at Lorna s door. "We 
been out all night. Youll catch hell." 

“1 don't have no folks. man." Lorna 
said. “Just my big sister and she don't 
саге what I do. She keeps telling me l'm 
а tramp. Well, Т dont want to dis 
appoint her, you know?” 

How about tonight?" 

You got a place 
Yeah, real cool. way out. The Polack's 
cellar. А bunch of blankets behind the 
furnace. You want it? 

“I want it, man," she said, touching 
him. “I'm gonna want it a lot...” 

Chicl 
пеп there was Christmas Eve, the 
biggest deal of all, the night that would 
only be topped by this one 

The Turks and their debs were balling 
in the Polack's cellar. Man, it was way 
out. They had whiskey and beer and 
they were feeling great and everything 
went, man, everything. 

At midnight, The Turk suddenly 
hed Lorna away and put on his 


man?” 

[һе Turk said. “I 
got a family. Everybody got a family. I'm 
just gonna go sce my family and wish 
them a happy Christmas.” 

“Turk, don't," said Lorna. She had 
heard that tone before and she knew 
what it meant. "You don't need 
mily. I'm your family. I'm your wi 
man." 

“Leave me alone.” The Turk said. 

“Turk, you're drunk, you don't know 
what you're doing. Ги not gonna let 
you go, man. I'm not — " But he flung 
her to the floor like a glove. They were 
all silent, watching him, worried. He 
took his stance in the middle of the 


ny 


ter with everybody?" 
op lookin’ at me 
Ш somebody or some- 


The Turk yelled. 
like I was gonna 
thing! II be back. 

“We'll go with you, man, 
his boy: 

“Tsaid ГИ be bac 
No one stopped him. 

They knew th: leader. 

When he got there the windows were 
dark in his mother's flat. There were по 
lights anywhere on the street, and по 
people, either. Good. The Turk had 
kept the key to the front door. He tried 
it, but the lock had been changed. May- 
be Teddy had expected something like 
this. 

The Turk rolled his jacket around his 


id one of 


The Turk roared. 


fist and bashed a hole in the glass door 
panel. right near the doorknob, He 
waited, Биг there was no sound from the 
dark above him. The Turk reached in 
and opened the door. 

He crept up the май 
ing his feet on the fa 
steps so they wouldn't creak. He could 
hear his mother and Teddy snoring 

He felt his way through the litde foyer 
and into the kitchen, off which were the 
bedrooms. He bumped into the kitchen 
table and there was a clatter of glass. Не 
switched on the light. 

There were two empty beer boules 
nd a whiskey bottle three-quarters emp- 
ty and near them, two glasses, опе of 
which had slobbers of lipstick on the rim. 

You bastard, The Turk thought. With 
me gone she couldn't fight you апу long- 
er so she joined you. My mother. А stew- 
bum. Just like he said—a bum. All 
right. He took a long drink out of the 
whiskey bottle and when he put it down 
Teddy was looking at him from the bed- 
room doorway. The man was naked and 
The Turk stared at his sagging belly. 

“Merry Christmas, you bastard,” The 
Turk said. 

"What do you want here? You want 
to steal my money? You want to kill 
me for my money 

"Your motherless money, id The 
Ги "ll tell you. I didn't know what 
1 was here for until I saw that.” He 
pointed to the bottles and the glass. 
“There, that one, with the lipstick on it.” 
Wh: bout it?" said Teddy- 

mean you made my mother а 
drunk.” Teddy laughed shortly and spat 
on the floor. 

“That sounds good, coming from 
you,” Teddy said. "A punk criminal. 
Sure, she likes her liquor now. You know 
what she likes better?” And he pointed. 

All The Turk remembered clearly 
after that was the little click the button 
made as he pressed it to flick the blade 
open. Everything else was just a kaleido- 
scope of movement and screaming and 
blood hitting him in the face, all over 
his clothes, soaking even his shoes. 

“I just blacked out, I guess," he told 
the detectives later. “I didn't know just 
what I was gonna do when I went in 
there but when he did that, man, I lost 
my head, you know? Man, tell me, just 
what did I do?” 

The detective across the desk from 
him sighed and picked up the medical 
examiner's report. “Fourteen penetra- 
tions of the man’s body, 16 of the wom- 
he said. “Thats what you 


‚ carefully plac- 
corners of the 


Joe McGee got him a lawyer, and the 
lawyer hired some doctors or something 
with big glasses and they asked him a lot 
of nosy questions about his habits, and 
they wrapped а blood-pressure thing 


around his arm and asked him more 
funny questions with a needle making 
ziggy tracks on a roll of paper. 

And the lawyer made а big pitch to 
the jury how The Turk was а creation 
of a hostile environment, how his father 
died when The Turk was а baby. what 
а crumb Teddy was. all that jazz. 

But that other lawyer, the District 
Attorney, he had а few things to say, too. 


“This w not only murder but a 
wanton act of total rebellion against au 
thority, against parentage, against the 


home itself,” he told the jury or the 
sake of the vast majority of young peo 
ple, the decent young people who will 
be the leaders of the future. the state 
cannot condone. by this court. any judg- 
ment but the supreme penalty. 

“The defendant is 18 years of age. He 
is fully responsible for his actions and 
on conviction here he is ble for the 
full penalty. 

"Perhaps the murder of the mothe 
was an act of hysteria, but that of the 
stepfather has been shown to have be 
fully premeditated. And there is s 
thing else — that broken door panel 
breaking and entering upon premis 
which were no longer his residence, the 
defendant committed a felony: while 
that felony was taking place the defend 
ant caused the deaths of two persons. 

"The law is very clear on this point. 
Murder in the commission of а felony 
is first-degree murder, with the same рег 
alty provisions . . . 

"The lawyers had a good time, but The 
"Turk was bored. He knew what was com- 
ing. What was all the balling around 
Гог, тап? 

Chick! 

Well, it was all over now but the wait- 
ing and that would һе over soon. Не did 
miss the newspaper reporters around the 
courthouse, though. Man, what a fuss 
they made over him. And those stories 
Joe McGee wrote —almost made you 
want to cry, you know? 

The Turk heard a familiar voice іп 
the hallway. 

"What th 
pass for? Wh 
name on it? 

“АП right, fella, all right.” 

“It’s not all right. It stinks. It's you 
crumby civil servants all over. You can't 
get fired so you blow your nose on every- 
body.” 

“How about you newspaper crumbs? 
You treat a man пісе, do you, a man 
that’s just tryin’ to do his job?" 

“Look —do your job later. I got a 
deadline to meet, and you people set it. 
Look at that clock, тап!” 

“АП right, all right! Martin. take this 
gen-te-man down to see Hannesen," 
Footsteps bonged on the steel floor and 
then the cell door opened and Joe 
McGee walked in on The Turk. 

(concluded on page 66) 


ne 
-In 


hell a 


"Remember, my left profile is my best, Mr. Armbruster." 


63 


хоядхута 


5 d 
Soc or 


“Oh, Harold left an hour ago, Dad — this is 


Richard, the milkman.’ 


64 


UNREASON in DETROIT 


(continued from page 42) 
C bodies fit Cadillacs, Buick Road. 
masters and Supers. 
body A alone this 
shape of B. bring out a new С. Next 
year, leave С alone, horse around with 
А, bring out a new B. Тһе third усат, 
bring out a new A, leave B untouched, 
monkey with nd the cycle is com- 
plete. It is Detroit's version of the shell 
game. 

Furthermore, just in case you're the 
kind of man who doesn't fall sucker for 
changing frills, but who is content to 
drive a car until it falls apart, dynamic 
obsolescence has another meaning. It 
means your car is also so poorly made 
out of such shoddy stuff that it w 
begin to fall apart within three year 
anyway. 

The whole idea is to ensure а constant 
sale of new cars. The immorality of it 
lies in the fact that Detroit doesn't try 
to make you buy a new car because the 


The idea is to leave 


new is better than the old, but sim- 
ply because it looks different. Slightly 
different. 


Moreover, Detroit is not above term 
nological inexactitudes, or plain old“ 
fashioned fibbing. in order to make a 
sale. For example, while it is true that 
Detroit automobiles аге obscenely over- 
powered, their advertised horsepower 
has nothing to do with that power actu- 
ally generated at the wheels. Detroit 
puts an engine on a dynamometer block 
in a dean, well-lighted room. There is 
no radiator, no fan belt. The engine is 
connected to nothing —it does not have 
to turn so much as a phrase. Nothing 
is allowed to impede the happy scamper 
of the pistons. Indeed, a partial vacuum 
is created to remove back pressures at 
the exhaust ports. Special fuel is care- 
fully mixed. The spark is adjusted man- 
ly through changes of speeds, even 
though this often causes the engine to 
knock ferociously. The resulting meas- 
ured "power" is called the “test stand 
rating.” This figure is whisked to the 
advertising deparunent where it is mul- 
tiplied by whatever number pops into 
а copywriters head. Thus, a Detroit 
automobile might turn up anywhere 
from 100 to 200 less actual horsepower 
than that advertised. 

Detroit's senseless preoccupation with 
its own navel has not only led it to ц 
ness, to fantas: nd to outright truth 
stretching, but has also helped to foment 
а national depression. Foisting extrava- 
gant, ridiculously overpriced cruditi 
through the use of vicious sales practices 
and unsound 36-month credit terms re- 
sulted in an oversale of the 1955 market 
with the result that sales practically 
ground to a stop for the next three уе 
People were still trying to buy their 1955 


25; 


cars. Simultancously, the public was sud- 
denly confronted with a real choice when 
the foreign car invasion gained momen- 
tum, and this meant even fewer sales to 
those people who could still afford to 
buy new cars. 

Then, because Dewoit, biggest user of 
steel, glass and other commodities, is зо 
central to our entire economy, depressed 
sales in Detroit meant fewer orders for 
raw materials, and hence, less national 
demand for labor. Ergo, a depression in 
Detroit resulted іп partial depression 
nearly everywhere else in our interde- 
pendent industrial society. Wherefore, it 
is high time that Detroit began to ask 
itself some questions. Perhaps we с 
suggest a fe 

Even if it were true — which it is not 
— that most male Americans are psycho- 
sexual screwballs, where is the morality 
in designing an automobile to meet 
some defect in an unfortunate's char- 
acter? 

Where is the business morality in sell- 
ing what you cam as compared with 
turning out the best product you can 
possibly devise, for sale at the lowest 
possible cost? 

What, oh hard-headed Detroit, do 
you really think of selling а man some- 
thing artificially designed to become 
obsolete before he's through paying for 
и? Would you make such a purchase 
yourself? 

Why tell whoppers? Why say а car 
has 300 horsepower when it really has 
185? Why claim a car has a smooth ride 
when in fact, on any but а boulevard 
е, it rattles the fillings т your 
teeth and, further, is unsafely suspended 
5 is the newest botch, the Edsel, that 
$250 million mistake which not only 
boasts a ludicrous style, but which is 
properly regarded by competent experts 
as a mechanical mes: 

Since your contraptions people 
along the highways at high speeds, why 
not build in real pre-crash safety 
such as the sports car 
and roadabilit: 

There are many more questions De- 
troit could ask itself with considerable 
profit to us all, and unless Detroit be- 
gins to do so, the reasonable man ol 
good taste will have no recourse but to 
buy foreign products, no matter how 
often he is advised it is his patriotic duty 
to purchase an overpriced. blaring ex- 
crescence of unmitigated vulgarity from 
Detroit. 

In sober truth, what is good for De- 
troit is good for the country, beginning 
with honesty. The way to persuade 
Americans to buy new cars, however, is 
not by sticking a more obvious p 
or vulva on the hood, but by NS 
improving the design and the operation 
of the machines. 

BJ 


How to 
entertain 
a Shaman 


Shamans are a lot of fun at a party pro- 
vided your invitation specifies no spears, 
darts or incantations! But by all means, 
drums for dancing. 

And on your part, to clinch the fun, 
be sure you have enough Champale on 
ice. As you undoubtedly know, Cham- 
pale Malt Liquor adds tone, color and 
spirit to any party. 

Just open the chilled bottles of 
Champale . . . pour the sparkling, bubbly 
beverage into a stemmed glass and en- 
joy yourself as gaiety takes over... 
Champale is like that! 

And beat the drums again — there's 
never a dent in your wallet because 
Champale costs little more than beer . 

Hie yourself over to your favorite 
restaurant, bar or grocery . . . wherever 
beer is sold and learn with the very first. 
delightful sip of Champale why it's the 
“malt liquor you serve like champagne”. 


FREE! For clever new 
drink recipes, including the 
fabulous Champale Cock- 
tail, write to Dept. 6B, P.O. 
Box 2230, Trenton, М. J. 


THE MALT 
LIQUOR 
YOU SERVE 
LIKE 
CHAMPAGNE 


t pe 
CHAMPALE 


MALT LIQUOR 


A malt beverage specialty served in a wide, shallow or 
sherbet glass. Metropolis Brewery of N. J., Inc., Trenton, М. J. 


65 


PLAYBOY 


o0 Борей 


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it smart . . . keep on your toes 


with NoDoz Tablets. 
Take a NoDoz and be 


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Clinical tests show that for most 


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people NoDoz increases mental 
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Safe as сойее = 


Send the next invitation you receive to 
us for precise reproduction in etching | 
on the lid of о Fostoria glass E 
box. 5” x 4" x 12" $10.00 
Pair of trays 4" x 2” etched with first 
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(continued from page 62) 

The Turk grinned and put out his 
hand. 

Joe McGee slapped it aside. He was 
very, very drunk. 

"Em sorry, Mr. McGee,” The Turk 
said. Joe McGee steered himself to the 
cot and sat down heavily. 

“Can I print that?” 

“What?” 

“That you're sorry. Nobody's gonna 
believe it, you know. Only Mrs. Schultz. 
Then she'll wrap the fish in it.” 

“Mr. McGee,” The Turk said, “I want 
to tell you how I appreciate everything.” 
Joe McGee stared out of the window at 
the black sky, laced with the restless 
searchlights. 

“That's all right, kid,” he said. 

Chick! 

The Turk controlled himself. He 
asked, "What time is it, Mr. McGee?” 
“еп thirty.” 

Talf an hour.” 
саһ.” 

"Half an hour and they take ше in 
there and sit me down and I blow the 
fuses, you know?" 

Joe McGee looked up at him and The 

Turk began to feel scared for the first 
time because his visitor was crying. Not 
him! Not Joe McGee! 
Listen, Mr. McGee,” The Turk said. 
“There isn't much time. I tell you what. 
I'll give you a story. A real great story. 
Tll—listen, РИ break down and bawl 
for you, how's that? Can't I, Mr. McGee, 
can't I?" 

Joe McGee shook his head slowly. 

“No story, kid,” he said. "No story, no 
interview, nothing." 

“You mean you just came up here to 
see me?” 

-Тое McGee nodded. “Yeah,” he said. 
“I — thought somebody ought to be with 
you. I'm sorry I'm drunk, but I couldn't 
do it any other way." 

"Oh, Jesus, Mr. McGee.” 

"Everybody ought to have somebody 
when they need them." 

"Mr. McGce — does it take long or is 
it over right away?” 

“Right away," Joe McGee said. 

“You know, Mr. McGee,” The Turk 
said, "I still feel the same way about — 
about what's going to happen." 

“You're better off, is that it, kid?” 

“Yeah. And you know, you were right 
about something els 

"What's that, kid?” 

The Turk tried to say it but some- 
thing hot and wet filled his mouth and 
eyes and he bit his lip and turned his 
head away. 

The only way he could get it out, the 
thing he had to say to Joe McGee, was 
in the old snarl: 

“Everybody's, better off!” 


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SUMMER IN THE CITY 


(continued from page 30) 
back on it, stroll back out to the waiting 
city, find a nice, dark, cool bar and have 
a tall, beaded collins or gin and tonic. 
The commuters’ vineyard bears sour 
grapes when he swats at mosquitoes and 
children; it bears grapes of wrath while 
he sweats out his suburban summer 
night, knowing he'll have to rise an hour. 
before his urban opposite number stirs 
from his comfortable air-conditioned 
sleep. In our book, the canny urbanite 
has it made. 

It's no news that cities can be steam- 
ing hot; it’s equally true that only a 
masochist needs to be uncomfortable 
during a city summer. What with vir- 
tually universal air-conditioning and 
cool, lightweight, good-looking garb, the 
urban man сап be happily at ease while 
he earns his keep and seeks his pleasures. 

Consider a midweek city morning. 
The hum of traffic is light as а young 
man about town — perhaps you — peers 
at the street from his apartment win- 
dow, sees the city in the lambent haze 
of a summer morning, decides that yes, 
it will be hot again, and goes to his 
dothespress to select his wardrobe for 
the day. In the likely instance, he'll don 
a gray dacron-and-tropical suit. It might 
as likely have been shantung, Palm 
Beach, one of the man-made fabrics we 
discussed last month — or a linen ket 
and slacks (perfectly legit for office wea 
in summer). His shirt, too, is light- 
weight, despite its correctly conservative 
look (he wouldn't dream of wearing the 
sleazy meshes that are touted as cool), 
as are his club-stripe tie and black socks. 
His shoes are slender, of calf, with thin 
soles and lean lines. (He leaves the two- 
tone, ventilated novelty numbers to the 
rubberneck goons from the sticks.) 

Once dressed, he phones down to the 
doorman to get him a cab, takes the lift 
to the street and rides to his office. En 
route he may pleasure himself by gazing 
on one of the city's finest sights: young, 
chic, svelte office girls in summer dresses 
heel-tapping their way to work. 

Summer lunching in the city is apt to 
be leisurely. The spritzer with white or 
red wine may take the place of winter's 
martini, a salad and iced coffee does the 
urban шап nicely for his two-to-five aftei 
noon of work. And then, in full day- 
light, he's through with ofice toil and 
ready for the sweet labors of love. 

Now, he may have one for the road 
in a midtown bar; he may have made a 
date with one of the office girls for a 
drink in his favorite lounge; or he may 
go home to change for the evening. 

At home he showers and then puts on 
a midnightblue mohair with a sleek 
hint of silky sheen, a white shirt with 
tab collar and a silk tie. Still coolly 
dressed, his attire is formal enough for 
any city summer occasion. Perhaps he'll 


start this particular evening by rendez- 
yousing with his date at some hotel roof 
or penthouse club, where they can sip 
their 12-ounce highballs and watch the 
sunset bathe the city with the purple 
hues of an urban twilight. Perhaps she'll 
come, instead, to his digs for a drink — 
and they'll decide to stay in and run 
up a cold buffet together. It may be a 
restaurant where they meet, or her 
apartment. 

Whatever is planned — or unplanned 
and done spur-of-the-moment, the way 
you can in the summer when advance 
reservations are seldom needed on меек- 
days— you can be sure that the smart 


urban man and his smart urban date 
won't subject themselves to a traffic- 
tangled dash for al fresco dining out of 
town in the dubious hope that the local 
countryside may be cooled by a vagrant 
breeze. "These are city people and glad 
of it. They are indolent and easy in 
their way of summer life. They're part 
of the club, that nameless club of work- 
ing city people who are regularly begged 
and cajoled to be country guests, but 
who tend to finesse the inyitation with- 
out giving offense, because they live the 
glamorous city summer scene. 


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WORD ОҒ HONOR 
(continued from page 56) 
about yourself.” 

"But look at what goes on in the 
world today." 

“I am looking. "That's my job — to sit 
at this desk and watch the world go 
round. Sometimes it's a dizzy spin, but 
at least it keeps going. Because people 
keep going. And they need lies to help 
them, Lies about abstract justice, and 
romantic love everlasting. The belief 
that right always triumphs. Even our 
concept of democracy may be a lie. Yet 
we cherish these lies and do our best to 
live by them. And maybe, little by little, 
our belief helps make these things come 
true. It's a slow process, but in the long 
run it seems to work. Animals don't lie, 
you know. Only human beings know 
how to pretend, how to make believe, 
how to deceive themselves and others. 
But that's why theyre human beings." 

"Maybe so,” Satterlee said. “Yet think 
of the opportunity I have. I could even 
stop war.” 

“Perhaps. Military and political lead- 
ers might face up to the truth about 
their motives and change—temporarily.” 

“We could keep on spraying,” Satter- 
lee broke in, eagerly. “There are other 
honest men. We'd raise funds, make this 
a long-term project. And who knows? 
Perhaps after a few doses, the change 
would become permanent. Don't you 
understand? We could end war!" 

"I understand," Tibbets told him. 
"You could end war between nations. 
And start hundreds of millions of indi- 
vidual wars instead. Wars waged in hu- 
man minds and human hearts. There'd 
be a wave of insanity, a wave of suicides, 
a wave of murders. There'd be a tidal 
inundation of truth that would drown 
the home, the family, the whole social 
structure." 

“Т realize it’s a risk. But think of what 
we all might gain. 

"Tibbets put his hand on the younger 
man's shoulder. "I want you to forget 
this whole business" he said, soberly. 
"Don't plan to manufacture this gas and 
spray it over the Capitol or the Kremlin. 
Don't do it, for all our sakes.” 

Satterlee was silent, staring out into 
the night. Far in the distance a jet 
plane screamed. 

"You're an honest man," Tibbets said. 
"One of the few. I dig that, and I ad- 
mire you for it. But you've got to bc 
realistic and see things my way. АП I 
want is for you to tell me now that you 
won't try anything foolish. Leave the 
world the way it is.” He paused. "Will 
you give me your word of honor: 

Satterlee hesitated. He was an honest 
man, he realized, and so his answer was 
a long time coming. Then, "I promise," 
Satterlee lied. 

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DISH FOR THE GODS 
(continued from page 60) 


His need became so great that he pre- 
pared to break his vow, and asked some 
of his fcllows for a taste of their plain 
rations in exchange for his. In vain. They 
all knew of his promise, and each re- 
fused to share his simpler fare with Jean. 
Despairing of ever being released from 
his promise, and unbearably hungry for 
any food but that which was constantly 
before him, Jean onc day approached а 
serf and begged for a crust of stale bread. 
But even the serf had learned of the 
lord's order, and he too refused to aid 
аре from his miserable luxury. 
“Му lord said that you must eat only 
of páté de foie gras; you are forbidden 
all other food." "Then, so curious that he 
overcame his servility, the serf queried, 
"But why do you seek other food, sire? 
Truly that which vou must eat is that 
which all of us would be most grateful 
10 enjoy." 

“I have had enough, more than enough. 
of this enjoyment!” cricd Jean. "I would 
now prefer anything to this luxury. Here, 
take some of my food, let me take some 
of yours, I beg you; for I swear that I am 
so surfeited with páté de foie gras that 
if it were to follow me to Heaven, 1 
would beg the saints to excuse me and 
take myself elsewhere.” 

It chanced that the Duke was riding 
close by when Jean spoke these words. 
and overheard them. He turned his horse 
and came to them; sending the serf ам 
he spoke to Jean. “My friend, how can 
it be that so magnificent a dish has so 
soon become monotonous and disgusting 
to you? Most men, were they provided 
with such fare, would be content with 
it were they offered ambrosia in ex- 
change. How, then, can your appetite 
and your reason uige you to stoop to 
beg crusts from a ser 

Jean, on thus hearing his own earlier 
words echoed, attended more closely as 
his master continued, “It did not take 
you so long. then, to wish for a change? 
And have 1, in desiring your wife, done 
something so very different? You have 
blamed me because I expressed а prefer- 
ence for a common dish over a plate fit 
for gourmets; and now vou declare Шаг 
you would eat black bread rather than 
ра 

Тһе Duke paused. "Well, then, 
said finally, “you may have your black 
bread. And I, my friend? Have I your 
leave to take mine?" 

Jean nodded. So well had he learned 
his lesson that he was already consider- 
ng: if the master could look below his. 
station for new pleasures, was it not then 
possible for the man-at-arms to raise his 
eyes above his station in his quest for 
happiness? 

— Translated by S. B. Abelson 


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PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS 

(continued from page 10) 
right degree of personal attentivene: 
accompanied by wines from one of the 
city's best cellars. The atmosphere and 
cuisine are French; the price is all too 
American: half a C-note can vanish if 
you do yourself and your date proud, 
but it's worth it. We urge you to accom. 
pany your second cocktail (served at 
table) with a platter of cracked crab 
heaped on a mound of ice. 

Speaking of Hollywood dining, you 
might give one of the town's curr 
most popular and crowded res 
nice, wide miss. Scandia (913 
Blvd) serves adequate 
food in a magnificent setting, but its 
Owners are either too greedy or too in- 
different to honor reservations. Hap- 
pened to us twice, so it seems hardly an 
accident. Second time around, we i 
sisted on the phone that we'd rather 
dine as late as they wished than be 
brusquely shooed to wait at the four 
deep bar when we came in on schedule 
as we first did. We were assured we'd 
be seated at the appointed time (9:45 
к.м. — their suggestion), but got the bar 
treatment again, despite vociferous pro 
tests. By che time we did get served, the 
captain seemed too tired to offer to mak 
us onc of the restaurant's specialties 
flamed dessert at table — and. proffered 
а platter of tired pastry instead, so we 
can’t tell you whether the specialty lives 
up to its rep. 


The wild pranks of the naughty, 
nautical Norsemen who seared the spit 
out of the 8th and 9th Century English 
are recapitulated for us by Kirk Douglas 
as one-cyed Einar, bearded Tony Curtis 
as Eric and Ernest Borgnine as the good- 
natured rapist and Viking king, Ragnar, 
in The Vikings, based on the lusty book by 
Edison Marshall. Frankly hokey, the pic 
ture has enough offbeat violence, sudden 
shock, sloppy eating scenes and spectac 
ular camera work to compensate for all 
the corn. There's a smorgasbord of au- 
thentic historical morsels, too, to shore 
up the gory mood: death in the woll 
pit and a game involving a "testing 
board." A wife suspected of philandering 
pokes her head through the board, pig 
tails pinned up. Hubby (full of malt) 
throws axes at her till he unpins her 
or splits her down the middle. (Beats 
hiring a private eye.) With a riot.inciting 
cal score and lupine portrayals оп 
the part of the male principals, the pic 
ture moves along like a rocket. UPA 
did the tableaux for the prologue and 
they are cute as hell, 


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their juve-delinq woes, you should see 
Sweden's The Vicious Breed. In this stark, 
depressing picture, mostly shot through 
dark filters, Aren Ragneborn (under his 
own direction) plays Myggan — a sadistic, 
high-strung. scared young hood who flees 
a comfortable-looking jail, insists on his 
girlfriend's prostituting herself to get 
him bread money, then ungraciously 
socks her and calls her a slut. Ріскей up 
by a rich weirdo, he clubs the sensitive 
gentleman to death and lams. But crime 
doesn’t pay in Sweden either, it turns 
ош. Ragneborn is convincir 
as the hood and, as his hapless 
Maj-Britt Lindholm (she called herself 
May Britt in The Young Lions) engen 
ders a great deal of sympathy. Some 
slight relief from all this morbidity is 
furnished hy a crook who sings Swedish 
rock "n' roll. That would make anybody 
sadistic, highestrung, scared, 

Regarding the filmization of Heming- 
The Old Man ond the Sea, а bald fact 
has to be faced: the virtually unrelieved 
three-day ordeal of the tough, leathery 
Santiago (Spencer Tracy) іп ап open 
skiff, philosophizing aloud during his 
еріс tug of war with the biggest marlin 
іп Christendom, gets to be a drag after 

day and a half. Lord knows you suffer 
ith the unlucky Cuban fisherman — 
bleeding hands, stupelying fatigue, ach- 
ing back, bone-cracking chill, whimsical 
aphorisms — but the futility of the whole 
enterprise makes you wonder if the five 
million bucks and all this integrity (on 
the part of producer Leland Hayward, 
director John Sturges and scripter Peter 
Viertel) were not somehow wasted. And 
this despite whatever parabolical inspira- 
tion you may be gleaning from the old 
man's struggle with a fish he admir 
man’s pride in being man, the in 
orable grinding of Fate, and like that. 
On the plus side, Tracy does а bang-up 
job as the old man and James Wong 
Howe's shots of skiffs and the desolate 
are immensely gripp 


175 too bad, but the trouble with most 
Brigitte Bardot pictures is that when 
coltish, pouting Miss B. is not volupur 
ating through a scene, one might as well 
be watching The Romance of Petro- 
leum. Her heroes and supporting players 
are, like, pallid, and this is eminently 
true ol both Mem'zelle Pigalle and The 
Parisienne, through which we recently 
stifled yawns and munched Milky Ways. 
Го vecommend them, these flicks display 
Brigitte’s provocative pins and thrilling 
thorax via bikini, jet pilot's outfit, trans- 
parent negligee, off-the-chest evening 
gown, artfully ripped pirate costume, 
and small guest towel. The plots? Like, 
раша. With the entire French movie 
industry riding on her bare shoulders, 
Bardot should be given some help. 


merrin 


530 MADISON AVE. (COR, 54TH) 
NEW YORK 22 « PLAZA 3-8688 


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PLAYBOY 


72 


PLAYBOY 
READER SERVICE 


We can tell you where 

you can buy any of the 
interesting items you see 
featured or advertised in 
PLAYBOY. Use the Index of 
Advertisers and coupon below. 


INDEX OF ADVERTISERS 


ADVERTISER 
Champale, 
Chipp.. 
Columbin LP Record Club 
Diners' Club. 


Dunhill Tailor 24 
Fifth Avenue Color 70 
Heath Hi-Fi Киз... 9 
Eddie Jacobs, Ltd... “4 
Kings Men Grooming Aids... . . 6 
L'Aimant by Coty..... 10 
Long Island Auto Museum. .70 
Merrin Jewelry л 


NoDoz, .06 
J. Press. 
H. A. & E. Smith, Lt 
Lenard Stern 
Paul Stuart, 
ViBo Farm 


Check boxes above for information regard- 
ing advertisers. Uso these lines for informa 
tion about other featured merchandise, 


State. 


PLAYBOY READER SERVICE 
232 E. Ohio Street, Chicago 11, Ill. 


SEND 
PLAYBOY ^ 
Every № 
MONTH 


TO: 
name 


address 


ау zone state 
Check опе: (7 3 yrs. for 514 

C] 2 yrs. for 511 

Пі vr. for 56 
Май to PLAYBOY 


232 E. Ohio Street, Chicago 11, Illinois 
086 


PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK 


BY PATRICK CHASE 


tr you'RE AN aficionado, plan to spend 
October in the City of Kings, Lima, 
Peru. 11% springtime in South America 
then, and that mc the start of the 
bullfight season. Prizes as high as $25,000 
on the six bulls run cach day's cor 
rida lure top torero talent from Europe 
and Latin America. One way to get 
there is by ship — а smallish Grace liner 
from New York boasts а pool, beach 
deck and veranda café, makes а run 
through the Panama Canal, then a whole 
slew of stops on the west coast of South 
Amer 5 far as Callao. Fare for the 
day yun is 5445 up. If you рге! 
г Moore-McCormack liner and а 
straight East Coast run to Buenos Aires 
(round-trip 81-day romps cost 51110), you 
can bask in a special solarium for nudist 
types who like to tan all over. Sorry: 
Шегез one for boys and one for girls. 

Мош this time of year, we can't help 
but remember that hoary but hip Ger- 
man maxim Bier auf Wein das lass sein; 
Wein auf Bier rat. Ich div — which, un- 
scrambled, means simply "Beer after 
wine ГИ Jeave to you; wine after beer 
1 urge on you." So do we. Take 
the foamy füst— in great suds-spattered 
mugsful — at Munich's roistering, brassy 
Oktoberfest, which starts the last week 
in September and is астам! with lusty 
Bavarian wenches. Then continue the 
fun and Бойс in the proper order at the 
most knocked-out of German wine festi. 
vals — resplendent with buxom vino 
queen and court, samples of the fresh 
vintages and a typically Teutonic high 
. I's at Neustadt, in October, 


big 


NEXT MONTH: 


Solid 18th Century comforts on our 
shore have appeal during crisp fall days 
after a drive through the Virginia hunt 
country — blue-smoked from raging leaf 
fires — оп to Williamsburg. We песа no 
excuse to visit there beyond a creamy 
oyster pie and a bottle of brut cham- 
pagne on a candlelit table beside an 
open wood fire, followed perhaps by a 
concert at the Go с featur- 
ing peruked musi ving up a 
Colonial storm. While you're їп that 
neck of the woods, don't fail to stop at 
The Tides Inn at Irvington, Va., where 
the victuals continually adorn the vari- 
ous "10 best" lists compiled by knowing 
gourmets, and we don't mean Duncan 
Hines. Ш you can stick around longer, 
1 heated pool for you to enjoy 
plus hearty cruises on the breeze-whitened 
waters of Chesap aboard the 
Inn's 127-foot ate yach 

Should you hanker for the wintei 
Western sun, Furnace Creek Ranch re 
opens in Death. Valley October 15. It's 
an enchanting spot i 
complete with swimming, tennis, rid 
etc, Spanish-style adobe cottages, ofle: 
ing the utmost in. privac € yours 
а slim 511 a day — Гог two. Not so | 
way is tough old Tombstone, Arizona, 
which throws its nual Helldorado 
in October, featuring everything from 
snortin" -busting to rc-cnactments 
of historic gunfights. 

For further information on any of the 
above, write 10 Playboy Reader Service, 
232 Е, Ohio St., Chicago 11, Illinois 


THE BOSOM-— MIGHTY MEASUREMENTS OF A BRITON KITTEN 


PLAYBOY'S PIGSKIN PREVIEW—THE GRIDIRON SCENE 


A COLLEGE PLAYMATE AND A PIECE ON COLLEGE PRANKS 


PLUS—PHILIP WYLIE ON WOMANIZATION, JACK COLE ON SUB- 
LIMINAL, A NEW STORY BY HERBERT GOLD 


СНАМСЕ 
ОЕ 
А 
LIFETIME 


THE LIFETIME PLAYBOY CLUB has been 
growing in membership since its incep- 
tion last August. It's not surprising: а 
lifetime subscription to this jaunty jour- 
nal saves the fuss and bother of check- 
ing a renewal card every three years and 
carrying it way down there to the corner 
mailbox. And there's a warm, comfort- 
ing feeling of assurance that comes over 
a man when he knows there is a lifetime 
of PLAYBOY pleasure ahead of him. 
Beats annuities by a mile. Beats, too, 
just about any other gift idea for the well- 
known Man Who Has Everything. That's 
why we're offering lifetime subscriptions 
to those fortunate few who are already 
assured of life's other necessities. The 
tariff? A miniscule $150. You (or your 
giftee) will receive a handsome Certifi- 
cate, suitable for framing, attesting that 
the recipient is indeed a member of the 
select LIFETIME PLAYBOY CLUB. Also a 
handy plastic card, suitable for flashing, 
attesting ditto. An added dividend: you 
can bequeath your lifetime subscription 
for one generation to your most deserv- 
ing heir-do-well. For those who must be 
content to enjoy the PLAYBOY life from. 
year to year, we still retain the shorter- 
term subscriptions. But for those to 
whom money is no object, the lifetime 
subscription (as a gift for self or friends) 


is, well, the chance of a lifetime. 


WHAT SORT OF MAN % ^ 
READS PLAYBOY? | ж 


SOLOMON'S — CHICAGO. 


A good mixer who regards the best of spirits as more than a state of health, the rrAvmov reader does, indeed, take his 


drinking seriously. Good case in point—the trend-setting enthusiasm of young men that has boomed sales for vodka into 


big business. Facts: According to the leading independent magazine survey, a larger percentage of rrAvnov families drink 


or serve whiskey than those receiving any other magazine. 69.3% of all the homes where rLaynoy is read treat themselves 


and/or their guests to whiskey, gin, rum or vodka either straight, on the rocks, or in one of the tasty recipes recommended 
in rrAYBOY's regular articles on the subject. (Source: Starch 52nd Consumer Magazine Report, June 1957 and Starch Sup- 


plement on rraysoy, January 1958.) 


PLAYBOY ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT • 232 E. Ohio St, Chicago, МТ 2-1000 e 720 Fifth Ave, New York, CI 5-2620