PLAYBOY

Нин

SEPTEMBER 50 cents

ENTERTAINMENT
FOR MEN

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PLAYBOY’S
COLLEGE
PLAYMATE

PLAYBILL

THE CREAM OF COLLEGE — all the fun and.
frolic — has been deftly siphoned for this
September rLAvsov, and the textbooks
nd cramming and other unattractive
spects of campus life have been care-
fully eschewed.

A college Playmate is Carnegie Tech's
acy sophomore, ‘Feri Hope, a PLAYROY
rmal Party discovery. Undergraduate
pranks are recounted in the hilarious
article, Howls of vy. Anson "Smoke
Mount, Director of rLAvsov's College Bu-
reau, has put together this year’s Pigskin
Preview with the help of the nation’
coaches, athletic directors and his more
than 300 campus representatives,
PLavuoy’s college reps also came to the
aid of Fashion Director Frederic A.
Birmingham, who conducted the first
nationwide survey of campus wardrobes
by interviewing undergrads and. college
store proprictors across the country.
Completing the collegiate kick, port-
ables for potables for 50-yard-line swig
ging ave suggested in Hip Hip Flasks.

But the groovy groves of academe have
by no means become an obsession with
us this month—the pages are packed
with non-varsity variety. too. Such as:

The Womanization of America,
barbed and bristling essay on the еп
«coaching matriarchy, indited by that
arch-matriarchophobe, Philip Wylie. A
spread of satirical cartoons on sublimin
advertising, drawn by PLAYBOY regu!
Jack Cole, who goes from the sublim.
to the ridiculous, with a few stops in be-
tween. The Bosom offers luscious June
Wilkinson, Great Britain's gift to the

MOUNT

tape measure. And there’s more:

rLAYBOY, being an urban journal,
docsn't publish many stories with rustic
backgrounds, but when Browning Nor-
топу The House of Hate was delivered
to our desk, the first couple of pages
convinced us that this was а rule-brcak-
ng yarn: taut, powerful. steaming with
life, aglow with bold colors and tingli
with suspense. It Ieads off this issue. If
The Peeping Tom Patrol scems to dis-
play an intimate inside knowledge of
the workings of policemen's minds, it's
because the story's author, Mike Shaara,
was until quite recently a full-fledged
cop. Now he's a full-fledged writer of
fiction — as youll find out when you
read Patrol. Herbert Gold returns with
moving story of September love:
Sleepers, Awake! Gold, who already has
three novels under his belt, is now put-
ting the finishing touches on a fourth,
The Optimist, soon to be published by
Auantic-Little, Brown. “This is the big
опе," says Herb, “the Meisterwerk,” and
Sleepers, Awake! will be rt of it; thus.
PLAYBOY readers are offered a piece of
writing that is not only a complete story
in its own right but a provocative pr
view of a forthcoming major book. To
lustrate the Gold story, Eugene Karlin
sioned to do the sensitive pic-
ture that graces page 57. Karlin is the
recipient of several awards and prizes for
his fine art; his paintings hang in mu-
scums and private collections throughout
the country.

Altogether, we think. a brimming basket
of pleasurelul provender.

was comn

NORTON

SHAARA

KARLIN

DEAR PLAYBOY

EJ] avpress Р1АҮВОҮ MAGAZINE . 232 E. OHIO ST., CHICAGO 11, ILLINOIS

GOLDENGATESVILLE

Your article on San Francisco was the
greatest. [Us my favorite town, I know
it like the palm of my own hand, and
vou fellows really did right by it. It's the
swingingest of swingingest citie:

William Setchitz

n Jose, California

Hats off to vou PrAvsov editors! As a
native San Franciscan who spends most
of his time in those clubs you men
tioned, | must commend you on your
ıccurate and authentic description of
San Francisco night life. The article
was inating. the photographs su-
perb. pLAynoy deserves highest
praise for capturing so well the excite-
ment of this wonder city.
Steve Perata
San Fi isco.

California

Your article placed a great deal of
emphasis on “where do San Francisco
models spend their cocktail hours?” Be-
ing a member of this underpaid, over-
rated profession. [ was very much inter-
ested in your suggestions as to where to
find us around 5:30. By following those
suggestions, I hope to mect a typical
playboy.

Sandra Rodgers
San Francisco, California

Your article on San Francisco was the
best of its kind I have ever read. You
pointed out the places to go if you really
want to have vourself a 1. Most arti-

cles just point out the historical land-
ks, museums, etc, and these get

n

awfully tiresome alter a while. How

about some articles on different cities?
Jack Carlon
Omaha, Nebraska

Your coverage of San Francisco night
life was almost as much fun as being
there in person, How about a similar
feature on. New Orleans?
W. Н. Newhouse
New Orleans, Louisi:

а

Га certainly enjoy a picture-and-text
-out оп Havan:

William Sullivan
New York, New York

How ahout showing
home town, Chicago

us your own

Bob Kirby
New Haven, Conn,
We'll give On the Town treatment to
a number of other cities in future issues.

SHADDAP DEPARTMENT

Open letter to Irenc Holsen, who used
your letters column to fulminate against
Henry Slesars fine story, Examination
Irene dear, the cover of PLAYBOY
plainly states “Entertainment for Mer
Therefore, rather than find fault with
something that was never intended for
your enjoyment and something you do
not understand, please exercise a Hands
Ой — or should I say a Mouth Shu
policy.

Franklin Laurent
New York, New York

CUTTING ROOM FLOOR

In your review of the film The Young
Lions, your critic speaks of “Ackerman
agonizingly self-conscious with his dying
father.” I saw the flick, and there's no
such scene!

Gerald Goldstein
Yuma, Arizona
Our critic saw а New York pre-release
press run, Gerald. That scene and sev-
eral others were later cut 10 speed up a
lengthy film.

PHOTOGRAPHY

The Well Equipped Lensman
out a doubt, onc of the best written
articles of its kind 1 have come across
but who expected less of PrAYno:
though the June issue held special inter
cst for me. 1 have yet to pick up a disap-
pointing copy of rLAvuoy — and oh, that
Silverstein!

Ken Molino
Sausalito, С

fornia

Perhaps Vincent Tajiri will tell me
where Т can purchase one of those Swiss-
made Hasselblad cameras. The only ones
1 have ever seen, including my own
were manufactured in Sweden, Perhaps
that explains why my pictures never
seem to look like your Playmates.

Allan Bustol
Southington, Conn,

PLAYBOY. SEPTEMBER, 1958, VOL 5, NO. 9. PUBLISHED MONTHLY эт нын PUBLISHING CO., INC.
NTERED AS SECOND CLASS MATTER AUGUSI
CONTENTS CorrmiGnTED © 195 BY нин PUBLISHING CO.. INC

THE ACT OF MARCH 3. 1879.
TIONS: їн THE U.S.,

PRINTED IN за.

Is POSSESSIONS, THE PAN AMERIZAM UNION AAD CANADA

Puarsor эшне, 231 E

1955 AT THE POST OFFICE AT CHICAGO, ILL., UNDER
sumscait

s14 FOR THREE YEARS, $11 FOR TWO YEARS,

чє коп ONE YEAR, ELSEWHERE ADD $3 PER YEAR FOR FOREIGN POSTAGE ALLOW 20 DAYS FOR NEW SUBSCRIPTIONS AND RENEWALS,

CHANGE OF ADDRESS: SEND BOTN OLD AND NEW ADDRESSES AND ALLEW
KEW YORK

OFFICE, HOWARD LEDERER, casn
132 E. оно sT.. CHICAGO

M MANAGER, 220 FIFTH AVE

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SAN FRANCISCO REPRESENTATIVE. A. 5.

о рат: FOR CHANGE. ADVERTISING: MAIN ADVERTISING.
M. Y.. CI 5-2620: WESTERN ADVERTISING OFFICE,
ESENTATIYE, FRED E. CRAWFORD, BIZ S. SERRANO AVE., LOS
еск. EOS MARKET ST., SAN FRANCISCO, CAL.. TU 2.3334.

Stanley Blacker’s
Piped Blazer

The blozer is bock, here, braided.
This ane is toilored af o light weight
blend of wool and Orlan in a hapsack
weave, The collar ond lapels ore
outlined with black Soutache broid; the
whole соо! in-lined with poisley
foulard. Further fashion fine paints:
Rounded patch flap packets, overlapped
seoms, silver buttons. In grey, oli
burgundy, brown, black ond navy.
About 45.00 ot oll fine stores.

For store nearest you write to:

stanley blacker

200 FIFTH AVENUE. NEW YORK

PLAYBOY

PARIS

BELTS

in the new “Vista-dome” package

leather

Improves with age

This unique belt
improves with age
and wear. Superb
bridle leather is
rubbed with tallow
to give it a soft,
glowing sheen that
becomes richer
with time. “Рег-
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by "Paris"*. 1^—
52.50. 34"— $2.

"Ties. U.S. Pat. Off, A. Stein &

Company * Сїшгөшө © New York
Los Angeles - Toronto.

The Swiss are noted for their precision
instruments, but don't you agree thar
the Nordic pride of Victor Hasselblad
over in Göteborg, Sweden was delivered
a Tow blow by referring to his camera as
being “Swissmade”!

James E. Walezak
Washington, D. С.
~ Yep.

The June riavmov article, The Well
Equipped Lensman by Vincent T. Tajiri,
was terrific. The article reflects Mr. Ta
jiri's excellent photographic background,
so we were very surprised to come across
the statement, "a speck of dust or a tiny
scratch on the lens of your 35 shows up
as big as a boulder when your prints are
made." This definitely not so. А
scratch on the lens could not possibly be
brought into focus on the film. There-
fore. except for a slight scattering of
light, it would have no effect on the
picture. The specks noted on prints are
caused by dust and sand on the film or
on the negative when it is being printed.

It is very likely that more people will
read and study this otherwise excellent
article about cameras and photography
(and. remember this point about lenses)
than will ever read the articles in more
technical photo n cs to the effect.
that bubbles and some scratches have no
effect on pictures

AL Taylor
ALT Shop
Palm Springs. California

You're right, of course, Al. What the
text should have stated was that dust
specks or scratches on your 35mm nega-
tives will be magnified when you make
enlargements.

gazi

It is almost impossible for me to ex-
press my dismay at the photography ar-
tide in your June issue. The reaction
of the various American importers who
represent the member companies of my
Association understandably been
uniformly bad — and I've becn hearing
plenty from them. Your article is biased.
You've suddenly discovered the Japanese
camera industry — a seven-year old story.
Your lead graphs sound as though
they were dictated by the board of direc-
tors of the Japan Gamera Industry Asso-
ciation.

А truly accurate report on what's new
n photography would have given as
much emphasis to the postwar Polaroid
boom. the trend to exposure simplifica-
tion (LVS) and automation (clectriceye
cameras), lens interchangeability on me-
dium priced cameras, the rise of the
agle-lens reflex camera per зе — as you
ve to the “exotic tongue twisters” and
Japanese camera boom. It is beyond
belief that the six Japanese cameras you
took the trouble to mention by name
along with the GaMi, Hasselblad and
Praktina are any more newsworthy and
exotic than Vitomatic, Contallex, Agia

has

Automatic 66, Retina "C" and Leica M-
If the average prAvuov reader is inter-

ested mainly in the "show" camera, then
the modern Rollei, Leica, Contallex.
Hasselblad and Polaroid 1104 are no

less worthy than the Nikon and Canon,
and far more suitable than the Mamiya,
Minolta, Miranda and Asahi. In fact, in
contrast to the general downgrading of
consumer merchandising of all types
ince the war, the West German camera
industry has done a unique job of main-
taining and improving upon their top
quality precision. workmanship =
qua non of the prestige-minded camera
carrier.

On the other hand, if vou were inter-
ested in leading your readers into the
photographic hobby or upgrading them
from the box camera, then certainly the
semi-automatic and fully-automatic elec-
triceye cameras are the news of today.
And finally, if taking your own pictures
ol your own “Playmate” is the main pur-
pose of PLAvnoy’s photographic take-out,
the story should have been pegged to
Polaroid — its instantaneousness and its
unique privacy which can calm the fears
of the most reluctant model.

Norman C. Lipton
Camera Industries of West Germany
New York, New York

а sine

JUDY LEE

Judy Lec ‘Vomerlin is the greatest. I
didn't think it was possible for апу
Playmate to be good enough to cause
me to take the September '56 Playmate
(Elsa Sorensen) out of my locker, but I
way mistaken.

Gene С. Snyder
East Tawas, Michigan

I would like to express my gratitude
to you for using Judy Lee Tomerlin as
Playmate of the Month. She is by far the
most lovely Playmate vou have yet pub-
lished. She is the cpitome of all the
s a man could want 1.
William А. Burston
Mercersburg, Pennsylvania

Come on, fellows — be more liberal
with the expense account. Allow your
Playmate photographer to journey be-
yond your own fourth floor in search of
future Playmates. Judy Lee has about
as much contemporary sex appeal as a
Rubens nude.

Jim Stewart.
New York, New York

Don't get me wrong, I like girls and
all that, and 1 think Judy Lee is the
most, but that i unit in the back-
ground on page 35 of your June issue
also caught my eye. Would you please
send me all available information?
John R. Foran
Chicago. Illinois
The electronic entertainment wall
similar to the one featured in “Playboy's
Penthouse Apartment” (Sept., Oct., 1956)

5-RECORD GLENN MILLER ALBUM FREE

with the first album you buy - Anise
as a member of the Res

RCA VICTOR
POPULAR ALBUM CLUB

...if you agree to buy 5 additional albums from the Club during
the next 12 months from at least 100 albums to be made available

is exciting new plan, under the direction of the Book-
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of popular music for family fun and happier parties . . .
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it takes bewilderment out of building such a well-
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You pay far less for albums this way than if you buy
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Thereafter you save almost 333%. After buying the
six albums called for in this offer, you will receive a free
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price of at least $3.98, for every two albums purchased.

AN ALBUM OF FIVE 12-INCH 3314 R.P.M. RECORDS
CONTAINING SEVENTY-FIVE DIFFERENT SELECTIONS

А wide choice of rca Місток albums— enough to satisfy
every kind of taste—will be described each month. One
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N p,

№; мїнє KOLODIN
57 The Saturday Review

These recordings represent the high
point as well as the final chapter in
Miller's legendary career. Here are
75 selections played by the 50-man,
star-studded Air Force Band, in-

cludingd eversions of Miller's
biggest hits—In the Mood, Tuxedo
Junction, St. Louis Blues March, etc.
Johnny Desmond sings top ballads;
Ray McKinley sings his G. I. Jive
and performs drum specialties. Jazz
stars Mel Powell, Peanuts Hucko—
and many more—are featured.

“The highest preci-
sion, polish and re-
finement ever known
in the playing of pop-
ular American music"

THE RCA VICTOR POPULAR ALBUM CLUB
c/o Book-of-the-Month Club, Inc, Р195-9
345 Hudson Street, New York 14, N. Y.

Please register me as a member of The nca Vicron Popular Album
Club and send me, free, the five-record album, Glenn Miller's Army
Air Force Band, with the first Club album I purchase, indicated
below. 1 agree 10 buy five other albums offered by the Club within
the neat twelve months, for cach of which 1 will be billed at the
nationally advertised price: $3.98 (at times $4.98), plus m small
charge for postage and handling. Thereafter, E need buy only four
such albums in any twelve-month period to maintain membership.
1 may cancel my membership any time after buying six albums
from the Club. After my sixth, if I continue, for every two albums
1 buy from the Club I may choose а third album free.

BEGIN MEMBERSHIP WITH ANY OF THESE . . . INDICATE TITLE IN COUPON

WE GET LETTERS Perry MARIO LANZA—STUDENT MUSIC FOR DINING Mel
Como sings 12 standards: PRINCE Hits {rom Rom- chrino Strings in hi-fi
S'posin’, "Deed I DO, еіс. perg's operetta, plus Lehar. mood music. Tenderly, Sep-
pee ee came eter la tember Song. Charmaine,
COH Rr Rib- favorites by the exciting etc.
prs qe аме wm a pear E Cees
BED hts from "Oershwine
Кузет Crosby jazz M Wn Bob fur ie. ego i la
, „Стоя e Dixielanaere, turing Rise Stevens, Rober
FRANKIE CARLES SWEET. барно. Exactly Like Merri
HEARTS Dancy plane, You, 19 more old-time evet- wrer SEVENTEEN Ames
Somsa: Nola, Laura, Се- вгевпв. Brothers sing 12 standards
cilia, etc. mas HALL CONCERT pue mute ee 1 рока
Us Lovi Armstrong col Know Why, For Sen-
NEW GLENN MILLER OR- fector's item, with Таһа timentat Reasons, ete

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‘lar print Wile cl purchase record here)

CHESYRA IN HI FI Roy Mc- den 5,
iier ун мига tie ders e lere ARE 8 пате
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tunes, standards in ''soci- style. City. Zone. tte.

BRASS & PERCUSSION ety” dunce medieys
orton боша Symphonic

Band, hi- showpiece. 17 SOUTH, PACI
marches, with В of Боза

'NOTE: M you wish te enrol through эп authorized RCA VICTOR desi
Dealer's Name

', phase til in below:

THE EYES OF LOVE Hugo
C Original Winterhalter’s lush orches-
томе sound track record- tra in 12 standards: Smoke

ко eae ATE EDEN
Бар была у Cadman, а, ROWE Wah Gate der sr, О» p Addres- -
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anys
JAMAICA Origins! Brosd- THE FAMILY ALL TO- МОВОЮ, om SE to

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Home: "Complete дтіеп- Pops. isht classics: Ravel's Frenesi, Star Dust, Night-
Harburg hit score. Bolero, Clair de Lune, etc. mare, etc.

PLEASE NOTE: Send no money. Atill vill be sent. Albums can be shipped
only lo residents of the U. S., йз jes and Canada. Albums for Ca-
agian members are mad Shipped duty free Irom Ontario.

200027006

PLAYBOY

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natural shoulder clothes — 85 Fij

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Chicago, Beacon's Гу Shop = Bastan, Jordan Marsh Co. Town & We Shop * New Canaan, English Shop
Providence, Harvey, Ltd. • Summit, N. -Ci

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Atlanta, Park Chambers Bachelor & Benedict Shop * Ann Arbor, Van Boven, Inc. * Kansas p Woolf Eros.
Los Angeles, Bullock's Wynbrier Shop * Los An me Eston & Wickern Berkeley

Norman, Okla., Harold's + Charlottesville &

was built especially for PLAYBOY by Voice
and Vision, of Chicago. It incorporates
both monaural and stereo hi-fi record
playing systems, FM, tape (including re-
corder), television, bookcase, clock and
storage for 2000 LPs. The entire system
is controlled by both a panel in the wall
and a special set of switches behind the
executive desk.

My husband likes Judy Lee and I like
that sort of reddish-orangey contour
chair right next to her on page
Where might I obtain it and he obtain

her?

Mrs. Ray Mombelardi
Englewood, New Jersey
The chair is the Saarinen Womb by
Knoll Associates, priced at around $400.
We'll let your husband. know as soon as
the other item is pul into production.

HELLUVAN ENGINEER

cering students here par-
y appreciated cartoonist John
Dempsey’s proposal of a solution to re-
lieve the critical shortage of engincers.

“Amalgamated Dynamics? I've got you an-
other qualitative electronics engincer.”

We only wish that the shortage was that

Stewart Bowen
Harvey Mudd College
Claremont, California

A TOAST TO LEGS
Three cheers for the article оп legs
in your June issue! Long may they
wave! Having been a confirmed leg man
since the tender age of cight months
(prior to that 1 a bust man), I
viewed with pleasure the photos of the
very fortunate Miss Adland.
Major F. R. Saltus
Mitchel AFB, New York.

The little wench in the June issue has
a wicked set of stems! Where's the rest
of her?

Vic White
Brooklyn, New York
All right, all right — what are we sup-

posed to do, sit up on our hind legs and
bes for more? Will you please let us sce

what Beverly Adland has above those
legs?
Walter J. Sargent
Richmond, Virginia

I've just perused A Toast to Legs, and
if I know PLAYBov readers you'll proba-
bly get several letters asking to see Bev-
erly Adland's face, and if I know
rtAvsOv, you'll probably print these let-
ters and comply. To all this I say: Phoo-
ey; Let's see another photo of her legs!

Bob Stewart
Mobile, Alabama

To satisfy everyone, here's a photo-
graph of Beverly Adland's face as well as
her legs, plus the topography between.

THE SAPPHIRE RING
Your solution to The Case of the Sap-
phire Ring was correct, but there are
several ways to skin a cat and there is
another solution. After first weighing 1,
2, 3, 4 on the Jett inst 5, 6, 7, 8 on
the ht and an u nce is found,
assuming that the scale sinks to the lelt,
the following other method could give
the correct answer: Second weighing of
1, 2, 5, 6 on the left against 4, 9, 10, 11 on
the right. If the scale balances, we know
the true ring is 3, 7 or 8. The third
weighing 3 and 7 on the lelt against 9
and 10 on the right. If it balances the
ring is B. If an unbalance exists and it
sinks to the left, the ring is 3. If it sinks
to the right, 7 is the ring. In a similar
manner, if the scale does not balance
but sinks to the left, 1 or 2 is the ring
And if it sinks to the right, 5, 6 or 4 is
the ring. If 4 and 5 on the left balance
9 and 10 on the right, the ring is 6.
If it does not balance and the scale on
the left sinks, 4 is the ring. If it rises,
5 is the ring. If this answer is correct,
please send your June Playmate in pay-
ment. I'll be expecting to hear from you.
Gene Hirs
Detroit, Michigan
Don't call us; we'll call you.

A Jil like this...
` Bikas а, Look Like this |

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A wide range in styles—from Tey to distinctive
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For readers of Playboy

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It's rugged but relaxed. It's comfortable and
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it’s just $25 at stores that appreciate value.
The jacket has narrow lapels and a leather tab
that buttons back when desired. Natural
shoulders. Leather-trim on all pockets.
Genuine leather buttons. Foulard lining.

The slacks are Post-Grads, newest concept

of the Ivy look. Two neat flaps on the back
pockets (no buckle and strap). Leather-trim
on front pockets. Slim tapered legs. Washable.
The jacket may be bought separa. for
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PLAYBOY

AFTER HOURS

delicious method for getting the girls

sneakily sozzled is the single martini
that packs a double jolt because the H,O
has been surreptitiously subtracted from
the gin. What you do is mix up a double
and set it in the back of your deep
freeze for a couple of hours, at the low-
est possible temperature. Come party
time you reach into the freezer and drop
a small shard of ice into the martini. The
water in the gin, which is well below its
freezing point but still liquid because it
is mixed with the alky, solidifies betore
vour eyes, leaving you with solid ice on
top, and near 200 proof, very liquid,
very lively vermouth-tinged gin on the
bottom. Dump the icc, pour the now
dehydrated drink into a standard size
cocktail glass, add a twist of lemon,
smile angelically, and serve to your near-
est playmate.

Texans, it scems, are still titillated by
their state's historical heritage, but at
let thevre wringing a yok from it.
Printed under a long list of pies on the
menu of a Lone Star eatery is the
legend "Remember the à la mode.”

When we ran the Trudi Gravers item
(the lass who typed the piquant come-on
— "Now is the time for all good men to
come to the aid of Trudi Gravers" — on
New York's outdoor Olivetti) in these
columns in June, we did one small bit
of editing: we changed the girl's phone
number to a fictitious one, to protect
the innocent, you see. Shortly thercafter,
we received a bemused interoflice memo
from our eastern advertising manager,
who had this to say: “This great respon-
sive PLaynoy audience of ours can get (00

responsive. Jn the Olivetti write-up you

guys gave ‘Trudi’s phone number as
Plaza 6.6348. Now, there is no such

number but if you dial it you get SLocum

6.6348. Last week we got a call from a
reader who said he called the number
and didn't get Trudi but an old German
couple who arc pretty sick of Irudi by
this time and can't understand why they
are getting all those phone calls for her.
Well, some blabber mouth must have
told them why because today we got a
call from Mr. A. Feldman of 56 East
92nd St. Brooklyn, New York, who be-
longs to that phone number and who is
hopping mad about all those good men
who are coming to the aid of. He asks,
implores, demands that we do something
about it, and adds darkly that he is talk-
ing to his lawyer. 1 thought it might be
a nice gesture if you would write Mr.
Feldman saying that we're sorry he has
been caused any inconvenience. and
blaming the whole thing on Trudi. I
talked to Mr. Feldman and he is plainly
not a sophisticated, urban young man, so
I don't suppose there’s any point in
offering him a free subscription. Poor
Mr. Feldman. He doesn’t know the issue
has only bcen out a week."

Joseph. Kaselow, who pens an ad col-
umn lor the New York Herald Tribune,
has come up with a clever little game
called Ivy League Roulette for any ad-
venturous men's clothing shop that c
to give it a whirl: pack six suits into
boxes, mix them up and send them oft
to six customers. One of the suits has
padded. shoulders.

res

Publisher Henry Holt recently invited
members of the press corps to meet the
author of a new Holt book, How to
Stop Drinking. The occasion, of course,
was a cocktail party.

Boys and Girls Together Department;
"The "reason why" approach to seduction

received some attention in the letters
column of a recent issue of Madison
Avenue, the new magazine for New York
ad men. "Ehe reader reported that he and
quite a few of his bachelor friends en-
joyed considerable success with the "re
son why" approach when pitched with
reasonable subtlety after about the third
cocktail and he offered several variations
for use with different types of women,
which we pass along to you for what
they are worth:

If she’s avant garde: Let's defy middle-
class morals.

If she's a faddi
doing it.

If she's a health addict: It's invigorat-
ing. and helps to keep vou young.

If she's intellectual: It will broaden
your outlook.

If she's ambitious: How do you think
girls get to be stars?

If she's already taken:
spice of life.

If she's fed up with the city: А quiet
weekend in the country would be nice.

If she’s romantic: Baby, it’s bigger than
both of ust

Simply everybody's

the

iety

FILMS

The Fly, a marrow-chiller bused on one
of the most popular stories that ever
appeared in PLAYBOY, sticks reasonably
close to n's original—an
eerie and mystifying narrative, if you
recall, mainly dealing with the problems
of a scientist who suddenly finds him-
self wearing the head and leg of a fly.
One problem: to track down the fly with
the scientist's rightful appendages so that
a switch can be effected. The mixup
comes about through the ейог of André
Delambre (Al Hedison) to build a ma-
chine that disintegrates matter, transmits

scorge Langela

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it, and then reassembles it, After some
successes, misfortune: a bluebottle buzzes
into the machine while André is disin-
tegrating himself, with the above-men-
tioned игру result. Keeping his nau-
seating new acquisitions hidden, André
asks his bewildered but loving wile,
Hélène (Patricia Owens), to locate the
fly in the ointment, then, when the hunt
seems hopeless, despairingly orders her
to kill him in а hydraulic press that will
crush the ghastly parts out of all recog-
nition so The World Will Never Know.
Herbert Marshall plays a conscientious
police inspector while Vincent Price adds
a note of comfort as André's brother.
In the way of plot changes, the locale
has been shifted [rom France to Canada,
and Hollywood softens blows: Пеёпе
isn't clapped into a mental hospital (not
right off, anyway), Price supplies wistlul
romantic interest and. (naturally) Héléne
doesn't commit suicide. All is not soft,
however: the fly is finally found, trapped
and screaming-scared, darting a green
tongue, in 2 spider web. The spider
approaches . . . You'll have nightmares.

William Holden, as brash Yank David
Ross in The Key, turns up in 1941 Eng-
land for a stint in the Salvage Service —
a fleabitten fleet of unarmed tugs de-
ployed to save cargo ships blitzed by
Nazi subs. A nasty biz, and not to Hol-
den's immediate liking, but considered
a vital operation by his sca chum, aging
tug captain Trevor Howard. Howard
introduces Holden to Sophia Loren,
whom he plans to wed, and unfolds a
weird yarn: at war's outbreak, decent
digs had been hard to come by and Miss
Loren and a former, now dead, fiance,
had been lucky to find a light and airy
Hat. The fiance, a Sal Service man
himself, was a cerebral chap thoroughly
convinced of the tentative and wispy na-
ture of wartime liaisons, and so he'd had
a duplicate key to the apartment made,
nd passed it on to a buddy with the
request that should he (the fiance) be
bumped off in action, the friend would
use the key and make himself at home.
Sure enough, the fiance got his and the
herited not only the flat but Sophia
to boot. The tradition was carried on
and the duplicate key was given to
Howard, who promptly moved in upon
the death of tugboat man No. 2. Mean-
while (and this brings us up to the pres-
ent), Sophia had begun to ruminate over
the idea that she was sort of like a well-
thumbed library book, and though she
was still bestowing her favors freely on
her parade of male roomies, by now
she'd thoroughly given up on life.
But Holden, the next in line, changes
I that when — after some stormy sail-
ing in emotional waters as well as action
at sca —the two of them get to know
each other, as well as bed cach other.
Throughout the movie, the philosophic,

symbolic and contemplative portions
tend to be a bit pretentious, and director
Carol Reed has done a somewhat better
job, actionwise, on the open sea than in
the flat, probably having been inhibited
by the thought that— for the censors’
sake — Sophia shouldn't have too good a
time of it. Nevertheless, Holden and
Miss Loren do mighty well by their parts,
while Howard is magnificent.

Playing а bitchy, pitiable, deeply dis
turbed girl who works and wantons her
way up to movie queendom, Kim Stan-
ley is superb in Paddy Chayefsky's cruel
and blunt The Goddess. Fear of rejec
tion motivates her every act: she got
dates in Depression-era Maryland by
putting out, as they say; then wed a pair
of neurotics in quick succession; aban-
doned her baby to her mother; meta-
morphosed into that tortured property
known as the Vine Street starlet. At 31,
she is a wealthy star whom her psychia
trist has given up on, lives (and ties to
dic) on pills, and fights her fecling of un
belonging loneliness with booze. Others
in the cast are great, too, under John
Cromwell's slow-paced, stark direction:
Steve Hill as the goddess’ wildly de-
pressed first hubby; Lloyd Bridges as her
feckless No. 2, a former pug; Betty Lou
Holland as her self-centered, spirit-man-
gling mother; Elizabeth Wilson as her
tough nursesecretary whose main job is
to keep the Idol Of Millions from killing
herself. While Chayefsky’s script has
faws—changes of mood of the principals
are thrust at the audience with alarming
abruptness, for instance—the frontal at-
tack on parentinduced neuroses is so
direct and the dissection of Hollywood
mores so perceptive that the movie is
one of the most gripping of the ycar.
In forming his own company to shoot
this low-budget ($740,000) picture and
transplanting Broadway actress Stanley
to the screen, ambitious Chayefsky has
boosted his stature a lot. That man can
write; that girl can act.

Save for effectively savage riot scenes,
including the passing out of pitchforks
to scraggly. gat-toothed French peasants
nd the familiar Bastillestorming bit,
the Latest remake of A Tole of Two Cities,
for ull its fine intentions, is mighty slin
Dickens. Dirk Bogarde's Sidney Carton
— the selfpitying, overdramatic lush
who's usually whining when he's not
wining, and very often doing both at
the same time— gets awfully rich at
times. And director Ralph Thomas, in
his zeal to bring the tome back to the
screen, has sacrificed quality for tradi-
tion: there is a stilted, summer theater
aura about the whole shooting match,
Bogarde and Paul Guers (playing Charles
Darnay, who's supposed to resemble
Carton closely) look as much alike as
Rock Hudson and Jack Oakie. Dolllike

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11

PLAYBOY

12

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Dorothy Tutin is Lucic Manette, the
sympathetic chick for whom Carton
does the “far, far better thing." It
would be a far, far better thing for you
to give it the go-by.

Hammer Film Productions, the “give-
'em-what-the nt' British outfit that
did the well-bred Curse of Frankenstein
(Playboy After Hours, Oct, 1957), is
back again with Horror of Dracula, the old
Bram Stoker chestnut warmed over a
friendly funeral pyre and served up
with quivers, cadavers, coffins, capes,
cleavage, fangs, stakes-through-the-heart,
Technicolor blood, Joud sudden music,
a vampite who crumbles into vacuum-
cleaner fuzz, сіс. Fun for the whole fam.
ily. Hammer Films considers itself “the
company that is putting fresh blood into
the film industry” and is reportedly
readying a switch on And God Created
Woman, to be titled Frankenstein Cre-
ated Woman. Says showbiz bible Variety
“If not Brigitte Bardot, at least a Bardot
type will be sought for the lead.” We
can hardly wait.

In Guendalina, a kind of unpretentious
paisan paean to the throes and woes of
adolescence, young Gallic actress Jac-
queline Sassard (a live ringer for Susan
Strasherg) plays the title role with rare
poignancy. She's the haughty, mixed-up
product of rich, combatable parents,
whose marriage is on the skids. While
her mother (Sylva Koscina) is busy snap
ping at her, the old man (Raf Vallone)
is making googoo eyes at every signorina
from Naples to the Road to Pompeti. At
a summer spa near Pisa, Guendalina
meets a bumbling young sensitive stu-
dent (Raffacle Mattioli) who eagerly
gives chase. It isn't until Guendalina
topples into a fetid drainage ditch that
she learns humility. She follows this
with a dash into the ocean, where her
dress comes off, but there's а raincoat
handy when she steps out. Ironically, it's
not until the lovers return from a trip to
the top of the Tower of Pisa that they
are straightened out. Fortunately, the
sentiment is always intersticed with
humor, so the film rarely gets gucky.
Director Alberto Lattuada keeps things
moving nicely and docs a convincing job
of showing youngsters and grownups in
heat. His camera rolls so caressingly over
limbs and tight apparel, that occasionally
the English titles steam. Come to think
of it, so did we.

RECORDINGS

A happy wend in the night club busi-
ness, where big names have been pricing
their talents out of existence or into TV
(which amounts to the same thing) is the
packaging of miniature revues which
make up for their lack of "stars" with

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relations, merchandising and reporting.
Reps do such jobs as contacting local re-
tailers for national advertisers; gaining
publicity for PLAYBOY, setting up PLAYBOY
Parties—we've a big free party kit we
give to campus groups for such affairs,
Alas, some colleges have no rep. In
college? Interested? Write for full infor-
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fresh faces and, even more important,
fresh new material. Toke Five (Offbeat
0-4013) offers a fine sample of the doings
on this Scotch-and-soda circuit. And, hap-
pily, just about everything that fits on
the tiny stage in Julius Monk's Down-
stairs at the Upstairs Room in New
York, where Take Five is in its second
year, fits very nicely on an LP. That
includes three hilarious sketches and 10
assorted musical numbers. While uneven,
all of the material is at least refreshingly
adult and, at times, damn near great. All
abers of the cast do justice to
their assignments. Special honors to Ron
m in the sketches: he's perfect
ition poet reading
one of his epics, e the youth, yuh
dirty bastards.” ‘Then, as an idiotically
cheerful victim of à Mike Wallace inter
view who reacts to the news that Mike's
researchers have dug up evidence that he
"Did you ever have one of
those days?” And, best of all, Graham's
Нату the Hipster bit, the bop-talked
graduation ceremony at a school for pro
gressive jazz musicians. Take Five is both
witty and sophisticated listening.

Light/The

тту Giuffre 3 (Atlantic
1282) teams Jimmy — playing clarinet,
tenor and baritone — with Bob Brook-
т on trombone and Jim Hall, guitar.
Eight selections are offered, all very
tightly counterpointed and very clearly
composed and rchearsed. This is "head"
music, collected, icy, rather quiet. It is
also very full of complex sound (for a
trio). The title piece is coolly romantic:
The Swamp People shows the influence
of Balinese temple belles — we guess; The
Green Country, subtitled "New England
Mood," sounded more like Singapore to
us; Forty-Second Strect is rendered as it
might seem to a stroller on that scene
alone at five AM. high and quiet:
Pickin’ "Em Up and Layin’ ‘Em Down is
gently funky in spots, bluesy in others;
The Lonely Time is jetage Elizabethan;
and so it goes. The only boner is a hokey,
juiced-up California Here 1 Come. All
the rest is musingly musical intellection
— but is it jazz?

Two exKenton larks—gone chicks
both — warble wonderfully on This Js June
y (Capitol T1006) and A Jozz Date
with Chris Connor (Atlantic 1286). June's
tunes range from the cozy (ГЇЇ Remem-
ber April) to the crazy (Bei Mir Bist Du
Schön) and a more freeswinging, felici
tous effort by the misty Miss Christy just
hasn't been cut yet. Chris’ collection in
our opinion is one of her best to date,
100—a crisp combination of literate
ditties (Lonely Town, Poor Little Rich
Girl, among others) given a glossy, taste-
d-the-beat reading by the finest
ser in the biz. At the risk of drop-
ized platitudes, the

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girl is great and this disc’s a must.

One of the most unpretentious and
easytotake West Coast jazz sets іп re
cent months has been produced by How
ard Lucraft, the composer and guitarist.
The groups assembled include such stal
warts as Conte Candoli, Bud Shank, Art
Pepper, Shelly Manne and Bob Cooper.
Four of the nine tracks are Lucraft orig-
inals; of the others, the exotic treatment
of Midnight Sun stands out. Howard
strums rhythm guitar on a couple of
tracks, but modestly turns the plectrum
work over, on most of the tunes, to à
cat listed as John Doe. Our first exclu
sive: it's Howard Roberts. LP title is
Showcase for Modern Jazz (Decca DL 8679).

It's seldom easy, though always pleas
ant, to find somebody on whom you can
give a sincere comeback report. Such,
happily, is the case with the amazing
Billie Holiday, who alter a series of LPs
and public appearances that convinced
many of her hardiest fans she was
washed up, has sprouted a pair of sides
that manage to a large degree to recap
ture the rapture. On Lady in Satin (Co-
lumbia CL. 1157) the edges on the tones
are rougher than of yore, but the won-
derful, m fecling is there, beautifully
cushioned by 20 strings in an orchestra
for which Ray Ellis functions effectively
as arranger and conductor. Best of all.
instead of the rehashes to which she has
so long confined herself, Lady Day doles
out a dozen great ballads, none of which
she has ever recorded before—umes like
You've Changed and The End of a Love
Affair.

Onc of the ncatest packaging jobs of
recent times is called Have Blues, Will Travel
(World Pacific JWG 509) in which eight
combos. as small as the Russ Freeman
Trio and as huge as the Charlie
Mariano-Jerry Dodgion Sextet, extol in
instrumental outings the virtues of the
blues, Among those present are also the
Chet Baker-Art. Pepper Sextet, the Bob
Cooper-Bud Shank Quintet and the
hard-swinging Elmo Hope Quintet, Lots
of kicks here.

Although Billy Eckstine’s Imagination
(EmArcy 36129) almost runs away with
him, there is a smooth, satisfying quality
in the big Eckstine baritone on nearly all
the numbers. Worth a particular listen
are 4 Faded Summer Love, That's АЦ,
Ghost of a Chance and the title tune.
Billy launches a series of ad libs on 7
Cover the Waterfront that comes off less
than dandy, but where Billy goofs, Don

agerquist's biting trumpet counterpoint
spreads joy . .. Another joy spreader is
the perpetually breathless Julie (Liberty
3096) — Miss London, of course — who
herein smolders through the lilting likes
of such goodies as Somebody Loves Me,

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Midnight Sun, For You, Dom'cha Go
"Way Mad and a bright-blue version of
Daddy ("1 want a sunken tub, a big mas-
seur to give me a—rub"). Swingy, sexy and
relaxed ear balm.

Some quickie comments on prize picks
from coolsville: Blues ond Brass (Decca DL
8686) presents a big band of headliners
playing big city music composed, orches-
trated and conducted by Elmer Bern-
stein (who did the tracks for The Man
with the Golden Arm and The Sweet
Smell of Success, among others); by us,
this disc deserves to be a best seller. We
especially commend as a high point a
flute duet followed by a Candoli broth-
ers muted horn duet on the same theme

. Ahmad ото! ot the Pershing (Argo 628)
shows off the virtuosity of this gifted lad
(accompanied by bass and drums) in a
continuously happy and surpriseful set
of eight . . . The Modern Jozz Quartet and The
Oscar Peterson Trio at the Opera House (Verve
8269) gives one side to each group, was
recorded at the Chicago Opera Ilouse,
nicely contrasts the studied frigidities of
the quartet with the trio's rolling drive.

“You may call me a singer of folk
songs," Theodore Bikel tells us, “or a
folk song singer,” but not a folk singer —
because “а folk singer is one who sings
the traditional songs of his own people."
whereas Vienna-born, Palestine-reared,
widely-traveled polyglot Bikel sings the
songs of Ireland, Israel, Scotland, Russia.
Mexico, France, Yugoslavia and all
points west, east, north or south. In cozy
clubs all over the world he sings them
(betwixt acting stints: on Broadway with
Julie Harris in The Lark; in the films
Fräulein, The Little Kidnappers, The
Pride and the Passion, The African
Queen) and he also sings them on the
Elektra label, his latest batch being Songs
of о Russian Gypsy (150), tunes by turns
tender, tempestuous, tipsy. tortured.
studded with troikas and nichevos and

nyets, sung against a thick, cabbage.
soupy background of balalaikas, ac-
cordions, guitars and gypsy violins.

Bikel’s voice — as big and beefy his

| person — is also captured on Elektra’s

A Young Mon ond e Moid (109;
{fier Hours, February 1957; а bare
bosomed entry in our July "58 Music to
Make Your Eyeballs Pop), Jewish Folk
Songs (141), An Actor's Holiday (105) and
Folk Songs of Israel (132) — this last a
thumping, thrilling, savage clutch of
hummable, tappable, eternally repeat

able melodies. It's our favorit

Playboy

"Two tapes of charming program music
delightfully performed, may be just what
you want for a cozy autumn evening ol
casual, relaxed, happy listening: selec
tions from Mendelssohn's A Midsummer
Night's Dream (Columbia HMB 16), spa
ciously stereoed by Eugene Ormandy

MOODS

Ray [с^ icr PRI
Hartley zx
;, The Trembling
ofa

Leaf
nd The Sound of the Sea

Pianist Ray Hartley plays lush mood
music for lovers! The Trembling ofa Leaf,
The Sound of the Sea, Sleepy Lagoon,

The Very Thought of You, and eight more!

Recorded in New Orthophonic sound. Also
available on RCA Victor Living Stereo Records.

@ RCAVICTOR.

New Argo LP Releases

623 Max Rooch, Kenny Dorham, Hank Mobley
633 J.C. Heard Octet—“ This Is Me—JC Heard"
634 Yusef Loteef—“Loteef At Cranbrook”

635 Rolph Shoron Trio—Condido—"2:38 AM”

AHMAD JAMAL LP 628

Vol. 3 "Ahmad Jomel At The Pershing’

DEVELOPMENT

WRITE FOR CATALOG
20 S. MICHIGAN CHICAGO 16, ILLINOIS

» AUDIO ODYSSEY BY ARGO

15

PLAYBOY

16

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and the Philadelphia Orchestra; and
Ravel's Ma Mére l'Oye (Mercury MS
which is lucidly and charmingly played
by the Detroit Symphony under Paul
Paray. An added goodie on this stereo
tape is Chabrier's Bourée Fantasque; its
bounce and vivacity make a pleasing
contrast to the Ravellian ramblings.

Beethoven's “Eroica,” Symphony Number
3 in E flat (VRT 4003) is the most recent
stereotape to come our way from Van-
guard’s Beethoven symphony series, and
a fine, noble reading it gets from thc
Philharmonic Promenade Orchestra. ba
toned by Sir Adrian Boult. Only slightly
less successful is the same ork's and lead-
ег'з rendition of Symphony Number 7, in A
(VRT 3020); the same job as done by the
Pittsburgh Symphony with William Stein-
berg conducting (Capitol ZF-22) seems a
somewhat better reading to us, but un-
less you're a Beethoven purist the Boult
will do you fine and cost you an even
three clams less.

Six discs in search of a stereo pickup,
all previously available monaurally and
commented on with favor in these col-
umns: Music to Listen to Barney Kessel By
(Stereo Records 5 7001): The Leroy Vinegar
Sextet (Stereo Records 5 7003): André
Previn and His Pals (Stereo Records S 7001)
— the pals being Shelly Manne and Red
Mitchell, helping Previn play songs from
Pal Joey: Firehouse Five Plus Two Goes to Sea
(Stereo Records 5 7005); Beethoven's
Pastoral Symphony (Vanguard VSD 2004)
and Vivaldi’s The Four Seasons played by 1
Solisti di eb (Vanguard BGS-5001).

BOOKS

John P. Marquand, who broke in as a
wtiter of whodunits, didn't really hit big
until he devised the whydunit. Forinula:
take a middle-aged hero, face him with
some soul-shaking crisis, then send him
scurrying back into his New England
past to find out how he got that way. In
Women And Thomas Harrow (Little, Brown,
$4.75), the hero is a highly successful
playwright who's lost his silk shirt back-
ing a Broadway musical. But money
only Tom Harrow's surlace problem
underncath, it's women. He's currently
working on wife No. 3, ап ashblonde
actress who relers to No. 1 as "that
woman" and No. 2 as "that bitch" —
and who, apprised of the disaster, now
relers to Tom as “a conceited, washed
out, middle-aged has-been, and not even
much of a lover.” So back he goes into
the past. and, in the course of his self-
service psychoanalysis, he discovers that
he's still in love with wife No. | —
town Rhoda of the “financial face" (his
broker's description) and the “beautiful
pelvis" (her doctor's). She offers to come

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back to him, but he turns her down. His
puritan conscience satisfied, he joins the
other Marquand heroes, facing the fu-
ture with a new calm, chagrin-and-bear-
it outlook. Of course, this is all done
with superior craftsmanship, but Mr. M
seems to be reaching the point of no
return, where one of his yarns sounds
just like all the others.

When Wilma Montesi's half-clad body
was found on the beach near Rome in
1953, nobody but her family paid much
attention. But within a year, her poor
corpse had been postmortemed 18 times,
her virginity (or lack thereof) was Sub-
ject A from pressroom to espresso-shop,
and the Government's fate hinged liter
ally on what had happened to her garter.
helt. All this because it was claimed that
she had been lured to a nearby estate —
the site of evil orgies — by the son of a
Cabinet-minister, then killed because
she knew too much. ‘The ensuing hub-
bub is reprised by Wayland Young in
The Montesi Scondal (Doubleday, $1). Fhere
were trials and re-trials, suits and coun-
tersuits, and the parade of witnesses
included magicians, madams, ministers,
mistresses and medicos. Yet when it all
subsided, nobody was convicted, and
there was nothing to prove that Wilma
hadn't drowned accidentally, as her tam-
ily daimed, while dipping her tootsies
in the sea. Mr. Young, quondam corre-
spondent for London's staid Observer,
recounts it all in a curious mixture of
sober documentation and tabloid sensa-
tionalism. Though he tries to relate it
to world politics, insisting that it pro-
vided an escape valve for pressures which
might otherwise have fomented revolu-
tion, the total effect is somehow that of
a bad verismo opera, sung in English.

André Maurois, who normally writes
biographies that sound like novels, has,
in September Roses (Harper, $3) written a
novel that sounds like autobiography.
It's not, of course, but Guillaume Fon
tane, the distinguished fiftyish French
belles-lettres-man whose story it is, could
easily be mistaken for the author. Per-
haps that's why there's so much fervor
and favor in this account of Fontane's
ellorts to recapture the first, fine, care
less rapture which, as a poor young
professor, he once knew with an unde
minding girl named Minnie — and
which inspired his best work. Once he
left her for Pauline, the rich, widowed
salon-kceper who married him, his work
suffered, but his fame (stage-managed by
Pauline) grew. There were compensa
tions, and their marriage rocked along
but now, at 57, he meets a sexy youn:
portraitist who persuades him that "a
married man is only half а man — and
not the best half." Pauline fixes Aer
wagon, but on a lecture-tour in South
America, he meets Latin Lolita (blond

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PLAYBOY

18

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hair, scagrcen cycs, generous mouth) and
he is lost. At his age, the ensuing rapture
isn’t exactly careless, but it’s delightful
nonetheless, and the following fireworks
provided by Lolita and Pauline add
a fine ironic fillip to this sad, sensitive
and superlative novel.

Jerome Weidman’s first novels (I Can
Get It For You Wholesale, What's In It
For Me?) hit the public like 2 one-two
sock on the button. Raw, raucous.
rowdy, with seamy themes and free-hcel
ing heroes, they were vital and ali
There followed a period of dalli
the pastel pastures of Hollywood, but
now with The Enemy Сатр (Random
House, $4.95), his former force and
vigor are again evident, and, in his ma
turity, he has directed them to a theme
of universal import — a man’s search for
himself. In one hectic 1950 weckend,
George Hurst, successful exurbanite, is

al. George is a Jew. He
was raised on New York's lower east side
by orthodox Aunt Tessie, who gave him
a builtin shoulderchip towards the
shkutzim, the Gentiles—The Enemy
tes were Danny Schorr
and Dora Di also Jewish. Danny
soon joined the “enemy” and after a
what-makes-Danny-run. career, became а
rich hotel tycoon and married Dora, who
was also loved by George with an Of-
Human-Bondage obsession. Their rc-
peated betrayals of George during his
long. stubborn and often bitter climb
to success and, with a Gentile wife, to a
surface acceptance of the shkutzim, form
the framework of Mr. Weidman's plot.
In the end, he is able to get his child-
hood friends off his back—and Aunt
Tessie’s chip off his shoulder — and
stand erect, his own man, looking a
whole world in the cye. Mr. Weidman,
after a too-long count down, shows that
he has the fire-power to get this ambi-
tious undertaking into orbit, It wobbles
somewhat, but it stays right up there.

Peanuts addicts are hereby alerted that
mother book of Charles M. Schulz’
smalllry sophistication is out, this one
starring the precocious pooch, Snoopy
(Rinehart, $1), “the only dog in the
world who can retrieve a soap bubble,"
swoon over Chop walk with nonchal-
ant ease on his hind legs and philoso-
phize thus: "I wonder why some of us
were born dogs while others were born
people? Somehow, the whole thing
doesn't scem very fair. Why should 7
have been the lucky one?" Cave canum.

‘Those who remember Alberto Mo-
ravia's The Woman of Rome will doubt-
less expect to find in his new novel the
same melange of hot tomato, crust and
cheese (cake). They will be disappointed.

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Tribulation, not titillation, is the keynote
of Two Women (Farrar, Straus & Cudahy,
$4.95). in which the titular duo are
mother and daughter who flee Rome
with the coming of the Nazis. Mamma
is an earthy peasant type (Anna Mag-
nani is playing it in the upcoming film
version) who married young. had no true
sex experience until after she was wid-
озса; her Rosetta is gentle and religious
(busty, lusty Sophia Loren) —at least at
book's beginning — and her mother's
efforts to keep her so in a time when
food and sex are the only marketable
commodities provide a touching sub
theme in Moravia’s threnody. For a time
it looks as if Rosetta will find true love
with Michele, a university graduate
(though his failure to react when he
happens on her in the bathtub lowers
Mamma's opinion of higher education),
but hes bumped off by the Germans.
Ironically ج‎ for this is Moravia — Ro-
setta remains chaste until mother and
daughter seem safe with the invading
Allies, but then Rosetta is brutally raped
in a church and for a time takes leave
of her senses. Only as they near Rome,
and home, once more does she find both
song and tears alter days of frozen
silence, and this scene is Moravia at his
best. In fact, with Two Women, Signor
Moravia sets a new high in relentless
neo-realismo, and any who come to leer
will remain to cheer.

“Once upon a time,” says John Keats,
author of The Insolent Chariots (Lippincott,
$3.95), "the American met the automo-
bile and fell in love. Unfortunately, this
led him into matrimony, and so he did
not live happily ever after.” Thus begins
a book which is the portrait of that
marriage, a dissection — sometimes with
scalpel and sometimes with guillotine
and buzz saw — ОЁ an obsessive-compul-
sive union, thé caustically h
story of how the darling sweethe
came the nagging, fat, expensi
dressed, bejeweled wife.

Keats (as readers of Eros and Unreason
in Detroit in last month's PLAYBOY are
aware) is not the aloof critic; his method
is to wade into the attack, armed with
facts and passion, and to flail about him
with barbarian relish and the energy of
a hashish-crazed zealot. Fortunately for
the reader, his prose style is entertain-
ing, imaginative, impudently witty. As
one reads about such aggravated top-
ies as builtin obsolescence, rising costs,
dealer practices, financing, the domi
nance of styling as opposed to engineer-
ing, the rocky, rocketing rise of the
automobile industry and its effect on
the economy and social fabric of the
nation, one's respect for the author's
marshaling of facts and his original,
iconoclastic interpretation of them
grows. Some of his basic assumptions are
a bit hard to take: he suggests, for exam-

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ple. that most Americans should consider
economy and safe transportation the
major criteria in а car — and that those
who are influenced by zing and prestige
may be а bit unsound upstairs, But for
the most part this explosively corrosive
study of the Detroit product is enlight-
ening, enjoyable and devastatingly con-
vincing. We're tempted to wonder — now
that Keats has demolished development
housing (his best-selling The Crack in the
Picture Window) and the motor moguls
and their work — what he'll take on next.
Whatever it is, we predict this schola
with a sword will chalk up one n
OK KO.

Shepherd Mead has proffered, in the
form of a novel, a typical week in a big
Madadvertorium (you know: booze &
bosoms, layouts & lays, ratings, ruttings,
rantings) with sharp focus on a hardnosc,
softsell smoothie who goes on the make
for the agency head's neglected young
wife and on the take for the agency itself.
And so on. The stricture as before, It's
all very slick and readable, but the sum
total makes one think the tome should
have been called The Rover Boys in
Their Sinseersucker Suits. Mead calls it
The Admen (Simon & Schuster, $4.50).

In The Violated (Dial, $4.95), Vance
Bourjaily, who's а dues-paying, blues-
playing (but balding) member of the
Beat Generation school, has produced a
kind of splitlevel "beat" book — in
which ‘the hero, Tom Beniger, never

i that he’s basically a cool

‚ and tries to make his way in sub-
urban squaresville. By failing to get on
the road and dig the most, all he digs is
his own grave—for in trying to steal
some vegetables from a neighbor's
garden (he’s broke), he gets plugged.
Around him in his tragic trajectory orbit
his two pals — priapian Guy, who keeps
book on his conquests, and tough little
Eddic, who for years is locked in a Jove
less sex-fixation on Tom's sister. There
are many others, all of them wantonly
violated by life, cach other, or them:
selves. 105 a valid theme and he hits it
hard; many of his episodes have unfor
gettable bitterness and bite. But he blows
the blue note so long and loud that he
occasionally hits a clinker. Too bad, he
cause, when he's at his best, this boy
can really fly

Heretofore available only in the pa
perback edition by the Olympia Press in
Paris, Vladimir Nabokov's Lotte (Put
nam's, $5) is now published in the States.
Brow«reasing news, because this novel,
which has been called a masterpiece,
has also been called an obscene, porno:
graphic and subversive work. The first-
person plot concerns the passionate ad
ventures of onc Humbert Humbert, who
is addicted to the love o[ what he calls

ymphers"—sensuous young girls who
are not yet women, no longer children
He describes his pursuit of these nym.
phets, p ly of a pretty pouter

med Lolita, in extensive, pathetic,
comic and horrendous detail. Humbert.
marries Lolita’s widowed mother just to
be near the youngster; mama gets her-
If killed; HH tours the motels of the
U.S. with the libidinous little orphan
At book's end, Lolita reaches a ripe old
age (17) and our hero murders his great
rival, a “practically impotent” pervert,
in a Grand Guignol scene which recalls
the richest of Rabelais, Dostoievsky and
Spillane. Nabokov. the author of all this,
is in his own quite different way alinost
as extraordinary as his protagonist. He
has written novels in French, Russian
and English; taught Lit in a number of
universities: dashed off a series of ami
able New Yorker sketches published un
der the title Puin; enjoys an interr
tional rep as а butterfly collector; and
once perpetrated am avantgarde novel
about a blind voyeur, The Real Life of
Sebastian Knight. Like the Abominable
nowman, his Lolita has had an under-
ground fame in the of travelers
Whether she expresses "the myth of
the contemporary American passion for
youth." as some anced” thinkers
have argued, or whether her history is
merely one of the most touching and
amusing of the century, it is a book to
buy, borrow or heist. Putnam's swears
they've published the gamy Paris version
intact "except for typographical correc
tions,” and it is a consummation de-
voutly to be wished, for poor Humbert's
Lolita deserves to be seen in all her sugar-
plum sweetness, outrageous sportiveness
and astonishing schoolgirl leche!

DINING-DRINKING

As soon as the Labor Day traffic
crush is over, it's a good notion to drive
out of the city for some sundown sw
ging and a spot of food. If the city in
question is New York, we urge on you
such exurbanite eateries as Boni's Inn at
Fishkill, New York; Connecticut's Red
Born (Westport, of course); Emily Show's
Inn at Pound Ridge, New York (which
has nifty nibbling despite its tearoom-
type tide), and, on Long Island, Frank
Friede's Riverside Inn (Smithtown). All
have, in addition to grub and prog,
pleasing decor, good service, а
but quite elegant air. Bi
for reservations.

At Dove Chasen’s famot
(9039 Beverly), the reservations are h
to come by, but the gourmet will find
that the couple of days of advance plan-
ning һе may have to allow himself to
make sure of obtaining one are worth it.
Chasen's is зо not notable

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PLAYBOY

22

Nothing makes

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feminine
to

a

[AiMA

(THE MAGNET)

by COTY

з по то 100 PLUS TAK

COTY, THE ESSENCE OF BEAUTY THAT 15 FRANCE

clientele that its cuisine hasn't won the
acclaim it deserves. Dave features food
prepared in a synthesis of styles, the pre-
dominating influences being French and
Jewish. It's a heavenly combination; try,
for example, а cup of ice-cold borsch
with a gorgeous glop of sour cream, fol
lowed by sliced rare tenderloin with
sauce Béarnaise, The tab isn't prohibi
tive for what you get, the decor is largely
chophouse, the bar is jamined with celebs.

Johnny Dante deliberately located his
new pub, Dante's Inferno (57 W. Huron),
on a dingy Chicago sidestreet instead of
the brightly lit Windy City thorough-
fares that draw the conventioneers.
Near enough to the Loop to be a cor
venient must for the hip traveler, Dante's
entertainment policy is what puts neon-
light-years between this intimate grog
shop and the gaudier hotspots sur-
rounding it. Currently spotlighted is
Frank D'Rone, a young singer whose
stature is reflected by an established
female claque which comes nightly to
dig — alone in twos and threes when they
can't find escorts. D'Rone accompanies
himself with guitar on the likes of I Like
the Likes of You, Wee Small Hours and
I'm Glad There Is You. In this world of
ordinary bistros, dim-lit Dante's is a re-
freshing retreat — until two in the Ам
three on Saturdays.

Up in the American Northwest, where
you can embark from Seattle for Alaska,
the Orient, or a cruise among the
lands of Puget Sound and out to the
Pacific through the Straits of Juan de
ca—yeah, way up there, right in Scat-
Че-іѕ one of the best restaurants in
these United States, its territories, Guam
and the Phillipines. It’s named, simply,
Conli (2576 Aurora) after its owner
founder—and its success formula is sim-
ple, too: superb service of fine food in
à spectacular setting. About the first,
Mr. Canlis told us samething of the care
he lavishes on selecting, then traini
his waiters and waitresses, mı
bartenders, wine steward, etc
be letter perfect before he allows them
to have any contact with his customers-
and there are just enough of them to
assure promptness and personal atten.
tion without that claustrophobic hover-
ing we happen to find irritating in some
of the better traps around the world.
About the second: you can get fabulous
pepper steak as you've never had it be-
lore, Pacific Goast delicacies, super sal
ads, and like that—but the specialties
are charcoal broiled. And of thesc, we
recommend a hefty hunk of salmon: if
you've never hid it broiled just done
enough, tender and juicy and firm, you

owe it to yourself to make a special trip

to Seattle for it, There's a fine wine
cellar, too. ‘The decor is lush contem-
porary, the view from the window walls

is sensational, the prices are upper mod

erate, and reservations are a must

Dixie devotees in St. Louis dote on The
Tigers Den (5607 Delmar Boulevard),
where Sammy Gardner and His Mound
City Six pulverize the people, Sporting
ves loud as its gutbucket jazz.
Sammy's sextet is one of the best young
Dixie ensembles in the land, punctuates
its playing with good clean fun (after
belting out Bourbon Street Parade, the
thirsty gentlemen of the orchestra pause
for a shot of the fermented corn). Jim
Haislip and his tailgate trombone and
a cornetist with the musical handle of
Muggsy Sprecher are top-notch tootlers;
Sammys own clarinet, particularly in
the upper register, is brilliant. Decor is
dandy, drinks are potent, tab is reason-
able. Grubless.

S as

“Bringing to Chicago the atmosphere,

food and splendor of the South Sea Is-

lands" is The Troders (im the mei
House), a larger, multichambered off
shoot of San Francisco's Trader Vic,
created and supervised by the West Coast
restaurateur. Relentlessly White Cargo
in decor (nets, shells, masks, Easter Is
land-type statuary, visible dramlike well
deep ovens, tantalizing Tondelayos in
those tight, slit, Chinesey dresses), it
naturally draws the Babbitts and rubber
necks like a lodestone, but one foot-high
Fog Cutter under your belt buckle puts
them pleasantly out of focus and lets
you enjoy the theatricality of the place
Other potations: The Suffering Bastard,
The Colonel's Big Ори, Dr. Funk of
Tahiti, Dr. Funk's Son, The Scorpion
(a brimming birdbath of light rums with
a gardenia floating on the surface: it
caresses and calcifies the ladies). The ex-
cellent food matches the exotic setting
curries and sambals; Chinese, Hawaiian
Indonesian, Javanese, Malayan, Tahi
tian dishes; a barbecued whole pig wear
ing а coronet of gardenias and an apple
in his mouth (feeds 15 and requires a
week's notice). We glecfully put away a
couple of Fog Cutters followed by an
appetizer plate of spareribs, crab Ran
goon and sliced pork; went on to a gi
вапіс single sautéed Mimosa shrimp
plus a salad of limestone lettuce; then
stopped fooling around and massacred
a barbecued squab, its liver, wild rice,
creamed chicken dipped out of a coco
nut shell, stringless string beans and a
few unidentifiable delectables; polished
it all off with Strawberries Puiwa and
a liqueur; punctuated the entire orgy
with tea and Euphrates bread; wiped
our fingers on steaming scented towels.
The bill was staggering and so were we,
but as we wobbled out with canoe-pad
dle swizzle sticks in our pockets and gar-
denias in our teeth, we were unalterably
convinced that We Had Lived.

CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE

PLAYBILL j 2
DEAR PLAYBOY. 3
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS 9
THE HOUSE OF HATE—fiction .. [BROWNING NORTON 24
THE PEEPING TOM PATROL—fiction MICHAEL SHAARA 29
THE WELL-CLAD UNDERGRAD—sttire FREDERIC A. BIRMINGHAM 31
HOWLS OF IVY—article FRANK KILBURN COFFEE 39
SAUCY SOPHOMORE—playboy’s playmate of tha month E а
PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor 48
THE WOMANIZATION OF AMERICA—article 5 PHILIP WYUE 51
PLAYBOY'S PIGSKIN PREVIEW—sports ANSON MOUNT 53
SLEEPERS, AWAKE!—fiction HERBERT GOLD 56
THE SUBLIMINAL PITCH—humor ... JACK COLE 59
HIP HIP FLASKS—accessories BLAKE RUTHERFORD 63
THE BOSOM—pictorial 65
THE PRINCESS AND THE MONSTER—ribald classic 73
PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK—traval PATRICK CHASE 68

HUGH м. HEFNER editor and publisher
А. C. SPECTORSKY associate publisher and advertising director
RAY RUSSELL executive editor ARTHUR PAUL art director
JACK J. KESSIE associate editor VINCENT T. TAJIRI picture editor
VICTOR LOWNES 1и promotion director JOHN MASTRO production manager

ELDON SELLERS special projects PHILIP С. MILLER circulation manager

KEN викпу contributing editor; FREDEMC A, BIRMINGHAM fashion director;
BLARE RUTHERFORD fashion editor; THOMAS MARIO food & drink editor;
WICK CHASE (ravel editor; LEONARD FEATHER jazz editor; ARLENE WOURAS сору
AT PAPPAS editorial assistant; JERRY WHITE, JOSEPH H. PACZEK assistant art
FERN А. HEARTEL production assistant; ANSON MOUNT college bureau; THEO
K reader service; WALTER J. HOwAKIN subscription fulfillment manager.

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ACTION PHOTOS BY ROBERT я. MCLAUGHL єр BY BACON
TIRSCHEL, BACKGROUND PHOTO AY PESKIN: P єз вэ PHOTOS BY MIKE SHEA. P GNT BY DON BRONSTEIN

vol. 5. no. 9 — september, 1958

24

out there one night at the end of the lane,

lust, greed and death held a rendezvous

the delicate flavor of good dry wine, the soft air а thin
sea of pale dillused gold. In a fold of valley, at the end

of a dirt lane that sloped down from the ridge road,

Abner Huck's place lay silent, graying in the sun

The house was old and sturdy, weathered and want
ing paint but otherwise in good repair, an oblong story
and a half with a porch running across the front and
facing the lane which flowed past and pooled into farm
yard — gray barn, stable, sheds, A bleak repressed aura,
ay of poverty, hung over the place; but there was nonc
of the shiftlessness of poverty, everything was neat

Lottie Huck stepped out onto the porch, a broom in
her hand. and stood for a moment. savoring the singing
quality of the day. From the stables came the plaintive
bawling of calves, Black hens with wicked eyes and
arrogant red combs strutted the barnyard, scratched dirt
theatrically and voiced thin. harsh pacans of selt-
importance. High over the cup of valley a chicken hawk
hung lazily on disdainlul wings.

Louie began to sweep the porch, lips pursed, her odd
green eyes intent, She was not exactly pretty. Her face,
with its high cheekbones, small pinched nose and soft
unformed mouth, was like the face of a child; but her
body was lithe and long-limbed with a hint, in motion
of voluptuousness. and her skin was fresh and ripe

The Joven twins Irom Pike's Crossing up above
the tavem appeared suddenly in the lane and stood
silent. watching her with relish. They were a rangy,
unkempt pair and offensively alike, long of hair and
jaw, small of eye, greasy, unshaven, grinning. A big
black and tan cur that in some vague way resembled
them trotted up and began coursing nearby.

Lottie swung round and saw the pair. She gasped and
shrank back. Their grins broadened, their суй liule
eyes grew bolder, darted here and there and returned
to go over her in a slow, insistent way. No doubt they'd
come fram south way, cross country. headed for their
home place, And she knew what they were thinking
that Abner Huck was away somewhere about his business
of buying and selling caule.

Cal Joyen spoke to her mockingly now, a remark, a
suggestion that was an obscenity, and Lunk Joyen
laughed with delight.

Just then Abner Huck stepped around the corner of
the house with a pump gun in his hands and at that
instant the black and tan cur exploded into action, hot
alter one of Huck's hens. He might not have caught it
but he gained in wild long-legged leaps and Huck came

I was a DAY in early fall, one of those rare days with

Z
z
2

PHOTOGRAPHY BY K. O.

PLAYBOY

26

up smoothly with the shotgun. The
blast was a shocking sound in the thin
singing air. The charge caught the dog
in the head and whirled him. He spun
in the dust, showering blood, all legs
and frantic agony, and thumped out
his life with a savage reluctance.

Abner Huck pumped his gun, bring-
ing up a fresh shell and ejecting the
spent one, and stood with the piece
over his arm, staring impassively at the
Joyens. Huck was a tall spare man of
50 with a hard jaw, thin lips and pale
blue eyes. The aura of neat bleakness
that lay over the place seemed inten-
sified in him; rather, scemed to origi-
nate in him; it was as if, seeing hirn,
you understood at once the farm's de
liberate meagerni

Lunk Joyen stared at the dog. "Why
in hell'd you do that? Herky wouldn'a
caught that hen, he — "

Cal Joyen took a step forward. "Lay
down that gun, Ab Huc he said
thickly, “and by God I'll —

Huck brought the gun up a litle. His
voice was сусп and as cold as his eyes.
‘You'll what? Don't tempt mc. You
think I'd hesitate? You think folks here-
abouts ain't got the number of you two
thieving no-goods? You think the sheriff
in't just waiting to catch you red-
handed, think he don't know where Jim
Blackmarr's calves went. and Russ West-
overs Plymouth Rocks and the harness
out of Widow Shanower's barn?”

"Ab Huck, you — "

"Don't tempt me! The sheriff d shake
my hand. You got no business on my
place. If I was to say you jumped me
and I shot you, that'd be that — and you
know it! Now take your cur, get off my
place and don't never come back!”

The twins looked at Abner Huck, hate
in their eyes, Gal Joyen made as if to
take another step, but Lunk stopped
him. The brothers had courage. Abner
Huck's face said they had reason to be
afraid but they showed no fear.

“We'll shove,” Cal said softly, “but
you made a mistake this time, Huck.
We'll get you if it's the last —

“Threatening me?" Huck lifted the
Shut up and gii

"They swung without a word and
shambled along the lane.

Hold Huck yelled, “1 suid take
the dog!

They turned briefly. “Naw,” Cal said.
“we ain't taking him. You can bury him.
Shoot us in the back, if you want, and
see what you tell the sheriff about that."

When they were lost to view in the
trees Huck took his gun back to thc
shed where he'd been trying to outwait
the chicken hawk and returned to thc
porch. He went through the kitchen
door, banging the patched screen, and
stepped into the dining-sitting room to
confront Lottie.

“Where'd them Joyens come from.

Lottie?”

“I—I ain't got no idea.”

He eyed her keenly. She was trem-
bling and looked scared. Maybe from
sceing the dog shot, maybe not. There
was a shadow on her face, like she was
trying to hide something.

She's about as bright as an cight-year-
old kid, he thought with contempt and
cold anger. He was dead sick of her
after a year. A bad bargain. Sure, she
kept his house good and she could cook;
but she'd cheated him, that lithe smooth
body was a fraud, there wasn't no fire in
her, not for him anyway, and like all
she wanted things. Not much,

But that was what they all
said. The starter, the first wedge. Just
some cretonne for window curtains, she
aid, a couple pieces of porch furniture.
Porch furniture! And wanting him to
dam the brook. What the hell!

“Why was them Joyens here, Lottie?

"I don't know nothing about it," she
said in a rush. "I was just sweeping the
porch and I looked up and there they
w Her eyes scurried, refusing to meet
his glance. Her fingers plaitcd her
apron, the shadow on her face deepened.

He was sure it could mean only one
thing. “They figured I was away, figured
you was alone. Damn you, Lottic, you
got the likes of them hanging around
when I'm gone?”

ENOS по no

“They said someth;
catch it, but they said something. What'd
they say

“N-nothing. They didn't say nothing.”

“Hell they didn't! What'd they say?”

She put her hands to her face and
shrank away from him. Not for her life
would she have repeated the foul words.
"Didn't say nothing.

He grabbed her arms savagely, forc-
ing her hands down. The look on her
Tace was enough. He saw shame there,
and fear.

“You cheap slut——!
back!”

He hit her. She с
behind the table, ta
with her.

His breath whistled. “I'll get shet of
you! By God, ГИ divorce you!" Then he
stamped ош.

Presently Lottie made a whimpering
sound and pushed herself up to a sitting
position on the worn carpet. She touched
the line of her jaw gingerly and winced.
Then, slowly, huddied there in the si-
lence, she began to take comfort and
strength from the house, she felt that
the house was trying to help her. She
hadn't been able to do much for the
house, Abner Huck wouldn't let her;
but what she could do, of cleaning,
scouring and polishing, she'd done; and
that was something the house hadn't
known for many a day. She had a strange

Behind my

ed away and fell
ing half the cloth

feeling about the house. It was as if
the house appreciated what she'd done
even though Abner Huck didn't, as if
the house in some cryptic way acknowl-
edged her presence and accepted her,
might even in time love her as she had
come to love the house.

ГИ get shet of you! By God, ГИ di-
vorce you!

Could he do it? Turn her out of the
housc? She'd almost come to think of it
as her house. It wasn't, though, it wa
his! Hate you, Abner Huck, hate you,
hate you! She sat there, staring into
space and hating him, not with a ma-
ture woman's writhing sex-leavened hate,
but with the thin intense hate, the
deadly hate of a ravished child.

He hadn't no call to hit her, it wasn't
her fault about the Joyens being there,
wasn't her fault! The very thought of
the Joyens was like stepping into а
strangling clammy fog, а mist of shriek-
ing fear before which even her hatred
of Abner Huck paled. Thinking of the
Joyens and that night at the tavern,
she wanted to yell out and stamp wildly,
the way a person stamps stithery name-
less things, slimy critters that defile the
earth. She thought about the white
powdery stuff out on the shelf under
the sink that Abner Пас; had brought
home and showed her and warned her
about, the stuff in the bottle with the
skull and bones on it that he was going
to use in rat bait. She'd e to feed
that to the Joyens, spoon it down their
slimy throats.

Slowly, heartbeat by heartbeat, the
house soothed her. Now she thought
again of Abner Huck's parting words.
Maybe if he turned her out Gert would
take her back to work at the tavern.
But then a great pang of misery hit her.
If he turned her out she'd lose the
house, she'd be forever separated from
the house. She couldn't bear the thought
of losing the house; for if, in a y
she'd [earned to hate Abner Huck, sh:
also learned to love this old house that
she knew was there,

1 shouldn'a married Abner Huck, she
thought bitterly; then I wouldn't never
seen the house, wouldn't know about it
at all.

Before she married him she hadn't
had any feeling about Huck one way or
the other. She'd noticed him, like the
other men who frequently came evc-
nings to drink beer at Gert's Tavern
up below the crest of the ridge road,
but that was all. One morning when
she and Gert were cleaning the tavern
Gert had said:

"Set down, Lottie. Let’:
here four month:

It sounded like Gert was going to
fire her! Lottie put her work-coarsened
hands on the table edge and leaned

(continued overleaf)

5

see, you been

“Гое got il! Let's all get dressed and play strip poker.”

PLAYBOY

HOUSE OF HATE (continued from page 26)

forward, her green eyes blinking. mouth
slack. Maybe Gert found out about them
Joyens, she thought in sick dismay,
maybe she found ош. She was on the
point of blurting out the whole thing,
how it happened, but the words refused
to pass her lips
Instead, she said in а burst, "Doi
fire me. Gert! H 1 ain't suiting you. nor
doing right. ГИ do better. I ain't a fast
ker. but I'm willing. Don't fire me,
Gere"
Gert Jensen took the cigarette from
her mouth and stared slack-jawed. Gert
was a heavy woman. tough as an Aire
dale, with a square alert face under a
шор of weird red-henna hair. “Why,
blast you, girl!” she said. "What you
talking "bout? Me. fire you? Why would
I do tha
A die color returned to Lottie’s
checks. She settled back. “1—1 don't
know. 1 guess ‘cause I never hold a job
very long.”
ike to know why not!”
Lottie looked at her hands.
nothing I do, Gert. But I don't know,
someway . . . things always happen.
Staring, Gert suddenly understood.
Sure, it would be men! In a few words
Lot had unfolded the pattern of
her life; caged in an opulent body that
didn't suit her childlike nature . . . a
succession of drab jobs . . . When Lot-
tie was new at the tavern, Gert had
checked her closely and she knew that
louie never flaunted her body. But
Lottie's body nted itself and there
was nothing anyone could do about
the тї had watched her customers
lor signs of overinterest in Lottie and
had nipped such signs in the bud
Now Gert said, "Forget them other
places! Why, you're the best girl I evei
had, Lottie. Work like a horse, cook
like a damn angel — look how the men
gobble your victuals, It makes me laugh.
Before you come, why all they ever done
was guzzle beer; couldn't go my cook-
ing! Your cakes and pies and stews and
such is a drawing card, Lottie. Look
how them shiftless Jovenyll come in
and set drinking beer, and along with
it wolfing your chocolate cake. Tell you,
it’s a laugh. Beer and cake! Hate to
admit how much cake I've sold that
worthless pair at a quarter a throw
Lottie's eyes flickered, she shivered as
if an icy blast had touched her, but
G didn't notice.

“No, Louie, I'd hate to lose you, but
what Fin going to say's for your own

good and it may mean ГИ lose you
How old are you, Lottie?
“Twenty-five.
jert stared.
"No 1 ain't."
“Well you ain't twenty-five no more,
you're twenty! Remember that, 1 know

Ct out, you're joking

you're a good girl. Lottie. Thats what 1
told Abner Huck. What would you think
if I said Huck maybe had a hankering
to marry you?”

“Marry me? That there tall man with
the pale eyes that

“Yes, Ab Huck.

“Why would he want to marry т

“He's a widower, Lottie. Now I ain't
claiming Abner Huck's no great catch —
they say he's close — but I guess he
ain't so bad. s his debts and minds
his business. t а place right down
here off the road a piece, nothing fancy,
but solid. Maybe you could fix it up
. You'd like that, wouldn't you?"

“— I reckon.”

“Huck don't farm, he buys and sells
cattle. Don't guess he makes much out
of it, just a plain living, maybe, but
you'd have a home. Thats what you
«l, Lottie.
A little glow came into Lottie’s face,
а look of soft wonder. Then, unbidden,
the Joyens drifted across her mind and
she shivered. Maybe it wasn't fair, now,
not to tell Gert. How they grabbed her
that night a month ago, one night alter
tavern closing when Gert had already
gone to bed and Lortie'd just stepped
out for a walk around in the green
moonlight. Grabbed her, hand over
mouth, and aled her kicking and
clawing across the road and into the
brush. No knowing how long they kept
her. An endless time of jagged fear and
horror till they ler her go and she
staggered back across the road away
from their foulness, the harsh whispers
singing in her cars . . . “Tell and we'll
cat your throat! You tell and we'll kill
you!”

After that. whenever the Joyens came
to the tavern, she quivered in fear and
stayed as far from them as she could
get; but their eyes followed her. She
couldn't shake ой their eyes.

Maybe she ought to tell Gert now.
But if Gert was to tell, then Abner
Huck wouldn't marry her. And if she
married Abner Huck she'd have a home
—no more wandering from place to
place — and she'd be safe from the Joy-
ens, She'd be Mrs. Lottie Huck.

But that first conjugal night in the
house at the end of the she began
to find out about Abner Huck. He
scared her almost as bad as the Joyens,
with his violent, too-quick, stored-up
passion, and in the morning at break-
fast she saw hardness in his face, con-
tempt in his pale eyes.

Abner Huck was away a lot and it
was at such times that she got acquainted
with the house and grew to love it and
talk with it She liked to sit on the
porch steps and look across the lane at
the little cup of meadow through which
a brook flowed, falling away down

slope nearby. It wouldn't take much to
dam the brook right there, make a
pretty іше pond in the meadow, Maybe
Abner Huck would do it

But when she asked him he laughed
sourly. "Dam the brook? What in hell
for? I ain't got time for foolishness like
that.”

Another time she showed him a сас
alog and pointed out two cheap pieces
of porch furniture. He knocked the cat
alog aside with an oath. "Can't you get
it through that thick skull Im a poor
man? D'I ever tell you I got money?
Well I ain't! 1 work hard for enough
to scrape by. You don't like that, mis
tress, you know what you can do

It was a long time before she got up
the courage to mention cretonne for
curtains. She didn't realize he was in an
ugly mood over a calf deal tha 1
gone awry, and his hard slap sent h
staggering back, hand at her check. His
eyes were as cold as stone.

“Told you before! I ain't got money
for folderol! Don't you hector те no
more. When I figure we need something
ГИ buy it"

Once when Huck was away she found
a stray mongrel puppy and took it
and fondled it for two days. When Huck
came home he gave the pup one sw
look.

"Where'd that thing come from?"

"H-he come down the lane. Kinda
cute, ain't ће?

Huck didn't answer. Next morning
when she took scraps outside the pup
was gone. Huck backed his jitney from
the shed and held up a moment in the
Jane.

"I'd forget that pup. Likely he's wan-
dered off again. That's the way it goes
with stray cu;

But after he drove away she began
calling and hunting and she found the
pup. Out behind the barn on the
manure pile, its mangled head bearing
the marks of the axe. She got а spade
from the shed and buried it. She cried
a little, but not much. Digging the
grave, she wished it was a longer, deeper
grave; and something within her hard-
ened then and sealed off, like а steel
door sliding shut. From that moment on
she had no room for fear of Abner
Huck. She had only room for hate.

Now, feeling dizzy from his blow, she
staggered to her feet and fumbled to
straighten the tablecloth her fall had
pulled askew. Could he divorce her, like
he said, turn her out of the house? Oh,
1 don't want to lose the house! she
thought. Wish you was dead. Abner
Huck, wish you was dead!

Suddenly she saw the Joyens again
as they stood there in the lane, venom
in their eyes, heard Cal's soft words:

(continued on page 38)

UNDY CUT THE LIGHTS and the patrol

car glided down silently through
the trees onto the beach. The moon was
high and full; they saw the car parked
back under the trees just about the
same time the people in the car saw
them, Mundy swore and jumped out,
grabbing for his flashlight. Redmond
came out the other side, feeling ridicu-
lous,

Mundy lunged heavily through the
sand up to the parked car, blazed the
powerful flashlight beam through the
window. The boy and girl were both
up, both clothed. blinking in the light.
The boy had taken his arms away from
the girl, but the girl was startled and
was hanging on to him tightly.

“АП right, son,” Mundy grunted.
"You have to get out of here.” Red-
mond could hear his disappo
and grinned cheerfully into the
“This ain't no public beach,” Mundy
said, “you kids go do that stuff some-
where else. You never know what can
happen out here,”
“Yes sir,” the boy said instantly
s about 18.
{сусг can tell. Lots of queer char-
acters hang out around places like this.
One of them jump out on you one of
these nights. be hell to pay
“Yes sir." the boy said. He started the

He
Кы:

>

"So get on home.”
The boy nodded. the girl still hang-

ing on to him, and drove off. Mundy
watched them go. kicking fretfully at
the sand.

“Crap,” he said. “They must of seen
us coming.”

Redmond said nothing. Mundy was
senior man. Mundy made all the deci-
sions. But Redmond felt very good
They went back to the cruiser.

“Well.” Mundy said after a while. his
optimism coming back, “I know lots
more spots, We'll sce who else is did
dling who.”

He ran down the beach, then up
a dirt road through the woods. He
followed the road for a tong while
occasionally slowing to a crawl and
cutting his lights. He found absolutely

fiction By MICHAEL SHAARA

the girl's whole body stood transfixed in the beam of the copper's flashlight

ILLUSTRATION BY ROBERT CHRISTIANSEN

THE PEEPING TOM PATROL

PLAYBOY

30

“Shouldn't we better get back dow:
town? What happens if we get a cal

Mundy shrugged. “Don’t worry about
it. This is Wednesday. Nothing hap-
pens Wednesday. And if we get a call
and we're too far away, they call some-
body cl:

“They turned down another short road
leading to the sea. They flushed ar
other couple but did not catch them in
the act. When they came out and headed
for still another spot Mundy knew. Red-
mond was irritated.
D " he said, "wc going to do
this all night?"

Mundy chuckled.
ide

“Well,
мау —

“Relax.

“But it’s none of our business. These
people aren't hurting anybody.”

Mundy swung the car down another
lonely road.

“You never can tell," he said cheer-
fully, “Couple times I found suicides
this way. sneakin’ up on parked cars.
One guy in there been dead a week.
Hell of a note, a guy lays out here dead
all that while and somebody else finds
him. Makes the cops look bad. We got
to ic. How do you know what's
goin’ on in them cars? People could be
murderin’ people.”

“Sure,” Redmond said.

Mundy went on whistling absently-
After a while he said without concern:

“You'll learn. after you been around
awhile, How long you been on the
force?

“Three month:

“Where they put you?”

‘North Trafic Cruiser. Accident car.
Last month they had me walking Ninth
апа Central,

Mundy chuckled. “Man, that Ninth
and Central. That's the beat, hah? More
quiff down there than a man could use
in а hundred years. Bet you went for
that stuff, hah?"

Mundy waited for him to say some-
ing, but he didn't.
mo beat town,” Mundy
fondly, remembering. “All
irls in them stores, the bank. Мап,
lked that beat I was busy all
day. I had соПее with five hundred dif-
ferent women on the city’s time, And
then on my time ——" He laughed
fatly, then went on to tell some highly
untikely sexual adventures.

Bored, Redmond let his mind w
der, But it was true what Mundy said
about the downtown beat. There were
women all over the place, and most of
them happy to talk to you. He won-
dered why. "The uniform. yes. but it
was more. The gun. Authority. He
stared thoughtfully up at the moon.
He remembered vague tales some of

‘You got a better

what the hell this is no

the men told about the way women
acted around the gun. How one of them
had even wanted the man to wear it
to bed. Тс gun, yes. And all the power
it represented. Authority. The Law.

He glanced at Mundy. The Law, he
thought. This is the Law.

Mundy was sighing reflectively. "But
that was а good beat. Yes sir. Few good
months of that could kill a man.” He
chortled, then broke it off. he
said with feeling. “I could sure use a
little of that. They ain't had me on that
beat in three years.”
‘Wonder why.” Redmond said wryly.
Ah, they don't know what they're
doin” Mundy brooded. He said some
very brutal things about the brass up-
stairs. He told Redmond to stick with
him, that he would learn something.

“Too bad you only ride with me one
night a week,” You'd learn
fast, boy. But { is all right.
Who else you
“I only ride two nights a week. Other
hts I walk, four to midnight.
“Walk? Ninth and Central?’
lk that tomorrow.

“Jesus.” Mundy breathed heavily and
wagged his head. “You must know
somebody.

They rode on for a while in silence,
Mundy brooding about the injustice of
it, Redmond hoping there weren't many
more cops like this. Mundy took it out
on the next couple they flushed.

The girl was badly flustered. She had
buttoned her blouse before they got

there but she had done it too quickly
and when Mundy's light shone in, her
two middle buttons had come back

open. Mundy gave the two kids a vi
cious lecture. Redmond turned away
from it and went back to the cruiser.

en,” he said, when Mundy was
jou keep at this long cnough,

and опе of these days you're gonna run

across somebody you know

"Nah," Mundy said, grinning. "Only
the kids come out here. Only the ama-
teurs, The smart money finds a motel
s home. The old pros got their
own places. All you get out here is the
ones that don’t know their way around.
Sometimes you get old couples. Jesus.
And I got a doctor once, him I knew.
He and his nurse, goin’ at it hot and
heavy. And him married with four kids.
You should've heard the way I give it
to him.”

Mundy glowed
mond looked away from him.
There's one more good spot up
ahead.” Mundy said. “I've been savin’
it ‘til it pot late. We check that out
and then we go home, Best place I've
got. Always get somehody there.

He turned off down another dirt
road. He cut the lights again and when
he could see the ocean gleaming beyond
the trees he stopped the car. He grinned

ith satisfaction, Red-

excitedly at Redmond.

“From here we walk. Take no chances
this time. Keep damned quiet.”

"El stay here," Redmond sa

“The hell you will." Mundy's voice
was quietly ugly. "Suppose that son of
a bitch decides to get rough? You're my
partner, boy. Where I go. you go."

“АП right, Redmond said. He got
out of the car.

“Keep good and
Mundy whispered.

They walked off down the road. Red-
mond breathed deeply in the cool night
air. "Watch your senior man," he
thought. He remembered thc tain
saying it: "Watch your senior man, boys.
learn from him! Watch him in action!
Redmond grunted in disgust. Mundy in
action!

He looked up ahead and watched
Mundy in action. The older man was
stepping lightly down the ruts in the
road, lightly and ridiculously, walking
on eggs. Redmond could not bring him-
self to be careful. He couldn't help it.
He told himself that Mundy up there
was the Law, old John Law, and he
giggled aloud. A twig snapped. He saw
Mundy's angry turn. He grinned back,
knowing his face couldn't be seen. Then
he saw the car.

It was parked out in the open, on
the beach. Real amateurs, Redmond
thought. It was facing the ocean and
Mundy was going in on it from behind.
The moonlight was very strong and
Redmond could sce straight through
the car and see the ocean through the
windshield. but he could see nobody
in

goddam qu

Mundy went in very close, beginning

to crouch. Redmond walked more si-
lently without r g it. He watched
Mundy go up to the car. He knew this
one was it, that Mundy had them this
ime, cleanly and. without hope, and a
T went through him. He thought
of shouting. He didn't. He walked in
close and waited.
Mundy waving him down.
ntly, he knelt. He waited [or
Mundy to shine the light, but the older
man didn’t; he rose slowly and looked
in the rear window. Redmond could
not see his face, But he was in close
enough now and he could hear the car
moving, hear the people moving inside
it. Jesus, he thought, chilled. He did
not go up to look, He ted by the
rear of the shaking car.

After a very long while Mundy сх-
ploded the light. It blasted into. the
and the couple inside jumped fran-
tically. Redmond felt his face grow hot;
he had to look down at the ground
with shame. He heard Mundy begin to
speak.

“АП right now.” Mundy was say
happily, "come on out of there. Now.

(continued on page 36)

B

THE WELL-CLAD UNDERGRAD

a sartorial survey
sets entrance require-
ments for the
collegiate wardrobe

attire By FREDERIC A. BIRMINGHAM

1

WITH IME AIM OF PUBLISHING a realistic
guide to the complete collegiate ward-
robe, we consulted the available sources
of information, discovered nothing but
spotty reportage and the armchair pre-
dictions of “authorities.” Whereupon we
seized ап opportunity uniquely ours.
PLAYBOY maintains a corps of campus
representatives. some 300 young men at
leading colleges and universities, who
keep us in constant touch with the cam
pus scene. Through these campus reps
we launched a national two-part field
survey. For Part L we devised an ex

haustive questionnaire with which we
sent our reps to survey their fellow
classmen's wardrobes, thus determining
what clothing today's collegian owns and
what he plans to purchase. Part Ш en
tailed a separate questionnaire with
which praynoy reps interviewed 163
managers of major campus men's wear
stores on what collegians buy. ‘The re
sults — charted on the following pages —
constitute the first factual report on to
day's college wardrobe and thus a practi
cal buying guide for the man who would
be dressed with the best on his campus.

Playmates Lisa Winters, Linda Vargas and Janet Pilgrim lack on approvingly through the shop window of Piaysor's Ivy Center, while а
lucky collegian considers autumn garb (suits, in this instance) from the Center's selection of forthcoming fashions supplied by leading tailors.

31

Above: Lindo and Jonet help їп the selection of one
of the three sports jockets which FLaytoy's notion-
е survey of collegicte wardrobes indicotes the

suitobly supplied collegion will own. Below: All SUITS SLACKS SPORTS JACKETS
three girls are obviously smitten with the new ver-
tical stripings of another, less conventionol, jocket. :
>
E S geet ete
E ы sports jackets
2 4 3 or 4 pairs ТБГ
2
o З
е The overwhelming choice ? At leus! one рог should The tweed ur Shetland
z in styling is lvy. In sele 1 Ье gray or Oxford flon- jacket is the mainstay of
= ing suits, plan оп ot least * nel. Two pairs should be your campus wardrobe.
one tweed, ane gray flon- | washable, in denim or look for color ond tex
nel ond опе glen рісі. In 2 chino ond the likeli ture interest, cansider the
the fourth, loak for dress- * hood is thot you'll wont + vertical stripes, give seri
wp elegonce in dork, ; o stretch the totol in this 2 ous thought ta one
smooth-finish worsted, = cotegory. In slacks, the * hovndstooth check ond to
sharkskin, or one of the $ styles ore all Ivy. Legs ore $ опе lorge plaid pattern.
new mixtures in mon- : tapered ond ore cuffed + The style is Ivy with such
mode fibers. Save + lang enough to meet shoe * extra touches os leother
brighter colors ond bold- = tops (not ankle length— ; piping, chonge pocket,
er potterns for sports ¢ о prep school nation). $ hocking pockets, decoro-
jockets, ` * tive buttons, ete.
n Although your suits will In warmer climes, you Although you тоу оссо.
2 be Ivy, you might bear in тоу want to substitute + sionally use your suit
ш mind thot it is not os Bermuda walking shorts * jackets with contrasting
= favored in other creas os ог some of your slacks, ; осі, beor in mind thot
= оп the Eastern Secboord. = Check first ta find out + in selecting a sports jack
o In any cose, ovoid th + whether they ore per- ‘ et, you will require of it
v tremo interpretations of ; mitted on your compus. , thot it be indubitobly of
lw. Mony men use the + Knee-length socks must ga ` Из breed, and not the

tweed ond glen jackets of
their suits os sports jock-
ets, o good ideo in mad-
eration, since otherwise
the two ports of suits weor
unequally. Give a thaught
1o spring temperatures

with the Bermudas unless * upper holf of o sit
your campus custom de- Some compuses reserve
fies this quite proper * blozers for seniors or
style ond decrees white $ closs officers — check be.
ankle socks os some do. fore buying. The novy blue
Remember, an odd poir + flannel blazer with bross
of ponts is not a pair of ; buttons is o classic, and
where you'll be — you well-toilored slacks, зо > quite dressy. You might
moy want to select one or sova the old clothes for * also try contrasting tones
even two of your svits in raughing it. in very narrow or very
lightweight material. broad stripings

DRESS SHIRTS
& NECKWEAR

SHOES SOCKS SWEATERS

7 poirs regular

© Oe 1 6 pairs white
i + — 2 evening shirts > athletic socks
Eis 1o 10 neckties 4 2 pairs block silk 4

or nylon for
formal wear

Fairly standard compus
footwear comprises loof-
ors in black or dork
brown with simple lost,
the chukka or desert boot
and the wing tip in block
or cordovon, or one of
each, for dress. The slip-
per-style moccasin is goin-
ing acceptance, but avoid
fancy tooling or extreme.
styling.

In shirts, the Ivy toste
calls for buttondown col-
lars by a very wide mor-
gin, then tabs or rounded
points. The standard,
plain collar, with short

ints or long points,
perfectly all right,
tle appeal for the
college man. White is
preferred, colors

Shoe-filling wools ore pre-
ferred, usually in d.
solids, smoll patterns in
low-key colors, or clocks.
Dacron mixes and nylons
also get the nod, in much
the some patterns. If you
like socks with plenty of
color, Argyles оге best,
Оп most campuses, ath-
letic socks ore occeptoble

Sweaters are a must on
every compus, ond they
оге predominontly crew
neck, always with long
sleeves. You con wear
them heavy or light, but
the important thing is that
yov can wear them ony-
where, except for dress.
Shetland ond cashmere
sweaters never foil. Cable
stitches are widely worn.
Try mixes in lovat shock
efi-blocks, greens.

g mostly solids or fine = under almost every con-
stripings or checks, The | dition except for dress
occasions.

button cuff is preferred.

Ч Р Lisa's madeling of a husky pull-
You will note that we ? The evening shirt recom- + The best advice we can There ore many hondsome over makes it difficult to resist.
haven't mentioned dirty mendation is conservative: | give you about socks is sweaters about in the
white bucks or sneakers. you may need three cr that yau can never have shops which are pick-ups
The former—once defi- four, depending an how | tao many of them. There's from skiwear, ond othe
nitely shoe are now active you ore, since for- 2 plenty of walking on com- simply ingenious cdopto-

considered square at cer-
tain Eostern campuses,
whereas elsewhere you
have to have the
This is ene aroa whi
lacol custom will have to
be your guide. As for
sneakers, theyre seon
everywhere. Yours, И
you're going to weor
them, should of course be
the tennisshoe vori
not basketball sneakers.

mol dotes usuolly bunch pus, and mortality is high.
together seasonally, and You might buy one ultro-
laundry service isn't al- heavy pair for stodium
ways fost enough. Buy wear, sports-cor, or gen-
the comfortable ovening eral outdoor use under
shirt with soft collar and extreme weather condi-
pleated or plain bosom tions. Anklets are permis-
front. 1n your neckweor, sible, but avoid the very-
concentrate on black knits, low-cut anes which in-
club stripes, small figures ewitably show bere skin
and checks, or foulord when you walk or sit
cross-legged.

tions of Breton or other
European motifs. But in-
teresting оз they ore, ond
nicely suited for resort
boating, and the
they should be
shunned on campus os a
rule. This is one orea

cation as an oddball, you
shauld hew right to the
line оп your sweater
wardrobe.

squore ends.

33

PLAYBOY

34

WELL-CLAD UNDERGRAD

(continued)

SEND THE STATISTICS pictorialized on
these pages are some fascinating data on
college attitudes toward dress. Nation
ally, we Jearned, collegians are far more
interested in appearance than previous
reports might lead one to believe, Our
survey showed that even on campuses
where casualness is the vogue, it is a
very studied casualness indeed. with its
own rigid rules of order,

We learned, for example, that in state
schools — which are virtually all coed
= there is an almost belligerently casual
casualness of garb on campus, This is the
conformity of non-conformity. a symbolic
statement. by the men that they'll be
damned if they'll dress especially for the
girls — and. of course, the girls prove to
be romantically responsive to jeans and
sneakers,

We learned that, conversely, in the
smaller and older men's colleges the
pproved attire is almost defensively
conservative, exhibiting the kind of
masculine esprit that leads а lone British
sportsman to dress for dinner in the veldt

Nationally speaking, the Ivy tradition
for campus wear diminishes as one moves
outward from its hard core in the lvy
League colleges. But for off-campus wear,
for dress-up occasions and special dates,
its the Ivy influence coast to coast. In
this sense, Шеге are no real regional dif-
ferences; there are Climatic variations,
but they're all within the Ivy sphere: il
the climate is warm, the men wear less
clothing; if it's cold, they wear more —
but it's almost all Ivy dominated when
the men want to look their best. There
are other climatically dictated variations
from the national norm: at Dartmouth
and Middlebury, for instance, ski jackets
enjoy wide acceptance: in the far West
there are forms of “westernized” garb
with light flourishes straight out of
Hollywood: some schools in semi-tropi
cal resort areas show a imarked beach.
wear influence in campus casual clothes,
with Bermudas predominating over
slacks. And there are strictly local fads
to ponder. But lads they are: from a
fashion viewpoint, from the practical
viewpoint of the correct collegiate ward-
robe, Ivy still dominates the campus
scene, And this is interesting to note, for
it was the young college men who estab:
lished Ivy as а national mode of mascu-
line attire, and it is college men who are
resisting attempts to woo them to Italiai
ate and draped Continental fashio
despite their acceptance by some of their
older brothers.

Lest we've given the impression that
we think all collegians are monotonously
conformist and slavishly similar, we'd
like to quote here some observations

(continued on page 70)

1 QUANTITY

COMMENTS

ACTIVE
SPORTSWEAR

2 poirs tennis shorts
Т pair tennis sneakers
6 T-shirts

1 golf jacket

1 golf cap

You'll know how to outfit
yourself for your fovori
sports: skiing, riding, ete.
Whotever they moy be,
though, you will wont the
above items, too. Tennis
shorts ore preferably
white; half your T-shirts
should be white; your golf
jocket should be wind ond
moisture resistant, уе!
light ond fle your
cop should be lightweight
but woter repellent.

In the classification of
sportsweor, you'll wont to
odd to your outfits for or-
ganized sports—and for
the more sedate and sed-
entory compus octivities—
plenty of jeans or dei
(but ovoid the horsy kind
with the juvenile delin-
quent touches), several
sweot shirts (по! for closs
wear, please!) ond — de-
pending оп climate — a
poir of pretty rugged out-
door gloves for cold
wecther and a hefty wool
muffer-

TOPCOATS,
RAINCOATS, Etc.

1 topcoat

1 raincoat

1 heavy weather
coat (optional)

The lightweight raincoot
is а top campus fashion,
If you're in the Ivy
Leogue, your topcoat con
be © Chesterfield with
velvet collar, for weekend

brown or olive block, with
natural shoulders опа
notched lapels.

Н you оге
ter climote, lock into the
moter of detachable in-
terlinings. You con get
them for tweed topcoats,
and for топу roincoots
In roincoots, topcoats and
lined trench coats. avoid
os you would the plague
the foreign-correspondent-
type which is double-
breosted, belted ond
adorned with straps and
buckles. You moy want o
toggle coot for rugged
weather, ond you might
wont to add to your
wardrobe а sports-cor
coat.

SPORT SHIRTS

Most of them will be long-
sleeved (unless the cli.
mote is extra worm) and
all will hove buttondown
colors worn with the but-
tons buttoned and the col-
lor open, In patterns, you
have some leewoy, bul
vertical, contrasting stripes
in narrow bonds are most
popular, with small checks,
foulard potterns ond sol-
ids following in thot
order.

Beor in mind thot the
nome sport shirt belies
the use to which ib is now
quite frequently put on
compus; ie., it is reolly
an informol dress shirt
when worn with a solid
color, knit or very sub-
dued striped or potterned
tie. No matter whot your
compus, avoid the huge
prints which ore uffected
by square tourists. Flon-
nel sport shirts are fine
for colder climes, but re-
member thot if they're too
heavy, they'll make you
uncomfortably hot in lec
ture holl.

ei, :
: э,
2 м
=
: ==
ч Tax

1 D * Above: The correctly accoutered collegion selects o compus outercoct which is not onl,

| HATS AND CAPS: FORMAL WEAR : jj. for cooler climes but judging by the praiseful А ATA
* well-nigh irresistible. Below: His other gorb assembled in the voriety and quantity chorted
I on these pages, the well-clod collegian tums his attention to haberdashery, сп important

fencers . ***** ospect of his wordrobe, since it affords greater range for expressing individucl good

| 2 1 teste then do other elements of attire. Open admiration accompanies his choice of ties.

J 1 hat 3 1 tails (optional) 4

] 1 cap : 1 dinner jacket

If it’s to be just one hot.
for you, select а sport
model in rough-textured In the East, black is again
nish for all-around wear. in vogue though midnight
lovats and deep-color blue is still OK. Every-
mixes with block оге where the choice is single-
best. If your campus is at ; breasted with shawl lo-
‚ all fashion conscious, : pels. You won't need

Every collegian needs at
least one dinner jacket.

you'll want another, more = tails unless yours is а
, formal snap brim for town | — high-style campus where
in very dork brown + weekends might toke you
' or gray. The cop may be to a debutante cotillion
tweed, cord, leath or such.
suede, cotton, silk,

меа

While ме can't applaud With the exception of the
the fact that most men on basic dinner jacket, the
campus own but one hat, + amount of formal wear
that is the fact. We're well you should have will de
aware that most college pend more on your per-
men go hatless most of sonal social life than on
the time, but o good what particular campus
many of the better-

may be yours. In wormer
dressed ones concede thot = climates, naturally, you'll
is foolish to get all | need summer formals.
dressed up fora dote and = Some Eastern college
then appear hatless. men manage to get South
during winter vacations,
and they, too, own sum-
mer formals,

PLAYBOY

36

PEEPING TOM PATROL (continued from page 30)

He pulled the door open wide. "I said
now. Or do you want me to run you
in?”

The commotion inside the car stopped.
A man got out the front door. He
had his pants on but nothing else. Red-
mond felt himself irresistibly drawi
around to the other side of the car.

He watched the girl get out in the
glare of Mundy's light. She was clutch-
ing her clothes desperately to the front
of her, her face an agony of shock. She
was completely nude.

“AIL right, sister," Mundy said, "you
can put your dress on now."

Fhe girl turned to face the car. They
all watched, all three men. She dropped
all her clothes, her fingers horribly nerv-
ous, and bent to separate her dress
from the rest. She raised her arms and
put the dress on over her head and for
an instant her whole body was gleam-
ing and bare in the light of Mundy's
Hash. Nobody said anything while she
put the dress on, When she was done
she turned and the light fell again on
her fac id Redmond realized dumbly
that he knew her.

Mundy let the man put his shirt on,
beginning to question him. When the
man told who he was and who the girl
was and showed his driver's license,
Mundy asked him for one good reason
why he shouldn't ran him in. The man
asked for a break, Redmond watched
the girl.

She worked in the insurance office on
the corner of th and Central. She
was about 20 old and so pretty
she made him shy. He had seen her
every when he was walking the
downtown beat, scen her coming to
work and going home and stepping out
now and then for coflee, but he had
never spoken to her. He knew all the
girls in her office, he had had coffee
dates with most of them and dated
some of them, but never her. She was
too pretty. He remembered that the
other girls had not liked her for it, but
they had never said anything against
her. She was too remote. Cold and re
mote, and beautiful. He continued to
stare at her, unable to move,

Once she had her dress on. Mundy
took the light away from her. She had
her head down, she did not sec him.
The dress was still open at the neck:
she began to button it slowly, fumbling
with the buttons, Her hair was wild
and hung down in black streaks across
her face. Without shoes she looked
smaller than he remembered her. He
anted suddenly very much to help her
But he did not move.

He went on watching her, looked
once at the soft white pile of un
lothes around her bare feet. He

could feel his heart beat violently un-
der his badge. She knelt in the sand
nd began to gather her clothes, lifting
one nd to brush the black. from
her eyes, and then looked up and saw
him

She recognized him. She froze with
her hand in her hair, on her knees,
staring at him. It was the first time in
his life Redmond had ever seen any-
one look at him with terror.

He turned his eyes away. He heard
the man tying painfully to be friendly
with Mundy, asking him please to be
а regular guy. Redmond began to want
айу to kill Mundy. After a while
Mundy turned toward him.

“Well,” he said slowly, drawing it
out, sucking it, feeding on it, “well,
Red, what do you think? Should we
give ‘em a break? Hah?”

You son of a bitch, Redmond thought,
oh, you lousy son of a dirty bitch. Be
cause Mundy knew already he would
let them go—he always let them go. Be-
cause then afterward, when he thought
back on it and saw the girl naked and
in аропу and felt the thrill of. it, he
could still be virtuous, still bc clean,
because he had been a good joe, he
had let them go. And I ought to take
you, Redmond thought, I ought to open
you up right here and now, you son
of a bitch. But there was a kind of
sick paralysis in his belly, and he could
not move. He had to stand looking at
the girl and he said finally, huskily,
"Yes, let them go.”

He listened while Mundy turned
back to the man and told him how
rough it would be if he got pulled in
on a charge like this. He might lose
his job. And how about the girl's repu-
tation? He ought to think before he
did a thing like this again. The man
waited, smiled sickly, sweating. Red
mond looked again at the girl's face,

She was standing now, her under
clothes held crumpled in her hands,
against her breast. He could not see
her face clearly, but her eyes were wide

and dark in the moonlight, and he un-
derstood. с thought he would talk
about it. She thought he would tell it
all over Ninth and Central. The paral-
ysis was going away, he began to feel
ugly. He thought this business better
end quickly. She waited in front of him,
unbearably tense, the white silk shi
ing in her hands, like an offering. Some-
thing broke in him and he turned to
Mundy.

“ALL right," he said. “That's enough.”
He spun and walked away, his fect
thick and heavy in the sand.

Mundy was left alone. He did not
like it but he had to break off. He told
them both to get the hell out of there

and came stalking back down the road.
Redmond watched him come and be-
hind him watched the soft light flowing
down the girl's body.

Now just what the hell-—"

"You," Redmond said. "You. Listen.
Nothing, you son of a bitch, not
Don't say anything. I'm telling you, I'm
g you this one time, don't say any
. Not a word. Not a goddam other

There was this thing in his voice,
this cold and enormous thing. that
Mundy had heard before. He was an
old cop and patient and not a fool. He
said nothing. They checked off duty

about the girl standing with her
wear in her hands.

The uext day was his day at Ninth
amd Central. He checked on at four
and went over to the corner by the
bank and waited. He had thought about
it all day and the more he thought the
worse it got. Because no matter which
way you looked at it, it had been sexy.
It was a damn dirty thing to do but
had felt the thrill and it shook him
to admit й. Now it was necessary for
him to make it right. He had to talk
to her. to apologize. to make her эс
he would never tell anybody.

She came out of the bank. She looked
up to the corner and saw him and
stopped, staring

She was neat and small and shock-
ingly pretty. She wore a light pink
dress which swirled around her legs as
she moved. She looked toward him for
a long moment and he could see no
expression on her face, no expression at
all. She came and walked straight to
him and stopped.

"Got time for a cup of colfec?" he
said.

She gazed at him blankly, her eyes
cold and clear. After moment she
nodded. They went silently across the
street inte Sam's and sat down
booth. He had trouble beyii
She was older than he had thought,
woman than girl, and it startled him to
see that she was more composed than
he was,

"E just w
“about last night . . .

She watched him calmly, sull with-
out expression, lighting a cigarette as
he talked. A cool customer, he thought
admiringly, a cool, cool customer. He
saw her eyes go down to bis badge and
then back up to his face and an odd.
thoughtful look came into her eyes. He
became suddenly and joltingly aware
of her body. He could not help think-
ing of how she had looked last night.

But he went on with it. When he
was done he told her he would feel a

(concluded on page 70)

med to tell you,” he beg:

“And it converts into a full-size bed when Arthur presses
me in a certain place.”

37

PLAYBOY

HOUSE OF НАТЕ (continued from page 25)

". . . You made a mistake this time,
Huck. We'll get you if it's the last — "
With a strange flash of insight she
gauged the extent of that threat. Sooner
or later the Joyens would kill Abner
Huck! They'd crawl through the brush,
lie in wait with a gun and — why, right
now Abner Huck was as good as dead!
Fierce exultation swept her, then a
greater fcar swept it out and moved in.
If the Joyens killed Abner Huck she'd
have the house. But, then, some night
the Joyens would come creeping —

“What can I do?" she asked the house,
“What can I do?”

She took a stumbling step backward
and reached high on the wall to steady
herself. Her hand hit the books on the
clock shelf and brushed them to the
floor with a crash, She stared, then
leaned down to pick them up.

No reader, Lottie. She read painfully
when she had to, by preference not at
all. Abner Huck read the headlines in
the weekly paper and the livestock quo-
tations. Few people in that end of the
county were much for reading. The
three books had belonged to Abner
Huck's dead wife and he'd told Lottie
more than once to throw them out; but
she'd put off the day, thinking they
looked kind of artistic up there on the
clock shelf.

“The first was Quo Vadis. She put it
back on the shelf, wondering what it
meant. The second was Beverly of Graus-
tark. That sounded kind of nice. She
put it beside the other. The third was
Tom Sawyer. She had а thumb awk-
wardly in that book and it fell apen to
the place near the end where her thumb
was, the place where Tom Sawyer tells
the company at the Widow Douglas’
that he and Huckleberry Finn have
found Injun Joe's treasure.

The first words that hit Lottie's eyes
were: “Huck don't need it. Huck's
rich." She stared in disbelief, lips mov-
ing stiffly, And then, slowly, "Huck's
got money. Maybe you don't believe it,
but he's got lots of it... .”

Huch's got money! Abner Huck?
That's a good one, she thought, he ain't
got nothing! But if somebody was to
think he һай... She held the book and
stared into space. At last in the silence
she heard a faint breath of sound. The
house seemed to be whispering to her,
softly, insinuatingly. Trying to tell her
something. She listened. It came to her
slowly, piece by piece, so daring, so alien
to her nature, so breath-taking that she
trembled with fear, At last, like one in
a dream, she put the book down on the
table and went numbly in search of her
sewing basket.

Before she found it the phone on the
wall rang.

"H-helloz^

“Well, now," Gert Jensen's voice
boomed over the wire. "How we getting
on, Lottie?”

“Gert? Oh, all right.”

"Been meaning to get down to sec
you. Don't know where the time goes.
Most a year, ain't it? Kinda shamed I
ain't stopped in but once. Got a man
working now, so I can get away a little
more. Let's see, this here's Friday . . .
how about Monday night, Lottie? Maybe
I'll hoof it down there Monday night a
spell after supper."

“That'd be fine, Gert.”

"Good! See you then, Lottie.”

It wasn't Monday, however, bur the
very next day, Saturday, that Lottie saw
Gert. Abner Huck had to go to Mon-
archville, four miles down the ridge
road, and took Lottie along to buy gro-
ccries. Lottie stepped into the post of-
fice and was just turning away from
a letter drop when a familiar voice
boomed.

“Lottie! Hey, there, Lottie!”

Lottie started and whirled.

"Ain't no ghost," Gert chuckled, "it's
me. What you doing?"

—a letter... my sister.”

“Well, now. What 1 mean, what you
doing in Monarchville?""

“Abner Huck, he had some business.
Brought me along with a grocery list."

“Declare, you look kinda peaked, Lot-
tie. You ОК?"

“Sure, sure."

They talked awhile—that is, Gert
talked and Lottie listened, nodding. At
last Gert said, “Glad I run into you,
Lottie. Can't make it down to your
place Monday night after all. How
would "Thursday night do?"

“Thursday night? All right, I guess.”

“Look here, Lottie, sure you want me
to come?"

"Course I do, Gert. Real bad.”

“ANI right, Thursday night for sure.”

the kitchen

They did their visitin
on Thur: night, b e Lottie was
baking and Abner Huck sat in the din-
ing room, listening to a battered old
Fhe kitchen was warm and fra-
nt. Presently Lottie made Gert a cup
of tea and took an untrosted cake from
the cupboard, cut her a slice and put it
back.

Gert said, "Ain't that cake I smell
ing? How come you're baking more
when you already got ——”

“Ssh!” Lottie's eyes darted to the din-
ing room door. "1—1 just got a hban-
kering to bake. That cake you're eating
I baked last night. Wednesday, wasn't
it? Baked something every night this
week, Tuesday I —" She stopped and
got lost somewhere behind her green
eyes.

“Well,” Gert s

, “anyhow, this sure

is good.”

After awhile Lottie opened the oven
and tried the two layers with a broom
straw, grabbed a dish towel and took
out the pans. Gert chattered away and
watched her as she began to prepare
frosting to go on the wood stove to cook.

About 10 o'clock Abner Huck snapped
off the radio, went to the door from
the dining room to the porch and re-
marked in a pointed tone he thought
he'd look at the weather before he
turned in, Gert took the hint and got
up, standing for a moment in a blind
corner of the kitchen.

Suddenly the sound of Abner Huck's
footsteps on the porch ceased. Then he
backed slowly into che dining room. A
gaunt man with a flour sack over his
head, holes cut for eyes, moved close to
him, prodding him along with a nickel-
plated revolver. A second man, equally
риши, identically masked, slipped їп
behind them, shut and locked the door
and began pulling shades.

“The sheriff'll hear about this!" There
was a shrillness in Abner Huck's tone.
“Better drop this and git! If this is your
idea of gitting even for the clash we
had last week the sheriff ain't gonna
like it!”
in't he, now?" Cal Joyen hauled
off his flour sack. "Might's well come
оша the bag, Lunk, he knows us."

At that instant the two took in Gert's
presence. "What the hell уон doing
here?" Cal yelped.

“Just visiting,” Gert said tightly.

“How you get here?”

“Walked.”

Cal thought about it, “You picked a
right good night! Well, can't help it
now. Herd ‘em in here, Lunk."

Lunk Joyen took clothesline from
around his waist and the two bound
Abner Huck securely in a chair, hands
twisted hard behind him. Huck grunted

pain; he was sweating now, with
inched look around the nostrils.

“Now the women?” Lunk asked.

“Yep, Че ‘em.”

"D-don't tie me up,” Lottie whispered,
kneading her apron. Her face was chalk
white, eyes dilated. “I got a cake just
coming out of the oven. I'm making
frosting. If you don't let me finish it'll
be all spoiled.”

‘The Joyens sniffed the air like hounds.
Gal grinned. “Smells like one of her
cakes, all right. Ain't et one since she
quit Gert. Go look, Lunk.”

Lunk went to the kitchen and rc-
turned. "Yep, she taken a chocolate cake
0 the oven. She got frosting in a
dish."

“It's got to cook," Lottie whispered.
"It ought to go on the stove.

"Let her be, then," Cal said.
won't hurt.” He stepped close to Lottie.

(continued on page 71)

article By FRANK KILBURN COFFEE

Н кочо collegians who vent their

exuberances on such unimaginative
monkeyshines as panty raids, water fights
and the crowning of campus spires and
public monuments with chamber pots,
among recent phenomena, are several
cuts below those sparkling wits who, a
few years back, had the brilliant audacity
to sign up a milk-wagon horse for sev-
eral courses at a small midwestern uni-
versity. Nor are they likely to attain the

stature of that college’s dean of men
when the hoax was revealed. “This is the
first time,” he said, wryly, “that we have
enrolled a whole horse.”

College men with a predilection for
pranking have heen at it at least since
the Middle Ages, when roistering under-
graduates at the University of Paris dis
covered the myriad uses of the stink
bomb. While many of the early pranks
(a tack on the chair, a freshly baked pie

campus classics of the practical jest

in a bed) had no more subtlety than a
flung tomato, the undergraduate has at
times revealed a genius for japery that
goes far beyond the everyday genius he
displays in the classroom.

Shrine to the cerebral caper in this
country is Cornell University, venerated
as the site of many of the tricks of the
great Hugh Troy. Muralist and illus-
trator, Troy is well known today, but as
a devilishly clever prankster he's prob-

PLAYBOY

40

ably immortal. Troy's gags were marked
by notable originality and great flair.
For example, he once borrowed a rhinoc-
erosfoot wastebasket, trophy of some
mighty hunter's safari to Tanganyika
Late one night when new snow lay thick
on the Ithaca ground, he and a buddy
climbed into their raccoon coats, and
slipped outside with their ungainly prop
The rhino foot had been weighted with
scrap iron, and they held it between
them on two 15-000 lengths of stout
rope. Remembering that a running
animal does not plant his fect straight
down, but drags them a little. they went
to work artfully duplicating the beast's
footprint pattern and carefully erasing
their own tracks in the snow

They were snoozing peacelully next
morning when the bedlain began, А
crowd of wild-eyed students had as-
sembled at the first footprint, and it
wasnt long before a professor learned
n zoology was excitedly sent for. “Rhi-
nocerotidae,” he hissed as he peered at
the tracks, “Beyond any doubt, Rhinoc
eros unicornis — and a fat one, to judge
from the depth of his prints.” With the
pince-nezed professor in the lead, the
mob bayed down the trail that led to
Beebe Lake, source of Cornell's drinking
water. The lake was frozen over, and
covered with snow, and the prints ran
straight out to a jagged hole in the ice
50 feet from shore. Even today, under-
graduates stoutly maintain that Cornell's
drinking water has an odd, rhinocerosy
kind of taste.

Professors were often the butt of Troy's
spirited shenanigans. One of them,
calculus mentor capable of intense con
centration, invariably wore high rubber
overshoes whenever it rained. Troy "bor-
rowed” the gentleman's galoshes onc
sunny afternoom, painted large, lumpy
bare feet on them, then covered his art
work with lampblack. The first good rain
washed the lampblack off, and the pro-
fessor, deep in concentration, ambled
about the campus oblivious to the stares,
giggles and guffaws that attended him.

Troy was the first American to employ
the strcet-digging ruse, one of the most
imitated and successful of all practical
pranks. During spring vacation, ‘Troy
appeared on Filth Avenue in New York
rly one morning with a crew of men,
picks, shovels, pneumatic hammers, bar:
ricades and lanterns. With Troy super
vising, the men dug all morning. The
n dug all afternoon. They worked
hard. They made а tremendous excava
tion. At dusk. they collected their tools,
put up the barric lighted the red
lanterns. and walked quietly away. That
was that.

(Troy's genius found expression at a
tender, pre-college age. As а stripling,
he used to delight in an original game
he called. “Getting Grandma Behind.”
This was a painstaking process involving

ın

rigged calendars, fake newspapers and
other bits of subterfuge designed to con-
vince Grandma that Thursday was really
Sunday and she better start making the
fried. chicken.)

The undergraduate cutups at Ameri-
c's oldest university belie the classic
picture of the Harvardman аз ап ип-
imaginative, proper sort. When Rudy
Vallee's star was brightest, it was a Har-
vard frosh who lobbed mushy mangoes
at the matinee idol as he crooned the
lyrics to Something to Remember You By.
Another undergraduate, Edward Reed.
president of the Harvard Lampoon, dis
guised himself as a cute little coed, with
wig, skirt, blouse, falsies, cotton stockings
and a touch of lipstick, then joined the
May Day hoop-rolling race of the Wel-
lesley College seniors in 1939 — and won
handily. As he stood before the class to
daim his reward, seniors crowning him
with a wreath of spring hibiscus acci-
dentally knocked his flowing blonde locks
askew. The jest discovered, the astonished
Wellesley girls promptly tossed the
poster in a nearby lake,

Some 25 years apo. when pranksters
acting suspiciously like Harvardmen
made off with Massachusetts Sacred Cod.
— the five-loot symbol of the Bay State's
most important industry—the theft
aroused all of Boston, Cambridge and
the surrounding countryside. Gendarmes
—liberally supplied with phony tips by
Harvard students — dragged the Charles
River basin for the valued relic and
came up with nothing. Then they
charged into the basement of an M.LT.
Building and ripped open a large, mys-
terious crate which had been smuggled
inside only to discover an open can of
rdines in the bottom. Finally they had
10 haul down a clever paper counterfeit
fluttering atop the Lowell House tower,
After college and state officials thr
ened fearful punishment to the miscre-
ants, ап anonymous phone call directed
the Harvard campus police chief to an
isolated intersection on the outskirts of
Boston. In à dead-ol-night, no-questions-
asked deal, the Sacred God was dumped
at his feet — Chicago. style — by the oc
cupants of a speeding Stutz Bearcat
Harvard's undergraduate publications,
the Lampoon and the Crimson — tradi-
tional antagonists — have to this day
accused each other of the dastardly deed.

Members of the antic Lampoon stall
were old hands at campus horseplay di
rected at their arch rival, Yale. In 1929,
in a carefully planned mancuver, they
made off with a section of the Original
Yale Fence which, in-hallowed tradition,
had been used as background in every
official photo of a Yale letterman or
athletic team since the 1870s. Because
the fence was conservatively valued at
$10,000, the frolic constituted nothing
fess than grand lar

received a flood of telegrammed clues
(hom Harvard students, of course) sug-
gesting the whercabouts of the fence.
One wire from Niagara Falls reported
that the ancient structure had been seen
“taking the plunge.” Another informed
the harried searchers that the famous
fence was now guarding the premises of
a notorious brothel in New Orleans.
When a bag of soggy ashes marked "Yale
Fence" was delivered to the authorities,
ostensibly from a local crematorium,
Harvard's president brought. firm pres-
sure to bear on his charges. Harvard
Lampoon staffers confessed the theft at

dinner tendered the Yale Record men,
and reluctantly returned the missing
fence.

Some 50 years ago, when saloon-smash
ing Carrie Nation visited Yale, the
coltish undergraduates dreamed up a
special prank with a built-in Bronx cheer
for her. At the very height of Mrs. Na
Lion's fame as an agitator for temper-
ance, a genial group of students founded
the Yale Temperance Society, a howling
misnomer if there ever was one. Pre-
tending to be dedicated disciples of the
lady with the hatchet, the society's happy
hypocrites wrote wry letters to various
newspapers on “the horrors of hooch”
and even carried on a beery correspon-
dence with Carrie on “the shame of the
universities.”

With the strategic suddenness that
made saloonkeepers tremble at ап un-
step. the formidable lady swept
down upon the president of the societ:
in person опе day. Undaunted, he im
mediately made arrangements to have
Carrie address the student body inform-
ally, from the steps of Osborn Hall, and
the word was quickly passed.

Mrs. Nation looked down on a sea
of happy. well-scrubbed faces. А group
of carolers greeted her with a stirring
chorus of Here Comes Carrie Nation.
Hardly acknowledging the tribute, she
promptly sailed into her attack on the
Devil's Brew and at cach pause in her
oration, solemn choristers would lift
their voices in harmony. Their selections
ranged from Give Us a Drink, Bartender
to such ephemeral ditties as Show Me
the Way to Go Home, done up with
hymnlike embellishments and sweeping
harmonies that had Carrie nodding her
head in approval.

After the lecture, while stalwarts of
the Yale Temperance Society flanked
out to the city's leading saloons to warn
the proprietors of Carrie's presence,
Mrs. Nation herself was whisked to an
afternoon tea hosted by the ollicers ol
the Society. A photographer was pro-
duced and Carrie agreed to pose with
the officers in a final burst of under-
standing and unanimity of purpose.
Those in her sight posed in attitudes of
тарі respect, their outstretched hands

(cantinued on page 50)

a frater’s date
at a playboy party
becomes a

college playmate

SAUCY SOPHOMORE

PLAYBOY FORMAL PARTIES have become an insti-
tution at a number of institutions of higher learn-
ing across the country. This past year, over 25,000
students and faculty members of both genders
attended such shimmering shindigs at Cornell,
UCLA, Wisconsin. the U of Florida — from coast
to coast, in fact, and including the exclusive Uni-
versity Club in Chicago. At these poshfests, PLAYBOY
is the theme and keynote, the rrAvnoy rabbit is
the mascot, PLAYBOY covers and cartoons serve as
decorations, and— mot infrequently — the high-
light of the evening is the selection of a university
or fraternity Playmate.

Not long ago, at Carnegie Tech, the Zeta Chapter
of Beta Sigma Rho threw a riAvsov formal. From
the assembled fraters’ prettiest dates, a party Play-
mate was chosen: she was Carnegie sophomore
Natalie (Feri to her friends) Hope. Teri is 19 and
a dedicated student of dramatics. Her blue eyes and
blonde hair, in conjunction with the even 100
pounds distributed delightfully up and down her
petite 5^ 2" frame, prompted опе of the Techmen
to submit a snapshot of her to erAvnoy, along with
a letter that asked, "Is there any possibility you
might be interested in ‘Teri as а real Playmate of
the Month?" The snapshot and letter appeared in
our July 1958 issue, followed by our reply, in which
we went overboard and admitted there was “more

than a possibility.” ‘The possibility has become re
freshing reality, as you will sce when you open
the gatefold of this September pr aynoy

Teri Hope, student of drama at Carnegie Tech.

The PLAYBOY Formal Party: a grand gala
on the PLAYBOY motif that has captured
the fancy of collegians country-wide.

Bradley Texas Christian Southern Methodist Bowling Green

| Tw

gj:

A

George Washington СФ ыызы, of lowa UCLA

90.

University of Illinois Minnesota Rutgers Georgia Tech Columbia

OTHER PHOTOGRAPHS BY MIKE SHEA

PLAYMATE PHOTOGRAPH BY DON BRONSTEIN.

Named fraternity Playmate at Car-
negie Tech's PLAYBOY Formal, Teri Hope
is also our September gatefold girl.

MISS SEPTEMBER PLAYBOY'S PLAYMATE OF THE

"T

“The party's over," as the song says, and a wonderfully weary Teri toddles off to dreamland.

PLAYBOY’S PARTY JOKES

Over morning calfce the three shop girls
were considering what kind of man
they'd prefer being shipwrecked with on
a desert island.

“I'd want a fellow who was a wonder-
lul. conversationalist d the first.
hat would be nice, id the second,
"but I'd rather have а guy who knew
how to hunt and could cook the things
he caught.

The third smiled an

| "I'd settle

An undergraduate acquaintance of ours
discovered a way to cut classes at the
correspondence school he's attending.
Ile sends in empty envelopes.

О ит Rescarch Department has just come
up with a stack of statistics proving that
a considerable number of college stu-
dents do not make love in parked cars.
In fact, the report continues, the woods
are full of them.

Don't ask us where we've been, but we
just heard about the two nudists who
decided to stop dating because they felt
they were sceing too much of cach other.

A retired fourstar general ran into his
former orderly, also retired, in a Man-
hattan bar and spent the rest of the
evening persuading him to come to work
for him as alet.

“Your duties will be exactly the same
as they were in the army,” the general
said. "Nothing to it— you'll catch on
again fast.’

Next morning promptly at eight
o'clock, the ex-orderly entered the ex-
general's bedroom, pulled open the

drapes, gave the general a gentle shake,
strode around. to the other side of the
bed, spanked his employer's wife on her
bottom and said, “OK, sweetheart, it's
buck to the village for you.”

А fter two years in the New York head-
quarters of a large advertising agency,
the stunning steno was transferred to the
company's Chicago office. The morning
she reported to her new desk, her boss
invited her into his office and said,
friendly-like, “I hope you'll be happy
working with us, Miss Carson. We'll €x-
pect about the same of you here as

you've been accustomed to in New York.
"Yes, sir," said she cfüciently, "that's
what Га anticipated. Do you mind if I

hang my blouse over this chair?'

The proprietor of a combination dude
ranch and resort hotel, the Westward
Ho, found his business, which had been
slow, suddenly booming alter he hired a
new bus driver to meet all incoming
trains. Curious as to how the man man-
aged to bring in so much new business,
the owner questioned him about it.

“Ah really don’t know,” answered the
driver, a gentleman just up from the
decp South. "When that train comes
chuggin' in, all аһ do is hollah, ‘Free
bus to the Westward Ho House’ and they
all come pilin’ in.”

Oh, 1 had а wonderful time,” cooed the
coed to her sorority sister. “Everybody
said that Tommy and I were the cutest
couple on the floor.”

“I thought you said you weren't going
to the Senior Dance,” puzzled her friend.

“We didn’t,” said she, smiling. “Tom-
my took me to a pajama party.

Heard any good ones lately? Send your
favorites to Party Jokes Editor, PLAYBOY,
232 E. Ohio SL, Chicago 11, IlL, and
carn an casy $25.00 for each joke used.
In case of duplicates, payment gocs to
first received. Jokes cannot be returned,

49

PLAYBOY

50

fouts of ny

proffering naught but glasses of water,
but behind rie, lecring drunkenly
and holding upulted bottles to their
lips, low comics gave the scene all the
fun and frolic of a Roman revel. The
prized photos werc later doctored to add
the rich foam of "Hellbroth" to all the
water glasses, and cigarettes were dis.
tributed freely. even between the un-
stained fingers of the famous prohibi
tionist herself,

A nimble-witted fellow with the un-
likely name of O'Grady Sczz and a
zany turn of mind used to liven the
passage of time at fair Columbia. In his
senior year, Sezz capped the competition
lor a new ba ıreate hymn, which
was promptly set in type in that year’s
graduation program before anyone —
assembled mothers, fathers and the full
faculty — noticed that the first letter of
cach line made up a stunning series of
fourtetter a No one could dis-
prove O'G indignant claim that it
all due to purest chance.

O'Grady understood the blatant ef-
frontery necessary to the successful carry-
ing off of a ruse. Once, when he had put
ofl writing a term paper for philosophy
until deadline time, he whisded up his
courage, typed a title page reading
“Schopenhaucr’s Hidden Motives” and
clipped it to a dozen sheets of blank
paper. Next day, as he was about to
hand the work to his professor, a half-
sob snuck from his lips. He hung his
head and mumbled, “1 can't do it. It
just isn’t my best work,” and then pro-
ceeded to rip the manuscript into strips.
The professor, much moved, extended
Sezz's deadline.

Seyeral of the most notable and pun-
gent collegiate pranks fall into the no-
such-person category: the creation of a
fictional student. Ephraim Е. Di Kahble
was a famous Princeton phony of 1935.
the brain. child of буе undergrad-
uates who undertook to make him
the most talked-about freshman on cam-
pus and get him elected class treasurer.
They got him a room. Just before the
Princeton-Dartmouth game, a sellout,
they bought several newspaper ads: Di
ahble was willing to pay a stiff premi-
um for a couple of ducats to the game.
A surprising number of students found
they had an extra ticket on their hands
and hurried around to his digs. But Eph
was always out. Neighbors in on it in-
sisted that he was over in the library
king the books.

Another time, Di Kahble advertised

“congenial company” to ride with
new car to New Haven for
the Yale game. At least 50 undergradu-
ates descended on his room that time.
When Di Kahble advertised in a New
York paper for an orange-and-black
guinca pig, reporters, intrigued by the

foi
him in hi

(continued from page 40)

ad, soon had him on the wire. He quictly
explained that he thought the Princeton
‘Tiger mascot too ferocious a symbol for
an Ivy League school, wanted to replace
it with a gentle guinea pig of similar
coloration. Princeton alumni all over the
world wept at th lence of hopeless.
decadence among the younger genera-
tion.

Di Kahble was succeeded at Princeton
һу the flagrantly fictitious Adelbert
lHommedieu X. Hormone. the cre-
ation of one Harvey Smith. secretary of
the Princeton senior class and the fellow
who provided the Alumni Weekly with
glowing accounts of the mythical Hor-
mone. Placed among that vaguely re-
membered group who, for one reason or
another, drop out at the end of the
freshman year, Bert Hormone re
membered by Smith for "his unruly
thatch of flaming red hair, his endless
supply of dirty limericks, acquired from
cowhands on the King Ranch where he
spent his boyhood." As told to alumni
everywhere, Bert was shanghaied into the
Foreign Legion after a night of roister-
ing in a Marseilles bordello, then kicked

round the Malay Straits for a while.
Now, Smith wrote, Bert was running
his own saloon in Bali, with a floor show
of Balinese belles “that would make
what 1 remember of the Folies-Bergère
look like Miss Spence’s girls putting оп
a performance of Peter Pan.” А notable
number of alumni wrote in to say that
it was sure swell to hear news of old
Act FHommedieu, whom they all
remembered so well.

For sheer explosive deflation of pomp-
ous authority, one Hugo Frye may have
been the most effective of all ghostly
students. Frye was breathed into life by
two editors of The Sun, Cornell's stu-
dent newspaper, and their
simple, dignified one: a Cornell graduate
years ago. Frye had been the founder of
the Republican Party in Upper New
York. He had been a pillar of the
С.О.Р., one of its foremost theoreticians,
and a giant of a man in every way. The
Sun proposed a dinner in his honor and
dispatched claborate invitations to big-
wigs of the Republican Party. ‘They
Vice-President Curtis congratulated
the assembled straight-faced students on
“paying respect to the magnificent mem-
ory of Hugo Frye.” Secretary of Labor
Davis extolled him as “that sturdy pa-
triot who first planted the ideals of our
Party in this region of the country.”
ors, Representatives and
squads of lesser luminaries climbed on
the bandwagon with similarly inspired
expressions of devotion to the great
Hugo Frye. They never caught on.

Political skulduggery on a lesser scale
a couple of ycars ago brought about thc
election of “Lamont Dupont" to fresh-

man office at Harvard. Touted by his
backers as indsome, debonair. and
wealthy beyond belief,” Dupont's name
was speedily accepted by the nominating
committee. The candidate's letter of ac-
ceptance, impressively formal and heavy
with sealing wax, came in from Jamaica,
B.W.L, where he reportedly idled as an
honor guest at Government House.

Duponts arrival at Harvard was as
impressive as his letter. His campaign
ers had worked hard. and a large crowd
awaited a close look at the gilded youth
whose favorite sport was falconry, and
whose sponsors had suggested the futility
of voting against him "since he owns us
all anyway.”

Flanked by two trench-coated body
guards who communicated in French.
Dupent’s big black limousine rolled
right into Harvard Yard. long forbidden
to motorcars, and the candidate alighted,
He was dressed in impeccable morning
attire and he addressed the gaping serfs
from the steps of Widener Library. He
was firm: “Good blood may not. as some
would suggest, be an absolute require
ment for common ofice, but certainly
a gentleman's appearance, if not his sub-
stance, is necessary in cven the meanest
candidate. . . . In spite of the vulgarity
ich has characterized the campaigning
of my opponents, І will not be deterred.
Lamont Dupont" won easily. He
did not serve, however. He was Robert
Hathaway, Yale “60. His backers were
prep-hool friends who had chosen
Harvard.

William Horace De Vere Cole. a stu-
dent at Trinity College. Cambridge, was
a great British master of the practical
joke. He boasted that he had engineered
95 major bullooncries and was nev
once gulled himself, although H. Allen
Smith, the noted American authority,
considers Cole only technically correct
n the brag: a Sicilian. victim of one of
Cole's pulled a revolver and
blew a hole in Cole's leg one time.
master prankster took it philosophically.
“What an absurdity, using a real gun,"
he murmured as they carried him off.
“The fellow obviously has no in
tion.”

Cole was the inventor of the beauti
fully simple string ploy. He was taking
to his rooms a ball of twine one da
London when he noticed a foppish,
pontifical man approaching. Unrolling а
length of twine, Cole stopped the man
and asked him if he would mind helping
him in an important engineering proj-
ect. He handed the man the end of the
string, and moved rapidly down the
street and around the corner. There
Providence had provided just such an-
other chump, to whom Cole gave the
other end of the twine. He then ducked
into an alley and went along home
In 1905 the Sultan of Zanzibar and
(continued on page 80)

article By PHILIP WYLIE

THE WOMANIZATION

AS A MAN who has been verbally dubbed
and clobbered for talking out vigorously
against anything that scems to mc wrong
with our national life, 1 sec no reason
to pull any punches in what follows.
I do feel, though, that for PLAYUOY
readers, certain cautionary and qualify-
ing words arc required, What I am about
to describe is a historical process and its
current manifestations. In large part.
ГИ be talking about the men of my
gencration — some 15 years older than
most of the rcaders of this magazine. In
large part, ГИ be talking about what
happened to a lot of them — and a lot
of the women in their lives, But not all

of either. Gladly I concede that there are
millions of my generation, both men and
women, for whom what I say is, blessed.
ly. not true, Happily. 1 note that the kind
of alert апа vigorous young men who
will read me here, and who read this
magazine, are largely immunized against
much of the social sickness I'll describe
— and so are lots of the girls in their
lives.

The facts remain, though. Enough
men have abnegated and cnough women
have won to dominance so that a broad
picture of our national life, especially
as it's reflected in middle-class marriage
(which is the dominant mode of exist-

BRADFORD

|» Roo
P "Y

ence in our society) shows it to be in the
sad condition 1 analyze herewith, a
deadly distaff encroachment of what
started as feminism and matured into
wanton womaniza

On some not very distant day 1 expect
ло sce a farmer riding a pastel tractor
and wearing a matching playsuit. And as
he ploughs, VI realize with horror it's
not a contour job; he'll be fixing his
fields so the crops will match an “over
all design-fecling” incorporated in his
home by the little woman. If, anywhere,
he runs his furrows straight, it will not be
because of level land, but owing to the
fact that the drapes on the windows

on.

an embattled male takes a look at what was once a man’s world

PLAYBOY

52

overlooking that area are “busy” and
Mrs. Farmer wants a view that will coun-
teract them.

Farfetched? Not so very. Functional
reality is so softened and maleness so
subdued that the only inanimate object
I can think of offhand which still has
masculine integrity is the freight car,
and even some of these are being glam-
orized. І would have added the steam
roller, but today on the way to my office
I passed one which our local Department
of Streets — doubtless bowing to some
woman's club — had transformed from
factory yellow to chartreuse and beige.

This calamity has befallen us in a mere
quarter century. Before that the male
aura dominated a society dreamed up by
males, by males pioneered, made free
and kept united by males—a culture
still sustained by males in the main, but
men whose sweating effort nowadays
lops a decade off their lives that the
damsels do not sacrifice. The reason man
now dies young is evident: what's life
without manhood worth to him? He
struggles against the taffeta tide — and,
failing, throws in the sponge at 50 or so.

"That grievous, gruesome circumstance
commenced with industrialization and
was completed by feminism. Consider
the latter. Our ladies demanded equal
rights before the law, including the right
to vote. "Equality" was their slogan —
and it sounded just. “Emancipation”
was another rallying cry. All men of good
conscience felt that if the ladies truly
desired to live unfettered, like them-
selves, everybody would have more fun.
The expressed feminist ideal of “free
and equal partnership" sounded fine,
American men were somewhat hampered
even a quarter century ago by Puritan-
ism and Victorianism. It drove them un-
derground. But they assumed the ladics’
lust for liberty would restore their proud,
male being so they could openly associate
with females once again in open pride
of their sex, its classic nature, demands,
fantasies and lusty amenability.

It didn't work out that way. The ladies
won the legal advantages of equality —
and kept the social advantages of their
protected. position on the pedestal. To
them, equality meant the tyrant’s throne.
Some alert men perceived it even before
Prohibition ended.

I myself recall the tran n as CX-
perienced from that outpost of fad and
fashion, Manhattan in the mid-Twen-
tics. Saloons had been abolished; speak-
casies had replaced them. The fresh-freed
r sex thereupon switched from nos-
trums for female complaint (which were
Jaced with grain alcohol) to the honest
beverage. But the beverage was not kept
honest. Prior to those days, the thirsting
male consumed a martini. manhattan or
bronx—if he did not prefer straight
whiskey with or without a beer chaser,
After a few dozen months of Prohibition,

however, speakeasy waiters would hand
you an alphabetical list of cocktails be-
ginning with apricot ambrosia and run-
ning through orange blossom and pink
lady eventually to zombie.

America thereafter annually consumed
enough grenadine and syrup to dye Man-
hattan pink and flood its streets with
sweet stickum. Drink became feminine
— alcoholic substances with the hues and
flavors of cake frosting. To say nothing
of the fruit that was wasted in it.

Simultaneously, the speakeasies, now
femme-thick, lost all resemblance to his-
toric male drinking places. Little Chinese-
red tables you could tip over with a mere
emphatic gesture were placed in front of
banquettes upholstered in the hides of
African beasts. Illumination was reduced
to tearoom level.

If drinks began to taste like perfume,
the interior of the speaks began to re-
semble the inside of jewel boxes. And
the floor show was added. Hitherto, a
large and candid painted nude above
the bar had satisfied male esthetic re-
quirements for drinking establishments.
If the man wished to view the form
divine itself, he could barge on to bu
lesque. If he wished for more than the
motile vision — something palpable, for
delight designed — there was always а
sumptuous mansion of good, pre-femin-
ized design. usually Victorian, called
Gertic's, Miz’ Lee's or Polly's.

I suppose the floor show (a scaled-
down version of burlesque) entered the
speakeasy with the lady customers be-
cause, at first, they wanted to show they
were "equal" to men. And the ladi
thought "equal" meant "identical" in
the days before they decided "equal"
meant "in full charge." And I further
suppose that stripping, the close-cozy
chorus, and other oncesolelymale en-
joyments, are now accepted as America’s
most popular coeducational entertain-
ment because the ladies, now in charge,
can sit there with a sharp eye on their
husbands, heartmates and other slaves.

At any rate, by the time Prohibition
ended, the American male had lost his
authority as symbolized by the places
where he drank. Sawdust vanished and
the standup bar was rare; the new
saloons were like tea shoppes, with mod-
ernistic decor. The jukebox made this
change possible even in the sleaziest gin
mill, where it was often the only light-
source as well as the continual fount of
ultra-sentimental, she-orier.ted song. By
then, the one remaining masculine re-
doubt was а man’s club.

For this, American males struggled
earnestly, There even are, still, here and
there, men’s clubs for men and only men
— places where the hunted, haunted
masculine sex can actually be sure that
no woman can get nearer than a phone
call. There are even a few men's clubs
where stewards will tell women, tele-

phoning as if their very voices were
warrants for arrest, that Mr. So-and-so
is not at the Dragon Club — when he's
sitting right there sipping a bourbon and
water.

But those clubs are under siege. One
by one the last guerilla strongholds fall.
I've watched it happen to my clubs. In
some, we began to have Ladies Nights,
We had previously foregathered to drink,
eat, lie, trade stories, play poker and
bridge — and, not incidentally, be
enough alone among ourselves to renew
and give zest to our joy in the opposite
sex. Often, we entered a club to establish
a rock-solid alibi for an evening. An im-
portunate female would be stalled for
hours by any member who picked up the
phone: "He's around here somewhere —
just saw him.” But we now hold dances
instead of Stag Nights. This the women
have done, unaware (or uncaring) that
compulsory consorting daunts the ardor
of even the most concupiscent male.

The sacred male purlieu was also com-
promised by the addition of a Ladies
Dining Room. Pretty soon, the ladies
had got a door cut through from there,
somchow —and were wandering about
the billiard rooms, the bars, the stcam
baths. Nor were these interlopers panting
beauties in search of mates. you may be
sure. The beauties — ageless adepts at
pleasuring man, stayed away; the battle
axes moved in. In all such luckless clubs,
the traditional decor soon vanished — the
big stone fireplaces, the vast, dim, peace-
ful libraries and the heavy, wonderful
chairs. Those chairs furnished not merely
comfort but proof of man's inner sense
of male importance, male dignity, majes-
tic function and peculiar prowess. АЙ
that was soon replaced by bright chintzes
and magazine racks. The oil paintings
of the founders went, too. The inspira-
tion of their cupmanship and florid phil-
andering went with the canvases. In their
places, the invading ladies hung the
pastel works of whatever nitwitted, flimsy
painter held their awe, in Indianapolis
or Birmingham, that year. The men paid,
of course, for this redecoration of their
clubs.

Women had always been allowed their
sanctuaries. A wife whose husband could
afford it provided her with a boudi
Even the Moguls invaded but one or
two apartments of the hundreds in their
harems, on a given evening, Men have
never tried, so far as I am aware, to crash
sewing circles or any of the myriad
federated cultural clubs of American
women. But it never occurred to Amer-
ica's females that thcy were outragcously
abusing their new "equality" as they
probed, cajoled, pushed and heckled
their way into every private male do-
— while kecping their own sundry
privacies inviolate.

They had said they wanted to be part-

(continued on page 77)

pre-season picks for the top teams and players in the country

participant sport — is played down on
the field by 22 well-padded young men.
Exactly what goes on down there may
not be wholly understood by each and

FOOTBALL IS TWO GAMES, not one. Take
equal parts of school loyalty and re-
gional chauvinism, add a few dashes
each of academic architecture, pennant
colors, bi autumn air and Sousa
marches, plus a. peppering of old grads

and delectable dates, mix them all to-
gether in a hip flask with some good
sour mash, and this is Game Number
One: football, the spectacular spectator
sport.

Game the

Number Two — football,

every livingitup individual in the
stands, but that doesn't make a hell of

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COACH QF THE YEAR.
Darrell Royal —Texos

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Ted Bates—Oregon State

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END: Tom Fronckhouser — Purdue

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a lot of dillerenee, really. because par
Иза strile сап be a ball as long as it
can be witnessed in comparative com-
fort and congenial company. Nonethe
less, a peck at pigskin prognostications
now may come in handy Lauer as а
source of solace when the flask runs dry,
so here we go

This усаг, its the same old calcified
bones of contention — rules and recruit
ing. The NCAA Rules Committee,
meeting in Fort Lauderdale last Janu-
ary, succumbed to the brain-frying Flor
ida sunshine and came up with the first
revolutionary scoring change in 52 years.
Fortified with tall rum concoctions, they
set the ball back to the three-yard line
after touchdowns awarded two
points for conversions scored by a run or
pass, one point if scored on a boot. Fritz
Crisler, whose idea this was, explained
that it will add drama to the dullest
and most stupid play of the game, and
we agree. It will also feed unlimited
fodder to the professional coach-damn-
ers and Sunday-morning quarterbacks
who always know how it should have
been done.

Another rules change passed by these
worthies, though until now tess talked
about than the extra-point. innovation,
is apt to produce many more bowls and
screeches once the contestants start liv
ing with it: blockers can no longer use
both arms, only onc. If officials call this.
one conscientiously, they may spend the
full afternoon tooting their whistles.

But the sorest issue this year is re-
«uiting and its accompanying abuses
and penalties e the NCAA started
getting tough with its members in 195
42 institutions have felt the whip. This
year SMU and Auburn are prohibited
from Bowl пез until further not
Frank Gardner, the Chiel Keeper of the
Morals in the NCAA, had his tender
sensibilities shocked. when the Univer
sity of Pittsburgh rented its stadium (on
Sundays) to the pro football Steelers for
this season. Creeping professionalism,
he yelped

But a number of coaches around the
country have been groaning about cer-
tain recruiting practices that, though
letter-of-the-law, аге still unfair. These
are controversies which, because of their
very nature, seldom if ever creep into
the press; but they are real cnough, and
a lot of people are getting hot under

(continned on page 64)

THE ALL-AMERICA SQUAD

(АП of whom are bound to moke
someone's All-America eleven)

Ends: Wallen (UCLA); Doke (Texas);
Houston (Ohio St.); Stover (Dregon);
Stickles (Notre Dame); Dial (Rice);
O'Pella (Villanova); Norton (lowa).

Tackles: Leeka (UCLA); Lanphear
(Wis); Diamond & Greaves (Miami,
Fla); O'Brien (Michigan State);
Blazer (North Carolina); Cesario (Den-
ver); Barbee (Stanford); Floyd (TCU);
Karas (Dayton).

Guards: Deiderich (Vanderbilt); Rus-
lavage (Penn State); Guzik (Pitt.);
McGee (Duke); Benecick (Syracuse);
Smith (Auburn); Healy (Holy Cross);
Wooten (Colorado); Horton (Baylor)

Centers: Burkett (Auburn); Kirk
(Miss); Teteak (Wis); Chiappone
(Calif.); Scholtz (Notre Dame); Szve-
tecz (Princeton); Thomas (Clemson).

Backs: Clark (Ohio State); Cannon
(LSU); Stacy (Mississippi State);
Pietrosante (Notre Dame); Lorino
(Auburn); Austin (Rutgers; Baker
(Dklahoma); Lasater (TCU); Meredith
(SMU); Parrish (Florida); Duncan
(lowa); Carlton (Duke); White (Ohio
State); Steiger (Washington State);
Peterson (West Virginia); Flowers
(Mississippi); White (Clemson).

TOP TWENTY TEAMS
National Champion
DKLAHOMA 10-0

Auburn

Michigan State

Miami (Florida)

Clemson

Iowa

Notre Dame

Texas

North Carolina

Washington State

Ohio State

Penn State

Navy

UCLA

Georgia Tech

TCU

Dregon State

Mississippi

Pittsburgh

Purdue 7-2
Possible Break-Throughs: Army
5-4; SMU 7-3; Rice 7-3; Arizona St.
-2; Miss. St. 7-2; VMI 9-1; Wiscon-
i Illinois 6-3; Oregon 6-4; Flo-
tida 7-3; Colorado 7-3.

55

56

SLEEPERS,
AWARE!

those girls,
those girls,
those lovely

seaside girls

fiction By HERBERT GOLD

BEACH, LAKE AND SKY rich with deep late colors, with Indian Summer prosperity
and only a few crisp leaves blown out onto the sands, which were white, tended,
raked and heated by a long season — he thought it must mean good luck. Why not
believe in case and health? Why not believe in reviving ways? He sat up, feeling the
hot September sun on the sunburnt bridge of his nose, and decided that they had
won their risk of a week's vacation after Labor Day, when on another year a thin
September rain might have kept them quarreling in the hotel off the lake. It was a
good omen. An optimist still, he piously took good hope from good omens although
not bad hope from bad ones.

This sand looks clean,” his wife remarked, turning fitfully at his side, “but it’s
really just crawling." She lay stretched out, eyes closed, wide awake. trying to court
slecp by pretending. It would be a nice surprise if she found it. Her thigh twitched
and Burr Fuller brushed away a sandfly.

faybe you put on too much lotion
to me.”

She sat bolt upright. “Do I look greasy to you, Burr?”
v0." he said very precisely, "no, you do not look greasy to me, Laura.”

She fell back into the little trough. formed between her two thin wings ol
shoulder blades: she closed her eyes, working hard at getting a tan, one of her several
anxious enterprises. Just when you have а good one, it begins to fade, and where
are you then? Merely yellow. She covered her eyes with the little pads of cotton she
kept for that purpose. Now that she could not see him, he felt emboldened to look
at his wife, this angry. dieting. sun-bathing and distant creature with whose life he
had been joined since their college days. Yes, the oil on her thin flanks probably did
draw flies. Her skin twitched under them and she scratched idly. He saw on her
thighs the punishment of her mistrust of flesh: a stringy looseness replacing the firm
health of first youth. Of course, it was still true that she wore clothes well. She dicted
for that, and got what she dicted lor. But in a bathing suit (or undressed for the
great dance — he thought with an ache of anger and of love) her bones were as sharp
as her discontentment. In winter she had a resenting gray face, masked by the sun-
lamp which reddened it; now there was the bronzing of a long summer over what
was gray within, needing seconal to sleep.

And yet they had rolled and wept with pleasure sometimes, and fine sleep alter-
ward — or perhaps with desire of pleasure, with planning and plotting of pleasure.

It was why they were here. They had arvanged this vacation alone in one more
effort to bring back their good times and make good days to come. The peace of the
after-season resort, a few children, beach balls and driftwood, the slow movements
near the lake, lazy, easy, a bit tired, much sleeping — this gave them hope of focus
on each other. The attendants at the hotel were grinning and indifferent, ready to
quit for the winter after tips and a good summer. To be alone like this was to be on
a wedding trip. They had wished to make it together again.

Laura was really sleeping now. Her narrow girlish breast rose and fell regularly,
Good. If she slept in the afternoon, she would be relaxed and able to sleep later. And
thus no seconal. And she would be pleased about the almost effortless sunburn she
had acquired during the hour of oblivion. And no guilt about seconal.

He got up carefully, straightening his boxer trunks, watching to see if Laura
stirred to notice while he left her side, and began to walk down the long beach.

ted

" he said.

‘hey don't seem to be attra

51

PLAYBOY

58

There were a few children running
about, and parents studious of the chil
dren, and fond fat grandparents. It was
not the time of the year for frolicking
young people like Laura and him. He
grinned wryly at the word “frolicking
and glanced back to where she dozed on
the sand, her bottles and tubes piled by
her side on a towel, her glasses and
watch in a slipper. She needed to lie
flat, to become irritable under the sun,
flesh quivering when a fly pricked, anxi
ous and compelled by her ideals to get
deeply tanned, even at the cost of trivial
discomfort and boredom and the yellow
which inevitably followed her few days
of brown success. He went to the edge
of the water where the stiffened, wave-
lapped sand made а springy path for him.

“Lucille!” a voice cried out.

But he did not see who had called, be-
cause instead he saw Lucille herself
wave to someone back on shore, climb-
ing and jumping into the feathered
waves, a flashing happy girl with drop
lets of water glistening on her shoulders
n the sun. Ап instantaneous physical
recollection of joy flooded his body —
she was lovely. In the next moment
Fuller was running and hurling himself
into the lake, bathing luxuriously in the
warm late summer water, in the same
lake in which the girl named Lucille
happily swam. He swam toward her,
thinking the old song: “Those girls,
those girls, ‘Those lovely seaside girls. . ."
OF course she not notice him. He
did not try to speak, but for the time
was satisfied simply by taking these
pleasures with her — sand bottom, then
backstroke, then crawl, hissing foam
against bared teeth in а last rapid spurt
before coming out blowing and breath
ing deeply onto the beach. She did not
see that he had imitated her frolicking
eck girl
finely fitted black swimsuit, shaking her
long reddish hair loose out of her bath
ing cap as she ran up the beach, Jaugh-
ing and dancing on one foot with water
in her ear, and then he lost her among
the little crowd at the hotdog stand. He
even wanted to lose her and averted his
eyes as from the sun. He did not dare
to lose her,

But moving toward his wife, who was
sitting up and watching him, he went on
imagining Lucille: she was a college girl
on a dutilul weckend outing with her
parents before returning to her senior
year at Oberlin. АП right, back now,
enough, he thought, and waved and
grinned at Laura.

She hugged her knees and said, "Why
didn't you tell me you were going їп?”

“I thought you were sleeping. I didn't
think you'd want to.”

Well, no, but L wondered
where you were, that's all. Not that it
ade much difference, since there

she said,

aren't

many places to go. Is the water nice?”

“Marvelous!

"It looks all right, but it's probably
brackish. I'd rather just admire from a
distance."

"Did you really sleep?"

“Dreamed, Burr,"—and all at once
miraculously she smiled and showed her
small fine buds of teeth (the sun!) and
he remembered her abandoned gaiety at
parties, her dancing fling and laughter
on the excuse of one drink: and then
how they held and clutched and plucked
at cach other's flesh afterward. She
stood up. stretched, took his arm. She
yawned. They lurched through the sands
toward the Breakers Hotel a few steps
from the beach. "Let's have a big din-
ner and a big time doing nothing to
night,” she said. She brushed her hand
across the hi on his arn. The con-
trary touch of her fingers on his skin
made it rise and tingle. There was that
warm, marvelous, and secret detonation
between them.

His heart seemed to leap toward her.
As they passed Lucille, licking the mus-
tard from her finger after the hotdog,
he looked away. He wanted to sec no
one but Laura. She wanted him, too.
He wanted nothing but their good mar-
riage.

By the time they showered and dressed
for dinner, the rapidly shortening Sep-
tember afternoon was over and there
were blue shadows on the gravel walk
outside their window. They were hun-
gry, but not with the alert pang of appe-
ше; they suffered under a dull, starved,
cocktail-needing boredom. His bored
exasperation with assigning too much
duty to love had always been the weak
side of his feeling for her; her passive
refusal to be assured was the other side
of her clutching, clinging passion for
him. ‘Their unstable good spirits passed
while he threaded new laces into his
shoes and Laura put on her girdle.
"Why wear a girdle here?" he asked

he

And she answered:
girl any more, and anyway, it’s only а
light summer thing. Just a little tic
to hold up my stockings —"

"They walked toward the bar through
the echoing, almost empty corridors of
this ramshackle resort hotel, all of sag
ging wood and peeling paint, splendor
turned economical. The smart people
traveled further. The Breakers at Cedar
Point on Lake Erie had once bei
watering place to which carriages came
from Sandusky and Toledo and special
trains from Cleveland. Now the carpets
on long slanting corridors һай been
sanded into threads: the halls echoed
with the slapslapping of slippers below
jellylike or stringy bodies; children ran
shricking; dark faces, blotched by age

m not a college

a

and sun, ignored the signs about PROPER
DRESS I$ SUGGESTED GOING AND COMING
FROM THE BEACH. Into this quiet of oft-
season brooding, economy, and last hope
of summer in the week after Labor Day,
Burr and Laura Fuller emerged to walk
toward the bar. Grandfathers and wid-
ows turned to look at them: Such a nice
young couple!

“Make sure you have matches," Laura
was saying to her husband.

"Don't worry, they'll have them at
the. bar," he answered.

Yes, but what if I'm caught with
out?

He assured her that this cataclysm
would almost certainly not break over
them. They had their drink. Since there
va ‚ they had another. Laura
it in the crisis of incomplete de-
votion, although Burr lit her cigarette.
Since they did not speak very much, and
consequently drank too fast, they had a
third. Fuller regretted the last two be-
cause they meant tha still sit-
ting there with his wife in the cool dark
bar when the girl, Lucille, came in on
her father's arm. Dressed in light
summer frock, her һай pulled tight
against her head and her mouth fla-
grantly lipsticked, she looked older than
on the beach. She had a frosted drink,
probably a daiquiri, over which she
bobbed and ducked her head as if it
were a chocolate soda — and with the
delight of the daughter having a drink
with her father. The man was ruddy,
thick, smiling and triumphant in his
daughter's pleasure. Burr wondered how
many happy families like this one c
isted — what percentage of all famili
say — and if it really did exist or merely
looked that way with father and daugh
ter smiling, touching, toasting cach
other, Lucille put on glasses to look
about, and as her eyes behind the
slanted frames briefly rested on him, he
felt that she was really lovely, really
ready for happiness, a really grown-up
girl of 20 or 21. She sat alertly without
her back touching the chair.

"I guess we'd better be getting along
to dinner," Laura said. "What are you
thinking about?"

"Nothing. You?”

“I have a lite sprain, 1 think. Not
serious — just from falling asleep on a
lump in the sand. It's really nothing,
Burr. Don't be concerned.”

He resolved not to be, but made
solemn face so that she would not read
his thought. She was only a few years
older than Lucille, but she had always,
even at Lucille's . worn that fret of
unhappy self-love betw yes, and
had never known Lucille's elegance of
stance and movement. His wife was
slightly stooped at the shoulders, narrow
at the back: “petite” was her word for

(continued on page 62)

cole cocks a skeptics eye toward а new advertising technique

THE
SUBLIMINAL
PITCH

Before we sanction national exposure of our
gray matter to electronic innuendo, observes
cautious cartoonist Jack Cole, let us consider
the possible consequences of indiscriminate sub-
liminal advertising in TV and the cinema.
let's consider, too, how some might misuse
this latest phenomenon in hidden persuasion to
achieve mischievous and Machiavellian ends.

e
m
E
له‎

яо

PLAYBOY

62

SLEEPERS, AWAKE! (continued from page 58)

it. Now he turned again, hopelessly,
thinking tl even Lucille's name — not
Lu or Lucy, thank God. but Lucille! —
spoke with a confident grace. Resounded
unspoken in his head. Lucille, Lucille.

But despite everything. the vears were
with Laura, his years and hers. He sat
with her in the overlarge dining room,
nsects thumping against the screens.
moths circling the chandeliers high up,
in this place once chic and wild, now
calmed under the grandparents and
blurred by the children. From one cor-
ner of the room came a rhythmic cry:
“I want some, I want some. I want
some." From another, behind his back.
Burr could feel the pressure of Lucille
with her sweet, nice, ordinary parents
glowing in the presence of their dangh
ter, The waiters brought the food, took
away the plates. Dessert was vanilla icc
cream, grainy and starchy.

“I want some, 1 want some, I want
some.” said the greedy unformed mouth.

Why did they have no children after
five years of marriage? He remembered
another childless couple's explanation
"They had been drawn together at a ski
resort in the strange intimacy of bereave:
ment, of lack — they had played bridge.
Their new, passing friends had finally
confessed, putting down the cards and
staring at them across the table: “We're
cousins and we're afraid." Laura and
Burr were not cousins. but they were
afraid.

They thought they were being rational.
Like all those pscudo-rational, irrational
men and women who count overmuch
on romantic Iove, they waited for some
impossible perfection between them be-
fore they could dare to have children.
This romantic perfection һай once
seemed in their grasp. as they wrestled
together on the beach of their first sum-
mer together, and then was forever re
treating, retreating, called back by a
moment, a day, а breath of feeling, then
retreating again. Still Burr hoped about
this vacation. He had an idea for Laura
about giving themselves a child. Afte
their time of marriage the idea was
ordi although it seemed to him
tastic and needing schemes and plots
ations: Let's just go on,

tps he should not have waited:
perhaps he should just have said it.
But he had learned to be a cautious
romantic. And he had superstitious wor
ries about Laura's knowing how he
looked at Lucille, how he looked at
fresh and healthy girls, and how this
might corrupt the health and desire
which he wanted for her—for the
mother-to-be. Tonight, in the sweet
dark, if she felt well, if her back had
stopped hurting, he would talk with her

about it. He would not look at Lucille
at all. Не would imagine Laura, his
delicate and quiet Laura, and only
Laura. He would not taste, smell, imag-
ine the skin of Lucille, to whom he had
never once spoken. He would think only
of Laura. She would sleep very well.
She had strong ankles. strong hips: the
blood was good to her, despite her back
and her insomn she could do for him,
and he for her, and they would have a
greedy lovely child, too. He would leave
the dining room before Lucille could
cross before his eyes.

a lot of sun today,” he said

“That's

ler felt a muscle twitch:
ing in his leg because he was still young
and willing to run, swim, work and
make love.

п Laura said that she wanted to
gain before bed, he recognized
her acknowledgment that they would
make love tonight. She said "bath"
casually, and with a dark, sideways. chal
lenging glance from her very dark
smudged eyes. She was signaling willing
ness and preparation. She would spend
a long time in the tub, scrubbing, re
lentlessly cleaning herself in water al
most too hot to stand, and emerge wi
and soaked and her fingertips spongy-
Fhe thought of so much foaming chort,
so much ferocity spent on cleanliness,
inexplicably isolated him and he could
not wait for her in their little room. He
wanted to fold her in his arms just
she was, warm after the sun-soaked day,
only partly undressed. and he would
help her the rest of the way, carrying
her to bed, warming her, warming him
self to her; but she slipped. away, say
ing. "Wait!"

had a bath before dinner,

n a hotel room. Warped
ake dampness. He went out to
walk in the corridors of the hotel, feel-

ng for his pack of cigarettes, cramming
it unnecessarily back into his pocket so
that he could go to buy another and talk
with someone, Did he need excuses? He
felt ashamed of his loneliness. He was
not looking for Lucille. He was just
looking for someone. He was just wait-
ing until his wife would be ready to
receive him. Then why the deep draw.
ing pain of anxiety and anticipation in
his belly? It was the pain of excess and
indulgence — it was lower than his belly.
No, it was for his wife, not Lucille, and
it was not pain. His wile too had those

marvelously abandoned, beautifully
responsible moments that he read i
the girl's slim. unhurried. smiling case.
(Charm means to be ccrtainsure of
yourself. To be sure of yourself. means
to be able to let go, to cut loose, to
hold on.) And he did not find Lucille
either at the tobacco stand or at the
desk, where he went to ask if there were
any messages for him. He expected none.
He was just asking. He needed a human
voice to answer him.

The desk clerk was used to loafers.
gossipers, men afraid of their four walls,
He was a narrow-chested old bobo in a
blue nylon cord suit and a red paper
flower in his lapel from some celebra-
tion to which he had been invited. He
believed himself skilled in "handling
people,” sizing them up with his eyes,
measuring them down, and he wore his
eyes frowning and smiling at the same
time, crumpled with the labor of telling
all: I know, I know, I see through you!
It takes head! — and he tapped his skull.
What didit just come to him by innate
knowledge he filled in by questions. He
figured it that Laura abed, th
Burr had the wandering insomnias.
“The dde wife sleeping? They sure
like to get their rest, don't they?” He
didn't need answers, not him. His own
questions gave him all the information
required. "Those pretty little mothers
now. they come to the lake for a
tion from the kids."

We don't have any yet — but he did
not say it.

“Ics hard on the grandparents, but
you need some fun once in а while, too,
don't you? I see lots like you. It's
swell. Don't worry, you'll hear from
them if the kids аге lonesome. It’s really
swell to have a little peace and quiet.”

Burr returned to his room. By this

time Laura would surely be ready,
scrubbed. oiled and bedwarm in the
shortie nightgown he had given her the
day they left Cleveland. But when he
opened the door, the bottle of pills was
out on the dresser and she was ostenta
tiously, challengingly sipping water.
"Laura, no!" he cried ош. "Did you
take them tonight?
Shush, 1 have a fright of a headache,
Burr. Too much sun — you were right."
She must have waited until she heard
him at the door. “I knew I wouldn't
sleep without them."

“But you wanted to break the habit,
and you thought that if you could just

relax, have a relaxing week ——"
“L know, I thought so, but I knew I
couldn't.

“But Таша!” And he flushed deep
red, felt it like a jilted swain, murmur-
ing, “I wanted to talk to you. I wanted

As if this meant that he didn't care
(concluded an page 82)

& ANTOINE

NGERK

z

accessories By BLAKE RUTHERFORD

COME THE FINE FALL. pays and the
breaking out of sweaters and tweeds
— and even the raccoon coat — it's a
good notion to round out your
autumn outfit with a hip flask. For
though the air may be winey, the
inner man will want something of
somewhat higher proof to warm the
cockles of his and his date's hearts
as they sit on the 50-yard line or
park the Porsche atop а sun
drenched hilltop to admire the
smoke-hazed hues of the season

The flask, as we all know, is «
more of those lightsome legacies of
the Roaring ‘Twenties which are
back in fashion. The modern ones
shown here have the traditional,
functional elegance of their forc
bears, but are more cannily con
cocted, making best use of new mate
rials as well as old. providing am
ple volume for your pet potation
and assuring that it will flow un
tainted from flask to gullet. Shown
here is praynoy’s representative
selection of these gentleman's com
panions—and one for the fair ladies

HIP
HIP
FLASKS

canny canteens for

a dollop of wet

Top row, left grouping: Two 8-oz. clear
plastic flasks with hide covers ond metal
tops cost $5.50 for the skinny one,
$8.50 for the squat one. To the rear
are paired 8-oz. plostic flasks covered
in stitched-together two-tone hide with
attached tabs for togging their con-
tents; $12. Right: Bridle leather carrier
totes a pair of pint glass flasks; $19.50.
A black cowhide case houses on 8-07.
glass flask, has а snap flap to hold the
jigger cap, two extra cups; $9.50. Bot-
tom left: A fivesome in Britannia metal
fits a ronge of thirsts, to wit and from
forword to the rear, march: 2, 4, 8, 12
and 17 o7s.; $4.50, $6, $8.50, $10
and $12 in the same order. Right: The
circular purse-size lady's flacon holds a
ladylike 6 ozs, is made of fin-lined
chrome covered with red Morocco
leother, houses two cups in its center, &
la a plugged doughnut; $15. Bel
a classic stodium standby, the pigskin-
covered Brittania flask, 8 ozs.; $17.50.

63

PLAYBOY

64

PIGSKIN PREVIEW (continued from page 55)

the shoulder pads about them.

One concerns the religious dout al
legedly administered by some church-
ahliated institutions. This takes the form,
so the story gocs, of thc local clergyman
ting a beefy young prospect’s parents
(after he has already signed a scholar-
ship agreement with a state institution)
and impressing the folks with the bene-
fits of a good Christian college educa-
tion in a chui filiated school which
can, incidentally, also make use of the
kid's football know-how. The church
schools, on the other hand, vigorously
deny the use of any religious coercion
in their recruiting. It is only natural.
they point out, for a spiritually inclined
200-pound tailback who can scoot the
hundred in 10 seconds to want to go to
a college of his own religious leanings.

Another controversy surrounds the
service academics, which, legally offer a
prospect room, three squares, tuition, a
snappy uniform, laundry, a salary and
promise of a good job (complete with
gold bar) upon graduation. Some of the
non-service schools around the country
(those with both lofty scholastic stand-
ards and big-time football) complain
that they play bird dogs for the fantasti-
cally well-organized recruiting forces of
the service academies. How? It seems,
according to the complainants, that
once they have signed a prospect to a
scholarship commitment, the academies
make big eyes at the boy because they
know he can probably pass their en-
trance exams. Also, it seems, the service
academy alumni groups maintain schol-
arship funds ostensibly to provide “cram”
courses at private schools for deserving
young men who otherwise would flunk
the entrance exams. These cram sessions,
however (according to those who have
lost many a recruiting contest with our
First Lines of Defense), are mostly peo-
pled with speedy halfbacks and gargan
tuan tackles.

Not so, say the academy people, who
moan (with some justification) that they
аге at dvantage. Not only must
their boys snag a Congressional appoint
ment, but they must be mental wizards
to survive academically. Not only that,
but the service schools can't actively
go after a prospect unless he has first
expressed, in writing, personal interest
in attending the academy. Any way you
look at it, it's a big headache that the
NCAA will have to set straight by legis-
lation before tempers get all out of hand.

For us, the most sensible solution to
these and a lot of other recruiting-
scholarship misunderstandings is a letter
of intent, whereby a prospective athlete
who has signed a scholarship agrecment
with any school is off limits to recruiters
from other schools and, in fact, cannot
attend any other school without losing

d

his football cligibility.
THE EAST

FIRST FLIGHT INDEPENDENTS

Army
72 Syracuse
13

Penn State
Navy
Pittsburgh
SECOND FLIGHT INDEPENDENTS
Rutgers 91 Lehigh
Villanova. 7-3 Boston College

Boston U 54 Colgate
Holy Cross 54

YANKEE CONFERENCE
Connecticut. 7-3 Massachusetts
New Hampshire 4-4 Rhode Istand
Maine 44 Vermont

IVY LEAGUE

Princeton 72
Dartmouth 72
Yale 63 Cornell
Harvard 63 Columbia

THE REST

Amherst 62 Brandeis
Tufts 62 Delaware
Williams. 62 Norwich
Wesleyan 53 Temple
Springfield 54 Trinity
Buffalo 54

Brown
Penn

‘Time was when Eastern teams reeked
with tradition and the Old School Spirit,
but little else. "Fhis year, power is bur-
geoning in many of the Ivy institutions,
like Rutgers and Dartmouth, that
haven't tasted national prominence since
dad drove a Stutz.

Take Penn State. Rip Engle is assem-
bling a pride of Nittany Lions that can
make ‘58 the finest football year at Uni-
versity Park since he took over in ‘50.
‘The Lions haye a well-balanced sched-
ale, more experience than usual and
specd to spare. Success depends largely
on developing adequate depth at end
d guard positions and digging up a
brainy quarterback to ran Engle's wing-T.

Navy. on the other hand, lost 13 of its
first 22 men last year. The Middie squad
is rarely very deep, so this would be a
real blow if the remaining material didn't
look so good. Coach Erdelatz has come
up with a zippy quarterback in Joc
Tranchini (replacing Tom Forrestal)
and the Middie line sports a fantastic
tackle in Bob Reifsnyder. Вір, fast, smart
and fabulously aggressive, Reifsnyder
terrorized opposing backficlds all last
year and Erdelatz says he was 20%, better
in spring practice. If the li
time, Navy could be a power a

Pitts big problem may be recovering
from a psychological hangover caused
by last ycar's disappointing 4-6 record.
The Panthers have the material and ex-
perience, plus a whiz-bang passing attack,
to make them the dark horse in the East.

Its the old problem at Army: a quar
terback, Lack of a really superior signal-
caller has hamstrung Coach Earl Blaik
for most of his tenure at West Point.

This years most promising answer is
Joe Caldwell. If he comes through, and
Bob Anderson repeats last year's phc-
nomenal performance at left half, the
Cadets will be hard to handle. But
matching last year's 7-2 record will be
rough.

Rutgers and Holy Cross are both deep
and experienced and either could make
their best showing in years. Rutgers, in
addition, claims national prominence in
the person of tailback Billy Austin.

The Ivy League looks better balanced
than it has in years, largely because the
perennial underpups are showing mus-
des. Princeton, Dartmouth and Yale
are the top trio, but Harvard and Penn
each lost only four men from their first
two teams, and will have the depth and
gray matter to make miseries for oppo-
nents this year. Brown and Columbia will
lack depth in the front linc. But Colum-
bia is on its way back and could improve
last year's record by two or three wins.

THE MIDWEST

INDEPENDENT.
Notre Dame 82

BIG TEN
Michigan State 8-1 Illinois
lowa 81 Michigan
Purdue 12 Indiana
Ohio State 6-3 Minnesota
Wisconsin 63 Northwestern

THE REST

Louisville Wabash
Butler Dayton
Bradley Xavier
Washington U Kent
DePauw 6: Bowling Green
Detroit 3 OhioU
Toledo Marquette
Miami (Dhio)

The stories that drifted out of
South Bend during spring practice told
about how the Irish were battling over-
confidence. But things looked suddenly
different after the annual Old Timers
ame when the alumni walloped the
overconfident” varsity for only the fifth
time in 30 years. The Irish displayed a
precociously leaky defense that allowed
the has-beens to run up 37 points. So
Terry Brennan, though richer in men
than last усаг, has problems to solve.
The Irish arc lacking in team speed, to
mention one. We asked Charlie Calla-
han, the Notre Dame Publicity Director,
about the high optimism on the part of
Irish partisans and he told us, "A year
ago Notre Dame won seven and lost
three. Folks remember that we beat
Army 22-20 and Oklahoma 7-0, but they
seem to forget that Navy beat us 20-6
and Michigan State beat us 34-6. If a
couple of miraculously good breaks
hadn't pulled a couple of games out of
the fire for us, it would have been a
5-5 season.”

(continued on page 83)

jorrvwoop, which has given us The
Body and The Back, has also given us
plenty of bosoms, starting with L
Turner's besweatered charms, continuing
through the delightful double [catures
of Marilyn Monroe, and reaching an
appetizing apogee in the mighty meas
urements of Mansfield. But all of these
were lower case bosoms. The first Bosom
worthy of a capital В has only recently
reached Tinseltown, She's an import, but
not from Sweden or Italy — climes seem:
ingly most conducive to such classic
cultivations. It — or they — from
staid old England and arc the perky
properties of a pretty young Londoner
named June (43-22-36) Wilkinson.

Recognizing tha ppeal is more
than a simple matter of statistics, we in-
vited Miss Wilkinson to the PLAYBOY
Building to discuss her unique claim to
fame. And we must confess in honesty
that we were thoroughly smitten by this
Briton kitten. We found June to be a
quiet, well-mannered girl with a charm
ing personality and a figure that, in the
words of the postpaid poet Johnson
Smith, can be better imagined than de-
scribed. A bit later in PLAYnov's photo
studio, June proved to everyone's satis
faction that she's not a girl to put up a
false front

With disarming candor, she said of her
success, "I know being a girl with a big
bust has done all this for me. 1 realized
some time ago that as long as there were
men in this world, I'd make good.” One
man interested in helping her make good
is Howard Hughes. who discovered Jane
Russell. Janet Leigh and several other
ladies who are not exactly busts in the
bust department.

Now just turning 18 and, by her own
admission, “still growing,” there is every
reason to expect big things in the future
from the British beauty rightly titled
The Bosom.

na

THE BOSOM

introducing june wilkinson:
a buxom british beauty with
simply sensational statistics

65

In our photo studio, June shows off a swim suit custom-
made to her proportions ond on off-the-bosom negligee.

Interviewed on an afternoon TV show, June wos a charming but enigmotic guest, since the сатего remoined focused firmly on her head ond
shoulders, and the interviewer never got around to saying what her chief claim to fame was, apparently judging it too rich for mom and kids.

June lends enchantment to o sport shirt,

Compored with the mighty measurements of Miss Wilkinson, Hollywood's most full-blown beauties must go to the foot of the class.

69

PLAYBOY

PEEPING TOM PATROL

(continued from page 36)
damn sight better if she would say
something. A slight smile came over her
face, along with the odd look still in
her wide, dark eyes. She said simply
that she believed. him.

He relaxed and was able to grin. The
«olfee came and they sat making con-
versation and it was gradually and sur-
prisingly very pleasant. She chatted
briefly about nothing, but her voice was
low and warm and her smile delightful
and he began to wonder just what in

behind that puzzling look i
. The vision of her in the night
kept coming back. He passed through
one of those moments when it was ab
solutely necessary to reach out and
touch her, But he didn't move. And
you can't ask her out, he thought. How
the hell could he ask her? She'd think
it was blackmail

“It must be very interestis

" she was

saying, "being а cop."
“Yep,” Redmond said. He started to

rise, “Well, I better get back to the
beat."
She made no move to go. She sat

looking up at him, smiling, something
rare and delightful dancing in her eyes.
feel very peculiar about you,” she

said. “You know all about me.”

"Not all" Redmond said

"You know what I mean. I - , . don't
have to hide anything from you. We're
not trying to well, kid each other
You see? It's odd."

He didn't quite understand. His eyes
went automatically down the front of
her dress and she leaned back suddenly
and moved her arms away from in front
of her and smiled at him softly, lazily

“I know what you're thinking,” she
said.

“TIL bet you do.”

"Why don't you ask?"

"You know damn well why."

Why?"

"You'd think it was only —

“And it wouldn't be?

Redmond took a deep breath,

So you won't even ask?" the girl
said. She was still smiling but her eyes
had closed slightly and there was no

mistaking the look in her face, and it
came to him in that moment with an
enormous shock how litle he knew
about women

“АП right" she said softly, "if you
won't ask. When you get off duty to
night, Mr. Policeman, why don't you
come on by and pick me up?"

WELL-CLAD UNDERGRAD

(continued from page 34)
culled from the copious notes and com
mentary that accompanied the stacks of
filled-out questionnaires which llowed
into our offices [rom PLAYBOY reps across
the nation. These show that, though Ivy
is the arbiter and criterion. group indi-
viduality does exist — which is not sur
prising, since young men are innovators
and are jealous of their right to be dil
ferent, but still enjoy membership (and
the sartorial badges of membership) in
their own groupings. Note. however, that
the eminence of Ivy seems undisputed,
despite its ebb and flow from campus to
campus.

From a student at the University of
Colorado: “The style here is possibly
more stereotyped Ivy than anywhere else
in the West — wcre sort of an Ivy out
post, I guess.”

But, from another Western college:
“Jeans and ‘T-shirts rate over Ivy here.
Some think we're the victims of a cul
tural time lag, others say it’s our way of
showing our independent resistance to
the Ivy League.”

From a mid-South state college: “You
can tell the fraternity men more easily
by their clothes than by their fraternity
strictly Ivy. But the other men

pins:

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make up for it by sporting sloppy non
Ivy outfits."

From Virginia: "Fd say we're more
formal, in an Ivy-tweedy way, than most
Eastern Ivy colleges. There is great
pride in personal appearance.

At Reed College, in Oregon, a school
noted for its high academic standing
“We go in for Bohemian individuality
beards are common, clothing ranges
from nondescript casual to outlandishly
original.”

By contrast, at the University of the
South, in ‘Tennessee, "You must wear
jacket and tie at all times except to sports
events (or for sleeping) and if you're a
high-ranking upperclassman, you will
wear academic robes to class.”

From a small, conservative college not
much farther south: “All the men are up
in arms about restrictions on Bermudas.”

And from a small Eastern school: “Ex
treme Ivy is on the way out, but honest
conservative Ivy is stronger than сует.
We believe it is here to stay and is not
just a longterm fad."

And so it goes. On опе campus you
achieve cachet by wearing pink Oxford
buttondowns by Brooks — but they have
to be frayed conspicuously at collar and
cuffs to show that they're old, of course.
Michigan, Wisconsin and Northwestern
are solid Ivy encampments, as are а few

оп action in this three-button rib-stitch cardi

of the larger West Coast. colleges. thus
proving by exception our statement that
the Ivy influence diminishes proportion-
ately with distance from the Eastern
Seaboard fountainhead.

To us, however. the most compelling
and interesting fact to be learned from a
synthesis of all the comments and ques-
tionnaires is the spelling out — the lor-
mulation — of the college men's attitude
toward Ivy апа non-Ivy fashions. They
buy Ivy in both senses of the word. But,
for them, Ivy is not a slavish following
of a fad dreamed up by Yale or Harvard
It is not the tightly tapered peg-leg
trouser, infinitesimal lapel and Judi-
crous proliferation of straps and buckles
which this generation's equivalent ol
zoot suiters mistakenly label Ivy. (In fact,
though honest Ivy is collegiately correct,
there are detectable misgivings about
the word itself — as though it were be-
ge.) Good Ivy —
we'll use the word until a better comes
more and

coming a debased coir

slong — means today no no
less than good, conservative dress, which
evolved — on and off the nation’s cam
puses — many long years ago. It was the
college men who —during the postwar
fad for padded shoulders, wide lapels,
drape shapes and hand-painted wide ties

which were then being widely touted as

The hunt for action is on —in a bold masculine knit
96 fine wool

the "new look" for men — led us back to
the good conservative dress which had
always been popular in Eastern schools.
Hence. of course, the name “Ivy.

And so, subject to local fads and
climatic differences, our charted recom-
mendations for a college wardrobe are a
fair picture of what the undergraduate
will need to be adequately and appro-
priately clad. As for the fads, they're
seldom more than adjuncts to the Ivy
wardrobe and not-too-costly ones at that
Considerations of climate should intro-
duce the same common-sense variations
from the temperate standard that af
fect all clothing selection. Geography
will influence the college wardrobe in
the ways we've indicated: a Yale man,
for instance, might do well to have a
number of caps and at least two hats, one
for dress and one for sport — whereas at

Southern California, one hat for dates in
town might well do the trick.

A final word. Our campus survey sug
gests to us that not even in the business
world is attire more significant in estab-
lishing social acceptance than in college.
That's why we invited the college men of
America to supply the information on
which this article and its recommenda
tions are based.

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72

Ribald Classic

The PRINCESS and the MONSTER

The first transcription of a tale from the folklore of ancient Ireland

“Tis a fair daughter you have,” said the hideous brute.

I: NG, LONG AGO in the very olden time,
before the good St. Patrick took his
staff to the serpents, there lived two kings
in Ireland. One was a man stout and
strong, like a good Irishman ought to be.
They called him the Good King. He had
one daughter, and it was beautiful she was.
The other king was hardly a man at
all, for he was of the breed of monsters.
Hairy and huge and hideous he was, and
no man had stood against him and lived.
Men called him the Giant.

One day the Giant came calling upon
the Good King, and by chance—and sure
you'll be saying it was a black chance—
his eyes fell upon the Princess, and his
mouth watered,

“Tis a fair daughter you have,” he
said to the Good King. “I'm thinkin’
maybe ‘ошап be such а bad thing to
be married to a lass like her.”

“There's never a better girl in all
Erin,” replied the Good King. “And Td
best be tell you here and now that
I've betrothed her to Ewan of the Dark
Hair.”

The Giant frowned. "It's myself she'll
be marryin'," he roared, “or it’s war we'll
have between us! Call this Ewan and let
me have а word with him. If there’s half
a brain in the lad's dark head, he'll be
leavin’ off all claim to her.”

The Good King sent for Ewan and
told him all the Giant had said, and
Ewan answered like any good young
Irishman would have under the circum-
stances.

"So that's the trim of it, is it?” he said,
looking straight into the eyes of the
Giant. “There'll be no war between the
kingdoms, but between me and this Go-
liath there'll be mortal соті

"So be it,” said the Good King. “But
get to your prayers, lad, and set your af
fairs in order. There's never апу knowin’
and ‘tis a good thing to be ready in
сазе et

Ewan knew well enough what the
Good King meant, and he trembled in
his brogans. The Giant towered above
him. was twice as broad and 10 times as
strong, and his sword was as long as a

boatman's oar. But then Ewan looked
at the Princess and found her smiling.
As she passed him on her way to the
palace, she had time to whisper a few
encouraging words.

“If it's life you're yearnin' for," she
murmured, “and my own true love, sec
that your back’s to the royal рау
and that the Giant is facing it.”

And with that she was gone,

The next dawning, not a man in the
whole city but was turned out for the
fray. and not a woman cither. Ewan and
the Giant faced cach other. a mere man
and a great monster. They then turned
and faced the Good King as he sat in
the royal pavilion ready to state the
rules. His daughter sat to his right and
somewhat behind him.

Draw swords," said the King, "fight
fair like good Irishm and may the
best man win."

A bugle sounded, the Giant raised his
blade, and if he'd hit his mark, Ewan of
the Dark Hair would have gone to glory
then and there. The next cut was even

13

PLAYBOY

74

closer, and Ewan knew that his time
was near.

Then he remembered the words of the
Princess: If it’s life you're yearnin' for,
and my own true love, see that your
back's to the royal pavilion and that the
Giant is facing it. Ewan decided to give
it a try. He worked the Giant around
until the big one's face was toward the
spectators and his own was toward the
trees beyond the meadow.

The Giant shouted with glee. "There's
no tellin’,” he bellowed, “just when I'll
cleave you, lad. And you'll not make me
hurry, either, I'll not finish vou off *
the Princess sees what a man she's gettin’
in me and how poor lookin’ you can be
even before you're cut in pieces.”

Ewan gritted his tceth and said to him-
sel: “It's a tight corner you're in, Ewan
my boy. And I'm thinkin’ that if the
Princess is out to help you, she'd best
be ite

Suddenly the Giant looked past Ewan
and dropped the point of his sword ever
so little. Ewan saw his eyes open very
wide and his mouth fall slack. The
sword's point dropped a little lower.

Ewan should have run him through
then and there, but his eyes pulled
around to the pavilion in spite of him.
What he saw made his own eyes open
very wide.

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Behind the King, unscen by the spec-
tators because they were all watching
the field, stood the Princess. A flood of
golden hair rippled over her naked
shoulders and fell to her waist. She had
opened her robe. Her breasts were per-
fect and as white as a summer’s moon
on а dear night. She pivoted slowly on
her chair and displayed the graceful
curve of her hip. All the way round she
turned until her back was toward them.
The robe fell down around her feet and
mother nude she was for them to see.
The Giant's sword's point dropped until
it touched the grass.

Then Ewan understood. He tore his
eyes away.

" "Iis the moment 1 was needin’,” he
said, and with one swift thrust he passed
his blade through the Giant's thick neck.

As the monster fell, no one but Ewan
heard him cry, " "Twas the woman killed
me, litle man, not yourself.

And that was how the Princess saved
Ewan of the Dark Hair and escaped the
embraces of the Giant. And that was
why Ewan set an cven higher valuc on
the Princess’ weapons than young men
аге. accustomed to set upon such things.
And all his life he cherished them and
kept them bright and keen through use.

—Retold by J. A. Gato

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House or HATE

(continued from page 38)
"You won't cause no trouble, now will
you?”

Lottie shrank back
по!”

Cal laughed and turned to Lunk.
“Take “em to the kitchen. Lock the
door to the porch and tic Gert in a
chair right smack agin the door, That
way we can see her, and Lottie can't
get out. Pull the window shades and
get back in here so's we can tend to our
business. You, Lotti, get that cake
fixed! I'm a mind to eat cake!"

In the kitchen Lottie moved method-
ically between shelf and stove, took olf
the cooked frosting and prepared to stir
it while Gert sat bound and numb, s
ing at her in fascination,

Cal Joyen’s soft words drifted out
from the dining room. “AHN right, Huck,
we know you got money here. Where is
it? Tell and save grief.”

Abner Huck said tightly, “Moncy? I
ain't got no money!"

Cal Joyen laughed. "Some thinks dil-
ferent. How about this: Huck's got
money, Maybe you don’t believe it, but
he's got lots of it... ."

“Don't know what you're talking

(concluded overleaf)

in terror. "No,

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YOUR. PROBLEM?

“THERE YoU WERE I ASKED YOU TO HAE
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1 CANT ASK SWEET LITTLE RAINCOAT AND THE FIRST DRINK
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PROBLEM = STEPS AND YOU PROBLEM -
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75

PLAYBOY

76

about. What is that you got? There's 25
dollars in my wallet upstairs.”

“25 dollars, hell!" Cal snarled. “You
got a pile hid. Where?”

Abner Huck let out a screech of pain.
Then he gasped out, "Don't . . . I tell
you, 1 t got no money!”

Gert hissed a whisper. “Lottie . . .
Loric! Has Ab got money in the
house?"

Lottie tiptocd to peek into the other
room, jerked back. * she whispered,
“h-he ain't got nothing. He always said
he ain't. They're gonna kill him, ain't
they, Gert?"

Sweat dappled Gert's face. "Га hate
to bet they wasn't gonna kill us all!
Here, Lottie, get me loose. Get a knife.
Maybe 1 can do something.”

"Won't do no good,” Lottie whis-
pered, backing away. “They'd see me,
and then ——”

Abner Huck screamed. A rising scream
ending in a choked gasp. His breathing
was audible now, spaced and labored
sobs that drifted out to the kitchen,
pearls of agony.

“No... топсу. Ain't got... по...
money.”

“You fools!" Gert bellowed. "Let him
bet Can't you sce he's telling the truth?”

They paid no attention. This time
Abner Huck didn't scream. A gurgling,
groaning sound came from the other
room, a horrible sound that went on
forever. When it stopped it was as long
before Abner Huck got breath enough
to whisper.

"Don't .. . I'll tell, I'll tell! Ir's——”

He mumbled something and Gal Joyen
let out a yell of triumph. “Hold it just
like you are, Lunk, till I look.”

He banged at the fireplace, prying
stones. “Ву God, here's a tin box . . .
It's here, Lunk, it's here! Go ahead!”

Then silence, a straining silence
across which the two women in the
kitchen stared at each other, between
them the sure vision of Lunk Joyen's
grisly hands at Abner Huck's throat.

Lottie whispered, "Gert . . . Gertl

took a small bottle
from a shelf beneath the sink, giving
Gert a confused glimpse of a familiar
symbol. Lottie unscrewed the cap and
poured the white flourlike stuff into the
dish of frosting, poured half the con-
tents. She stirred it in with slow, mad-
dening care, put back the bottle and
began spreading frosting on the first
layer with a knife.

In the dining room Cal Joyen let out
another yell. “God, there's thousands
here, Lunk! More'n 10 thousand, any-
how! Tie Lottie now and we'll count
it"

Lunk stuck his grinning head in the
kitchen. “She got the cake frosted!”

“Well, tie her, and fetch the
cake! We'll cat it while we're counting.
Then we'll figure what to do with them
two.”

Lunk tied Lottie in a kitchen chair,
picked up the cake and a knife and
went into the dining room where Cal
was yelping excitedly and banging the
чп box around. They sat down at the
table, gorging cake and gabbling through
stuffed mouths, their fingers gloating
over the thick piles of money. Beyond,
in the shadows, Abner Huck's dead body
sagged against its ropes.

The pair finished the cake, shoved

“Then I buried his head in the sports
page. He would have liked that."

the platter aside and went on counting
and mouthing in a high excitement. Cal
leaned forward slowly, as if to examine
something more closely. He kept on
leaning, he slid from his chair. His chin
anged the edge of the table and then
he was down on the floor ina heap.

Lunk jumped up, staring. "Cal — 1"

That was all he ever said. He stood
for an instant, swayed slightly, then fell
full length like a crashing tree.

The two women looked at each other
in a thickening silence. Slowly, then
with growing assurance, they worked at
their bonds.

In 20 minutes Lottie got loose and
cut Gert free, Lips close to Lottie's car,
Gert breathed, “What was that? The
stuff you put in that frosting! What was
ig"

Lottie got the bottle, Staring at the
label, Gert silently formed the words
with her lips: Po... tas. . . sium Cy
a... nide.

“It's for the rats,” Lottie whispered.

But when they crept into the dining
room they saw at once that there was
no need to whisper. The Joyens had
quit breathing, their faces were bluish
and ghastly, their eyes set.

“Lottie, you saved us!" Gert babb]ed.
“You used your head and saved usl"

“Abner Huck, he's dead too.”

“Poor Ab! Best not to look at him,
Lottie. Go back in the kitchen. I'll call
the sheriff.” Gert strode to the wall
phone and cranked.

Lottie stared at the sagging thing that
had been Abner Huck. Then, glancing
at Gert's broad back, she slipped over
and picked up a piece of paper and an
envelope in the shadows at his feet. She
went to the kitchen and dropped them
into the fire. When she stepped back
into the doorway Gert was turning from
the phone.

"Lord!" Gert said shakily, wiping
sweat. “Got the sheriff at home. He'll
start, soon as he——" She broke oll.
Lottie looked queer, like a case of hys-

i ^t listening look.
е was funny too. “

Tt wants

“The house. It don't like red or

green. . . . and a brown and white
puppy. Is it much work to dam up a
brook?"

“Dam up a——! Here, now, Lottie!”

Gert drew her forcibly into the kitchen
and closed the door between, shutting
away the bodies and Huck's money, the
cake platter and the smell of death.
“We'll load some good hot tea into youl
Get ahold of yourself, Lottie, try not to
think of poor Ab nor nothing. You all
right?”

Lottie nodded without speaking. She
was making plans with the house.

WOMANIZATION

(continued from page 52)
ners with their males, and to “share
everything.” That turned out to mean
that the ladies wanted to invade every-
thing masculine, emasculate it, cover it
with dimity, occupy it forever— and
police it.

1 suppose the broaching of the saloon
and the men’s club truly meant t
everything was in jeopardy. For— in his
favorite places for retreat, solitude or
drinking and converse — the American
male gave expression to that aspect of his
true self which, elsewhere, was culturally
taboo. Current taboo had already driven
him to cover, as I've said; but while he
ad abundant cover, he and his fellow
men could mutually revive that integrity
which Victorian prissiness, superimposed
on Puritanism, elsewhere sabotaged. He
could talk and think of himself as a
sportsman, a lover, an adventurer, a being
of intellect, passion, erudition, philo-
sophical wisdom, valor and sensitivity.
In sanctuary he could openly acknowl
edge that his true, male feelings did not,
in his opinion, make of him the beast
that 19th Century Western Society
claimed he was. He could, furthermore,
discuss females as other than the virginal,
virtuous, timid, pure, passionless images
that constituted the going female idcal.
Indeed, if he was tied to such a saintly
acting, sex-terrified spouse (as millions
were, and are), he could obtain in his
redoubts the telephone numbers of cer-
tain young ladies who had not been
emotionally mouse-trapped by current

morality" — ladies who were especially
joyous over their femininity when aided
in its proper celebration by male ardor.

Alas! It is not so possible or easy to
obtain and employ such telephone num-
bers now. The little woman sits at the
clubman’s elbow, bending hers in chum-
my unison. She sits, also, on his coattails.

The American home rapidly followed
the nihilist trend. It was, I agree, im-
proved — in some ways. But those dom
tic improvements which reduce labor —
machines that do dishes, dispose of ref-
use, cook automatically, ventilate, heat,
vacuum-clean, air-condition, mow lawns,
harrow gardens, preserve food and so
оп — were, all of them, invented, per-
fected, manufactured and distributed by
males.

The rest of home design fell into the
hands of women and decorators who
were women or, when not, usually males
in form only— males emotionally so
identified with the opposite sex they
could rout reluctant husbands because
their very travesty made men uncom-
fortable. Sundry special magazines took
up the cause. They were edited by
women and by women-identified males
(also, in a few cases, by normal men try-
ing to make an honest living but un-
aware they were betraying their sex).

These homemaking magazines brought
forth 2 welter of counsel on how to con-
vert normal residences into she-warrens.
Special jargon was invented for the
new, alldistaff decor. Special articles
were published which disclosed in the
simplest terms every form of psychologi-
cal treachery whereby 2 woman could
force a man to assent in the emascula-
tion of his home — if not himself.

Where once man had had a den, may-
be a library, a cellar poolroom, his own
dressing room — and good, substantial
floors and walls to protect his privacy —
he now found himself in a splitlevel
pastel creation with "rooms" often
"created" by screens his wife moved
about as often as she changed her flower
arrangements. He thereafter hardly ever
knew where he was, in his own home.

All he knew was that the beloved old
place now looked like a candy box.
Every indirectlighted square foot was
now vaguely identifiable as part kitchen,
boudoir and nursery — with not even an
attic for his skis, and his humidor gonc
with the hunting prints. Indeed, the
cost of the new abode prohibited his
previous indoor and outdoor pleasures:
overtime work, required to meet the
mortgage on the remodeled house, kept
him at the ofice till the late train
brought him home in darkness — too
weary for fun.

What "his" woman sought in this mod-
ernistic, kaleidoscope-hued dom; was
definitely not convenience, or comfort,
from his point of view, but adulation
from other women. Yet — the male found
— other women, though invariably at
first ecstatic over the " Japanesie" (a com-
mon decorator's word) effect of the new

home, invariably also had additional
suggestions. "How utterly dreamy, darl-

ing!" they would murmur, eyeing the
undersized, overstuffed, unsittable fur-
nishings and feeling the turquoise drapes
(because of which the old rug had to be
thrown out and the new one redyed to
match exactly). “How divine!” they'd
cry—and then add, “But—you must
get one of those giant poufs for your
lovesscat-coffee-table corner! I saw опе at
Winkle and Waterhouse today! Eight
feet in diameter — and. only three hun-
dred and ninety-five dollars! Uncovered,
of course! But they also have some really
celestial mauve Italian silk that would go
with your swags! Only eighteen dollars а
yard! . . .”

The American home. in short, is
becoming а boudoir-kitchen-nursery,
dreamed up by women, for women. and
as if males did not exist as males. Some
homes. like some women. may be pre-
dominately cute — even “cuddly.” others
may reflect their she-owners softness and
vagueness; a house may be the gingham
type — spic and span, with painted alu-
minum furniture; it may also be a home
with a gaudy living room bar, brilliant
drapes, poufs big enough to lie on and

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PLAYBOY

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High Ball Glasses. Set of 8. All
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ICE BREAKERS

ie-deep rugs — resembling the parlor
lavish brothel. But, always, it is fe-
It seldom says, “А man and woman
live here,” or, “A man occupies half this
place." Not any more.

And here a yet more somber word is
indicated. Time was when most of the
world's bcauty in all the arts was the
work and the joy of men. Indeed, that
authority once vested in our sex rested
finally upon the fact that men — when
they were men — were expected to know
and appreciate art, to admire and com-
prehend science, to revere, seek and
achieve Icarning, and wisdom, also. The
intellectual and esthetic inments of
genus homo historically have been male
endeavors and triumphs. In the days of
Egypt, Rome, Greece, Carthage, Alexan-
dria— and in Europe down to modern
times — these were regarded as masculine
concerns, as evidence of maleness equal
to ог surpassing man's deeds in sports,
war, merchandising and business. Phi
losophy and its branches— along with
the arts — had the highest regard of most
men. Poets were as renowned as poli-
ticians, generals or — discus-throwers.
Merchants usually fell far below in the
classic list of public esteem. Education
was esteemed above riches. “Authority
was male because the male used his brain
to become the “author” of art, music,
literature, science, government, phi-
losophy. military campaigns.

Behold now, the average contempo-
тагу American male, turning on his own
kind as he squirms in the female net.
Too often, to him, the arts are sissy. A
serious discussion of color values and
form relationships would be beyond his
compass — something he deemed for the
birds, lor eggheads. for women. As for
literature, he does not read, on the aver-
age, one good. new book a year. That is
one arca in which "male authority"
perished.

Masculine authority is vested in thc
male brain, intellect, mind, spirit, soul
and gonads — and in his esthetic, intense
emotions. When all those aspects of male:
ness are defaulted or ridiculed by the
captive male majority — their sex has lost
its meaning. So America’s current anti-
intellectualism, together with its anti-
sexuality, is evidence of a general male
emasculation both of function and mind.

But there are still a few American
women —some of them young and not
yet married — who have the innate re-
spect for manhood shown whenever they
meet an example worthy of respect. That

lovely quality. complimented by a proper

appreciation of femininity by the m:
alone gives to relations of the two sexes
their intended meanings, their glamor,
their excitements. their love, Most Ame
ican women. by now, however, are as
confused about masculinity as the addled
men. Why not? Most of the men they see
are — first of all — security-seekers, in a
world where security doesn't exist and

would not be desirable if it could be

created. Most Ате 1 husbands are, or
soon become, flabby parodies of the phys-
ical male. Nearly all lack — even sneer at
— those qualities of body and spirit
wherein true masculinity has its being.
"phis, too, women have done to them.

Even in the appreciation of masculine
sports. the women get ahead. They go to
the prize fights now. Many a woman,
like one 1 know who ably began to

her husband to the ball
in her greater leisure, become
more of uthority" than he on his
favorite sport. (And, of course, whenever
he talks baseball now — even with male
friends at home — his wife's chief delight
is to correct his misstatements or to am-
plify his claims. She sits on her chair-
edge = in fact — waiting to surpass him.)

I know some women of the other sort
—the ever-scarcer d of woman who
respects men as males. To her, "inde-
pendence" does not mean freedom to in-
vade any part of a man's life he might
wish to keep to himself. "Partnership" is
not. from her viewpoint, a license and
even a compulsion to deprive him of his
male prerogatives. "Equality" doesn't
mean identity to her. She has no desire
to become a pscudo-male by phonily en-
gaging in male concerns.

‘The confusion of women about their
sex and ours is most evident in the
changing character of the entertainment
hero. A quarter of 2 century ago he was
either virile or the embodiment of male
passion — Valentino, for instance,
There was no law against the possession
ol authority by а hero. The ladies still
look for stimulus, for excitement, for
that vanished "something" that once
gave males an arousing authority. But—
having befemaled all America — they no
longer know what to look for. Their
hero, now, has either to be plainly
woman-dominated, like Liberace, or else
(because all they remember of the male
image is its excitement) that new sort of
juvenile who seems mama’s-boy-sweet,
much of the time, but is also a misfit,
unhappy delinquent, or — now and then
— а dope fiend, killer or degenerate.

There is also, in rock and roll, a newer
note on the horizon. Perhaps, in time,
whole choruses of young men will step
onto stages in theatres filled by women.
"These males will then begin to grind
and bump. From the wings a mop-haired
cowboy will мер forward — oscillating
lasciviously. And as he undoes the bull's-
head clasp of his scarf, the femmes will
set up a scream; “Take it oll!"

The men, by then, will be doing all
the housework; and women biologists
be furiously experimenting to find
out how males can be caused to gestate
and bear human young.

4. looking at his day, pronounced
men aggressive in sex matters and wo-
men passive. The women have thrown
the book in the sage’s face. But the great

Fre

she-tyranny and pinksequin shambles
that is Sex in America today is not only
the fault of women, For, when it became
evident that technology could provide
myriads of families with luxuries and
comforts always hitherto restricted to the
few, America’s lcading men, more than
mates clsewhere, abandoned the arts,
sciences and so on — for business enter-
prise. And when the ladies saw what
goodies even a middle-income husband
could furnish—they put the heat on
men for more, and the men accepted the
burden.

Simultancously, the fair sex had won
long-needed rights — and then used its
gains unfairly. How? When pop went
all-out in business, he defaulted as a
father. His sons grew up without pater-
nal guidance and adult male compan-
ionship. Pop also largely abandoned
another principal previous concern: the
teaching of the young. Our ladies had to
fll that gap. And— heady with their
social gains — they moved into a realm
where male authority had previously
been exhibited and engendered in the
only way possible: by men. Most Ameri-
can men, as a result, have now becn
indoctrinated in the authority, absolute-
ness, wonder, marvel, miracle, superior-
ity, dominance and will power of fe
males. They are thus made she-pawns by
agc 12. For the ladies who took over
father's home job — and the male school-
teacher's — chose to regard themselves in
the Victorian. Puritan way — and so they

taught the boys. Mom, for most boys, was
pop. And her schoolteacher conspirator,
whom mom carefully kept underpaid,
was a spinster, a virgin — with the result
that American boys became men who be-
lieved there was more virago than Venus
in women,

Some of those robbed males rebelled.
Others believed that in adulthood they
could regain a sense of masculinity they
knew to be lost, by a ceaseless string of
female “conquests.” T) idea's now
pretty widespread. in fact. But women
were by nature designed not for con-
quest, but cooperation. Every man still
male enough to be able to regard the
other sex with love will know exactly
what 1 mean by that. He'll know how
many more lovely ladies will cooperate,
with how much more mutual satisfaction
—than that admittedly large number
who can be finally out-maneuvered
ast their inclination, or bribed by
jewelry, furs and sports cars. Such a man
may even find one woman who is woman
enough to bring permanent love into his
life — woman enough to accept the fact
that the most endowed and doting hus-
band if truly male— will once іп a
while observe and even celebrate the
appeal of other women. She will under-
stand that in men, brain, libido and
authority act as one and absolute fetters
destroy their harmony — hence all har-
mony.

“I wonder whose wife that was!”

79

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(continued from page 50)
his royal entourage visited England.
Cole, studying more or less diligently at
Cambridge, felt the old mazda light up
over his head. He promptly dispatched
a formal note to the school authorities
telling them that the Sultan and mem-
bers of his party would visit Cambridge
shortly. On the appointed day, the
topmost echelons of the university and
the town, manded and medaled, pre-
sented themselves at the railroad station.
They bowed and scraped as the richly
robed Sultan and his functionaries de-
scended from the carriages and gracious-
ly surveyed the scene. They were given
the number-one tour, feted at luncheon,
and escorted to the railroad station in
the evening after a gala champagne
arty. The Sultan had been pleased to
a gift for the president of Cam-
bridge (The Dorsal Fin of the Sacred
Shark of Zanzil gerly looking
for their pictures the papers next
day, the authorities choked оп their
breaklast kippers when they discovered
that the Sultan of Zanzibar spent
the whole of the previous day in Lon-
don. Cole and his friends split the cost
of greasepaint and the rented theatrical
costumes and went back to their studies.

Dartmouth students once humbled au-
thority in an even more brutal fashion.
The townspeople of Hanover, N.H., had
voted to levy a poll tax on all students.
Bristling with indign ‚ the under-
graduates descended on the next town
meeting. Heavily in the majority, they
prompuy seized control of the mecting
and began to pass laws. One called for
the city council to lay a canopied side-
walk from Hanover to Colby Junior
College, a girls’ school 40 miles away;
nother specified a new town hall to be
an inch square and a mile high. Belore
the meeting was adjourned, the town
had been bound to build an eight-lane
concrete highway to Skidmore and a
direct subway to Smith. The state legis
lature had to nul the laws, but no
more was heard of the poll tax.

The most popular student pranks
have always involved mischief in the bell
but even this warmed-over cab-
bage can reach memorable heights in
spired men. At Harvard
perceptive folk

tows

striking 13 times at noon. At midnight
the orthodox 12 strokes were heard, but
at noon it was always 13. Clockmakers
could find nothing wrong with the
mechanism, but every noon it rang 13
times. The student responsible was final-
ninal's traditional
Achilles’ heel: he got carcless and some-
опе saw him sitting in his window with
r rille, waiting for the 12th bong
to die away, whereupon he took careful
aim and contributed the 13th.

It was at Princeton that the tradi-
tional theft of the bell clapper was re-
duced, early in the 1950s, to mechanized
madness. A pair of freshmen, deciding
that a new tack was needed, elected
to view the matter as a simple technical
problem. They adjourned to New York
nd outfitted themselves at a war surplus
store. Their approach was radical: they
thwarted locked doors by climbing the
outside of the tower. Once in the bell
chamber they wasted no time with
wrenches: they unlimbered their oxy-
acetylene outfit and cut the clapper
two, They weren't satisfied to do it once,
and they became so adept that they
could have the dapper off 90 seconds
after setting foot in the chamber.

This same pair—they did not, alas,
survive to sce their sophomore years, but
departed Princeton under forced draft —
spent many days in a survey of the un-
round heating tunnel system of Old
1. They wanted to find а cen-
tral point from which many tunnels
branched to many buildings. They found
it. One dark night they dumped a truck-
load of industrial rags into the manhole
nearest it, They set up enormous clecuic
fans in the tunnel mouths leading away
Irom the pile of ‚ which they gen-
crously saturated with furnace oil, The
next day was, of course, cr l, but no
one found the cache. It was a Friday. A
major basketball game was on. At 8:30
the fun-loving freshmen dropped into
the tunnel, plugged their fans in, tossed
a cigarette into the rag pile and went up
to watch the sport. Within minutes
smoke was seeping out of buildings all
over campus. It looked as if venerable
Princeton, all of it, might burn to the
ground. Fire apparatus summoned
from distant points. It was a big night.
(Some authorities feel that the heavy
expenditurc involved in this gag — the
big fans, for example, were not recover-

ble — argues against the amateur stand-
ing of its perpetrators, but others main-
tain that fun is fun, no matter what it
costs.)

The claborate mechanical funny has
always been the engineering student's
special province and some fairly hairy
ones are on record. Some of them are
universal, but the practice of stripping
an automobile and then rebuilding it in
somcone's room seems to have ori
at M.LT. At CalTech, the seniors, by
tradition, depart for the beach en masse

in the spring. Unde

on “Ditch D;
amuse themselves during the

classmen
day by filling senior rooms from floor to
ceiling with pop bottles or watcr-soaked
newspapers; they also brick up doorways
with steel-reinforced cinder block. One
senior returned to find his room largely
occupied by a cement mixer, full of ce-
ment and running at full bore. Another
discovered a metcorologi alloon in
his room filled with water. A current
engineers! specialty is to hang a sheet of

metal outside some unsuspecting stu-
dent's open window and activate the
metal with a sound frequency below
the human auditory range. As the sound
waves ripple through him, the victim
squirms and frets, cannot imagine what's
wrong with him. If his symptoms have
been described to him, in advance, as
those characterizing sufferers from atom-
ic fallout, so much the better.

The belled bed is an ancient engi-
neers’ gag. The Roman slide-rule kids
probably pulled it first, to while away
the long nights while the Coliseum was
building. It was used in Colonial times,
the method then being to drill a hole in
the floor of a bridal suite directly
under the bed, tic a string to the bed-
springs and drop the free end down-
stairs, where a bell would be hung on
it. Modern science has improved all that.
"Twenty years ago the gag was so pop-
ular at a big state university in the mid-
west that some hapless senior, clecting
to be married in June, was nearly always
nailed. The only difficult part was to
find where the happy couple planned
to spend their wedding night, and get
access to the bed. Everything else was
snap: a battery-powered gong eight
or 10 inches in diameter with an inside
clapper was riveted to the bed. A pres-
sure switch, set for the combined weight
of the newly united couple plus five
pounds, was wired to the gong through
an armored cond AM connections
were flooded in hard solder. One good
jounce would set it off, and almost
nothing this side of an H-bomb would
stop it.

(A variation on this gag was pulled
on two famous Hollywood stars about
15 years ago. They were very famous in-
deed —they still are—and while they
were considered among the kindest and
pleasantest people in the business, they
annoyed the crew on this particular
location trip by disappearing into the
girl's dressing room for an hour every
day alter lunch. Everyone had to stand
around and wait until they appeared,
flushed and contented-looking. to begin
the afternoon's work. The electricians
finally took the matter in hand. They
knew the pair's exact weight, wired the
bed with an on-off switch set for their
combined weight plus the usual allow-
ance for jounce. They led the wire a
long way oft, to the commissary hall, and
connected it to а medium-sized bell. The
idea was an interesting one: since the
bell could be heard in the star's dressing
room, but not Joudly, how long would
it take the pair to connect their activity
with the distant tolling? Answer: two
days. On the third day the steady tolling
of the bell suddenly stopped. Tentative-
ly, it rang again, once. Then, after
another pause, twice. Then, no more.)

Students at a Scottish engineering
school were permanently traumatized
when they belled the bridal bed of one

of their professors, a man of middle age,
great choler and massive strength. He
was honeymooning in a small inn near
the campus and his students ran their
wire to а tolling bell in a nearby home.
They sat around drinking beer and mak-
ing witty remarks. Finally, the bell be-
gan to ring. It rang slowly, deliberately,
regularly. There was much merriment,
The bell continued to ring. It rang
steadily for half an hour. An hour later,
it һай not stopped. No one was laugh-
ing. One hour and 47 minutes after it
had started, the bell tolled its last defi-
ant stroke. The students were spccchless
and thoughtful as they dismantled the
bell, and envy rankled in them. They
never did find out that the good teacher
had anticipated them: he had re-rigged
their rig with one ot his own, a metro-
nome making contact at one end of its
swing.

Many a professor has given a similarly
brutal comeuppance to the young in his
charge. Dr. Oliver Wendell Holmes,
father of the noted jurist, was one. He
taught Harvard medical students а cen-
tury ago, and they learned to keep thei

wits about them. One of his favorite
drolleries was to dip a finger into a
beaker of urine, taste for salinity, then
ask his students to do the same. When
the last pale and gagging lad had com-
plied, Dr. Holmes would smile benev-
olently. "You lack observation, gentle-
men,” he would say. "And observation
is an important factor in medical diag-
nosis. You neglected to note that while
I placed my index finger into the beaker,
I tasted my middle finger.”

One giant of the pedagogical world,
though departed from us these 200 years
and more, can still serve the purpose of

campus wags. A number of years ago,
Harvard University, reveling in tadi-
tion and a whopping endowment,

erected a group of structures named for
the great presidents of Harvard's past:
Dunster House, Eliot House, Lowell
House. But to the eternal regret of those
who persistently champion his cause, no
house has yet been built for the man
who was president of Harvard from 1709
to 1738. His name? Samuel Hoar.

“I think it’s only fair to tell you
that I was an accessory before the fact.”

81

PLAYBOY

82

SLEEPERS, AWAKE!

(continued from page 62)
about her headache, she shrugged an-
grily, her tan and white and pink naked-
ness of breasts winking at him under
her flimsy gown. “You can grab me
quick before I fall asleep,” she said, and
brutally she stared at him,

Many times before they had fought at
this moment in their lives, but they had
resolved to make it good. He had put
forward —hot, cold, frightened, deter-
mined — the news that seconal was more
than а symptom: it was at moments
like this an activ ent in their trou-
ble. It changed their life together. Could
he hold in his arms a woman blunted
and blurred and worrying only about
her sleep?

"Why not? Scconal isn't all that ef-
fective," she had argued.

About what it means, then, hc had

aid, and pleaded with her: “Why don't
you at least wait to see if you can fall
asleep?”

A pretty creature, too thin and frown-
ing, but still shapely, fresh and pink in

her new nightgown, she stood there
waiting for him to make up his mind. It
would be decided within the next few
seconds — everything, or the trip to the
beach, which was now everything in
their lives. He looked at the bottle on
the dresser. He looked into her narrowed
eyes above the feverish, painfully sun-
burned cheeks. "OK," he said, "let's go
to sleep. Ell be with you in a moment.”

“I really had an awful headache,
Burr," she said. softening abruptly. She
took a step toward him, and with a ris
ing rush of relenting feeling, of desire
and regret that almost swept him weep
ing against her, she moved forward and
put her arms about him: "From the
sun. But it was a n ke. Kiss me, Burr.
You were right. You were right, but kiss
me anyway.”

But he turned h;

back and her hands
fell away and he went into the bath-
room. He ran the water for a while and
sat on the edge of the tub, holding his
head in his hands. When he felt that
he had his control back, he got into
mas (a gift from Laura — they had
the same ideas) and went stealthily to

FEMALES BY COLE: 51

Holier-than-thou.

bed, stealthily because she had turned
off the lights and was asleep, her facc
turned away, composed whitely, judging
him by her white, still, angry sleep, or
pretending to be asleep, no difference;
and then he really was. It was as if he
shared his wife’s drugged retreat from
the truth of their life together. He fell
olf into it with a great weight tied to
his head.

In the dream that came to him almost
at once he did whatever he wanted to
do, she did whatever she wanted, and
they wanted the same things, Her name
as Lucille in the dream. He awoke
h the top of his head hurting where
it pressed against the headboard of the
hotel bed. He looked at his wife and
wondered whom she dreamt of and did
not care anymore. He wondered if he
were fated now to stop dreaming of
Laura, to dream henceforth of Lucille.

Quickly he dressed and went out onto
the beach. It was barely midnight, and
а warm, starlit September evening, with
only the few rustling leaves on the beach
to suggest that this was no longer mid-
summer. He imagined meeting Lucille,
also alone and walking on the beach —
just like a boy he imagined it. He saw
her asking him for a ciga
him of her loneliness, and then fin
he began to weep, for he remembered
that this is the way a boy imagines find-
ing miraculous perfect love. The tears
swelled and burned like blisters in his
eyes because he was unused to crying,
and they said that it is bad to be nearly
30 years old and still have need of look-
ing for love as the boy does. The boy
never finds anything except, if he is
lucky, the courage to go bevond him-
self, and then he abolishes this fantastic
ideal love. The Lucilles can sleep un-
disturbed, patiently awaiting their
chances for good and bad times, because
a man has his own wife, his own chil-
dren. He walked the beach, sinking
deeper and decper, secured by the heavy,
thick, enveloping cold sands.

And stopped. He stood blinking,
shocked awake on the beach with his
ankles wet and the night breeze flutter-
ing at him. Some sad creatures, unhap-
pily wived, committed for better and for
worse, for worse and for worse, sleep
away their age, fearing their hearts
secret lament: Those girls, those lovely
seaside girls. But there is a better option
than sleepwalking on the beach when
man's misery is complete. Poor Laur
At last Burr was ready to move the
lesson of dream into the practical d
He would search out the girl whom he
мей in life, in flesh, the girl who
wanted him.

All he need do next time is speak to
Lucille. Why not wake her, wake him-
self entirely?

ga

PIGSKIN PREVIEW

(continued from page 64)

The Irish have two dependable war
horses in fullback Nick Pietrosante and
quarterback Bob Williams and а tough
veteran line led by Al Ecuyer. But they
also have the usual meaty schedule, Sure,
the Irish will be strong, but they'll get
creamed a couple of times, probably by
the likes of Purdue and Iowa.

By consensus of opinion Michigan
State should cop the Big Ten Champion-
ship. But it's not that simple. In recent
years there's been a weird tendency for
the Big Ten crown to go, not to the
pre-season favorite, but to the team that
managed to sneak up on the rest of the
pack. This year it could be Хома or
Purdue,

One bleak spot in the Michigan State
vista is the loss of Blanche Martin, prob-
ably the best back in the league, because
of an injury during spring practice. But
Coach Duffy ıgherty has backfield
brutes aplenty, and the most Herculean
line in the Conference. The Spartans are
big, fast and deceptive, and if they es-

cape their onegame-peryear letdown
(last ycar it was Purdue) they could
walk off with the national championship.

Big Ten crown, Rose Bowl bid— the
works.

Professional dopesters are foretelling a
so-so season for Iowa, but that's just the
climate that a gamy coach like Forest
Е [3 likes. With a line built
around stalwarts Bill Lapham and Dan
Norton and a dependable quarterback
in Randy Duncan, Evy won't be hungry
for beef. The brainy type of coaching
that the Hawkeyes get should account
for the rest.

Purdue is another strong dark horse.
The Boilermakers have a way of pulling
onc or two fantastic upsets almost every
year, but always seem to have trouble
negotiating the long steady haul of Con
ference competition. This hot and cold
running temperament has knocked Pur-
due out of the championship slot the
last few years. t fall the Boilermakers
jelled late but finished strong. This year,
led by a couple of tremendous linemen
—«o«aptains Tom Franckhauser and
Gene Selawski — the Boilermakers will
be big (as usual) and a lot faster.

Great screams of anguish came out of
Columbus, Ohio, last December when
Auburn was awarded the Associated
Press National Championship trophy.
But Auburn deserved it: Ohio State
plays a brand of colorless football that
t likely to impress the scribes, re-
gardless of won-lost records, Operating
on a theory that nothing succeeds like
excess, and utilizing the “three yards
and a cloud of dust" stvle of offense,
Coach Woody Hayes uses hordes of
material to grind out his wins. And this
year the Buckeyes’ schedule is rougher
than usual and they will be on the spot

as the team to whip. Although numer-
ous knowledgeable prognosticators fin-
ger them as best bet for the national
championship, we doubt it.

Illinois is always the most unpredict-
able team (and generally the most color-
ful) in the Midwest. Ray oUs wide-
open speed-minded brand of football,
combined with « tearful appraisal of his
team’s chances, makes preguessing the
Illini hazardous. But Ray's material is
plentiful in Ghampaign this year, his
squad is bursting with experience, and
if Eliot can turn up а quarterback to
replace Tom Haller, the Illini will be
plenty tough.

Wisconsin's fantastic crop of last year's
sophomores has matured, senior losses
were slight, and the Badgers have that
lean and hungry look. Brightest lac
brilliant line is tackle Danny Lanphear,
who almost became a legend in his
sophomore season. But their schedule is
wicked and the no-letup pace may keep
the Badgers from looking as sharp as
they are. Watch out for 59.

The Hashiest fellow at M
fullback John Herrnstein. But loss of
the firststring line from tackle to tackle
will be costly for the Wolverines. Min-
nesota also suffered brutal losses from
graduation and, like Northwestern and
Indiana, is in the agonies of a serious
rebuilding program. Don't expect much
Irom them.

higan is

THE SOUTH

INDEPENDENTS
Miami (Fla.) 9-1 Florida State

SOUTHEASTERN,

Auburn 100 Vanderbilt
Georgia Tech 82 Kentucky
Mississippi — 82 Georgia
Mississippi Louisiana State

State 72 Alabama
Florida 7 Tulane
Tennessee B4

ATLANTIC COAST CONFERENCE
Clemson 9. North Carolina
North Carolina 82 State
Duke 6-4 Wake Forest
Maryland 65 Virginia
South Carolina 55

SOUTHERN CONFERENCE
VMI 91 Davidson
The Citadel 7-3 Richmond
William & Mary 63 ҮР!
West Virginia 64

damn good chance of copy
national championship this y
elements are a
line, swell depth in mate

All the
ru
ad а

pot
ful of experience (almost the entire first

two teams are returning from last year),
a dandy quarterback ighty-mite Fran
Curci (148 pounds), a general lack of
preseason ballyhoo, and a balanced na-
tionwide schedule. Check us out when
the Hurricanes play Wisconsin, Septem-
ber 26.

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PLAYBOY

Auburn locks like the kingpin of the
Southeast Conference again. With a bit
of luck, the Tigers could even repeat
as national champs. Those who witnessed
Auburn's spring practice game swear
that Coach Jordan is knee-deep in grid-
iron clover, Even more important is the
probability that his boys will be nurs-
ing a slow burn all season about being
reassigned to the NCAA doghouse for
another three years. Bowl games for the
Tigers are verboten, but the desire to
spit in the NCAA's eye should give
Auburn a definite psychological edge.
In {football there is no greater asset.

Myopic dopesters spying on Georgia
Tech tell of a so-so season in '58, with
energetic rebuilding toward a bang-up
year in ‘59. Nuts. The green sophomore
squad of last year is smooth and ripe
now, and Coach Bobby Dodd has the
knack for popping up with some un-
heralded new horses at just the right
time. Winning is an ingrained habit with
the Yellow Jackets, so look for them to
raise a lot of heli around the south.

Ole Miss can tack up the best won-lost
record in the Conference this year and
still field far from the best team. It’s the
old wheeze with the Rebs: puny sched-
ule, Other SEC teams eschew Ole Miss
because of the limited seating facilities
at Oxtord, The Rebs have their entire
second team returning intact plus good
reserve strength, but they only play two
top SEC opponents. As a result, they

could go ail the way in their Conference.
Just like Oklahoma.

Alter these three, what? Mississippi
State is helmet high in good material (80
sophomores came out last spring) and
boasts probably the finest quarterback
in the South in Billy Stacy. But their
thorny schedule may keep them from
looking as good as they are.

Florida’s tedious rebuilding job under
Bob Woodrult is beginning to pay off:
the Gators look stronger than ever and
are the dark horse of the Conference.
With a climactic win over Auburn, they
could sew up the SEC and find them-
selves in the Sugar Bow! on January Ist.

Tennessee is an unknown quantity,
even to themselves. They got clobbered
by graduations, and greenness will be a
problem in early games. Tulane,
Georg d Alabama, on the other
hand, hardy noticed the seniors who
left. Ail three are deeper in material
than they've been in years and have the
hunger that results from the thin victory
soup of recent seasons. Particularly dan-
gerous is Georgia's coach Wally Butts,
perhaps the best (and certainly the most
colorful) in the country, who runs his
Bulldogs so hard during the week that
they look forward to Saturday's game
as a breather.

Vanderbil's squad suffers from lack
se of the school's
dards and the rather
stence that football pla

“Hold it! Hold it!”

are no exception to these standards. But
the Commodores will be tough and fast,
and with their well-balanced schedule
could surprise us all.

Clemson, burgeoning with material
and dedicating a new stadium, is unani-
mously tagged by opposing coaches to
stroll off with the Atlantic Coast Con-
ference title and an Orange Bowl bid.
Roughest opposition will come from
North Carolina, where Jim Tatum, with
a horde of snazzy quarterbacks, is well
on his way to turning the Tarheels into
a national power again. Maryland is also
on the comeback trail and boasts a
thundering line led by а fabulously
talented guard with the silver-screen
handle of Rodney Breedlove. The Terps
will jockey with Duke for position as the
Conference dark horse, although Duke
has an extra-Conference schedule (іп.
cluding Illinois, Notre Dame, Baylor
and Georgia Tech) that could sap too
much of its strength.

North Carolina State lost much of the
beef that helped it win the Conference
crown last year, and it looks like a
wobbly year up front for the Wolfpack
unless the reserve line jells early. Wake
Forest will be vastly improved and will
crawl out of the Conference cellar leav
ing room, probably, for Virginia, which
faces the season with a dearth of ma
terial and a completely untried coach
ing statt.

Last year, VMI surprised everyone in
the Southern Conference with an un
defeated season. They look even niftier
this year, losing only five of their first
22 men. A terror of a tackle named Jim
McFalls heads a big fast line and two
smart quarterbacks run the show.

West Virginia looks headed for a
rougher year than usual. The material,
though inexperienced after the first unit,
is good and plentiful enough, but a rough
schedule against the likes of Oklahoma
and Penn State may be too big a chew
for the Mountaineers. Still, a Conference
championship is likely, unless William &
Mary or VMI get there first.

THE MISSOURI VALLEY

BIG EIGHT
Oklahoma 100 Kansas State 46
Colorado L3 lowa State 46
Kansas 64 Nebraska 19
Missouri 46 Oklahoma State 82
MISSOURI VALLEY CONFERENCE

Cincinnati 73 North Texas
Drake 63 State 64
Tulsa 6-4 Houston 54

Wichita 37

We asked a prominent Eastern coach
for his choice of the top 10 teams in the
nation this year. His answer: “Okla-
homa's first team; Oklahoma's second
team; Oklahoma's third team; alter that,
what difference does it makei

The Sooners won't be that good, but
they'll be loaded as usual with speed,

depth and skill. Although their schedule
begins to show signs of a trend away
from the patsy opponents of recent years,
it looks like an undefeated season at
Norm Center Bob Harrison is the best
in the country, and the Sooners will have
inspired gencralship from quarterbacks
David Baker and Bobby Boyd.

Colorado looks deeper, faster and
more aerial minded than usual, and if
Oklahoma gets stopped at all, this is
probably the team that will do it. Kan-
sas and. Missouri have new coaches and
rough intersectional schedules, but K;
sas at least has depth and experience.
Missouri hasn't. Both Kansas State
lowa State will field young and inexpe-
rienced squads with much latent talent,
and either could look sharp by the end
ol the seaso

Oklahoma State is loaded this ycar.
"They've been stock-piling talent for '60,
when they officially join Big Eight foot
ball competition. Almost their whole
squad is back from last year, and itching
to have a go.

On the whole, the Missouri Valley is
a better Conference than last year. Cin-
cimnati had a tough sophomore team
last year and this season they're tough,
deep and experienced. So is Houston,
but the Cougars have a rough schedule.
Tulsa is also much improved with almost
no manpower losses, and this can be
their top season in years if they escape

h big strong
teams, . like Wichita, will be
hurt by lack of experience.

THE SOUTHWEST

SOUTHWEST CONFERENCE
B2 Baylor
7-3 Arkansas
13 Texas A&M

T3

THE REST

Arizona State 8-2 — Hardin-Simmons 5-

East Texas. 73 West Texas

Abilene Texas Western
Christian ee Arizona

H

Texas Tech

The Southwest Conference is quickly
turning into the mightiest football cir-
cuit in the land, if it isn't already. Rec-
ords of intersectional games of recent
years give bruising testimony to this
The folks down here take their game
seriously, and this vear the excitement
will be at an even higher pitch than
usual: the Conference is so well bal-
anced that a preseason ranking of the
first four contenders, Texas, TCU, SMU
and Rice, is impossible. They're much
alike in potential as four Sherman tanks.
Ihe next group, Baylor, Texas A&M
and Arkansas, are only a shade behind.
So the Conference championship will
be decided by luck, schedule

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PLAYBOY

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ing. Because we think it's the latter
that counts, we have to give our nod to
"Texas, where Darrell Royal, our coach
of the year, is in charge. Royal is the
nimble kind of athletic messiah who
has led Texas out of the football wilder-
ness in one short year.

Both Texas and TCU hitch their
hopes to a bumper wagonload of jun-
iors. Both will have largely inexpe-
rienced second units but should improve
hugely as the scason progresses. МО
Conference fortunes may be seriously
affected by fierce intersectional contests
with Ohio State, Notre Dame and
Georgia Tech; the Mustangs’ mettle
could be tempered or shattered in any
one of these games. Much depends, also,
on how quarterback Don Meredith
comes through.

Rice could easily be the strongest team
st jf they can find a fill-in
car's two superb signal-callers,
King Hill and Frank Ryan, both of
whom got their sheepskins. If they do.
the Owls will be hard to handle. We'll
know by the Purdue game, October 4th.

THE FAR WEST
SKYLINE CONFERENCE

Brigham Young 7-3 Utah 56
Denver T3 New Mexico 31
Wyoming 13 Montana 21
Utah State 55 Colorado State 19
INDEPENDENTS.

Air Force 55 San Jose State 36
College of the

Pacific 55

PACIFIC COAST CONFERENCE

Washington Southern Cal. 55

State 82 Stanford 55
UCLA 73 California 37
Oregon State 7-3 Washington 28
Oregon 64 Idaho 54

"The Pacific Coast Conference's acute
malaise has worsened, the final crack-up
has come, and all hope for the patient's
eventual recovery is abandoned.

As this last season of the dying PCC
is played out, UCLA, USC, California
and Washington are making prepara-
tions for pulling out on their own to
work up independent schedules or per-
haps to form a new Conference with
other schools. The rest of the old circuit
will retire to the nether regions of the
Pacific Northwest and perhaps rename
itself “The Purity Leagu

But this last go-round looks like it
might be a dilly. With only a few well
timed brcaks, cither of the top six teams
in the league could nail the PCC cham-
pionship. Washington State looks likeli-
est from here because the Cougars return
almost the entire squad that surprised
hell out of everybody last year. An im-
proved running attack and a fresh of-
lense have been added, Bill Steiger has
been returned to the backfield where
his running, pass catching, and kicking

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Eight of UCLA's best men are eligible
to play only five games this year. If ade-
quate replacements are not found, this
could hurt seriously. But the Bruins
have no lack of good reserves, and Red
Sanders is still the most dangerous coach
in the country when he's in an under-
dog role.

Much of Oregon State's success will
depend on how fast а group of fine sopho-
mores can mature. The Beavers will have
better depth than last year when they
tied for the Conference championship,
plus a top-notch line led by Ted Bates,
a tackle of real All-America stature:
Oregon looks as good this year as last.
except that the oomph is concentrated
in the line rather than the backfield.
The Ducks’ fortunes will rest largely on
finding adequate replacement for last
year’s superb, but now departed, crop
of backs.

USC is in the midst of a rebuilding
program under Don Clark and will cer-
tainly improve last year's record. But
depth is a problem with the Trojans, as
is at Stanford where Cactus Jack Cur-
tice takes over from Chuck Taylor. Cur-
tice will probably install his skyline
variety of aerial circus.

Both Washington and California lost
a slew of good men, but both are now
in their second year with new coaching
staffs. Either could surprise if the new
material ripens carly enough

The Air Force Academy is in its fourth
year of competition. and for the first time
has a full crew of footballers with plenty
of experience. But it also has a toughen-
ing schedule on the way to hoped-for
national prominence. The Falcons are
shedding their pin feathers. but they
still have a long way to go before tack-
ling the other service academy teams.

Things are getting tougher in the
Skyline Conference every year. "This
season, four of the member schools re-
turn almost their entire squad intact.
This unusual depth. combined with the
fancy passing common to this territory,
should make other sections begin to sit
up and take notice. It's a three-way race
mong Denver, Wyoming and Brigham
Young in ‘58, with our nod going to the
fatter purely on the basis of hardnosed
depth. Utah wil return the fabulous
Lee Grosscup, last year's consensus All-
America back and certainly the most
skilled passer in the country. He'll be
teamed with a good pair of ends, but
the middle of the line suffered badly at
graduation time. If the line gives him
adequate protection, look for Grosscup
to set all kinds of passing records.

Well, that’s the way the ball bounces.
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PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK

BY PATRICK CHASE

COME NOVEMBER, the new jets can whiz
you to Europe in a scant six hours from
Manhattan. And while you're there, just
for contrast in transportation, we suggest
you glim the world-famous antique auto
race that runs (or putt-putts) from Lon-
don to Brighton, with frequent halts at
bucolic old roadside pubs. Across the
Channel, we think you'll be interested in
the recent increase in Stockholm night
spots following the waning of prohibi-
tion there. Try the underground, dim-lit
and vaulted Club Bacchus, or the Tri-
anon — exotically complete with tropical
flora and caged parrots — set on ап island
in the harbor. The cover charge at cach
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y to take those gloriously ema
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ending a sentence with a proposition).
Ihe doors stay open till three А.м. An-
other tip to brighten your nights in
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nagh right there: next to the casino (а
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don't drop your francs one way you сап
do it another) is a lovely lakeside resort
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Stateside, mark down Borrego Springs
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pools and the mink-lined knockouts, and
it's also a take-off point for fascinating
desert eye-openers: the tropical rain for-
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Like to cruise the Spanish Main in your
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America: leave from L.A., head down
along the Mexican coast, through the
Panama Canal to Rio, Buenos Aires and
other delectable traps along the cast
coast; then around the tip of the con-
tinent and up the west coast, with a call
at Callao, Peru. You'll never forget it.

For further information on any of the
above, write to Playboy Reader Service,
232 E. Ohio SL, Chicago 11, Illinois.

DOUBLE PLAYMATE TWO CUTIES FOR THE PRICE OF ONE

JAZZ POLL—YOUR BALLOT TO PICK THE 1959 ALL-STARS

PROS OF PARIS—LOVE FOR SALE IN THE CITY OF LIGHT

PLUS FINE FICTION BY A TRIO OF PLAYBOY PERENNIALS:

CHARLES BEAUMONT, KEN PURDY, RAY RUSSELL

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Matched Accessories by НОК!

The year’s most striking, different departure in belt design— > ae ГЕ
HICKOK Riviera—cormbining smart international styling with val 232.2 at
solid American comfort. Matching Jewelry and Bola Ties, too!
At Prep and University Shops, and fine stores, everywhere.

New Hickok Riviera Accessories

These trim ¥" ond 24" Riviera Bells, in o variety of Colors, leothers, Imported Elostics, and interchongeoble Buckles, ore priced from $2 to $5
Jewelry sets {Tie Bars $2.50, Cuff links $3.50) at $6, Bola Ties at $2.50, ore clso ovoiloble in bell-motching designs. Prices plus Fed. Tax where applicable.

WHAT SORT OF MAN READS PLAYBOY?

A young man who knows where he's going and how to make the best time getting there, the pLaynoy reader takes that
quick business trip to Los Angeles or Chicago in his stride. Facts: According to the leading independent magazine survey,
a larger percentage of PLAYBOY households spent over 3200 on business travel during the Jast 12 months than those receiving
any other men's magazine. The top 44.8% of rrAvmov households alone expended over $100,000,000 on business and
vacation travel during the past year. (Source: Starch 52nd Consumer Magazine Report. June 195

and Starch Supplement
on ptaynoy, January 1958.) Underscoring rrAvBoY's great popularity with young men-going-places are the findings con-
tained in a new report, The Continuing Study of Airport Newsstand Ma
selling of all magazines at all of the major airports included in the study.

ine Sales, which shows PLAynoy to be the best

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