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ENTERTAINMENT FOR MEN NOVEMBER 50 cents 


PLAYBOY 


THE WORD ON FRANK SINATRA 
PEEKABOO BRIGITTE BARDOT 


PLAYBILL 


SPECTORSKY 


ISELIN 


KEEFAUVER 


THE WORD ON SINATRA, the man and the 
voice, is an important. part of the No 
vember maysoy, Long popular with our 
readers (sce Jazz Poll results, any vear) 
as well as our editors, Sinatra is explored 
as an American phenomenon and love 
god in a three-dimensional study by 
Robert George Reisner, Curator of the 
Institute of Jazz Studies in. New York 
and co-author of our probing essay on 
Bid (January 1957). 

Bardot returns like the best and most 
beautiful of boomerangs in a series of 
photographs that reveal her, bit by bit, 
to the appreciative eveballs of. rrAvioy 
readers. Those eveballs will likewise lin- 
cr, we trow, over [оли 5 our TV 
mate for November 

Willred Funk, а learned limb of a 
lavishly lexiconed family tree. 
worldly words in his delighthul What's 
the Bad Word? Beat poet Lawrence Fer- 
linghetti is synthesized ar atirized. by 
John D. Keclauver in the poenrparody, 
Oh Well What the Hell. 

The Mareclous Lover, a work of fic 
on alternately moving and amusing, 
this ıı hs PLAynoy: it is 
charming lady book-editor, 
Joyce Engelson. Alter his first bow as 
Аувоу fictioneer last month, Ken 
Purdy follows up with the short (dare 
we say punchy?) story, 4 Sock in the 


aley 


writes ol 


ui 
leads off 
written by 


Jaw. Popular Henry Slesar, he of the 
imly inventive mind, describes an un- 
usually repellent = but. fascinating — sit- 
uation in The Jam 

The holidays are all but upon us. 
Hence, Tom Mario has provided hearty 
festival menus involving Fair Game, and 
grandiloquent gilts for male and female 
recipients are suggested here and there 
throughout the issue. Skiing is an appro 
priately festive sport, we think: that: 
why we go into the subject — fashion- 
wise, gearwise and schusswise — by way 
of an engaging article by Fred Iselin 
(Co-Director of the Aspen Ski School in 
Colorado) and our own Associate Pub- 
lisher А. C. Spectorsky, adventurous an 
teur par excellence. Iselin and Spector- 
sky are the authors of a book that has 
been the skier's bible for the past 12 
years: they have recently updated it, and 
Simon & Schuster are bringing it out 
soon as The New Invitation to Skiing. 
This snowy subject quite naturally 
brings to mind Shel Silverstein’s expe- 
riences in Switzerland: he delineate: 


them for us this month. 
Add 


to these attractions some sensu- 
i а dutch of Party 


cards, 


mering image of this memorable No- 
vember number, 


FUNK 


REISNER 


DEAR PLAYBOY 


EJ Apress PLAYBOY MAGAZINE 232 E. OHIO ST., CHICAGO 11, ILLINOIS 


COVER GIRL 
Who was that wonderful creature on 
the cover of your July issue? 
make her your next Playmate. 
Walter E. Magnolia 
Rockaway Beach, New York 


Please 


Putting that little honey on the cover 
and then not following through with a 
spread inside is, as lar as | am con 
cerned, nothing short of criminal. Take 
off her sunglasses and make her а Pla 
mate! 


R. E. Stinson 
Mayfield, Michigan 


Lets have more, more, more of the 
absolute doll on your July cover, so we 
can find out who she is. 
W. J. McClements 
Dubuque, Towa 


I have just finished reading. from 
cover to cover, your July issu nd no- 
where did 1 find the slightest hint as to 
the name of the playful looking piece of 
pulchritude on the front cover. What 
is she called? 


"Tony Sherma 

Milwaukee, Wisconsin 

July's cover girl is called Joyce Niz 

zari; her home is Miami and she'll be 
the Playmate in December, 


SILVERSTEIN AND FRIEND 

The August 25th issue of Time in- 
cluded an item on Caitlin Thomas, 
widow of the Welsh poet Dylan Thomas, 
and her boyfriend Giuscppe Fazio, who 


were touring the United Kingdom to 
gether. This guy Fazio looks exactly like 
a unidentified fellow seated beside 
your cartoonist Shel Silverstein in а 
photo in his spread on Italy in the June 


MY SIN 


...а most 


provocative perfume ! 


PLAYBOY. Since Time reports that Fazio 
is а Sicilian aviator, I'm wondering il 
they are one and the same. 

Charles Milton 

New York, New York 

They are. Shel lived with Fazio while 

in Rome, reports, “Joe Fazio is one of 
the most fabulous guys I've ever met. 
You wouldn't belicve some of the adven- 
tures we had together and if just half of 
the stories he tells ave true, he's onc of 
the great lovers of our time. This pic- 
ture of Joe and me and a friend was 
taken at the Taverna Margutta, the 
restaurant where Joe and Caitlin met 
just a few days later.” 


PENTHOUSE JAZZ 

Leonard Feather's article, Six Records 
in Search of a Penthouse, was about the 
Phoniest (with a capital P) I have read 
in a long while. Some guys will undoubt- 
edly read, with relish, Frank Sinatra's 
personal choices, and believe that Sina 
made those selections himself. Incredi 
ble! The worst part of the whole mess is 
where Peggy Lee describes Bach. I 
gagged. 


Alan Kushnir 
Chicago. Illinois 
Frank's and Peggy's choices and com- 
ments were their own. 


Johnny Mathis comes on too big to be 
put down with disdain by Sinatra, as 
quoted in your Six Records piece. Docs 
Frankie think he had the same quality 
and phrasing at Johnny's age? 

Irving Codron 
Los Angeles, California 


Like, cheers for Leonard Feather and 
his Six in Scarch. 
Gordon Heady 
San Diego, California 


After reading Meet the Playboy 
Reader, | gave up being one, since 1 
nowhere to be found in your survey! 
However, there were empty spaces on my 
wall where my May and June Playmates 
would have been. When July rolled 
around, I decided to be big about it, so 
now I have Linné looking down 
while I am reading Six Records in 
of a Penthouse. Y agree with most of the 


PLAYBOY, NOVEMBER, 
omo sT., сніслво 
INE ACT OF MARCH 3, 10: 


PRINTED IN U S.A. 


050, VOL. з, NO. M. PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY HMM PUBLISHING CO.. INC 
lL. ENTERED AS SECOND CLASS MATTER AUGUST 5, 1988 АТ THE POST OFFICE AT CHICA‘ 
CONTENTS COPYRIGHTED O 1958 ву ими PUBLISHING CO., INC. 


LANVIN 


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the би Fans has to offer 


PLAYBOY 


choices (who asked me?) but why couldn't 
you have called it Six Records in Search 
of а Pad for sub-average PLAYBOY read 
ers like myself 
Don Elliot 
(Musician without a penthouse) 


Makes New York, New York 
Don, meet a fan... 
you feel 
like a king 
every day! 


I have recently returned from the New- 
port Jazz Festival and was pleased with 
the general excellence of the jazz played 
there and the public acceptance of it. I 
was impressed by the improvement in 
performances over previous years and 


® especially liked Billy Taylor, Urbie 

Green and Don Elliott, Elliott is, in my 

our time and I don't understand why he 

GROOMING AIDS isn't given greater recognition in a 
magazine such as yours that devotes so 


much space to jazz. 
Jack Berman 


The best faces use 


Kings Men Brooklyn, New York 

В We dig Don too, Jack, and have nomi- 

After Shave Lotion -< Fresh up yourself | nated him for both trumpet and mis- 

Only $00 and your day with cellancous instrument (vibes and mello- 
Kings Men—known phone) in all three Jazz Polls. 


everywhere as the 

world’s finest. It's a POLAR PLAYBOY 
habit you'll enjoy. It may interest you to know that the 
сору of rrvmov enclosed was іп the 
wardroom of the USS Skate when she 
made her historic voyage in the Arctic 
KINGS MEN PRE-ELECTRIC LOTION + SPRAY DEODORANT + COLOGNE = AEROSOL SHAVE | Ocean. The entertainment provided 
herein was a valuable source of relaxa 
tion during this stressing and tension- 


mad matadors have that yen | шеа period. 
for this properly aged meat! 


„2 


Lt. В. 1. Arnest, MC, USN 
USS Skate (SSN578) 


BEAVERS 

In the july issue of riaynoy (used 
professionally in this office to help in the 
selection of feminine office personnel), 
my attention was caught by a photo- 
graph on page 25 depicting members of 
the male sex, for a change. This pride of 


“where the steak is born’ ~ 


leaks ca, = 

What a package to get at home. Delicious | enclose ope. hipped с. 

Sirloin Room Specials, U. S. prime grade, i checks hinged 
ert 


cia 
carefully aged . . . shipped anyw 
in U. 5: Colorful wrap, sturdy carton 
i.c your business card, or we will 
insert greeting card. Allow one weck 


for handling. Order now! 
STOCK YARD INN I 


Room 912 - 520 North Michigan Avenue | 
Chicago 11, 


beavers was a noble group indeed, but 
in my opinion, there was one grievous 
omission; the puss of the dis 
Mr. Oscar Ogg, Vice-President in charge 
of Art for many years at the Book-of- 


kkkkkkkkkkkkkkákkkk 


TOMMY DORSEY 


The great Dorsey group of the 
late 1930s and early 40s playing 
their biggest hits. Featuring 
Frank Sinatra, Bunny Berigan, 
Jo Stafford with The Pied Pipers. 
12 selections, including Marie, 
Star Dust, ГИ Never Smile Again, 
Song of India, Opus No. 1. 


kkkkkkkkkkkkxk 


GLENN MILLER 


Miller’s best, including Moon- 
light Serenade, In the Mood, Tux- 
edo Junction, String of Pearls, 
American Patrol, Little Brown 
Jug, St. Louis Blues, Pennsylvania 
6-5000, (I've Got a Gal in) Kala- 
mazoo, Boulder Buff, Farewell 
Blues, King Porter Stomp. 


kkkkkkkkkkkkkkk*kkk 


BENNY GOODMAN 


The King, his band and Quartet, 
at their swinging best in 11 
masterpieces; with Krupa, Hamp- 
ton, ete. Sing Sing Sing, One 
@Clock Jump, And the Angels 
Sing, Stompin’ at the Savoy, King 
Porter's Stomp, Bugle Call Rag, 
etc. The original versions. 


kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkk 


DUKE ELLINGTON 


Duke’s all-time best band, 
1940-42, with Hodges, Webster, 
Blanton, Stewart, Williams, Car- 
ney, Ivie Anderson, Herb Jeffries. 
16 tunes, including “A” Train, 
I Got It Bad, Perdido, Cotton Тай, 
Main Stem, Blue Serge, Flaming 
Sword, Rocks in My Bed. 


kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkkxk 


ARTIE SHAW 


Т YES INDEED! 
_ TOMMY 
\ DORSEY 
AND HIS 

X ORCHESTRA 


THE GOLDEN AGE OF 


BENNY GOODMAN 


Shaw's two most successful hig 
bands in 12 history-making hits 
recorded in 1938-43. Includes 
Begin the Beguine, Nightmare, 
Frenesi, Star Dust, Dancing in the 
à Dark, Temptation, Indian. Love 
| Call, All the Things You Are, 
Serenade to a Savage, etc. 


kkkkkkkkkkkkkkkxkkk 


ARTIE Еа 


MOONGLOW 


Exciting offer to new members 
of the RCA VICTOR 
POPULAR ALBUM CLUB 


А 5-ALBUM 
SET OF SWING 
CLASSICS 


for only 8398 
= 


. . . if you agree to buy five albums from the Club during the 
next twelve months from at least 100 to, be made available 


"us exciting new plan, under the direction of the Book-of-the- 
Month Club, enables you to have on tap a variety of popular 
music for family fun and happier parties . . . and at an immense 
saving. Moreover, once and for all, it takes bewilderment out of 
building such a well-balanced collection. You pay far less for 
albums this way than if you buy them haphazardly. For example, 
the extraordinary introductory ofler described above can represent 
an approximate 33!4% saving in your first year of membership. 
Thereafter you can continue to save up to 333%. After buying 
the five albums called for in this offer, you will receive a free12-inch 
33% R.P.M. album, with a nationally advertised price of at least 
$3.98, for every two albums purchased from the Club. A wide 
choice of RCA VICTOR albums will be described each month, 
One will be singled out as the album-of-the-month. If you want it, 
you do nothing; it will come to you automatically. If you prefer 
one of the altcrnates—or nothing at all in any month—you can 
make your wishes known on a simple form always provided. You 
pay the nationally advertised price—usually $3.98, at times $4.98 
(plus a small charge for postage and handling). 

ALL THESE ALBUMS ARE 12-INCH 3314 R.P.M. LONG-PLAYING. THEY ARE THE 
ORIGINAL RECORDINGS NOW REPROCESSED TO ENHANCE THEIR SOUND 
9000009000000000000020000000000000000000000099 
THE RCA VICTOR POPULAR ALBUM CLUB Р195-11 
с/о Book-of-the-Month Club, Inc., 345 Hudson Street, New York 14, N. Y. 
Please register me as а me The nc Vtcron Popular Album Club and send me the 
Gve-albury set of Swing Cl which 1 will pay $3.97, plus a small charge for postage 


and handling. Û agree t other albums offered by the Club within the next twelve 
months, for cach of which Г willbe billed at the nationally advertised price: usually 33.98, at 


limes £4.98 (plus a «mall postage and hand! ид). Thereafter, I need buy only four 
ich albums in any twelve-month period to in membership. Ї may cancel wy member- 
any time after buying five albums from the Club (in addition to those included in this 


ductory offer). After шу Gfth purchase, if 1 continue, for every two albums I buy 1 may 
che es А allann =ч d e Ü И т 


Кате. 


Address. 
City. 


Zone. State. 
NOTE: If you wish to enroll through an authorizee RCA VICTOR dealer, please fillin hete: 


Dealer's Мате. 
Address- 


PLEASE NOTE: Send vo money, A Bil wi be зең. Albums cn be sipped стр lo residents of ihe U S- ts 
еписгиз, Tor Canadian members ped Guy fee от Ontario. 


PLAYBOY 


PARIS 


BELTS 


in the new ‘'Vista-dome’’ packa e 


double 


comfort 
STRETCH-LINK BELT 


You can't make a 
move without this belt 
following every move 
you make. AImost un- 
canny the way the 
smart links com- 
fortably stretch and 
breathe with you. 
“*Personality- 
styled” exclusively 
by “Paris” * for the 
well-dressed man 
who loves his com- 
fort. 1” style, $5.00. 
"Бов. О. 8. Pat. ОП. A. Stein & 


Company * Chicago * New York 
Los Angeles - Toronto, 


the-Month Club. This is an affront to 
every Ogghead in the United States—a 
group in which I am proud to include 
myself. In the hope that you will want to 
redeem yourself, 1 am enclosing herewith 
a photograph of Mr. Ogg. The only other 
thing Г have to tell you is that I would 
like to see more of your July Playmate! 

Bennett Cerf, President 

Random House 

New York, New York 


to point out that I'm not a 
pudgy pile of mud. Not that 1 would 
object to being one. There's nothing 
wrong with a pudgy pile of mud. But 
your misguided and befuddled and be- 
pitfled scribbler seems to think there's 
something discreditable about a pudgy 
pile of mud and so he calls me a pudgy 
pile of mud. Only an illiterate, alco- 
holic garbage-can would stoop that low! 
And I say that n sorrow than in 
anger. But I also say the perpetrator of 
that article is nothing but a pusillani- 
mous „ а peewee liar, an expert, 
autor hydrolic, revolving, round- 
the-clock liar, and his statement that I'm 
a pudgy pile of mud is an obvious, will- 
ful, deliberate, mal meaningless. 
stale and distorted misrepresentation — 
made out of whole cloth! Never in my 
entire history have I been a pudgy pile 
of mud, or even attempted to be one. 
My entire biography brands it a Це. Ask 
that psychotic mudslinger how come 
females all over town make passes at 
me! Ask him how come they call 
me ADORABLE TEDDY-BEAR and 
SAUCE PIQUANTE and SULTRY, 
DEV TING THEODORE (now 
BROTHER Theodore). Just ask him 
how comc! 


e 


Brother Theodore 
New York, New York 


JAZZ FOR A CHAMP 
Did you know about this photo that 
was sent out by UP showing Lightweight 


lim, 7 тт” = 
Champion Joe Brown selecting jazz 
music to help him relax the day before 
his successful title defense against Kenny 


Britishers 
wear ‘em 
all year 
‘round 


The British ,„ 


(uo t 
‘Wool Sock 


Same size, same shape, after washing. Anklet 
$1.50. Garter length $1.75. For color chart, write 
Abbey Imports, Inc., Empire State Bldg, N. Y.C. 


DIAMOND JIM VEST 
for host-ing, hoisting, gifting 


Guaranteed to make you а "sparkler" of all holiday 
festivities. Our cool-cut, unlined D. J. Vest is jet black felt, 
embellished wi gem-cut rhinestone s 
imported from Austria, foceted to out-fiosh the 
Sizes 5. М. L Adjustable strap in back. Goh’ vers 
... sizes 10 to 20. Perfect for your ploymate. $4,95, 


ALSO: Gambler's Vest in Chomcis-color or Paker Chi 
Red felt, with polished gald money buttons. Same cut, 
sizes ond price os D. J. Vest. CHRISTMAS SPECIAL— 
опу three vests Imer’s or women’s! sent postpaid То 
three oddresses, Only $13. Specify sizes and colors 
(Block, Chamois or Redi, enclose your gilt cords. 
Send check or moneyor der to: 


MURDOCH & COMPANY suite 906 


27 East Monroe Street, Chicage 3, Ilinois 


rivcon, анс. 1958 


* Keeps hair in place... 
* Moisturizes dry scalp 
* Fights dandruff! 


Amazing Medicated Hair Dressing! 


This is it! The amazing medicated 
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every second. Top Brass gives your 
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TOP | 
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FOR MEN 


Lane? I used it on my FV program, 
Final Edition Sports, and made men- 
tion of the fact that Joe was listening to 
The Playboy Jazz All-Stars album. 

Wes Wise, Sports Director 

WFAA-TV 

Dallas, Texas 


SICK 
Whatever you do, let’s have more of 
Jules Feiffer. I haven't seen anything so 
funny since the hogs ate my brother. 
Sgt. Paul S. Murtha, USMC 
NTC Bainbridge, Maryland 
Cartoonist Jules Feiffer is a regular 
contributor to these pages. 


THE SLINGS AND EROS 
I've been a reader of лувоу since 
your first issue. but nothing has im- 
presed mc quite as strongly as the 
artide by John Keats, Eros and Unrea 
son in Detroit. J congratulate you and 
Mr. Keats for bringing out the truth, 
which is so badly needed. My only 
wish is for everyone who owns or plans 
to own a car to rcad this article 
William Williams 
Memphis, Tennessee 


My sincerest congratulations to John 
cats for Eros and Unreason in Detroit. 
This is unequivocally the most incisive 
invective ever written about Detroit. 


Richard A. Brass 
мат. 
Cambridge, Massachusetts 


Read with interest John Keats’ “opin- 
ion," Eros and Unreason in Detroit. 1 
must say it is (as are all of Mr. Keats’ 
opinions) the product of a warped and 
secondary mind! 

J- Michael Conte 
Rochester, New York 


Mr. Keats’ article is indeed an “opin- 
ic article, and one with which we 
cannot agree. Cadillac has for many 
years built motor cars of a type pre- 
ferred by our valued customers. 

W. T. LaRue 
Mcrchandising Manager 
Cadillac Motor Car Division 
Detroit, Michigan 


Keats sounds like a man on fire. May 
he destroy every phallus, fin and falsie 
from Dewoit. Marvelous article! 

Todd Beck 
Kalamazoo, Michigan 

John Keats’ colorful if occasionally 
overdrawn article is a justifiably violent 
reaction to the esthetic and functional 
deterioration of the American automo- 
bile. Let me interject a note of op- 
timism in what he draws as the blackest 
possible picture of the industry and its 
future. True, styling directions have 
been endorsed which contributed to the 


PLAYBOY 


8 


This is the look she loves. This is the After Six look. Compounded 
of equal parts: comfort, inspired styling, brilliant tailoring and 
luxurious fabrics. This is the look, the spirit, that pervades the 
smart world...combining an elegant air with the cunning knack 
for comfort that only After Six provides. Look for After Six at 
any store that wants vou to look—and feel—your best. 


A wide range in styles—from Iry to distinctive 
Avant Garde, Details include such refinements 
as hacking pockets, velvet collars, 
detachable velvet and salin sleeve cuffs. From $45.00 
to $125.00. Prices slightly higher 
Weal of the Rockies and in Canada. 


Write for Free Dress Chart Booklet by BERT BACHARACH, foremost authority on mers fashions. AFTER SIX FORMALS, Dept. P-11, PHILA. 3, PA, 


degeneration of the automobile to its 
almost absurd present state. 1 know, 
however, that there is sufficient. desi 
and production talent in Detroit to pro 
duce the automobiles we will like in thc 
future and which we will buy. The 
core of toi problem is Detroit's 
underestimation of the level and рге 
cise nature of public taste. The ассге 
tion of styling horrors committed їп 
the name of “giving the public what it 
nts" is the result of lack of judg 


wi 
ment and not of engineering and de- 
sign talent. In no uncertain terms the 


public is now telling the automobile in 
dustry what it does mof want by its 
resistance to buying the present cars. In 
my opinion the American people have 
always wanted, and sull want, а sale, 
lean, graceful. comfortable, fun-to-drive, 
economical car. There аге designer 
engineer combinations who arc eager to 
sce these built if some manufacturer will 
give them approval. The ideal 
mobile would be equipped with brakes 
that do not fade; with a steering gear 
that revives that forgotten driving lux- 
чту, the feel of the road; а suspension 
to improve the car's roadability: finally. 
quality production to match advertis 
ing claims. 


Raymond Loewy 
New York, New York 


Mr. Keats’ opinions are sound, mere 
sound. He would do well to observe an 
old adage, "Put br gear before 
engaging mouth,” or in this case, type- 
writer. 


E. Thomas Daniel 
Montebello, California 


That our econ. 

tic grovel- 

ings should frighten perceptive people. 
Felix C. Gotschalk, Jr. 
New Orleans, Loui: 


na 


Although I agree with some of the 
points in John Keats’ article, 1 have 
never felt the slightest inclination to 
seduce a Cadillac. 


Come, come, men. < п the fold-out 
and in the cartoons, but interwoven into 
an article on automobiles . . , that's too 
much. 


Tom Whitmore 

WWCA 

Gary, Indiana 
John Keats makes Voltaire sound like 


a writer of romantic sonnets. Intriguing 
article! 


Andrew S. Tomb, M.D. 
Victoria, Texas 
More on Detroit next month. 


PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS 


hile scouting for the snazzy holid 

gift items that appear elsewhere in 
this issue, we ran into a few grand give- 
bles which, while not ideal for the ur- 
ban young man or his playmate, would 
obviously gladden the heart of someone, 
somewhere. Like so: for the busy man 
who totes his lunch on busy days, a 
lunch kit and matching vacuum bottle 
with attractive Zorro drawings (full-color 
action scenes) on the side. From Tou- 
jours Manure, two. pounds of vitamin- 
packed cow manure, loaded with CD 
(chlorophyll derivatives) and packed in 
attractive Christmas wrapping. A Rust 
Map of the United States (suitable for 
f g) showing the different rates at 
which rust eats through an uncoated 
steel test panel — in all cities over 10,000 
population. For the handy man, a stand 
ard-and-Phillips reversible screwdriver 
that comes with matching tie clasp and 
cuff links set with miniature replicas. 
For the happy home owner, a Rain-Vert 
Downspout Diverter for—uh— diverting 
downspouts. And the ne plus ultra: a 
single-control, clutchless, hydraulic No. 
904 Hog Dehairer that dehairs up to 125 
hogs an hour. Should you be at a loss 
for hairy hogs, they're yours at 5195 per 
porker or $155 in larger quantities, the 
perfect companion for the dehairing 
machine. Joyeux Nol. 


m 


irist Harry Purvis swears that, ac- 
cording to his research, today's so-called 
movie villain isn't really a villain at all 
Fact is, says Harry, he's kind of a love- 
able guy, all abrim with virtue. As sup- 
port for his oddball thesis, our friend 
offers the following chunks of dialog, 
more or less culled from memorable 
moments on the silver screen 
sexstrive: “Blackmail is an ugly word, 
Senator Goodliver. That last insult will 
cost you just ten thousand more. 


SYMPATHETIC: “You say the boy is dead? 
I am most sorry to hear this. In experi- 
menting, I must have taken too much 
blood.” 

GENEROUS: "I am prepared to pay hand- 
somely for your country’s atomic secrets, 
Captain Mannering.” 


CONSIDERATE: "Turn up the radio, Monk. 
We wouldn't want the young lady's 


screams to disturb the neighbors. 
FUN-LOVING: "What say we get some of 
the boys together and run the new 
preacher out of town?” 

RELIGIOUS: “Take the foreign intruders 
to the Temple of Pappi! They will serve 
well as sacrifices to the Great God 
Moola!” 

POPULAR: “To run 
my dear. I have friends everywhere; 
STRAIGHTFORWARD: You realize, оГ 
course, that I cannot possibly permit 
you to live 
FAsripious: "Out of my way, pig of a 
peasant! I do not wish to stain my blade 
with the blood of one such as you.” 
ATHERLY: "These simple natives are 
like children. All they nced is a little 
disciplining. Lassiter—bring the whips!” 
SPORTING: “That anot be more 
than five kilometers, Mr. Nolan. You are 
a free man if you reach it belore my 
mastiffs reach you.” 

THOUGHTFUL: "Do not kill the girl! She 
will provide a pleasant diversion for our 
officers.” 


мау is Quite uscless, 


wall ca 


А Наци! of Rain, which was parodied 
as A Ganful of Trash in a revue, is called 
A Handful of Snow in France, we under 
stand, amd Ten North Frederick is 
known as A Fistful of Dust in Italy. We 
are further apprised that a play entitled 
А Handful of Fire may open on Broad 
way with Roddy MacDowell. Got all 
that? Existing now only in our imagi- 
nation but someday to blossom into 


reality, we feel, are projects named A 
Shoeful of Sand, A Snootful of Booze, 
4 Bedful of Bugs, A Tireful of Nails, 
Яп Eyeful of Cinders, A Fishful of 
Bones, A Headíul of Lint, and bi 
ographies of Demosthenes and Socrates 
called, respectively, A Mouthful of 
Pebbles and A Cupful of Hemlock. 


Sign in an office of the health de- 
partment in a California city: 
NOTICE 
While in this office 
SPEAK IN А 


LOW, SOOTHING VOICE 
and 
DO NOT DISAGREE WITH ME IN 
ANY WAY 


Please be informed that when one has 

reached “ту age" 

AND NON-CONCURRENCE 
Cause gastric hyper-peris 

hyper-secretion of the hydro-chlori 
and rubus of the gastric mucosa 

...and 
I BECOME MOST UNPLEASANT 


NOISE 
alsis, 


A buddy of ours with nothing much 
else to do was browsing through a copy 
of the Standard Advertising Register the 
other day and came up with the follow- 
ing fascinating data: the space buyer 
for Schaefer Beer is а chap named 
Austin. Brew. The President of Bond 
Brook Whiskey is a guy called R. L. 
Buse, Assistant Treasurer of the General 
Shoe Corporation is T. Douglas Oxford. 
п charge of the live- 
stock at Armour & Co. is named J. R. 
Herd. And the advertising for Dazor 
Lighting Fixtures is in the capable hands 
of (who else?) the Watts Agency. 


General Manager 


А new stereo LP put out by Warner 
Brothers (in Vitaphonic High Fidelity) 
carries the engaging title Have Organ, 


PLAYBOY 


10 


| full flavored 
...yet mild 


SUG STEWART LID fone’ 


extra mild а 


USHER'S 


SCOTCH WHISKIES 


THE JOS. GARNEAU CO.. INC. N.Y.C. - 86.8 PROOF 


Will Swing. It features, of course, Buddy 
СокФоп the Hammond 

Sick note: One of the mailboxes in 
the foyer of an apartment building at 
23 E. Bellevue on Chicago's Near North 
Side carries the simple inscription: 

LOEB — LEOPOLD 

Turns out that Loeb and Leopold really 
do live there — Henry S. and Thomas M., 
respectively. They've another roommate 
living with them, too, but they won't let 
him put up his Ч spoil the effect. 


Nature lovers who have taken to skin 
diving to get away from the commercial 
ism all about us should shun the waters 
off Spain's lovely Lloret de Mar beach. 
Ninety fect from shore and 15 fect 
straight down, sits a luminous advertis 
ing billboard in the sand. 

We were reading a collection of sci- 
ence-fiction yarns— Away and Beyond, 
by A. E. van Vogt — the other day, and 
did a double-take at a couple of spots 
in his story Heir Unapparent. On page 
142, we read: "It wasn't so much, Parker 
realized bleakly for the hundredth time, 
that Medgerow's ugliness by itself was 
so jarring. A thousand males picked up 
at random from the streets outside would 
have yielded a dozen whose physical 
characteristics were less prepossessing. 
Medgerow diflered that he exuded a 
curious, terrible aura of misshapen 
strength. His personality had the con- 
creteness of the hump of a hunchba 

And then, nine pages later: “Medge- 
row stood before them. He looked ab- 


normal. It wasn't so much, Arthur Clagg 
decided bleakly, that Medgerow's ugli- 
nes was jarring in itself. A thousand 
males picked at random would have 
yiclded a dozen whose physical character 
istics were less prepossessing. Perhaps it 
was the triumphant smile on his face, 
with its frank and ш 
It was hard to tell. 
curious, terrible 


hamed arrogance. 

The man exuded a 
аша of misshapen 
strength. His personality protruded with 
the concreteness of the hump of a 
hunchback.” 

Two minds, we told ourself, with but 
a single bleak thought 


Friend of ours who wanted to enter 
tain a guy and his girl visiting from out 
of town asked them to drop by his place 
for a cocktail around seven. Around 
eight the host poured “one for the road” 
— and then a mutual interest in hi-fi and 
cool jazz was discovered. Around mid 
night. the rig was turned down, at a 
neighbor's request. and slow blues were 
broken out. Around three л.м. (the visi 
tor had ап eight o'clock plane to catch) 
fond farewells were murmured. "Ehe 
next day our friend got the following 
missive: 


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gue К 
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Rullock's Wynbrier, Los Angeles 
The Domino. Chicago, Il, 
Sills of Cami 
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The Oxford Shop. 
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The English Shop......... West Hartford. Conn. 

or write 


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with the safety extra of a mem- 
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PRELIMINARY REPORT ON STOLEN WORLD 
It was 7:15 р.м. I and my associate 
walked into an apartment. After a few 
hours of getting both the internal and 
external facts from the apartment's occu- 
pants, we walked back out and found 
someone had stolen the world. We 
searched blindly for about an hour. Ex- 
hausted from our search, we fell into a 
deep sleep. Some four hours later we 
were rudely awakened by a loud ringing 
bell. To our amazement, the world had 
been replaced! Now we're searching for 
the dirty guy who put it back!!! 
(Signed) Bloodshot Pupil and Iris 
Pink, Private Eyes. 


RECORDINGS 


We bow to no man in our respect 
for Duke Ellington, but we can only 
recommend his new version of Block, 
Brown and Beige (Columbia CL 1162) with 
reservations. Progress means change, but 
the converse is not necessarily true; in 
rewriting his most famous extended 
work, Duke has (a) climinated several of 
the most attractive themes, (b) taken the 
sensuous Come Sunday motif away from 
Johnny Hodges, for whom it was ideally 
suited, and given it to three other guys, 
(с) equipped it with lyrics that are not 
merely un-Fllingtonian but actually 
sound as if they could have been written 
by Nick Kenny, (d) topped it all off 
with the 23rd Psalm sung by Mahalia 
Jackson, which would be great in suit- 
able surroundings but is jarringly out of 
context here. If. you've never heard the 
original (excerpts from which will be 
reissued soon by Victor), you will find 
many admirable moments here, but the 
work as а whole just doesn’t come off. 


Anito Sings the Winners (Verve 8283) — or 
does she? The Lady O'Day, who paces 
most of the album with scatting, is sup- 
posed to chirp standards associated with 
certain 


jazz greats like Kenton and his 
ment of Peanut Vendor, Miles 
and Four, Oscar and 
Tenderly, and Artie Shaw and Frenesi. 
The album liner lists a famous jazzman 
next to each of the 12 numbers rendered 
by Anita. Any ordinary hipster — and he 
needn't be bright — would expect to 
hear the gal sing these winning instru- 
mentals with shades of the original ar- 
amous. 


Peterson 


rangements which made them 
She does this with Kenton's Peanut 
Vendor. She doesn't with Shaw's Frenesi. 
Her rendition of Four is almost identi- 
cal to Lennie haus’ rather than 
Miles’, And so it goes, but it's a knocked- 
out toure-scat, thanks to Anita's swing- 
ing pipes. 


Erroll Garner stars in an elaborate 


KIRK DOUGLAS star of THE VIKINGS 


in Technicolor®, a Kirk Douglas Production 


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PLAYBOY 


new double-disc set called Paris Impressions 
(Columbia C2L 9). bedecked with 23 
photos depicting his European tour. | from her own shop in beverly hills 
But the album was recorded in an 


uptown arrondisement of gay, sexy 
New York. Of the 18 tunes spread over 
these four sides, only six are standards; 
à * offers the 


the other dozen ginals 
whose Parisian flavor is, in some cases. 
apparent only in the titles. The impish 
humor and the unbeatable beat are still 
predominant in all but four tacks; the 
latter are the original tunes with which 
Erroll makes his debut as a harpsi 
chordist. Somehow his style becomes 
muddy and diffuse in his efforts to 
manipulate this recalcitrant instrument. 
Factfully, the harpsichord tracks are 
buried away toward the end of cach 
side. They bring the over-all level down 
а notch, but at that, they have collec- 
tor'sitem value for all Errollphiles. 


soft clinging: 
. excitement” 


MANUFACTURING COMPANY 


Anyone who cares to examine the 
contrasts (or the similarities) betwee 
East and West coast styles in bi 
band jazz can find ample ammunition in 
Jazz New York (Dot 9001), with Manny 
Albam as composerarranger-conductor, 
and Marty Paih (Cadence 3010). on 
which the tideroler functions as com- 


if you want to delight the eye 


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В by Ernie Royal, Art Farmer, Bob Brook- 
$ meyer, Al Cohn et a whole slew of al. 
Е The Paich set’s virtues are less apparent, 


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since, for no apparent reason, some of 
the most effective soloists are not listed. 
Our secret agents at Sunset and Vine 
inform us that the superb unbilled alto 
work can be credited to Herb Geller, 
and the fine drumming to Mel Lewis. 
Ela down the years (from 1938 to 
1955) is the worthy subject of a two- 
platter package yclept The Best of Ella 
(Decca DXB 156). It's loaded with a lot 
of hot roasted chestnuts you've heard 
Miss Fiugerald do countless times in 
countless versions (4-Tisket, A-Tasket, 
Paper Moon, Lady Be Good. How High 
the Moon, ete.), but somehow you don't 
mind too much when the voice belongs 
to this incomparable chick. If you don't 
own too many of her carlier LPs, this 
provides a neat showcase for the fault- 


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Jensen's New Flexair Woofe: 


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and Joe ARNOLD'S NEWEST FASHION COLLECTIONS. 


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her way right into your heart . . . Choos. all C.0.0.'s) 


ing some dandy ditties from some clever | RENEE 


night listening. Breathy Bi 


Ж 


deffers (Jerome Kern, Jimmy Van Heu- 
sen, the Gershwins, Cole Porter, etc.), 
ammy Davis, Jr., has come up with a 

ner: AH the Way (Decca DL 8779). 


. .. Discdebuting Judy Hollida 


moans 
mightily to the effect that Trouble Is o Mon 
(Columbia CL 1153), throbs and husks 
her way through 12 blue-(unk ballads. 
Our favorite: the cute DietzSchwartz 
Confession, on which Miss Holliday 
wails, "I always go to bed at 10—oh 
isn't that a bore? , . . then I go home 
at four”... Johnny Mathis rolls nicely 
vith the beat on Swing Softly (Columbia 
Л. 1165), exhibits an easy mastery of 
the up-tempo ballad department (Lov 
Walked In, Like Someone in Love, etc.). 
A Jazz Bond Ball (Mode 123) is the ill 
в. Dixieland-derived title of an oth- 
y-dory LP of modern sounds 
featuring a unique alliance of mallet- 
men: Terry Gibbs on vibes and marimba, 
Larry Bunker and Britain's Victor Feld- 
nd xylophone. А good 
Ш, including a muscu 
st rhythm secti 
piano; Max Bennett, 
drums) on such staples as Just Friends. 
Broadway and Tangerine. 


No gig place ever figured so strongly 
in а bandleadcer's career the Rendez- 
vous in Stan Kenton's. This spa on tiny 
Balboa Beach in Southern Cal first 
introduced itself to Stan іп 1935, when 
he was just a 23-yearold lad blowing 
piano with Everett Hoagland's group. 
Today Kenton — exactly twice as many 
rs old — is Back to Balboa (Capitol 1 
5) for the umpteenth time. But maybe 
ause he now owns 


nt in 
. his first Kenton-led band date in 
‚ his first jazz concert in 1947 and 

«quent haven for the band when 
it t on tour, the Rendezvous still 
swings for Stan. It's now a giant record 
ing studio for that 
which pioneered the big-hand modern 


distinctive sound 
jazz movement. This disc, the second of 
Rendezvous-recorded albums, shows Stan 
continuing the use of Afro-Cuban 
rhythms: Out of This World is just that, 
and My Old Flame is turned. into a 
roaring furnace thanks to a nifty Marty 
Paich scoring. No longer the pioneer, 
Stan has settled back with satisfaction to 
let the youngsters show their stuff. This, 
100, is greatness. 


id to relate, our worst fears about 
Sonny Rollins’ Freedom Suite (Riverside 
12.958) are all too completely realized. 
That is, while we can applaud his am- 
bition and courage in attempting a 
major work in the jazz idiom, for us it 


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doesn’t come off. Sonny sounds tight and 
unrelaxed, you get the impression that 
he's thinking too hard and not feeling 
enough, and the whole job is going to 
seem too far out for most people to dig. 
Oscar Pettiford and Max Roach do their 
good best to make the whole thing work, 
but it isn't enough. (The Bip side, which 
has four normallength numbers, also 
seems overly elaborated.) We're glad. to 
be able to remember Sonny a couple of 
years уре he'll return to that 
more meaningful manner now that he 
has this out of his system, 

It gives us honest joy to be able to tell 
you about Soul Brothers (Atlantic 1279), 
which teams Milt Jackson and Ray 
Charles with a combo of other cats 
schooled in the modern mode. What's 
so great here is that though the means 
are contemporary, the blues which con- 
stitute this disc come through with that 
essential beat and fluidity too frequently 
missing from current cuttings out of 
coolsville. The benevolent spirit of Bird 
hovers happily over the whole thing. 


ago; ma 


Speaking of blues, go get, then try on, 
Sonny Stit's Only the Blues (Verve 8250) 
if you want to hear a very elegant and 
moving merging of styles—all the way 
{from boogie to icy. In a sense this is 
transitional music: Sonny blows more 
like old times than has been his wont; 
Roy Eldridge sounds his fine old self, 
buta updated; Oscar Peterson, Herb 
Ellis, Ray Brown and Stan Levey do 
much to make this disc memorable. 


Last year the Brandeis U Festival of 
the Arts commissioned original pieces 
from six Angry Young Men of modern 
music. ‘The results of their atonal scoring 
are heard in Modern Jazz Concert (Colum- 
bia WL 127), on which the orchestra, 14 
strong, is Jed toward Mars by Gunther 
Schuller and George Russell. The How- 
FarOutCan-You-Get school produces 
some provocative postgraduate work here, 
with Russell's All About Rosie and Jimmy 
Giuflre's Suspensions the most successful 
(and, perhaps not c dentally, the 
least remote from jazz). As to the other 
four, as Schuller admits in his notes, 
"perhaps this is jazz or perhaps it is not," 
but the sounds, with men like Art 
Farmer and Teddy Charles among the 
communicants, do reflect the imminence 
of a merger between jazz and contem- 
porary classical music. 


We've studiously avoided use of ıl 
creaky apothegm "Musician's Musician" 
in thesc columns, but in the casc of sing- 
er David Allen it seems to apply. Among 
the Playboy Jazz All-Stars serving on this 
year's nominating board, Dave was 
awarded more votes than any male vocal- 
ist with the single exception of Frank 
Sinatra. Dave's first LP, A Sure Thing 


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you'll treasure! 

Clebanoff's 

thoughtful arrange- 

ments draw the 

last measure of beauty from. 
songs made for reverie 


mance, lush with the rich- 

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(World Pacific WPM-408), indicates why: 
the guy's an honest, unhokey delineator 
of good tunes (in this case, all Jerome 
Kern numbers). He won't jar you out of 
your seat, he's no trickster or gimmick- 
master, but the more you listen, the bet- 
ter you like. Added bonus: the Eliza- 
bethan-type playing card reproductions 
on the jacket are some of the bawdiest 
our innocent eyes have ever seen in the 
public prints. 

The good that men do does live after 
them, through the grace of microgrooves. 
We doubt that there'll be a disc this 
year to excel, for sheer beauty of per- 
formance and mood, The Art Tatum-Ben 
Webster Quartet (Verve 8220). This is a 
posthumous tribute to one of the great- 
est jazz pianists who ever lived, in a 
glovelike partnership with one of the 
warmest and most timeless of tenor sax 
stylists. Art and Ben are discreetly sup- 
ported by Red Callender's bass and Bill 
Douglass’ drums in lengthy, gentle ex- 
cursions on seven standards such as My 
Ideal, Night and Day, Where or When. 
Among other things, its swell back- 
ground music for every after-sundown 
occasion, 

Flute fanciers who'll argue that it’s a 
legit instrument for jazz will be happy 
with a pair of bucolically tiled LPs: 
The Shepherd Swings Again (Jubilee 1074), 
with flautist Moe Koffman bleeting a real 
fine set of eight which manages nicely 
to combine folksong simplicity and cool 
complexity; and Buddy Collette's Swing- 
ing Shepherds (FmArcy 36133), in which 
he tweets and tootles to fine effect with 
sidemen who are also flautists or can 
double just dandy. Either or both discs 
are a better argument for the flute in 
jazz than any amount of talk. 

Add to the swelling repertory of 
stereo discs a new version of Berlioz’ 
Symphonie Fantastique (Omega OSL-9), exc- 
cuted with brilliant clarity by the Cento 
Soli ork of Paris batonned by Louis 
Fourestier. The "symphony" is, of 
course, program music, in the romantic 
vein. Sterco's just right for it. 


An unusual and on the whole felici- 
tous experiment іп poetry-cum-jazz is 
The Song of Songs (Audio Fidelity Stere 
disc 5888-A), which features four thespi- 
ans reading portions of the Biblical love 
poem against a jazz quintet's original 
musical score. The potentialities here 
for phoniness and sacrilege аге frighte 
ing to contemplate; happily, the job is 
done with taste, restraint and skill. The 
result isn't exactly jazz or Biblical drama, 
but whatever you call it, it makes ex- 
citing and novel listening. Sexy, too. 

One of the most musically interesting 
stereo discs available is Marx Makes Broad- 


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way (Omega OSL-2). There's no diale 
ic materialism here; Marx is the С 


group, 
recorded during a West Coast visit, in- 
cludes the protean Buddy 
flute, Irving Ashby on guitar and а beat- 
generating rhythm section. The Broad. 
ay part of the title indicates that the 
material includes such show-stoppers 
All of You. Guys and Dolls, Sleepin' Bee 
and a string of other box-office baubles. 
The sound is startling, 


DINING-DRINKING 


When winter woes make you yearn for 
the hot, dry, bright air of the desert, you 
might well think terms of Palm 
Springs, a short hop on the freeway 
from the smog of Los Angeles, and 
dandy place for sunning, swimmi 
tennis, riding, romancing and the lil 
and eating. И the last is on your mind — 
as it will be, thanks to the desert c 
mate—we recommend the following 
dinner haunts for a long weekend of 
happy gourmandise. First night: try а 
huge charcoaled steak at the Seddle and 

пот, which looks Western as all get-out 
but understands the niceties of big-city 
service. Second night: make the scene at 
The Sands, for a fresh fowl done to a gorge- 
ous turn in most any style you may 
choose, from American roasted to Italian 

atora —or a succulent broiler. Third 
night: try the boneless mountain trout, 
amandine. served with tossed green salad 
at the Biltmore (its semicircular dining 
room overlooks the lighted pool, beside 
which you can enjoy your sundown 
cocktails). All three places have exten- 
уе menus (the Biltmorc’s is the most 
impressively varied). expert chefs, su- 
perior service, pleasing decor, and. bar- 
tenders who comprehend the construc- 
tion of the martini, extra dry. 

Lower Second Avenue is the Main 
Stem of York's off-Broadway the- 
atre, and at its heart 15 (or are) Moskowitz 
& Lopowitz (2nd Ave. and 2nd St.). M & L, 
now crowding 50 years old, was there 
when the local theatre was strictly Yid- 
dish. The menu, then as now, is Ru- 
manian and Jewish but the clientele is 
catholic. Rumanian specialties, in case 
you didn’t know, are charcoal broiled, 
and no one will dispute M & 175 reputa- 
tion for serving the best Mushk this side 
of Bucharest. The skirt steak, only a 
centimeter or so thick, is rare and can 
be cut with a fork. With your free hand, 
sample the mititei, a lamb and sirloi 
sausage spiced with garlic and curry. 
Broiled sweetbreads, goose liver and 
jellied calves’ feet, a square of dry white 
carp and a soupçon of kreplach should 


STEREO 


mension ond depth токе :iereo the most ex- 
citing way to listen to music in your home! 

1п о free illustrated color booklet, Electro-Voice 
—one of the leading manufacturers of high fidel- 
stereo components—explores the nature of 
stereophonic sound; how the effect is created, how 
stereo is perceived. You'll learn how new records 
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"Whether you're starting from scratch or con- 
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also be tasted. On the Jewish side, M & 
L does divinely that which is done dis- 
mally most everywhere else — stuffed 
derma, what else? Jt's a tangy, meatless 
mass lovingly supervised into its sausage 
skin by venerable old Rebecca Mosko- 
witz widow of the founder. Impresari 
Max and Bob Anzelowitz bade us lave 
our bestirred palate with a white Alsa- 
tian wine, and we did. With dessert — an 
extremely light, flaky blintz and sour 
cram — we sipped Hungarian slivovitz 
(Rumanian is hard to get), finishing with 
sweet ‘Turkish coffee, cognac, and a ge 
Че purr of continental contentment. The 
music, chez Moskowitz & Lupowitz, is 
charming, courtesy the Israel Fiedelholtz 
gypsy trio. Hours are noonish till two 
AM. every day. 


FILMS 


Tennessee Williams’ shattering dis- 
section of the hate, spite, greed and 
guilt that seethe through a lushly ap- 
pointed Southern mansion has been 
translated to the screen. with whiplash 
impact in Cot оп a Hot Tin Roof, power- 
fully and inventively directed by Richard 
Brooks. Though adaptors Brooks and 
James Poe have gotten out into the sun- 
light a couple of times, they've confined 
most of the raw emotional outbursts of 
husbands, wives and sisters-in-law to 
various rooms in the manse, the roof of 
which threatens to blow off periodically 
from all the bitterly drawled and 
shouted recriminations bouncing off the 
walls. The basic plot's sort of similar to 
the play: On hand to celebrate the 65th 
birthday of Big Daddy (Burl Ives), who 
has just flunked a cancer test but doesn't 


know it, are his two sons and their 
wives, plus assorted neighbors. Son Brick 
(Paul Newman), a brooding former 


football star kept indoors by a busted 
ankle he got trying to do thc high hurdles 
with too much alcohol ballast, is uninter- 
ested in his pretty wife, Maggie (Eliza- 
beth Taylor) who wears her desperate 
love for Brick like a lavaliere. Their 
scraps, stemming mainly from her v 
efforts to wean him from the bottle, are 
chortled at by Brick's oafish brother 
Gooper (Jack Carson) and Gooper's 
fruitful wife Mae (Madeleine Sherwood). 
both avid for the old man's wad. They 
think their herd of kids gives them the 
odds, but Big Daddy likes Brick best and 
he still gets rutty when he sees Maggie. 
Perplexed by Brick's behavior, Big Daddy 
hounds him for an explanation. Brick 
surlily refuses to account for his re- 
bufling of Maggie till Big Daddy denies 
him his redeye. The explanation Brick 
gives in the movie is not the same one 
he gave in the play, of course, since ref- 
erences to homosexuality, however cov- 


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ert, are generally eschewed in American 
pictures: hence, at this point, the whip- 
lash impact becomes a dull thud, the pre- 
vious mounting expectation is revealed 
as a fraud, and you begin to think Brick’s 
outraged cries against “Mendacity!” 
were meant to apply to the script. 


If you can stomach one more package 
of sinking-ship vignettes, chances are 
you'll eat up the British A Night to Re- 
member (from Walter Lord's same-name 
book about the doomed Titanic). It's 
well done, full of drama, visually big 
and bustling, with a tight screenplay by 
Eric Ambler and controlled, firm, under- 
stated direction by Roy Baker, Harrow- 
ing, heart-catching, handsome. Cast? Of 
thousands. We lost count. 

Terence Rattigan is not a great play- 
wright, but he is a clever concocter of 
effective theatrical gimmicks. Опе of his 
favorite tricks is to write an evening of 
two one-act plays in which a single star 
сап portray two sharply contrasting 
characters: this sort of hokum, in the 
hands of an accomplished histrion, is 
entertaining to watch and to play. 
Maurice Evans had a field day on Broad- 
way а few years back playing a Milque- 
toastish schoolteacher and a flamboyant 
Shakespcarean actor in the same evening 
in Rattigan's The Browning Version and 
Horlequimade, respectively. Моге re 
cently, Eric Portman played a howlingly 
phony or and a brooding, in- 
trospective, leftist journalist to Margaret 
Leighton's plain jane/glamorous model 
in the samc Mr. R's Separate Tobles. This 
last tour de force is now a film, but — 
wouldn't you know it? — the double-role 
device has been dumped, and with it, a 
large chunk of the original fun. The 
Portman parts have been divvied up be- 
tween David Niven and Burt Lancaster, 
the Leighton roles assigned to Rita Hay- 
worth and Deborah Kerr. These charm- 
ig people earn their money, but d 
prived of its gimmick, Tables has to 
stand on its own legs, and oooh are they 
ever rickety. 


As the personal pronoun half of Me 
and the Colonel, Danny Kaye draws an 
telligently thought-out portrait of Samuel 
Jacobowsky, an itinerant Jew constantly 
kept on the move by the advances of the 
German army across the European con- 
tinent during the dark third and fourth 
decades of the present centur hat the 
solemnly clad, gentle-spoken Jacobowsky 
has eluded a fate such as Dachau comes 
as по great surprise as the character be- 
gins to grow and develop. Jacobowsky is 
a thinking man. Jacobowsky is а clever 
man. Jacobowsky is a resourceful man 
who, although he doesn't exactly fling 
iself into the teeth of adversity, 


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nevertheless can face most perils and 
turn situations to his advantage — always 


gently and without force. A shrug of the 


shoulders, a sudden light sparkling in 
the eye . . . as Ше problems come and 
go, it’s hard to finger the exact point 
where Danny Kaye and Jacobowsky 
merge into a common identity. As the 
flick opens, Panzer divisions are closing 
in on Paris, Jacobowskys temporary 
home, and he has to get out. Means of 
transportation? Easily solved: Jacobow- 
sky commandeers a vintage Rolls-Royce 
from the deserted Rothschild estate. 
Means of moving the heisted heap? The 
professional refugee doesn't drive, but 
an acquaintance, а m пу anti-Sc- 
mitic Polish colonel (blusteringly played 
by Curt Jurgens) docs. The colonel, too, 
must escape to fulfill a rendezvous with 
an English sub which will carry him and 
the secret papers he holds to the Polish 
government in exile. But the stiff-necked, 
aristocratic Pole has no desire to enter 
into a palsy-walsy journey with a Јем 
Patriotism finally wins out over prej 
dice, however, and the two set out on 
their perilous tour accompanied by the 
colonel’s lackey (а droll conception by 
Akim Tamirofl) and his mistress (Nicole 
Машеу). The journey encompasses a 
wide variety of situations — romantic. 
farcical, melodramatic — and each of 
these has been skillfully contrived (chief- 
ly by S. N. Behrman from the play he 
adapted from the original work by Franz 
Werfel), directed (by Peter Glenville) 
and acted by a dandy cast led by this 
new improved Kaye, who gives the show 
its gleam with just the right doses of 
schmaltz, intelligence and heart wher- 
ever they're called for. 


Houseboat wisely mixes the urbanity of 
Cary Grant and the warmth of Sophia 
Loren in a kind of Satevepost story 
about baby-sitting and such that, though 
treacly, is surprisingly gay. Perennially 
youthful, unflaggingly charming Grant 
can do little wrong when he's in his el 
ment, and he's in it up to his stylishly- 
gray sideburns in this one. What the hell, 
why fight it? Even Norman Rockwell can 
be fun once in a while. 


BOOKS 


At two A.M. on Saturday, March 22, 
1958, a Lockheed Lodestar carrying biog- 
rapher Art Cohn and mogul's mogul 
Mike Todd crashed in a valley in New 
Mexico, Neither man lived to complete 
the last chapter of The Nine Lives of Michael 
Todd (Random House, $4.95). That, in the 
form of an epilogue, is supplied by Art 
Cohn's widow. This burly bio is neither 
n apologia nor an indictment, but 
rather a rare and rowdy account of thc 
roller coaster career of a showman who 


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was a blend of P. T. Barnum and the 
Don Quixote Todd never finished film- 
ing. Yeah, there are bits of sentimental 
corn sprouting in the book, but in a 
field as large as Todd's, some of i: 
bound to grow. At eight, Avrom Hirsch 
Goldbogen (Todd's real handle) was a 
shill for a carny pitchman; at 18, he 
was prexy of a two-million-dollar-a-year 
construction company; at 20 he was stony 
broke, existing on his wife's dole ol a 
dollar a day. At 37, he had four plays 
running at once, netting him 20 grand 
a week. The following year he went bust 
again, but still managed to cajole half a 
million dollars from believing backers to 
launch two more shows. He was the gent 
who took the G-string off the banjo and 
hung it on Gypsy Rose Lee, and he was 
also the wheel behind the longest- 
running Hamlet to hit Broadway. 
While his enemies cynically grumbled 
that Todd had one more ‘d than God, 
he produced 16 plays during his lile 
that grossed a helty $18 million; but the 
gross on Around the World in Eighty 
Days may run to a whopping $100 mil- 
lion all by itself. Asked why he took a 
liking to Todd, author Cohn recounts a 
day during the shooting of World, when 
Todd stood on the deck of the paddle- 
wheeler that was bringing Phileas Fogg 
back to England, noticed hundreds 
of sea gulls following the ship. “They're 
following us for the garbage,” the first 
mate explained. "Garbage!" shrieked 
Todd. "No sea gulls following my boat 
are going to eat garbage. Toss them 
some decent food. We go first class.” He 
did, all the way. 


was 


After taking time out for two books 
devoted to his famous father, Nathaniel 
Benchley is ba 
astringent novels about what goes on be- 
hind those brownstone fronts in Man- 
hattan. The title: One to Grow On (Mc- 
3.95). For his theme he has 
slyly chosen one of the favorite formats 
of the women's mags — and relentlessly 
twisted its . It's the one about the 
f in the Big City who, 
when faced with a crisis, finds that her 
flintfaced neighbors are simply oozing 
with the Milk of Human Kindness. Just 
to get things ОЙ on the wrong foot, Mr 
Bencliley picks an illegitimate pregnancy 
as the crisis, and though the assorted 
Samaritans rally round, the results are 
à choice blend of the ironic and the sar- 
donic. Sample: after the gal has had her 
baby and gone happily off with a re- 
porter, the delinquent father shows up. 
hoping she's had her abortion and is 
ready for more fun-and-games — where 
upon he's coldly informed that she died 
in childbirth. “Happy memories, you 
son of a bitch!” says the No. 1 Samari 
тап. If you like your Manhattan very 
dry with a twist of lemon, this is for you. 


barbary banter 


ARE YOU A "NIGHT PEOPLE"? 


We are, that's why we stay open until six 
in the morning. Some people don't really 
begin to swing until the wee small hours, 
and they're people we wouldn't miss know- 
ing. Over there in the toreadors are three 
hostesses from The Gaslight Club— Jerry, 
Pat and Gladys. And that fellow talking 
to them, that's Owen Trayner, he's a night 
people. (There's a camaraderie among 
night people that makes talk easy—even 
among strangers.) The handsome dark- 
haired fellow who's doing зо muchtablehop- 
ping? That's Herb Lyon—all columnists 
arc night people. Herb wrote about us just 
after we opened, “. . . Barbary Room is an 
overnight click. The celebs have already 
made it their ayem oasis.” It's true, we 
guess, but they're really not celebrities in 
the later hours—they're just our wonder- 
ful night people, like that little brunette 
joking with the two out-of-towners at the 
next table. Night people dig late hours, 
good food and good talk. Are you a night 
people? 


barbary 
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1255 N. STATE ST? 
CHICAGO E 


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Once upon a time, to judge by Rona 
айез first novel, The Best of Everything 
(Simon & Schuster, $4.50), there were not 
one, not two, but five Little Red Riding- 
hoods, who set out from the typing pool 
of a big publishing house to make their 
way through the stone forests of Manhat- 
tan to Grandmother's Matrimonial Bu- 
reau. Each had carefully oiled and baited 
her tender trap; but though they all 
chose different paths, hardly any of them 
escaped the slavering wolves which are 
known to lurk behind every glass-topped 
desk. Career-minded Caroline luckily 
met a harmless one (he was impotent) 
and then a tame one (his goodnight kiss 
was Iong but chaste)—yet it was she 
who, after a double jilting, let herself 
be carried off by the slinkiest breed of 
all, the saber-toothed gynivorous genus 
Hollywoodus. Unstable Gregg fell foul 
of a smooth, short-hair Broadway type 
and made the mistake of trying to do- 
mesticate him. She jumped or fell to her 
death. Sunny April encountered the 
close-cropped socialite species and went 
through the classic cycle: deception, con 
ception, abortion, desertion. The other 
two actually made it to the altar, so their 
stories aren't very interesting. Та fact, 
though Miss Jalle does her best to make 
it all very brittle and modern, it's like 
listening to five soap operas in a row. 


Being a professional humorist, H. 
Allen Smith is a tricky man with a title 
so when he comes up with something 
called The Pig in the Borber Shop (Little 
Brown, $3.95), it's not too surprising to 
find that irs a Mexican travel book 
Seems Н. A. was getting а haircut in 
Taxco during a brief sub-border sojourn 
when a porker came barrcling in and 
nearly wrecked the joint. This so en- 
deared the place to him that he deter 
return, with Mrs. S, for a 
longer stay. With a former Mexican 
soccer star as guide (something like tour- 
ing the U.S. with Red Grange calling 
the signals), they blanketed the Federal 
Republic like a. poncho, doing all the 
wrong things, like drinking tap-water, 
and meeting all the right people, from 
Cantinilas to Bill O'Dwyer. И was obvi- 
ously a lot of fun, and Smith's account 
ranks high as a tongue-in-cheek travelog 
So if yowre in the mood for a litle 
chairborme  peregrination through the 
land of fiesta and siesta, with a yok at 
every stop. this is your cup of tequila. 
If not, Mr. Smith is casting his sw 

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mined to 


In The Quiet American, Graham 
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to burl some barbed lances at the politi- 
cos. Now, with Our Man in Havano (Viking, 
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COLOGNE PYRAMID—an ounce 
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lead up to love with 


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ERNESTINE 
ANDERSON 


Yesterday known 
only to the privileged few 
... today a voice 

for the whole world 
to appreciate! 
Ernestine's debut is a 
musical landmark. 
Full . . . expressive 
‚+, her voice is an 
instrument that im- 
provises truly 
inspired music. 


“Love for Sale", 

"Ill Wind My 
Man", other ever- 
greens in a torchy 
cargo never before 
trented so knowingly, 


another crime. another chase. The sus- 
pense is edged with satire as he details 
the antic adventures of Jim Wormold, 
а British vacuum-cleaner salesman in 
Cuba whose chronic overdraft forces him 
to sign on as a Secret Service agent 
There follows a sportive romp involving 
a toothsome assistant, counterspics, а 
German refugee, homicide, fake intelli- 
gence reports, a climactic gun duel 
larded with British drolleries and a final 
“well donc" from the home office. It will 
be news to none that Greene is а master 
of huggermugger, but in this one he’s so 
busy pulling comic rabbits out of the hat 
that he scems more interested in hare- 
raising than hair-raising. 

Writing wacky captions for classic 
works of art is an old pastime (we did it 
in Etchings Revisted back in December 
of 1956) but s good if done 
right. Done right tle book called 
Captions Courogeous (Abelard-Schuman, 
$2.50), in which Bob Reisner (author of 
this month's Sinatra) and Hal Kapplow 
hitch “You forgot to bring the marsh 
mallows" onto Manct's Luncheon on the 
Grass, “Slip into this; it's a onto 
Botticelli's Birth of Venus, "Who's mind- 
ing the store?" onto Goya's King Charles 
IV and His Family, “It all started out as 
a poetry reading” onto Couture's Deca- 
dence of the Romans, etc. Fine fun for 
checkto-check pageflipping: a cute 
casual gift. 


Strike Heaven on the Foce by Charles 
Calitri (Crown, $3.95) is a first novel by 
a N.Y. high school principal which 
seems likely to ruffle more tail feathers in 
PTAviaries than anything since Black- 
board Jungle. Based on an actual inci- 
dent, it details the stalwart effort of a 
New England high school dean to cope 
with something new in extracurricular 
activity — the Modnoc Club (spell it 
backwards) which meets for secret orgies 
which would do credit to the Marquis 
de Sade. It’s obviously a juicy setup, but 
Mr. Calitri is not interested in milking 
its sensationalism. His Walter Davis is 
an carnest educator, new to his job, rc- 
placing his best friend, recently dead. 
whose shoes he feel ble to fill — but 
whose bed he finally does. This brief 
interlude gives him the courage to 
scotch the Modnocs in a way that will 
do least harm to the school, the town, 
and the kids themselves. It's by no means 
simple, for Mr. Calitri poses his problem 
against the social tensions and political 
pressures in one of those communities 
where first fa es and last arrivals are 
constantly clashing. But comp: 
the keynote, and while his book ır 
no literary prizes, it shows a deep under- 
standing of the teenage psyche. Give 
the teach an A for effort. 


HOLIDAY 


GIFT RATES 


LAX 


and really enjoy the holiday season this year! 


Finish up all your Christmas shopping today. Let issue in a special festive wrapper. And every month 


PLAYBOY solve your gift problems. While others fight 
the crowd, worry and fret, you sit back knowing that 
each of your friends will receive a handwritten full- 
color Playmate gift card announcing your gift a few 
days before Christmas. Next—PLAYBoY's big holiday 


next year, PLAYBOY reminds your friends of your 
thoughtfulness. All this and it's so convenient. Use 
the postage-paid envelope. No need to send a check. 
We'll bill you after January 1. Order PLAYBOY now 
—then relax and really enjoy the holidays this year. 


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! Enter additional subscriptions on reply envelope of ап a separate 

j sit card from sheet of paper. 

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239 East Ohio Street. Chicago 11, Illinois 


PLAYBOY 


JACK COLE Is DEAD. His passing, at 43, was both untimely and unexpected. Cole 
began contributing to these pages early. Up till 1954 he had worked almost ex- 
clusively in the comic book field, having created a wry satire of the Superman- 
Captain Marvel-type strip titled Plastic Man. Happily for all concerned, he 
decided to turn his talents in the direction of magazine cartooning at precisely 
the same time that PLAYBOY began publishing. The first drawings he submitted 
were rejected, but they carried a note back with them expressing considerable 
interest in his style and asking him to send others. It was a style that was to be- 
come more closely identified with the magazine than any other artist's. 

Nobody could draw a gorgeous girl with the gusto and loving care of Cole: 


Nothing makes 


a woman more 


feminine readers who perhaps never succeeded in deciphering his scrawling signature 
fre would instantly recognize as Cole's work those langorous, full-breasted, ample- 
hipped sirens with the sooty eyes, pouting mouths and deep-dish navels. In a 

а whodunit novel, Strip for Murder, author Richard S. Prather described а lushly 
built feminine character thus: "She looked like one of Cole's sensual women jn 

man... PLAYBOY magazine — blonde, with big brown eyes and those other big things 


you hear about but don't often see.” Jack's first full-page cartoon appeared in 
our fifth issue and he never missed a month after that. His first drawings were 
done in wash; and later, when PLAYBOY began using more color, he turned out 
the remarkable full-color pages that so brightened the magazine. Although his 
work seemed wonderfully free and alive, Cole was a painstaking craftsman and 
often did three or four finished versions of a cartoon before he was satisfied 
that it was good enough to show. His way with a brush was the way of an artist 
— he was a cartoonist who used water color as it should be used: naturally, 
dircctly, not trapped inside а line. 

And yet Jack Cole was not simply a gag illustrator. He was a genuine humorist 
with an antic imagination and a fertile flair for farout fun. Such multipage 
spreads as Man About the Beach (July 1955), Cole's Forecast (January 1956), 
The Football Blanket (October 1956) and The Subliminal Pitch (September 
1958) were wildly inventive, wacky and all Cole. Of his single cartoons, perhaps 
some of the best remembered are: "I'l have you know I'm not that kind of a gir 
(October 1954); “Г have it: let's swap wives!" (June 1955); “Fake it.” (October 
1953); “Here's one ambassador, if they want to recall, they'll have to come and 
get!” (March 1956); “John! John! Your creepie-peepie is on!” (December 1956); 
"I'm not worried. She's run off on affairs before. She'll be back. He won't, but 


she will." (February 1958). But the most popular Cole cartoon of all appeared 
and was captionless: it showed a superbly stacked, strapless- 
gowned young lady at a party, surrounded by admiring males, one of whom had 
removed a shoe, neatly captured the hem of her gown with his tocs, and was 
surreptitiously pulling the garment down past the cquator of the bcauty's 
bosom. 

In June of 1954 Cole introduced his expressionistic Females: 52 appeared 
altogether, from Spinster and Devil-May-Cure to Persnickety, Prude and Naive, 
The 
cocktail napkins and highball glasses, adding a sophisticated note to parties and 


in May of 1955 


perceptive line drawings of feminine sex types subsequently turned up on 


apartment doings all across the land. Jack was soon working exclusively for 
в. AYBOY. Originally from New Castle, Pennsylvania (and forever the subject of 
“carrying Cole to New Castle" gags), he spent his first erAvuov year doing car- 
toons from the East, then moved to a small town just outside Chicago in order 
to be closer to the magazine. In recent months, he had also created a successful 
newspaper strip, Betsy and Me, syndicated in 46 daily and Sunday newspapers. 

Jack Cole, almost certainly, was one of the half-dozen most talented American 
cartoonists of our time, and his style and technique were more admired by 
fellow cartoonists than anyone else's in the business. No other contributor to 
та лувоу could be more profoundly missed by this magazine's editors. To droll 
Jack Cole, finest of fellows and king of cartoonists, we bid a heartfelt hail and a 
final lond farewell 


COTY, THE ESSENCE OF BEAUTY THAT IS FRANCE 
COMPOUXDAO аяр GOPTANSKM IN THE ИА. BY соти, зне — 


CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE 


PLAYBILL RES Se Rr چ یر‎ ee کج اء ی کو و‎ 2 
DEAR 36 a o o OÓ— (E 3 
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS... РЕҢ —————ÀÀ 9 
THE MARVELOUS LOVER — fiction —À -------- -JOYCE ENGELSON 26 
ОН WELL WHAT THE НЕЦ —зайге е ----JOHN D. KEEFAUVER 30 
CHOICE CACHE FOR CHRISTMAS— gifts — MÀ! 33 
FAIR GAME—food.. - E — THOMAS MARIO 34 
WHAT'S THE BAD WORD?— article WILFRED FUNK 37 
PEEKABOO BRIGITTE—pictorial. ...___. ЫК ER Li 


THE JAM—fetlon.-.--- E ----------ВЕМЕҮ SLESAR 43 
THE SHAPELY MISS STALEY— playboy's playmate of the month... — Md 


PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor ..- € - 52 
A SOCK IN THE JAW—fiction. |... --.-...KEN PURDY 55 
SILVERSTEIN iN SWITZERLAND—pictorial === -SHEL SILVERSTEIN 56 
CUSTOM AT CHRISTMAS—gHts misses —M— M ы 
SINATRA — регвопашу - بیت‎ -....ROBERT GEORGE REISNER 62 
FUN AND FASHION ON SKIS~sport/oltire._________ ISELIN AND SPECTORSKY 67 
STUBBORN AS A MULE—ribold classic JACQUES REDELSPERGER 73 
THE CARDS ARE STACKED—pictoria! — LL! 


PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK—tavel == ____.._- PATRICK CHASE 96 


HUGH M. HEFNER editor and publisher 
A. С. SPECTORSKY associate publisher and advertising director 

KAY RUSSELL executive editor ARTHUR PAUL art director 
JACK J. KESSIE associate editor VINCENT T. TAJIRI picture editor 
VICTOR LOWNES ш promotion director JOHN MASTRO production manager 
ELDON SELLERS special projects KOBERT s. PREUSS circulation manager 
KEN моко contributing editor; FREDFRIC А. BIRMINGHAM fashion director; 
MAKE RUTHERFORD fashion editor; THOMAS MARIO food & drink editor; 
PATRICK CHASE travel editor; LEONARD FEATHER Jazz editor; ARLYNE BOURAS сору 
editor: ВАТ rares editorial assistant; JERKY WHITE. JOSEPH W. PACZER assistant art 


directors; FERN A. HEARTEL production assistant; ANSON MOU 1 college bureau; JANET 
тишим reader service; WALTER J. HOWARTH subscription fulfillment. manager. 


t orici; 


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PURELY COINCIDENTAL CREDITS: COVER PHOTO 


counresy 
SPORTS, DARTMOUTH Seis 


(E. PORATH а MACHEMEIM 
, ART DENNETT SKI SHOP, CHICAGO SKI SHOP. SPORT ONERMETER 


auus тат. 


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a avol. 5, no. 11 — november, 1958 


>. Porter С. Dobey, Hell, his name is Porter С. Dobey., *' 


THE MARVELOUS LOVER 


Рт chasing Jou, she said; andthe said 
Др, where shally г “plan to be caught? 


H was a marvelous lover. You know, the real thing 

in bed. No gentleman, though; I mean, he stank in a 4 : + 
revolving door and in an elevator he was absolutely hope- РА 
less. But, Lord, he had all this terrifyingly кшн equip- 5. 
ment and nothing, nothing, fazed Вип... on the floor, 

_in a chair, on top of a desk, leave it © him to figure 
something out. At a soda fountain (and don't think sodas | 

` were beneath him), he was shy, embarrassed, even. gro- › 
tesque, but making love, he had maddening control and 
strength and tenderness. Well, he was pretty interested 
in making love. 

When 1 met him, and. I really knew him only briefly 
(по matter what had ensued I'd only have known him 
briefly; believe me, Гт/25 over-civilized as the next girl), 

+ he was about 45 and he'd been exercising that marvelous 
body of his (which in its way was as laconic as his speech) 
for almost a quarter of a century. He was, you might say, 
pretty much practised. Though, God knows, you always. 
felt like the first one, full of delight and every time bet: 
ter than the last (which personally always makes me ` 
wonder nervously, about the last time). His name was à 


Everybody in the business called him Dobey so I called 
him Porter — you know, just to be cute. I thought it was 
cute calling him Porter. He didn't react to that one way 
or the other. I mean, there was no way of making special į 
private romances with that guy. ‘He j just didn't react . j 
except naked, ай five foot eleven of him, with you inl Wis г 

i x ЕР | { i 


fiction By JOYCE ENGELSON 


ILLUSTRATION BY CARL KOCK 


PLAYBOY 


28 


arms, wrapped round him like a god- 
damned curling iron. 

He was very lean and looked taller 
even than he was, very American look- 
ing, you know, really American looking: 
lousy posture, sloping shoulders, wonder- 
ful flat rich chest like a flank steak. 
1 always remember him as sort of bald- 
ing but really he was more grizzled than 
balding, with this grayish fringy stuff 
absolutely all around and on top of his 
great head, but you know, it was sort 
of thin fringy stuff. And then there was 
this goddamned beard. Yes, he had a 
goddamned beard. I don't know but 
what he thought it was a Samson thing 
with that beard and if he shaved it, 
there'd be по more fun measuring with 
the copper pennies . . . but anyway, 
there was the fact of that beard. Person- 
ally, 1 liked it. It gave a girl something 
to talk about in those deep, moonlit 
stretches of desert which were conversa- 
tion with Porter G. Dobey. 

The Lord knows he could've made 
love for a living. But he didn't, (Not 
to give the wrong impression; if he 
could've earned his bread that way, I 
don't believe he would have. There was 
no abuse of love anywhere in his very 
extensive, very loving vocabulary.) Mat- 
ter of fact, he ran a bookstore. I never 
knew if he owned it, maybe he owned 
part of it. There was an ancient, little 
man around sometimes, with a dirty eye- 
patch, whom Porter called his partner. 
But you can be sure if Porter Dobey 
owned a part of anything, it was the 
part with the couch. 

I'd been in the book business myself 
but that's not how I met him. Га just 
wandered in there a couple of times, 
poking around at things, looking for 
magazines with my own stories in them, 
like Marcel Proust checking through 
Figaro to sce if they'd printed his article 
yet. The shop was comfortable, not even 
shabby, just nice. I liked it. And we 
used to chat amiably. I did a lot of talk 
ing (1 always did a lot of talking in 
those days, especially in bed, always a 
bad thing) and Porter did a lot of listen- 
ing and maybe a little grunting now 
and then. I don't think he even knew 
my name. Listen, I don't think he ever 
knew my name. What the hell would a 
name matter to bim? 

After a while, whenever 1 was de 
pressed about my beau whose name was 
Henry Shoemaker and who con- 
sistently depress aybe bored with 
my job (which was unimaginably sexless 
in spite of or maybe because of the 
numcrable passes thrown at me there) 
or just generally in the mood for ап 
atmosphere of silent electricity, 1 used 
to stop in at Porter's shop and have a 
cigarette with him. My cigarettes mostly. 
Well, once he bought me a cup of coffee 
and once he bought me a soda but 1 
believe that was the extent of his ex- 


penditure on my behalf — if you wanted 
Porter Dobcy's company, you came with 
your own food, drink, money, cigarettes 
and any other supplies you thought you 
might require for your pleasure or your 
security. Well, in the book business, any 
end of it, a girl takes care of herself. 
Or learns to. 

‘The thing that was so terrific and so 
damned exciting about him, especially 
to a sexy girl with spectacles, was that 
Porter absolutely never made а pass or 
а pinch at you. He was just majestically 
charged, fused, unperturbed, unhurrying. 
ready to go off (though the way he 
made love, this is maybe a poor descrip- 
tion of his prowess). Oh, once he bent 
down, casual as hell, and kissed me. It 
was a kind of kiss I can't even describe. 
Except that it was perfect in itself. It 
wasn't so damned casual that you'd take 
it for nothing or for paternalism or gen- 
eral friendliness. On the other hand, it 
didn't necessarily have to lead to any- 
thing else. It was just a complete, de- 
lightful, thoroughly physical embrace in 
itself. And that was it. No clutchings or 
pantings or pats and no words. Just 
a kis. And that's how I took it. Just a 
kiss. 

And it could've gone on like that for- 
ever. He didn't bore easily, in bed or 
out, which is, I always tl a sign of 
character. 1 mean, we're all contempo- 
тагу enough to know there's nothing 
sexy, at all, about those treacherous 
tle men who go about taking what 
they can get (and not taking it with 
much finesse mostly) and getting tired 
of it once it’s been taken. Porter Dobey 
liked women, really liked them. And 
when he liked them he liked them and 
if you'd signed on for a cruise with him 
or a whaling expedition or just a day 
sail you'd signed on and he'd be happy 
to have you aboard and a bit of you 
every day — if you could arrange it. 

And there's one more strange thing. 
not about him — though maybe it was 
something about him — but really about 
gs about him. You just didn't 
ои. You knew if you were sleep- 
ing with him, that he must be sleeping 
with other women; that if you were 

i holding companion, he 
had others, But you didn't feel jealous 
of those other women and I can vouch 
for that. I'm ordinarily as jealous a neu- 
rotic bitch as any other jealous, neurotic 
bitch. But 1 suppose there are explana- 
tions for this; maybe very complex ones. 
Maybe it was the fact that there was 
never any question of “I love you" in 
volved. If you took it as love, it was 
love; if you didn't, then it wasn't. I 
mean, it didn't matter. No verbiage, no 
messes to entangle or then detach. No 
tedious “I love you" or "do you love 

or "maybe I do love you." You 
just knew it was good. Whatever it was. 
But really 1 think the reason you didn't 


feel jealous was more the fact that you 
knew you were appreciated. Really ap- 
preciated. If Porter wanted you, you 
were worth wanting and valua 
delicious. He made you know it 
much better, than all the men 
world who say "I love you" in Ninth 
Symphony chorales. The truth was that 
Porter did love you: he desired you, he 
wanted his pleasure with you, he wanted 
to give you pleasure. (and made sure hc 
did) and when you were quite, quite 
done and smoking your cigarettes you 
knew he wanted you to come back. 
Wasn't it love? Maybe not. But it was 
heaven just the same. 

So, there we were — Porter and me — 
friends, no beds yet and none in our 
future, Just grunts and a kiss or so and 
that. voluptuous high crackling tension 
and me talking, For people in the book 
business we really didn't talk much 
about books. Porter did read. But he 
was not bookish. At all. And didn't like 
disquisitions on literature. He did teach 
me a lot of racing terms, though, and 
sometimes, in a very good, very languor- 
ous mood, he liked to talk about his 
favorite scene in his favorite book. 
Which was a predictable one, prety 
much, if you knew him. It was one of 
the last things in Tortilla Flat where 
Danny. “the good guy” Porter called 
him (and, you know, that should've told 
me more about Porter than | allowed 
myself to see otherwise) is dying and 
asks for a priest. When he's done with 
his conlession, though, the departing 
priest visibly. He's never 
heard a confession like it. Danny had 
led quite a Ше. Oh my God, Porter, 
what a sentime ist you were! 

Sometimes, when ] was in a low 
humor or tired or vulnerable or had 
gazed too much at that calm, long, 
sprawled-out body, I'd get wound up. 
maybe talk too fast or too much е 
for me. And then Porter would look at 
me, right at me, very leisurely, full of 
sweetness and he'd say, "Relax, honey. 
Meaning nothing very much. Or maybe 
meaning just "relax." And I usually did. 
And, perhaps, going along that w 
some year or some d like a sent 
mental, drunken Chri we would've 
got to bed anyway: but long belore then. 
like all the unrelaxed of the unive 
Га precipitated myself into his 
And here's how that happ 

l was, as I said, in love with a man 
named Henry Shoemaker. И was my 
first big love. I was absorbed, unhappy. 
ecstatic, nervous, and very badly treated. 
It had all the clements of a necessary 
fist great love. Half the time I м 
depressed when I went to see Porter 
it was because of that damned “cruel 
Henry” as 1 always thought of him. For 
one thing, Henry's cruelty consisted in 
the fact that he was married. He was 

(continued on page 12) 


“Гое been ready for over an hour — you might at least try 
to be on time for our first date.” 


29 


From the San Francisco poets — that beat breed of jazz-backdropped cellar- 
dwellers — the name of Lawrence Ferlinghetti stands out among such simi- 
larly standout names as Allen Ginsberg, Jack Kerouac, Kenneth Rexroth. 
Poets, pundits, hippies and chippies have hailed him; “He is quite possi- 
bly,” said jazz critic Ralph Gleason, “the most important poet now writing 
in America.” Satirist John Keefauver, a native of San Francisco's artiest ex- 
urb, Carmel, was fascinated by Ferlinghetti’s recent highly praised volume 
of verse, “А Coney Island of the Mind,” and has written for us an appre- 
ciative parody that not only echoes, joshes and synthesizes the original, but 
also comes comfortably close to being an insightful poem in its own right. 


In San Franciscotown 
there’s a cooled-up cat 
name of Lawrenched Forgetti 

(or something like that) 
who writes poetry 
street poetry 
walking-along poetry 

not the kind that sits around all day 

looking at its navel 
the oral message kind 
jazz poetry 
of the stepped- 
on 


beat 
complete 
telling you all about the icky square world 
with its 
drunk clotheslines 
grappling with hot legs 
in rollaway beds 
and its beat-up landscape of 
mindless supermarkets 
with steamheated carrots 
protesting 
a honeyless world of square toiletseats 
never sat on 
(even by las vegas virgins 
tampaxed and disowned) 
a world waiting for someone 
to push a mushroom button 
and make bombed cadillacs rain thru trees 


For cadillac ashes 
are what that square-type man 
was really wailing about 
when he kept talking and talking 
from that catless place 
name of Galilee 
only trouble was they cooled him 
until he was hanging dead 


e t^s 
a shame 
and we're to blame 
so our circus souls go marching on 
stuffed soldiers carrying a sawdust cross 


Oh well 
what the hell 


Like when they were putting up that statue 


in front of a church 
in San Franciscotown 
and not a goddam bird was singing 
и BL I mean 
oh well 
what the hell 
a sort of Like that man who painted 
The Horse with Violin in Mouth 
then jumped on the horse 
coney island and rode away 
waving that violin 
А and then of all the goddam things to do 
of the hind he gave it to a plugged-up virgin 
and there were no strings attached 
1 mean 
oh well 
what the hell — 


What Forgetti of San Franciscotown is trying to 
tell you 
yell to you 
is that this life ain't supposed to be a circus 
attended by 
governed by 
make-believe monks in silktights 
monkeys with teacuphandle tails 
horny hiawathas 
drinking out of horny-rimmed glasses 
lipsticked with yesterday's mud 
or dirty suds 
babooned ladies 
and gorillaed men 
ain't 
but it is 


We just gotta stop chomping down 
on these fake 


Last Suppers 
we gotta 


take the locks off our pants 
and start slaying old ladies 
and 
young lays 
and make the old ones young again 


John D. Keefanver 


and make the young ones late again 
making them all 

sweet 

and oh well 

what the hell 


уѕ we gotta arise 
even though we're not workers 
of any world 
of any thing 
we're not even of 
we're a not 
without a negative to hang our not on 


We're a can of sterno that won’t burn 
an empty bottle of muscatel 
we'd recite from broken bibles 
but we don't have a tongue 
we're sisters in the streets 
with our brassieres on backwards 
we're dogs listening for our master's voice 
we're Christmas trees with no balls 
we're Wise Men praising Lord Calvert whiskey 
we're Bing Crosby 
groaning 
we're hi-ya housewives 
veneered in nylon snobberies 
trying to lacquer-up all the scenes 
in a whorehouse 
with no whores 
just bores 
sores 
and unfound doors 
sunk 
junk 
when we let fall a sock 
it clanks 


we gotta do is goose George Washington 
in the seat of his cherry tree 
and then give Joan a pat 
on her Arc 


We have only dishonorable intentions 
not to mention 
disintentions 


we're dis people plainly 


In short 
we're constipations 


But 
as Forgetti says 


Oh well 
what the hell 


RY WHITE 


HOTOGRAPH В 


c 
Nie MSN ‘ob 


ERAEN 


OK Заро, 


Te i 


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FAIR GAME 


food ву ТНОМАЅ MARIO 


hearty holiday menus from the forest primeval 


г А MATTER OF DAYS now, certain men 
in practically every state of the union 
will be tromping out of the woods with 
dogs and guns, their game bags filled 
to the legal limit with things furred 
and feathered, That they will have en- 
joyed the hunt there is no doubt — but 
whether their fallen quarry will put 
them in ecstasy as tasty table fare is 


something else again. Too often does the 
ring-necked pheasant turn out tough as 
timber, the mud hen muddy, the wild 
duck dry as Ibsen's play of the same name. 


This culinary anticlimax, which oc- 
curs year in, year out, is completely un- 
necessary, since just a little care and 
savvy is all that is required to do justice 
to the fine flesh found in fields and for- 
ests. By drawing and skinning your game 
carefully, by ripening for the proper 
amount of time before cooking, and by 
styling your cookery to the game's age, 
you can be sure of avoiding most of the 
pitfalls that may make your victory Pyr- 
rhic as all get-out. 

Let's face it: much of the game con- 


sumed nowadays is bought in gourmet 
butcher shops or is ordered from mail- 
order game farms. The quality and ten- 
derness of such game is uniformly 
excellent because it's raised under con- 
trolled conditions. Everything from 
boar to pheasant is now sold in cans or 
jars. For men who love their Hasen- 
pfefler, for example, frozen rabbit all 
ready for the stewing pan is now widely 
sold at frozen food counters. The fact 
that game connoisseurs are quite willing 
(continued on page 46) 


PAINTING FOR PLAYBOY BY CHUCK WOOD 


PLAYBOY 


36 


Сойала Nom 


""There's another one of those abominable mountain climbers.” 


article ву WILFRED FUNK 


WHAT’S THE BAD WORD? уч! 


leave it to the girls: they ve made nice words 
naughty and sometimes vice versa 


yous AT THIS cocktail party, and you 
and four other guys are off in one cor- 
ner yacking it up. It seems that all of 
you have some pretty terrific jokes 
to unload — some proper, some not so 
proper — and you are quite a spectacu- 
lar island of jollity. 

Needless to say. some girl sidles up 
and joins the circle. 

"Let me in on the fun," she says 
brightly. “What was that ‘about the 
blind man and the Siamese twins?” 

And right away everything is differ- 
ent — not so much because she busted 
in on the middle of something, but be- 
cause she is a woman. The jokes get 
cleaner or dirtier, depending on the 
girl. One thing is inescapable: she is a 
catalyst: she changes things. 

Now. it happens that one of the men 
is a philologist, a student of language, 
and he resents this power of women to 
prance in and change things. Matter of 
fact, she bad interrupted his prize joke. 
Consequently, he is very bitter. 

“You females have a talent for lous- 
ing things up." he says ungallantly. "In- 
cluding the very language we speak. 
For instance, do you know what a har- 
lot is?" 

Somewhat taken aback, the young 
lady bravely replies that she does. 

“But do you know what a harlot used 
to be?" the language buff inquires. "No, 
you do not." And he then proceeds to 
expatiate on a strange fact about the 
English language: again and again, when 
a word describes a woman, it starts out 
with an innocent, or even a lofty, con- 
notation; then, as the centuries go by, 
it becomes debased. 

In the 14th Century the word harlot 
was applied often to men; it had no 
very bad sense and meant simply a fel- 
low. "He was a gentil harlot and a 
kind," Chaucer writes. Then the women 
took it over, and look what happened 
to it. 

The word wench has much the same 
history. At first it meant an infant of 
either sex. Because it also implied weak- 


ness, it became attached to the female 
alone; and from that time on it went 
downhill. A present-day wench is gen- 
erally full-grown, but not the sort of 
girl you'd bring home for Sunday din- 
ner, 

Or take the word madam. It stems 
from the Latin mea domina, “my lady,” 
and was at one time a title of great re- 
spect. Nowadays a madam can be the 
boss of a disreputable business establish- 
ment. 

А courtesan was originally а respecta- 
ble female member of court circles. After 
a while she was not so respectable, Like- 
wise, mistress was once an honorable 
title. Again, in less-exalted social circles, 
Middle English huswife, meaning a per- 
fectly ordinary housewife, has become 
the modern hussy, an insolent woman. 
Or the word tart. It used to be a term 
of endearment — something sugary and 
tasty. like an apple tart. 

“И you think that's what it means to- 
day," the philologist concludes triumph- 
antly, "you move in strange circles. And 
there you have it — you women are pull- 
ing the language right into the gutter." 

The young lady bursts into tears. 
"Gee, you make me feel terrible," she 
sobs. "How can I ever live this down? 
How can I ever find out what happened 
to the blind man and the Siamese 
twins?" 

Actually, she is much more distressed 
than need be. The angry philologist did 
not dwell on the fact, but, curiously 
enough, the opposite linguistic process 
has also been at work: words that used 
to have most unflattering connotations 
about women have now become alto- 
gether harmless. 

For instance, let us suppose, you lucky 
stiff, that a bevy of cute, pretty girls, all 
in lace, allure and enchant you with 
their charms and inveigle you to their 
quarters. Now, there's nothing in that 
sentence that could alarm you; in fact, 
it all sounds very pleasant. But a few 
centuries ago such a statement would 

(concluded on page 95) 


pictorial 


ШЙ EA 
BRIGITTE З 


collected bardot, 


unexpurgated 


One Bardot breast sees the light of day in a 
sweater-switching sequence the producers of 
The Light Across the Street were thoughtful 
enough to write into the script. BB, below, 
does a Vikki Dougan by displaying a bit of 
reverse cleavage in this barefoot-girl-with- 
cheeks-of-tan shot from And God Created Wo- 
All done with mirrors: au naturel under that shawl, Brigitte reveals man. Mademoiselle Bardot is conveniently 
nifty nude nates in an erotic dance for The Woman and the Puppet. un-underweared, a regular custom with her. 


THE BB USED TO BE a small pellet of lead 
used by sub-adolescent boys in their 
Daisy air rifles, but a young French lady 
with those initials has effected a com- 
plete semantic switch and made the let- 
ters her very own. She's accomplished 
this by dint of her prettiness, her pert- 
ness and her penchant for appearing in 
motion pictures in a state of undaunted 
undress. Not that she has ever gone com- 
pletely jaybirdsville in any of her movies, 
more's the pity, but parts of her have. 
She has let slip a towel from a bit of 
behind in one film, blithely bared a 
breast or two in another, undraped an 
umbilicus in yet another, and flashed 
finely-fashioned thoroughbred limbs in 
all. The sum total of all these parts, if 
one has a retentive mind (we do, when 
it really counts), is The Compleat Brigitte 
in top-to-toe, fore-and-aft, clockwise-and- 
counterclockwise nudity. Since every 
U.S. cinema-lover may not have been 
fortunate enough to see Brigitte's films 
in all their original uncut glory, we have 
assembled on these pages a kind of an- 
thology of her most handsome hunks, 
selected from her more prominent pic- 
tures. This is a public service feature. 


No scene is too solemn for sexy BB. The film is In Case of Emergency, the grim gent is Jean Gabin, and 
the catsup flows like wine as Bardot bares a “bloody” bosom while portraying the coolest of “cadavers.” 


Playful as a pair of pups, Brigitte and Henri Vidal 
romp and rollick in these fun-filled frames snipped 
from La Parisienne. Having taken a shower, BB wraps 
her chassis in a towel apràs le déluge. Her admirer, 
virile Vidal, frowning on such maidenly modesty, 
boldly exposes а high percentage of the Bardot body. 


PLAYBOY 


42 


MARVELOUS LOVER (continued from page 28) 


obviously, apparently, and tiresomely, 
bored with his wife. But they had three 
children. And more than the responsi- 
bility of this was the responsibility of 
Henry's pompous morality by which he 
had, when he'd fallen in love with his 
wife and married her, insisted that this 
was the great romance of the ages. lt 
was it. Everything. Alpha and Omega. 
The end, the beginning. A to Z. Oh 
hell. I could go on about Henry Shoe- 
maker and make you hate him the way 
I wanted everyone to, But this isn't his 
story, not really. It's really Porter's story. 
So, Henry, to be brief, had got himself 
caught inextricably in the Great Ro- 
mance and he couldn't get out. Not for 
me anyway. In the beginning Га been 
thrilled at the absolute glamor of being 
in love with a married man. 1 was young 
and I really wasn't crazy to get married 
myself and it all seemed, the deceit 
even, very exciting and the real aqua 
lung vision of adult life. 

But after a while, it got to be exhaust- 
ing. And then after it got exhausting, 
it got depressing and boring. And then, 
when I discovered Henry Shoemaker's 
morality didn't prevent him from carry- 
ing on with several other women, it got 
to be very saddening. And when I found 
out that he'd really fallen in love with 
someone else and was buying her pres 
ents and jewelry and all sorts of whorey 
goings-on like that, I was suicidal. And, 
suicidal, I thought of Porter. 

Now there was someone to comfort 
and solace me. There was someone to 
complain to who wouldn't give a damn, 
who would just listen and sympathize. 
But in the back of my mind, and not ter- 
ribly submerged either, was the thought 
that the only known way to get over one 
man was to fall in love with another. 
And who better than Porter? It never 
occurred to me that he might say no. 
And it would be wonderful and exciting 
and a bit scary too. I had been rather 
little girl and withdrawing and really 
virginal with Henry but that had been 
serious, This would be different. It 
would be a real adventure. I'd try it 

And I had a terrific sneaking desire 
to know how I'd come out. Would I be 
any good? Could I, with no experience, 
and not much imagination, take on such 
a venture? Or would I be laughed at? 
Rejected after brief trial? In the heart- 
pounding, stomach lightening (in sor- 
row one’s stomach positively leadens) 
excitement of my plan, I almost forgot 
Henry altogether. I called Porter on the 
phone. Which was unusual. He must've 
realized this but he didn't point it out. 
He took it the way I believed he took 
everything . . . пісе and easy. That's the 
way to live, I told myself. 

“I'm inviting you to lunch, Porter.” 

“Good. Where are you taking me?" 


“Wherever you say. Porter . . « 

“Uh-huh.” 

"I'm chasing you, Porter." 

"Fine. Where shall 1 plan to be 
caught?” 

So we met and we had lunch and 1 
prepared myself with three martinis. A 
dose way over my head. But I didn't 
get sick. Though I think I could have 
without putting a crick in my plans. 
Porter was good about things like that. 
And I took off my glasses. Which was 
really arch. But he was sweet. He didn't 
even smile. And, hell, baby though 1 
was, and drunk, and so on, I have my 
charms. I flirted with him, very nice. I 
talked about sex. Negatively. 1 don't 
know why this struck me as the way to 
begin. It just did. I pointed out all the 
reasons why I didn't think it would be 
a good plan for me to fall for him. 
He looked surprised. And then I told 
him why I'd be absolutely fatal for him 
to fall for, lousy and neurotic and a 
demanding, impossible lover. He still 
looked surprised. But less so. And after 
a while, we were both talking like this. 
And finally Porter said: "How about 
today, honey?" 

I didn't even point out how we'd 
been saying why we weren't going to. 
1 just nodded. It seemed the logical end 
to this conversation. 

Porter ran his finger down my nose. 
a gentle, humorous gesture; otherwise, 
he hardly touched me as he said: "I 
think we should. And I think we should 
soon. And 1 think I'll love you good." 

Well, now I'd got where I wanted to 
but I was pretty much scared. 1 looked 
at him. Attractive, attracting, as hell, 
but much more than that: terrifically 
virile and adult. And I was even more 
scared of welching. I had a vague idea 
of being whelped for it. So I didn't 
welch. And he didn't. And we did. And, 
anyway, it was marvelous. Like I said. 
He was a marvelous lover. 

And after that, it wasn't so different, 
except when I came to see him, we made 
love first and afterward we talked about 
Steinbeck and "out West" and his arrow- 
head collection. And he made it all very 
easy. I mean he made it easy for a girl 
to be wonderful and self-respectful. You 
didn't make scenes or get difficult. Not 
because he disciplined you. Just because 
you didn’t need to or want to. He was 
rarely rude. Or abrupt. Always win- 
ningly welcoming. He'd see me and take 
my hand in his, very big and warm and 
holding. He never talked sex. He just 
lived it. Very big and big boned and 
fiat stomached. The closest he ever came 
to saying anything to me at all about 
us was one morning. I was sitting on the 
floor at the back of the store which was 
curtained off from the front where the 
customers browsed and bought. He had 


some real old, silly old, books back there 
and I was sitting on the floor and sort 
of leafing through an absurd novel of 
40 years ago. He came out from be- 
hind his desk and crouched down, real 
low and almost on top of me. But he 
didn’t touch me. He just looked at me. 
And then he took one hand, so big it 
covered my whole face and he touched 
my face and my hair. And then he said, 
with only the very slightest touch of 
self-consciousness: 

“I do want you very much. But I 
don't know why. You're not even so 
very pretty." 

I'd guessed it was a compliment, and 
it was, rather an intimate one, almost 
unintentional, so I decided not to be 
insulted or rather to think about the 
insulting part later. And always, after- 
ward, and even now, it's seemed to me 
that what he'd really said was: you're 
very pretty. And maybe he had. 

The length of time we were lovers 
doesn't matter much. It could have been 
short or long or neither. Comes to the 
same thing really because Porter, vital 
himself, vitalized his relationships re- 
newingly You know, one’s love with 
him just didn't suck its nourishment out 
of that absurd, cliché-ridden, botanical 
simulacrum which wilting wooers think 
all love should bear: a tender beginning, 
a lush middle, and a withering death. 
No, if a relationship with Porter ended, 
it had to do with an event, a matter, 
quite outside the tongue-burning ecstatic 
circle of passion with him. And, come 
to think of it, that was love with Porter: 
a circle. Not a lone line, stretching from 
A to Z like my poor Henry Shoemaker 
thought or from A to B if you weren't 
lucky! No, with Porter, it was a hoop, 
a continuum, a perfect form (what, ir- 
reverently, comes to mind is one of those 
pornographic finger rings where a man 
and a woman or a daisy chain wick- 
edly romp in engraved idleness, forever 
linked, around' the wearer's finger). Oh, 
Porter, loving you was a ring of good 
feeling, a circle of touch-me, a ball of 
flames, a sphincter of delight. And then, 
to be vulgar, as in moments of dis- 
pleasure, the human spirit is so often 
vulgar: Porter G. Dobey squared the 
circle, But not in any way ог for any 
reason that I could ever have predicted. 
Actually, in loving him, 1 had, unknow- 
ingly, always been one small corner of 
a square; but, as I say, that was unknow- 
ingly. No, Porter would not have tired 
easily nor broken off our relationship, 
with words or without, for any ordinary 
or conjurable combinations of guilt, rea- 
son, practicality, boredom or distaste. 

Which is why his manner on that 
strange, last, everlasting day, though 
only subtly different, as though the tem- 
perature of a natural body had fallen 

(continued on page 88) 


like an enormous reptile it curled over the highway 


THEY LEFT STUKEY's PAD around eight in 
the morning; that was the kind of week- 
end it had been. Early to bed, early to 
rise. Stukey laughed, squinting through 
the dirt-stained windshield of the bat- 
tered Ford, pushing the pedal until the 
needle swung 20, 30 miles over the speed 
limit. It was all Mitch’s fault, but Mitch, 
curled up on the seat beside him like 
an embryo in a black leather womb, 
didn't seem to care. He was hurting too 
much, needing the quick jab of the 
sharp sweet point and the hot flow of 
the stuff in his veins. Man, what a week- 
end, Stukey thought, and it wasn't over 
yet. The fix was out there, someplace in 
the wilds of New Jersey, and Stukey, 
who never touched the filthy stuff him- 
self, was playing good Samaritan. He 
hunched over the wheel like Indianapo- 
lis, pounding the born with the heel 
of bis right hand, shouting at the pass- 
ing cars to move over, move over you 
son of a bitch, watch where you're go- 
ing, stupid, pull over, pull over, you 
lousy... 3 

“You tell "ет, man," Mitch said softly, 
“you tell 'em what to do.” 

Stukey didn’t tell them, he showed 


fiction ву HENRY SLESAR 


them. He skinned the paint off a Buick 
as he snaked in and out of the line, 
and crowded so close to the tail of an 
MG that he could have run right over 
the little red wagon, Mitch began to 
giggle, urging him on, forgetting for the 
moment his destination and his need, 
delighting in the way Stukey used the 
car like a buzz saw, slicing a path 
through the squares in their Sunday driv- 
ing stupor. “Look out, man,” Mitch 
cackled, “here comes old Stukey, here 


The traffic artery was starting to clot 
at the entrance to the tunnel, and 
Stukey poured it on, jockeying the car 
first left and then right, grinning at the 
competitive game. Nobody had a chance 
to win with Stukey at the controls; 
Stukey could just shut his eyes and gun 
her; nobody else could do that. They 
made the tunnel entrance after side- 
swiping a big yellow Caddy, an episode 
that made Mitch laugh aloud with glee. 
They both felt better after that, and 
the tunnel was cool after the hot morn- 
ing sun. Stukey relaxed a little, and 
Mitch stopped his low-pitched giggling, 
content to stare hypnotically at the blur 


PLAYBOY 


of white tiles. 

“I hope we find that fix, man,” Mitch 
said dreamily. "My cousin, he says that's 
the place to go. How long you think, 
Stukey? How long?" 

Whish! A Chevy blasted by him on the 
other lane, and Stukey swore. Whish! 
went an Oldsmobile, and Stukey bore 
down on the accelerator, wanting his 
revenge on the open road outside the 
tunnel. But the tunnel wound on, end- 
lessly, longer than it ever had before. 
Tt was getting hot and hard to breathe; 
little pimples of sweat covered his face 
and trickled down into his leather col- 
lar; under the brassstudded coat, the 
sport shirt clung damply to his back and 
underarms. Mitch started to whine, and 
got that wide-eyed fishmouth look of his, 
and he gasped: "Man, I'm suffocating, 
I'm passing ош..." 

"What do you want me to do?" 
Stukey yelled. Still the tunnel wound 
on. Whish! went the cars in the parallel 
lane, and Stukey cursed his bad choice, 
cursed the heat, cursed Mitch, cursed all 
the Sundays that ever were. He shot a 
look at the balcony where the cops 
patrolled the traffic, and decided to take 
a chance. He slowed the car down to 
35, and yanked the wheel sharply to the 
right to slip the car into a faster lane, 
right in front of a big. children-filled 
station wagon. Even in the tunnel roar 
they could hear its driver's angry shout, 
and Stukey told him what he could do 
with his station wagon and his children. 
Still the tunnel wound on. 

They saw the hot glare of daylight 
at the exit. Mitch moaned in relief, but 
nothing could soften Stukey's ire. They 
came out of the tunnel and turned onto 
the highway, only to jerk to a halt be- 
hind a station wagon with a smelly 
exhaust. "Come on, come on!" Stukey 
muttered, and blew his horn. But the 
horn didn't start the cars moving, and 


Stukey, swearing, opened the door and 
had himself a look. 

"Oh, man, man, they're stacked up 
for miles!" he groaned. "You wouldn't 
believe it, you wouldn't think it's pos- 
ШЫЎ..." 

“What is it?” Mitch said, stirring in 
his seat. “What is it, accident?” 

“I dunno, I can’t see a thing. But 
they just ain't movin’, not a foot ——” 

“I'm sick,” Mitch groaned. “I'm sick, 
Stukey.” 

"Shut up! Shut up!" Stukey said, hop- 
ping out of the car to stare at the sight. 
again, at the ribbon of automobiles van- 
ishing into a horizon 10, 15 miles away. 
Like one enormous reptile it curled over 
the highway, a snake with multicolored 
skin, lying asleep under the hot sun. 
He climbed back in again, and the sta- 
tion wagon moved an inch, a foot, and 
greedily, he stomped the gas pedal to 
gobble up the gap. A trooper on a mo- 
torcycle bounced between the lanes, and 
Stukey leaned out of the window to 
shout at him, inquiring; he rumbled on 
implacably. The heat got worse, furnace- 
like and scorching, making him yelp 
when his hands touched metal. Savagely, 
Stukey hit the horn again, and heard a 
dim chorus ahead. Every few minutes, 
the station wagon jumped, and every 
few minutes, Stukey closed the gap. But 
an hour accumulated, and more, and 
they could still see the tunnel exit be- 
hind them. Mitch was whimpering now, 
and Stukey climbed in and out of the 
car like a madman, his clothes sopping 
with sweat, his eyes wild, cursing when- 
ever he hit the gas pedal and crawled 
another inch, another foot forward . . . 

"A cop! A cop!" he heard Mitch 
scream as a trooper, on foot, marched 
past the window. Stukey opened the car 
door and caught the uniformed arm. 
"Help us, will ya?" he pleaded. "What 
the hell's going on here? How do we get 


outa this?" 

"You don't," the trooper said curtly. 
"You can't get off anyplace. Just stick 
it out, mac.” 

“We'll even leave the goddam car. 
We'll walk, for God's sake. I don't care 
about the goddam сат..." 

"Sorry, mister. Nobody's allowed off 
the highway, even on foot. You can’t 
leave this heap here, don’t you know 
that?" He studied Stukey's sweaty face, 
and grinned suddenly. "Oh, I get it. 
You're new here, ain't you?" 

"What do you mean, new?" 

"I thought I never saw you in the Jam 
before, pal. Well, take it easy, fella." 

"How long?” Stukey said hoarsely, 
"How long you think?" 

“That's a stupid question," the 
trooper sneered. "Forever, of course. 
Eternity. Where the hell do you think 
you are?” He jabbed a finger into 
Stukey's chest. "But don't give me a 
hard time, buster. That was your own 
wreck back there.” 

“Wreck?” Mitch rasped from inside 
the car. “What wreck? What's he talkin’ 
about, man?” 

“The wreck you had in the tunnel.” 
He waved his gloved hand toward the 
horizon. "That's where all these jokers 
come from, the tunnel wrecks. If you 
think this is bad, you ought to see the 
Jam on the turnpike.” 

“Wreck? Wreck?” Mitch screamed, as 
Stukey climbed behind the wheel. 
“What's he talking about wrecks for, 
Stukey?” 

"Shut up, shut up!" Stukey sobbed, 
pounding his foot on the gas pedal to 
gain yet another inch of road, “We 
gotta get outa here, we gotta get out!” 
But even when the station wagon jerked 
forward once more, he knew he was 
asking for too much, too late. 


45 


“It’s really lovely, but I wonder about the ‘Easy Terms. " 


FAIR GAME 


to pay $16 for a brace of pheasants from 
a game preserve shows something of the 
value they put on the uniquely luscious 
taste of game. But there are those purists 
— and some Brillo-breasted buckos — who 
get an added clout from bagging their 
own dinners, many of them guys who, 
except during hunting season, are un- 
bloodthirsty, indoor types. For these, the 
following facts of wild life are noted. 

First of all, the knowing Nimrod must 
never forget the simple fact that his 
game is shot. When lead pierces the in- 
nards of beast or bird, it can cause un- 
digested food to spoil the adjacent flesh. 
Food left in the crop alongside the neck 
may taint the wild meat. It's important 
then for the gunner-gourmet to draw his 
quarry as soon as possible. To draw game 
merely means to remove the innards. If 
you can't do it yourself, you'll often find 
butchers, suppliers, hausfraus or guides 
in well-known game areas who will per- 
form this scullery work for you. 

If you decide to draw the birds right 
in the field, it isn't necessary to pluck 
them immediately. Merely remove 
enough feathers from the neck and tail 
end to allow a reasonable working area. 
With your hunting knife make a slit 
alongside the neck, and remove the crop 
and windpipe. Cut another slit from the 
end of the breastbone to the tail, and 
remove the internal organs. Don't wash 
the bird, merely wipe it dry. 

If it's a hefty buck you've knocked 
down, the easiest solution, of course, is 
to take your kill to the butcher near- 
est your camp, and ask him to skin, gut 
and cut the venison into pieces that will 
fit into your range or food freezer. How- 
ever, if you are bound and determined 
to Do It Yourself, here’s how you Do It: 
make your incision at the top of the 
chest and draw it down vertically to and 
around the tail. Pull the flesh to the side, 
and remove the lungs, heart, stomach 
and intestines. Wipe the adjacent flesh 
clean with a slightly moistened rag, and 
keep the torso spread open for airing 
with small branches until the body heat 
has dissipated. It is best not to skin the 
animal at once, but to leave it in the 
hide until it is aged and ready for 
butchering, or at least until it can be 
aged under semi-refrigeration. If this is 
the case, and you do postpone skinning, 
you must remove the musk glands be- 
hind the leg and upper thigh of the 
animal, or they will spoil the meat along 
the entire shank. This is easily accom- 
plished, as they are located between the 
skin and flesh on the hind legs of the 
animal, and can be pulled out with little 
difficulty from a vertical incision. Once 
the animal is ready for skinning — which 
certainly shouldn't be until you've re- 
turned from your trip—complete the 


(continued from page 35) 


cut you've made to remove the innards, 
extending it to the bottom of the chin, 
and remove the hide by pulling up and 
out. To remove the hide from the legs, 
cut along the inside of them, starting 
from just above the hoof and running to 
the center cut you haye made in the 
torso, The head and hooves, of course, 
should be severed. 

If your hunting trail isn't too far 
from your home, you can defer the job 
of drawing the game until you've re- 
turned. Often the butcher or chef in 
your own club kitchen, or any compe- 
tent restaurant chef, will be able to take 
care of all cleaning operations. But in 
any event, as soon as the game is brought 
down. it should be kept as cool and well 
ventilated as possible. Don't throw the 
birds or small animals while they're still 
warm in an airless heap inside your 
game bag. Keep the birds hanging scpa- 
rately as long as possible. Don't toss your 
deer over the front fender right along- 
side the engine heat, particularly on a 
warm day, and then begin driving sev- 
eral hundred miles to your destination. 
If you do, you may find that you've 
crossed the line between ripe and rotten 
when you sit down to your roast saddle 
of venison. 

Unlike fish, which should be trans- 
ferred right from the hook to the frying 
pan, game must be aged before it's eaten. 
If it isn’t hung, it will be flattasting, 
coarse and tough. In Scotland, pheasants 
are hung until they almost drop from 
the hook. In America our tolerance for 
the mature fragrance of aged game is 
more limited. Sportsmen, in years gone 
by, were in the habit of aging their game 
outdoors, hanging it for days from the 
branch of a tree, a tent pole, a cornice or 
any other presumably cool place where 
its individual flavor could develop. The 
hazards of this old practice, still followed 
in some sections of the country, are 
countless. An occasional spell of hot 
weather can quickly ruin a man's entire 
- Vannints and insects can attack the 
hanging meat. Against their depredations 
hunters still douse birds with ground 
pepper, tie mosquito netting around 
small game animals or hang them from 
extra-tall trees, Game boxes, small con- 
traptions with screens of fine mesh wire, 
are helpful if you're too many miles 
Пот civilization. The best practice. how- 
ever, is to age your game in the refriger- 
ator. It takes a little longer than outdoor 
aging, but it's infinitely safer. If the re- 
frigerator temperature is set from 38° to 
42°, the game will mature morc satisfac- 
torily than at a $2° to 36* temperature. 
Naturally, a butcher's walk-in refrigerator 
here the game пау hang in cool air 
circulated by a blower does a better job 
than a small, crowded bachelor's refrig- 


erator. Usually upland game birds like 
pheasant, quail or grouse should be aged 
from three to six days depending on in- 
dividual taste. Wild ducks should be 
aged two to three days. Venison should 
be aged from one to two weeks. 

In choosing a particular recipe. it's 
extremely important to know the age of 
the game you're about to prepare. Un- 
less you can recognize the signs of ma- 
turity, you'll be in the position of the 
man who invites his chums to a dinner 
of broiled squab and then discovers that 
what he's serving tastes like old soup 
fowl. One of the distinctive signs of age 
in a bird is the end of the breastbone. 
In a young bird, it's soft and may be 
twisted easily. In older birds the tip of 
the breastbone is quite rigid. The feet 
and shanks are another sign. Theyre 
pliable and smooth in a young bird but 
coarse and rough in older fowl. The 
claws of a young bird are quite sharp; 
as the bird grows old, the claws become 
blunted. The end wing feathers are 
pointed in a young specimen and some- 
what rounded in an older bird. When 
judging waterfowl, note that the wind- 
pipe of the young is soft; as they mature, 
it becomes less pliable. In estimating the 
age of a rabbit, the ears and lips are 
your clues; the ears of the young are very 
soft, and the cleft in the upper lip is 
more definitely outlined than in an older 
hare. The age of deer. of course, is indi- 
cated by the antlers; one spike for a 
year-old decr, two for a two-year-old, 
and so on. 

Once youve determined that your 
game is young, you can choose the dry 
forms of cookery which are normally 
used in preparing tender meat, such as 
broiling or roasting. If game is old, it 
must always be cooked by moist heat 
as in braising, stewing or boiling (al- 
though the latter is rarely used in game 
cookery). Certain young game animals 
like rabbit or woodchuck may be cooked 
by either method. The tender cuts of 
venison like the rack or loin may be 
broiled or roasted, while the tough cuts 
like the chuck should be stewed. 

Game birds tend to be dry and lean 
in their natural state. To compensate 
lor this dryness most birds which are 
roasted are usually covered with a thin 
layer of salt pork, larding pork or bacon. 
Aluminum foil or a double thickness of 
cheesecloth dipped in salad oil may be 
used to prevent excessive drying when a 
fierce oven heat is used. During cooking, 
the birds may be brushed with butter or 
oil. Basting with stock or chicken broth 
is an aid in retaining natural juices. The 
clectric rotisserie in which the bird is 
self-basted as it revolves before the heat 
is an excellent piece of equipment for 
the modern рате cook. 

Your first taste of game may be quite 

(continued on page 77) 


The Shapely Miss Staley 


a channel charmer in compatible color 


Television tidbit Joan Staley pauses 
for а windblown moment outside CBS, 
at left; digs directorial data, above. 


" L n INI OU'VE PROBABLY SEEN Joan Staley 

MON on that bluishly-blinking box in 
your fun room, because she has ap- 
peared on Studio One, Perry Mason, 
Shower of Stars and other TV slots. 
21-year-old five-footfiver Joan is an 
American girl with an international 
upbringing: as the daughter of a Navy 
chaplain, her traveling couldn't have 
begun much earlier, for she was born 
in an airplane high in the clouds be- 
tween France and Germany. She 
spent her first year of high school in 
Chicago; her second year in Wash- 
ington, D.C.; her third in Munich; 
her fourth in Paris. Starting out in 
the lively arts as a concert violinist, 
she switched focus to acting and sing- 
ing and plans to stick with these un- 
til fame and fortune accrue in large 
glittering heaps. Sweet, smart, tal- 
ented, with eyes of blue and hair of 
blonde, Joan Staley isa pert Playmate 
who can drop around and be our own 
private Late Late Show any night. 


ё агь 
А | N 
€ Á хе... 
_ 7 Б: 
^d A 
P Е 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY RON VOGEL AND LAWRENCE SCHILLER 


Joan steals a last cigarette and a restful moment before an important Studio 
One appearance. Below, she soaks up sapient savvy from another Joan, seasoned 
showbiz veteran Blondell. Our Miss November played a problem-vexed teenager 
in a drama which also featured Miss Blondell, Jack Carson, Maxie Rosenbloom. 


PLAYBOY’S PARTY JOKES 


Two young starlets were discussing the 
remarriage of a well-known Hollywood 
couple: "I guess" said the one to the 
other, “it was just another опе of those 
divorces that didn't pan out." 


A popular bachelor attached to the 
American Embassy in London had just 
returned from a weekend in the mid- 
lands at a stately country home. When 
asked by a friend what sort of a time he 
had had, he replied, “If the soup had 
been as warm as the wine, and the wine 
as old as the chicken, and the chicken as 
tender as the upstairs maid, and the up- 
stairs maid as willing as the duchess, it 
would have been perfect.” 


We spotted this ad in the personal col- 
umn of a large metropolitan. daily: 
"Gentleman who smokes, drinks and 
carouses wishes to meet lady who smokes, 
drinks and carouses. Object: smoking, 
drinking and carousing." 


Our Unabashed Dictionary defines per- 
ambulator as last year’s fun оп wheels. 


The newlyweds were obviously suffering 
from exhaustion and after a routine 
examination, their doctor advised, "It's 
not unusual for a young couple to overdo 
things during the first weeks of marriage. 
What you both need is more rest. For 
the next month I want you to limit your 
sexual activity to those days of the week 


with an 'т' in them. That is, Thursday, 
Friday and Saturday. 
Since the end of the week was ap- 
proaching, the newlyweds had no imme- 
diate difficulty following the doctor's 
orders. But on the first evening of sched- 
uled rest the young bride found herself 
unusually passionate. Hubby fell asleep. 
quickly, but she tossed and turned in- 
terminably and finally nudged her 
spouse into partial wakefulness. 
Fxpecting daylight and confused be- 
cause it was still dark, he asked, "What 
day is it?” 
*Mondray," 
against him. 


aid his bride, cuddling 


What are you nagging me about?" 
complained the husband. “I was in last 
night by a quarter of 12." 

‘You were not, you liar!” cried the 
irate wife. “I heard you come in and the 
clock was striking three.” 

"Well, stupid," said hubby, 


three a quarter of 127" 


“isn't 


Dia you follow my advice about kissi 
your girl when she least expects it 
asked the sophisticated college senior of 
his younger fraternity brother. 

“Oh, hell,” said the fellow with the 
swollen eye, “I thought you said where.” 


The Madison Avenue exec was dallyin; 
with both his secretary and the French 
maid, and on this particular evening he 
called home to make his excuses for a 
night out with the secretary. Babette, 
the French maid, answered the phone 
and the executive said in a very business- 
like manner, "Tell Madam she'd better 
go to bed and ГИ be along as soon as 
1 can.” 

“Ош, Monsieur" purred Babette, 
“and who shall I say is calling?" 


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


Id one of you hand me that 
ge 


gray tweed topcoa 


“I hate to intrude, but cou 


кхощхита 


i і 
ESEN 


т was the first time Johnny Knight 
had been on the carpet, and he knew 
it might well be the last—at least as 
far as InterOcean Airways was con- 
cerned. Of course they kept him wait- 
ing. He sat quietly, his big hands 
folded in his lap, until finally the door 
marked CHIEF PILOT — PRIVATE opened 
and a girl came out. 

"Captain Judson will see you now, 
Mr. Knight," she said. 

Judson was a youngish bald man, 
big in the shoulders, and tall. His eyes 
had the squint of 10,000 hours in the 
air and he was slightly deaf in onc ear. 
He motioned Johnny to a chair. 

"You've been flying with us for six 
months or so, haven't you, Knight?" 
he asked. 

"Yes, sir, that's right," Johnny an- 
swered. 

"You had a good record, too — until 
this thing happened. You look like a 
sensible fellow, how could you do any- 
thing so crazy?" 

"I guess I just lost my head for a 
minute, Captain,” Johnny said. "I blew 
my top, that's all.” 

“There isn't much room in this busi- 
ness for people who blow their tops, 
Mr. Knight, Judson said. "You'd bet- 
ter tell me about it. How did it hap- 
pen, anyway?" 

Johnny Knight drew a deep breath. 
"Well, I've been flying with Captain 
Harbull for 60 days or so," he said. 
"The night it all happened, there last 
week, he was checking me out on a 
new airplane, the Cavalier 109, you 
know, completely test flight, no pas- 
sengers at all. We had a little carburet- 
or icing on the No. 2 engine and we 
went into Pittsburgh to have it 
straightened out. Everything was socked 
in there. You couldn't see your hand 


(concluded on page 60) 


it was just a little friendly 
clobbering between captain 
and co-pilot 


A SOCK 
IN THE JAW 


fiction By KEN PURDY 


ILLUSTRATION BY SEYMOUR FLEISHMAN 


"Swiss pipe, Swiss cane, 
Swiss hat, Swiss shorts, 
Swiss boots...Must be 
an American tourist." 


4 


pictorial 
T 
N à 
2 N TA = SS 


SILVERSTEIN IN SWITZERLAND 


our roistering roamer digs the land of ventilated cheese 


TS aena needed a whole menagerie of 

elephants, horses, donkeys and leop- 
ards-with-spears-attached to get him over 
the Alps, but Shel Silverstein needed 
only his sketchbook, his pencil, his beard 
and his lively curiosity. Entering Switzer- 
land, Shel got right into the spirit of 
things (as he always does)-donning the 
required sweater, Lederhosen and pointy, 
shaving-brushed hat; investigating the 
cuckoo clock situation; checking out the 
native quail; venturing a scratchy yodel 
and blowing hot bells with a combo of 
Swiss bell-ringers. He also found time to 
sketch his own highly personal impres- 
sions of Switzerland for PLAYBOY. 


"Don't you want the thrills? The 
peril? The excitement? The..." 


аре 


"Well, I've tasted better brandy..." 


"I've heard of 
hypothetical 
situations 
like this, 
Sylvia, but I 
certainly 
never thought 
I'd be faced 
with the ac- 
tual decision!" 


"You realize of course, Miss Gruber, that the slightest 
noise on your part could send thousands of tons of snow 
and ice avalanching down...crushing us to an agonizing, 
suffocating end...and bringing death and destruction to 
the innocent people of that picturesque village below..." 


"Yes, sir, give me a mountain any time. You conquer a 
mountain and it stays conquered! Does a mountain ever 
keep you waiting for hours? No! Does a mountain ever 
lie to you or try to squeeze money out of you? Ко! 
Does a mountain ever leave a lot of dirty lingerie 
cluttering up the bathroom? No! Does a mountain ever 
go off cheating on you the minute your back is turned? 
Does a mountain ever run off with some shoe salesman 
from Detroit, Michigan? Hell, nol! 


PLAYBOY 


60 


SOCK IN THE JAW (continued from page 55) 


in front of your face and we barely got 
into the field.” 

“Who made the landing?” 

“I did." 

“Did you have any discussion with 
Harbull about who was going to make 
ie" 

Johnny Knight raised his eyebrows. 
“When you're flying with Captain Har- 
bull,” he said, “you don’t have any dis- 
cussions about anything. You do what 
you're told. He runs a taut ship." 

“You always got along well with him 
though, didn't you?" Judson asked. 

“Sure, I can take и," Johnny said. 
“Harbull is all right, I guess. He just 
wants to make sure you can take it. I 
remember one time he made me pump 
the gear up and down by hand for three 
landings. My arm was sore for a week. 
He cut the No. 1 engine on me one day 
taking off out of Dayville, to see if I'd 
blow up. Another time he underset the 
altimeter a couple hundred feet when 1 
was landing blind." 

Judson looked up. “What did you do 
about that?” he asked. 

"1 reached over and tapped the glass, 
just to be sure he saw where the needle 
was," Johnny said. “Then I figured he 
must think it was OK, since he doesn't 
want to get killed any more than any- 
body else, so I went ahead and landed 
the thing." 

“1 see. That was good clear thinking,” 
Judson said. “То get back to Pittsburgh, 
what happened after you'd landed?" 

"We got the carburetor trouble 
cleaned up and then we went in to 
check the weather. The dispatcher told 
us we were grounded. Captain Harbull 
laughed at him and told him to go back 
to his knitting. He told him there were 
still a few men left pn the airline. The 
dispatcher got sore, of course, and they 
had a big argument. But the dispatcher 
wouldn't give in. He said we were 
grounded and that was all there was 
to it.” 

Judson interrupted. “Was that when 
Harbull made the phone call?" he asked. 

Johnny nodded. “Yeah. First he told 
the dispatcher to do it. ‘Call up The 
Мап, he said. ‘Get Mac on the phone 
and we'll settle this in a hurry.’ Of 
course the dispatcher wouldn't do it. I 
guess he didn't know that Harbull was 
the second or third pilot the airline ever 
hired and he and Mr. MacIntyre are 
buddies. The idea of calling the presi- 
dent of the line in the middle of the 
night was too much for him. So finally 
Captain Harbull grabbed the phone and 
made the call himself." 

"And Mr. MacIntyre told him to go 
ahead if he thought he should, right?" 

Johnny nodded. "Yes. Harbull made 
the dispatcher listen while Mr. MacIn- 
tyre said it again, and then we went 


back out to the airplane. It was so foggy 
we almost walked into the ship before 
we saw it. Nobody else was going. There 
were two regular TBA flights there and 
one Federal That was when Harbull 
gave me the big speech. ‘Knight,’ he 
said, ‘it's at times like this when we 
separate the men from the boys. Those 
jokers over there are going to sit around 
drinking coffee all night. Their passen- 
gers are getting sore. They're losing 
money for their companies, and making 
ill will. And for what? Because they're 
chicken, and they won't go. They're 
afraid of a little low-lying mist.’ And so 
on. He gave me a real pitch." 

“1 see," Judson said. “Harbull is quite 
an articulate fellow, I know that." 

“He sure is," Johnny said. “Of course, 
it occurred to me to remind him that 
after all those other flights had full pas- 
senger loads, and we were empty, just 
the two of us, but I decided against it. 
Anyway, we got into the airplane and 
Harbull took a 10-cell flashlight out of 
his bag and gave it to me. ‘Now I'll tell 
you what we're going to do, Knight, my 
boy, he said. "You take the flashlight 
and stick it out the window on your 
side. We'll put the ship about 10 feet 
from the edge of the runway, and you 
shine the light on the markers. And you 
steer, understand? You steer, watching 
the runway, and ГЇЇ take it off blind. 
Got it? 

“I said I guessed so, and that’s how 
we took it off, so help me.” 

“Then you came up to New York 
without any further incident; * 

“That's right,” Johnny said. "Nothing 
more happened, and I don't mind tell- 
ing you that was OK with me. It will 
also be OK with me if I never have to 
make another one of those piano-duet 
take-offs.” 

"I can understand that," Judson said. 
"But when did your trouble with Har- 
bull start?" 

"When we checked in. We sent in to 
dump our gear. Harbull slung his stuff 
down and lit a cigarette. "Well, I hope 
I never have to do that again,’ he said. 
"That take-off gave me the jumps." 

"I was really jolted when he said 
that. ‘I thought you wanted to make it," 
I said. "What about all the stuff about 
loyalty to the airline, and the mail must 
go through, and all that? 

"Harbull laughed. ‘Oh, най" he said. 
"That was just to be sure you kept your 
nerve up, sonny. I didn't think I'd bet- 
ter tell you the real reason I wanted to 
get home." 

“Апа what was the real reason? I 
said. 

“СА dame, of course, Harbull told 
me. "What else? I've got a late date 
tonight, and I stood her up last time. If 
I did it again, she'd break my arm.' " 


Judson laid down his pencil “Was 
that when you slugged him?" he asked. 

Johnny Knight shook his head. "No, 
a couple of minutes later Harbull said 
he suddenly remembered something. He 
said his date wasn't for that night at 
all, it was for the next night, Wednesday 
night.” 

Oh,” Judson said. “Then you hit 

him?" 

"No, I didn't" Johnny said. "I had 
the temptation, but I controlled it. I 
got a grip on myself. I counted to 10. I 
lit a cigarette." 

"Very commendable,” Judson said. 
"What happened next?" 

“Well, sir, we just sat there, Captain 
Harbull and me,” Johnny said, “and he 
kept looking at me, and he began to 
grin and suddenly it dawned on me. 
Captain Harbull has been flying since 
the pilots rode outdoors. He wouldn't 
risk a passenger or an airplane for a 
date with Sophia Loren. Second, he can 
remember what the dewpoint was on 
Thanksgiving Day of 1928, he never for- 
got anything in his life, and he sure 
wouldn't forget what night he was meet- 
ing a girl. The whole thing had been a 
gag. He was just seeing how much I 
could take. He was just giving me a real 
Harbull stretch-out.”” 

“That was when you lost your head?" 
Judson asked. 

"Yes, sir. I blew my top. I hit hin and 
I dumped him right on the deck." 

"What happened after that?" Judson 
asked. 

"Captain Harbull looked at me and 
said, ‘Help me up.’ So I did, and as 
soon as he was on his feet he slugged me. 
He was holding me with one hand and 
he hit me with the other.” 

"I didn't know about that,” Judson 
said. 

“He hit me a pretty good lick,” 
Knight said. “When I came to, he 
showed me something: a roll of dimes 
he'd had in his hand when he hit me. 
“Knight, my boy,’ he said. ‘The reason 
seniority counts for so much on the air- 
lines is that seniority means brains. I'm 
senior to you, and you have a lot of 
muscle, and I'm not going to belabor 
the point, but I strongly advise you 
never even to entertain the idea of 
hitting a captain again.' " 

“You parted friends?" Judson asked. 

“Oh, sure,” Knight said. 

That was about all there was to it. 
Harbull had made no formal complaint, 
and Knight left the office with nothing 
worse than a slap on the wrist. He 
thanked Judson and hustled to the 
branch bank in the air terminal build- 
ing. 

“Tell me,” he said to the clerk, 
“about how many quarters does it take 
to make a roll four inches long?" 


The gift means more when it's patently the product of fore- 
thought. This magnificent monogrammed or custom merchan- 
dise must be ordered well In advance for yuletide delivery. 
Clockwise, from six: Britannia pewter tankard with glass bottom; 
$12 each or $125 for 8 with cose. Town Crler cocktall shaker, 
rings while you shake up stingers; $25. Hasselerbring carving 
and bor set with stag handles, walnut case; $400. Aluminum 
end steel Maryland duck press; $75. 8rass-trimmed ice caddy 
holds 10 gallons; $75. Calfskin made-to-order riding boots; 
$115. Custom riding britches; $125. Custam Winchester shat- 
gun, hand-carved stack, hand-engraved breech; $1556. Мопо- 
gramming iran; three letters, $3.95; custam design, $8-$12. 


e 


Clockwise, from sixish: 14K braided gold, sapphire and diamond 
bracelet; custom from $725. Custom-designed paisley ski 
parka, water repellent; $29. Salad bowl set, can be ordered 
in спу wood; shown in walnut; $39. Monogrammed ostrich- 
grained cowhide flight bag; $35. Wool blanket-ploid over- 
night bag; custom from $50. Tourmaline mink stole; custom 
from $1300. Hand-made petticoat with lace trim, in any fabric; 
shawn in nylon; $30. Manogrammed suede-lined leather jewelry 
carrier; $15. Gold mesh, diamond and ruby pln; custom from 
$3500. White gold, pearl and diamond bracelet; custom from 
$1750. Мопаргаттва travel clack ond cose; $35. Custom- 
set drop necklace, braided geld ond cultured pearl; $620. 


61 


ILLUSTRATION BY КОВЕКІ CHR ANS 


ie SINATRA 
By ROBERT GEORGE REISNER 


IN THE WEE SMALL HOURS of the morning, when the whole wide world is either fast asleep or 
wide awake, depending on what social circle you prefer, the voice of Frank Sinatra—bittersweet, 
magical, lean, insinuating, nudging, shrugging (yes, this man can shrug his voice)—weaves itself 
into the day-and-nightdreams of America’s womankind. Hat set cockily on the back of his head, 
raincoat draped carelessly over a bony shoulder, this hip brand of love god, so different from 
the lush and limpid-eyed love gods of yore, casually ambles into the phantasies of females young 
and old, dances on the ceilings near their beds, bids them come fly with him down to Acapulco 
Bay. And if the real Sinatra were to make the offer, a goodly number would hop at the oppor- 
tunity, 

n the scrawny kid from Hoboken, precariously perched atop what he inwardly fears may 
be the tallest and most trembly house of cards in the history of showbiz, is a love god and no 
mistake—a bona fide sex idol, with the stamp of his epoch upon him. It may not be extrava- 
gant to surmise that more women would rather park their pumps under Frank Sinatra's pad 
than that of any other male in the world, including Gregory Peck, Rock Hudson, Porfirio 
Rubirosa, Senator Kennedy and Commander Whitehead. And to Frankie's credit, he has 
displayed a sporting willingness to give a fair number the chance. 

It is doubtful that anyone, anywhere, makes out any better than Sinatra. And that is partly 
because "the broads," as he calls them, are an obsession with him. He is as intense in his 
pursuit of a better broad as he is of a better song or better part in a picture. When he first 
arrived on the West Coast. he put up in his MGM dressing room a list of the most desirable 
movie actresses and he didn't take it down until he had worked his way through the lot. 
Sinatra has been, in the euphemistic lingo of the newspapers, "romantically linked" with Lana 
"Turner (whose taste for tough Italians has produced some unhappy headlines since), Marilyn 
Maxwell, Anita Ekberg, Gloria Vanderbilt (who chose Frankie for her first date after separat- 
ing from Leopold Stokowski), Marlene Dietrich, Kim Novak, Joan Blackman (an attractive 
18-year-old actress whom he once introduced to inquisitive reporters as “Ezzard Charles") and 
Lauren Bacall. He is followed, like the Pied Piper, wherever he goes, whether in Hollywood 
or on location in the tiniest hamlet. Budding young starlets wait for his call; society matrons 
in Bar Harbor and Chestnut Hill dream of subtle assignations with him; leggy airline stew- 
ardesses pack his picture in their travel-kits and yearn for the day when he will ask them to 
come fly away. 

What does Frank Sinatra have that prompted one critic to describe him as “the most com- 
plete, the most fantastic symbol of American maleness yet discovered, for both good and bad 
reasons"? Sinatra, himself, understands the least. He still thinks his success was all an acci- 
dent. He has little faith in either his voice or his ability as an actor. Nor does his mirror 
give him any cause for confidence. He has none of the Latin mystery of a Valentino or the 
distingué hauteur of a Barrymore. He is, in fact, short and slight (140 pounds, including hair 
pieces). His face and neck still show the scars from the forceps used in a difficult birth. His face 
is so undistinguished that his double, Johnny Delgado, is always pestered for autographs when 
the two are on location. He tends to overdress, with suits cut a bit too sharp and Windsor-wide 
knots in his ties. What manner of love god is this? 

Sinatra is the most potent performer in show business today, the most spectacularly popular 
singer of popular songs, the most sought-after movie star, the most successful wooer of women. 
In searching for explanations for his phenomenal appeal, the London Times felt that the secret 
was not the voice but the smile, “the shy, depreciating smile, with the quiver at the corner of 


the man with the golden charm has become 
the love god of our time 


PLAYBOY 


64 


the mouth, that makes the young ladies 
in the gallery swoon in ecstasy and the 
maturer matrons in the dress circle 
gurgle with protective delight . . ." The 
sculptor, Jo Davidson, thought the 
secret might lie in Frankie's bone struc- 
ture, "He's like a boyish Lincoln," said 
Davidson, after probing at Sinatra's face. 
Frankie, himself, in a rare excess of be- 
coming modesty, credited "ham" for his 
rise: "Ham," said Sinatra, "can make а 
scrawny kid, who has to leave the hanger 
in his coat to have any shoulders, into a 
movie star.” But what he dismisses as 
"ham" is actually a remarkable person- 
ality that Sinatra has been able to pro- 
ject in his performances and with which 
the public has been able to strongly 
identify. It is his personality that is the 
key to Sinatra's success. 

'The personality found its first expres- 
sion in his singing, in the way he took 
an otherwise no more than pleasant 
voice and charged it through and 
through with sex, pathos and fierce sin- 
cerity. "Why, the little punk," said an 
incredulous sideman. "He really believes 
those words!” And when Sinatra the 
singer became Sinatra the actor, it was 
not unusual acting ability that won fans 
and an Oscar. It was again the projection 
of a vital, intense human being — if not 
handsome, then surely the hippest of the 
hip. and yet maively childlike, too; 
and despite his many affairs. an incur- 
able romantic about life and love — if 
not suave and sophisticated, then most 
certainly a fascinating mixture of both 
man and boy, at once tough and tender, 
brooding, searching, and always very 
much alive. 2 

As апу ex-usher who worked at New 
York's Paramount Theatre back in the 
mid-Forties can tell you, Frankie's ap- 
peal with the girls could have been pre- 
dicted early. What could not have been 
foreseen was the universality of his ap- 
peal, which crosses all lines of sex, age 
and station as they have never been 
crossed before. There was a time when 
the girls swooned over Francis Albert 
Sinatra and the guys dug him not at all. 
During World War П, the showing of 
a Sinatra movie to a company of U.S. 
marines elicited groans and gripes and 
a derisive cacophony of shouts like 
"Kiss me, Frankie! Ooooooooh, Frankie!” 
and an army sergeant remarked, when 
Sinatra sang in the Hollywood Bowl: 
"After this performance in the bowl, I 
hope they don't forget to flush it.” Ac- 
tually, this male attitude was an over- 
reaction to the young females who were 
bandaging their arms where Sinatra 
touched them and ripping at his clothes 
whenever he left a theatre. Without 
realy understanding why, these squeal- 
ing teenagers were the first to fall under 
the Sinatra spell. 'There he stood, hold- 
ing onto the microphone for dear life, a 


curl hanging limply over his forehead, 
a sweet-sad smile on his face, crying out 
for love and togetherness. "My sister 
saw him twice," said one admirer, "and 
she's afraid to go again because she's 
engaged 

Today, Sinatra's appeal is so universal 
that when he arrived at the Chicago 
Stadium to watch the recent Sugar Ray 
Robinson-Carmen Basilio championship 
fight, it caused as much excitement at 
ringside as the entrance of the two box- 
ers the audience had paid heavy sugar 
to see. A fight crowd is about as far from 
Frankie's original underage female fol- 
lowing as it is possible to imagine, yet 
the entire stadium rose, almost to a 
man, to get a look at Sinatra as he came 
down the aisle to his seat. 

Sinatra has been behaving in a highly 
i idual manner most of his life, in- 
cluding the occasion of his birth on 
December 12, 1915, at which he weighed 
181% pounds and had to be pried into 
life with the aforementioned forceps. 
Upon hearing of his birthweight, a 
jokester later remarked, “Тоо bad he's 
lost so much weight since then.” The 
story of how Sinatra grew up as the son 
of a pork-and-beans prizefighter who 
later became a fireman and a mother 
who neglected her family to pursue a 
political career in Hoboken and through- 
out New Jersey is by now as familiar as 
the weary old saga of how jazz came up. 
the river. Frank was not much good in 
school. Because his mother dressed him 
in toofancy clothes, he was often the 
object of derision; but his father taught 
him to fight and he began using his fists 
to defend his honor carly. He had always 
enjoyed singing and he talked his mother 
into buying him a $75 microphone 
and rhinestone-studded amplifier, quit 
school, and began singing wherever he 
could around New Jersey at lodge meet- 
ings, Communion breakfasts, weddings 
and neighboring roadhouses, At one 
such, named the Rustic Cabin, he was 
heard by Harry James; and when this 
Benny Goodman sideman cut out to 
form his own band, he hired Frank to 
handle the vocals. Nothing very impor- 
tant happened to Sinatra while he was 
with James, although they recorded a 
tune called All or Nothing at All that 
was reissued and became quite popular 
after Frank had made it big as a single. 
Sinatra earned $85 a week with James 
and after about six months he caught 
the ear of Tommy Dorsey who hired him 
away for $110, which seemed like a re- 
markable amount of money to Frank at 
the time. 

Sinatra's highly personal singing style 
was developed early and all the funda- 
mental features were there by the time 
he left the Tommy Dorsey band in Oc- 
tober of 1942. Two of Sinatra's records 
made with TD, I'll Never Smile Again 


and There Are Such Things, sold over 
a million copies each. The Dorsey trom- 
bone influenced his singing. “I sort of 
bend my notes,” Sinatra has explained, 
“gliding from one to another without 
abrupt breaks. The trombone is the 
greatest example of this" His "up" 
style was influenced by the fröhlich 
trumpet of Dorsey sideman Ziggy El- 
man. But mostly his style was influenced 
by himself. He was a complete identity, 
unlike any other singer before him. He 
was a total loner, going his own way in 
music as in life. He sang emotionally — 
he really did believe those lyrics — and 
audiences reacted. His phrasing became 
the archtype for a whole new school of 
singing; singlehandedly, he changed the 
emphasis in American popular music 
from the big band with the incidental 
singer to the big singer with the inci- 
dental band. 

And as Sinatra "The Voice" became 
known, Sinatra the man became a sub- 
jec of national interest. The public 
discovered a strangely driven, searching 
and forever dissatisfied soul. Sinatra the 
man became a living representation of 
the songs he sang. He grew as a symbol 
of romance as he loved, and lost, and 
loved again. He had married an attrac- 
tive, dark-haired girl named Nancy 
Barbato, whom he met when he was 19 
years of age and she was 16. They had three 
children, Nancy, Frank and Tina. By 
1945 Sinatra was making a million dol- 
Jars a year, but there were mounting 
tensions at home. Nancy had overlooked 
the teenage girls who threw themselves 
at Frankie in the East, tore at his cloth- 
ing and hid themselves in his hotel 
room, but in Hollywood it was differ- 
ent. There were continuous column 
items linking her husband with various 
film fatales. His open affair with Ava 
Gardner was what finally wrote finis 
to his first marriage; on October 30, 
1951, Nancy got a divorce charging 
cruelty, and was awarded custody of the 
children and one-third of Sinatra’s earn- 
ings. Eight days later, Sinatra and Ava 
Gardner were married in Philadelphia. 
The lanky North Carolina beauty was a 
mixed-up girl with a history of marriage 
to mixed-up men Mickey Rooney and 
Artie Shaw. Like Sinatra, Ava had a 
reputation for wanting most what she 
didn't have, and Frank found her fiercely 
desirable. It was a much publicized, 
stormy romance and marriage. Sinatra 
sent her expensive gifts, flew thousands 
of miles to woo and win her, but once 
together, they fought continuously. 

At about this point, Sinatra's career 
took a nosedive, setting the stage for 
one of the most remarkable comebacks 
in show business history. Sinatra now 
indicates he feels the fluctuations in his 
career were more imagined than real, 

(continued overleaf) 


PLAYBOY 


66 


SINATRA 


(continued from page 64) 
but they were very real in 1951 and 1952. 
Sinatra and MGM had come to a part- 
ing of the ways: the studio was unhappy 
with the bad press he had been receiv- 
ing and Frank was upset because of 
being continually cast as a singing 
sailor. His box office appeal had dropped 
away to almost nothing. But worse than 
that, so had his record sales, He secretly 
feared that his voice was gone. He was 
under tremendous emotional and physi- 
cal strain. He was singing at the Copa- 
cabana when his throat began hemor- 
rhaging. He refused to stay in bed and 
returned to finish the engagement only 
because he heard that a columnist hc 
hated had bet the club owner $100 he 
could ncver do it. 

While Sinatra's career was going 
down, Ava's was climbing. In 1952 she 
was sent to Africa to make Mogambo 
with Clark Gable and Grace Kelly. 
out of work, went along to be 
with his wife. They fought on location 
and they fought in their tent at night. 
Sinatra was flat broke and he owed the 
government more money in k taxes 
than most men carn in a lifetime. Hc 
was down, but he wasn't out, and he 
had a plan. Before going to Africa he 
had read James Jones’ novel From Here 
to Eternity. He thought that the part of 
Maggio, the tough little Italian kid. 
was made to order for him, and he went 
to see Buddy Adler, who was producing 
the picture for Columbia. 

Adler never tires of telling the story. 
“It's an acting part, Frankie,” he said, 
ng to keep a straight face. 

" said Sinatra. 

Adler was still dubious. He was testing 
five other actors for the part. He said. 
“TH have to think about it. 
atra went to his agent and said, 
"I'll play that part for 50 bucks а week. 
For nothing. You've got to get it for me." 

In Africa, Sinatra received a cable 

from Adler saying he would be given a 
chance to test for the film and that he 
should Пу back to Hollywood at once. 
Sinatra flew, 
The first take, we knew we had it 
cold," he says. "I thought to myself. if 
he's like chat in the movie. its a sure 
Academy Award performance.” 

But Si didn't wait for the results 
of the test. He borrowed money from a 
friend and returned to Africa loaded 
down with Christmas gifts. He built Ava 
a shower bath in the midst of the jungle 
and staged а Christmas party in which 
he led а group of Belgian Congo natives 
in singing carols. Then it began to look 
like he might not get the role in From 
Here to Eternity, and he reverted to his 
state of depression. and the bickering 
with Ма hegan again 


A cable arrived informing him that he 
had been given the part. He would re- 
ceive only 58000 compared to his usual 
$150,000, but he had meant it when he 
said he was willing to play the part for 
nothing. Pacing up and down in front 
of Ava's tent, the cable clutched in his 
hand, he said, "Now ГИ show thc 
bastards.” 

Sinatra returned to Hollywood a weck 
er. While still on location in Africa, 
Ava was flown to London with what was 
reported to be "a severe case of anemia." 
Later she admitted, “It actually was a 
miscarriage, and we lost the baby we 
both wanted so much.” After completing 
his work in Eternity, Sinatra joined her 
in England, but they began fighting 
again almost immediately. He returned 
to New York. They were reconciled 
about a year later, largely through the 
efforts of Sinatra's mother, but they 
were together only about a week. In 
October 1953. it was announced that 
they had separated. For a while, in 1956, 
it looked as though they might go back 
together again. Sinatra went to Spain. 
where Ava prepared a honeymoon house 
to receive him. but Frank arrived with 
a nightclub singer. Peggy Connelly. on 
is arm. 

Of course, the psychiatrists have their 
Says one atra's be- 
havior is clear and basic. His mother 
turned him over to substitute mothers 
when she went off on her busy political 
life in Hoboken. First it was his grand- 
mother, then his aunt, then an elderly 
Jewish woman, Mrs. Golden. Frank 
never worked out the crucial early re- 
lationship with his mother because his 
mother gave him a sense of rejection. A 
childhood like that will produce a rest- 
less. insatiable man. Now he repeats the 
childhood pattern of searching for love, 
finding and rejecting it. The other side 
of the coin is the female response to 
such a man. It is no accident that the 
first reaction of ly Sinatra fans was 
to want to mother him, to protect and 
watch over him, That is exactly the 
need that he projected and on a very 
basic, emotional level, girls responded 
to it. Nothing has happened down 
through his succession of unhappy love 
alfairs to change the picture ће pro- 
jects.” 

And the picture he projected was also 
the songs he sang. For once in the his- 
tory of show business, there was по 
need for a myth, “Everything happens 
to me.” 
night." “The night we called it a day 
“There's no you" Myth and man 
blended into one. When Frankie sang 
of life and love, he knew the meaning 
of the lyrics all too well. 

Nor did his movie career change the 
pattern. It was по accident that his 
specta comeback was triggered by 
his role in From Here to Eternity. М 


“I couldn't sleep a wink last 


heart, Maggio was a loner who asked 
for help from no man. When Frankie 
won an Oscar for his portrayal of the 
part, friends insisted, "Frank wasn't 
acting. Hc said it himself, He is Maggio." 
Maggio died in the arms of a buddy, 
still loveless and searching, bravely mak- 
ing the best of a sad life. Again, fact 
and fiction were in mesh. Sinatra has 
had his bouts with the sleeping pills 
and the cut wrist. Death is on his mind, 
but he goes indomitably on. Indeed, he 
goes cockily on. He may love and lose, 
but he will never yield, Like his close 
friend Humphrey Bogart (about whom 
Sinatra still talks constantly), he is his 
own guy. He takes no man's lip and no 


man's advice. Bogart himself once 
warned a would-be interviewer of 
Sinatra: "I love the guy, but there's one 


thing you've got to remember. When 
vou talk to him, don't try to tell him 
anything. Don't tell. Suggest! You tell 
him anything and he's gonna boot you 
right out of the joint. He's the same 
with me." 

Sinatra remains monumentally uni 
pressed by the opinions and ideas of 
experts, Nelson. Riddle, his conductor- 
arranger, says: "He thinks nothing of 
turning around and conducting the 
orchestra himself to get the exact tempo 
he wants" He also thinks nothing of 
changing the lyrics of a poet the likes 
of Rudyard Kipling. In singing The 
Road to Mandalay, he switched “Burma 
girl" to “Burma broad." to the consid- 
erable discomfort of Kipling's daughter 
who protested publicly. Even his lan- 
s amused or 


guage is unique: if he 
strongly moved by any emotion, he is 


word “clyde,” the origin of which re- 
mains a mystery, the way soldiers use a 
four-letter synonym for sexual inter- 
course as a noun, adjective, verb and 
even as a pronoun. "Get off your clyde 
and let's go get ourselves some clydes,” 
Sinatra will say, meaning, "Get off your 
ass and let's go get ourselves some pizza." 
His current orite is "mother" a 
euphemism for ап expression definitely 
not intended for polite company. Frankie 
insisted on introducing "mother" to tele- 
vision audiences on more than onc occa- 
n (thus helping to make the climate 
right for the gag: "What are we going 
to call t dear old lady now that 
mothers a dirty word?"). Some were 
offended. Says Mitch Miller, with whom 
Sinatra had a large falling-out when he 
split with Columbia Records to join 
Capitol: “The ability to sing 32 bars of 
music doesn't entitle anyone to flout the 
rules of society.” But songwriter Sammy 
Cahn. one of Sinatra's really close 
friends, makes no apologies for Frank's 
maverick behavior, Says Cahn: “If he 

(continued on page 84) 


sport /attire 
By FRED ISELIN and А. C. SPECTORSKY 


Atop Aspen Mountain a merry group of skiers demonstrate, omong other things, that wine is а flne accompaniment to the winey air, that 


reloxing сап be os much fun os schussing, that skiing isn't o lonely sport, and thot nothing tops ski gorb for colorful variety and orig 


FUN AND FASHION ON SKIS 


it’s а gambol— friendly and informal— 


at aspen or most anywhere there's snow 


ity. 


OF ALI. AMATEUR SPORTS, it is likely that skiing has had the 
most compressed and varied history. In a couple of decades, 
give or take a year or three, it has evolved from an arcane, 
perilous and arduous activity for the rugged few, to a 
hugely sprawling. wonderfully enjoyable, international win- 
ime. Its devotees are legion and cach onc is a zealous 
andist for the sport and is apt to find himself mouth- 


propa 
ing the cliché, "Skiing isn't a sport — it's a way of life." And 


so it is: from those first brisk days when the ski buff rts 


67 


scanning the skies and poring over 
weather reports, to the day when the 
first snowflake falls, the excitement 
mounts, the plans are made, the gear 
and tackle and garb are taken out and 
lovingly gone over, and thousands upon 
thousands of people happily turn their 
backs on the tropical resorts which used 
to be winter's only saving grace, to turn 
their eyes toward high country and the 
world of slopes, trails, log fires, hot grog, 
mountain-top sun decks and the joyous, 
informal camaraderie of the ski resorts. 

All that has happened in a scant 20 
years. The famous old names are still 
clothed in glamor — Zermatt, St. Moritz, 
St, Anton, Bad Gastein, Kitzbühel, Gar- 
h, Klosters, etc. But American skiers 
have good reason to believe that our own 
ski areas can compete with the best that 
Europe has to offer. From the quaint 
French Canadian inns and ski trails of 
the Laurentians; down through northern 
New York State and New England's 
tradition-hallowed villages (Lake Placid, 
Hanover, Stowe, North Conway, White- 
face, Pinkham Notch, Pico Peak); from 
the mushrooming ski areas of the Mid- 
west — Ishpeming, Boyne Mountain, 
Telemark, Caberfae, Northernaire, Wil- 
mot; on out to the high mountains and 
open slopes of the West, from Banff, 
Spokane. Mt. Hood and Mt. Rainier 
through Sun Valley, Alta, Squaw Valley 
(scene oF the '60 Winter Olympics) — to 
name just a few American ski areas — 
there is a winter world of wonderful fun 
awaiting the American skier (and the 
visiting European skier, too) which is 
fast coming to equal the best that Europe 
has to offer. 

All these places have their special and 
unique qualities; winter after winter one 
can ski a region at a time and find con- 
stant variety in slopes, lifts, living ac- 
commodations and social life; but wher- 
ever one goes and however long one stays 
—and whether one is beginner, inter- 
mediate or expert—the healthy and 
informal atmosphere of high good fun, 


Left: the guy's good-looking big bulk sweater 
is hond knit by the Cowichon Indians in 
unbleached row wool, comes іп o voriety 
of patterns; $49.95. A fresh wrinkle at pop- 
vlor ski areas like Aspen, the face mask in 
the back does double duty against wind ond 
sun, odds a jolly touch to the skier's garb. 
Right: the fun of aprés ski gets under way at 
the Red Onion—pretty girls, lots of suds and 
the right duds. Guzzler on the left sports а 
red Tyrolean мос! jacket from Austria, with 
antique silver buttons; $34.95. Fellow in the 
middle likes his gray Thelhammer jacket, alsa 
from Austria; $34.95. Lad at lower right 
wears the ultimate in c sealskin orctic-type 
parka, warm, rugged ond distinctive; $175. 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY DON BRONSTEIN 


Above: wide-wale corduroy Edelweiss knickers for the canny slopes- 
mon; $14.95. Left: recommended geor. The skis, | to r: Head's 
Standard; $85. Cortina; $85. Blizzard; $89.50 (standard edge), 
$99.50 (hidden edge). Northland's Competition Downhill; $75. 
Казе Downhill; $82.50 (regular edge), $99.50 (hidden edge). 
The bindings, from the left: Cubco; $14.95, Ski-Free with Aten- 
hofer Flex cable; $5 ond $7.50. U.S. 2 Star; $13.75 [without long- 
thang). Dovre #100; $7.95. Morker Automatic Simplex with turn- 
table longtheng; $22.50. The poles, | to г: Eckel's tapered steel; 
$13.95; Cartino's shatterproof fiberglass; $14.95. Komperdell's 
steel; $14.95. Goggles, some order: Meiss' lightweight with four 


interchangecble lenses; $3.95; Olympia Vollsichtbrille racing style, 
slotted sides occommodcte glasses; $2.50; same goggle unslattted; 
$2.50. Bouton goggles with four interchengecble lenses; $3.50. 


Above: when you've had enough of the slopes (if that's possible), a good place to get away 
from it all is the heated pool at The Smuggler, one of Aspen's newer lodges, where a late- 
afternoon coterie of guys and girls take to the waters to frolic and guzzle drinks flooting on 
Styrofoom. Though the oir outside may be in the brisk 30s, the pool is always over 70. Other 
winter sports avoilable in the Aspen areo include dog-sled trips, ice skating, sleigh rides 
and tennis. + this chop, cruising the streets of Aspen while others ore on the slopes, 
has found a candid means of illustroting his disinclinotion to risk his neck, os the 
bright yellow stripe he's offxed to the bock of his porko clearly demonstrates. 


which is the mark of the skier's world, is 
ready and waiting to be enjoyed. 

Aspen, Colorado, is perhaps the most shin 
ing example of an American ski resort. This 
charming village nestled in the Roaring Fork 
Valley at 7900 feet, ringed by 14,000-foot 
mountains, now has just about everything for 
which the ardent or occasional skier can ask 
Its average humidity is about 25%, its aver- 
age annual snowfall is some eight feet, and 
it’s never very cold or very hot. Aspen was a 
great big deal during the days of Bimetalism 
because it was the center of a thriving silver 
mining region. From the time of the silver 
panic until some 10 years ago, the little Vic 
torian town slumbered in the crisp, clean air 
of the Rockies, Then, in 1947, the world’s 
longest chair lift (14.000 feet) started oper- 
ation to the top of Aspen Mountain, and 
modern Aspen was launched. Happily, the 
founding fathers of the new Aspen had the 
good sense to preserve and to perpetuate its 
quaint Victorian charm, and so today we see 
a fantastic mixture of the ultramodern and 
the charming Victorian, which live so hap 
pily together. New lifts have heen added, 
new facilities opened up, such as the High- 
land Peak Area; and by the time you read 
this, there will be in operation a brand-new 
novice’s paradise on Buttermilk Mountain, 
about a mile out of the town. complete with 
T-Bar lift and mile-long runs gentle enough 
for the beginner. Aspen offers a bewildering 
variety of slopes and trails — some 24 in num- 
Бег and has what we like to believe is the 
best ski school in the world under the direc- 
tion of Friedl Pfeifer and co-author of this 
picce, Fred Iselin. 

But it also offers every conceivable kind of 
accommodation, from (continued on page 74) 


Above: adorning the guy executing the high-flying terroin jump is on Austrian wool pullover, reversible; $29.95. Below, right: beside 

j, the guy in the center weors o nylon and elastic racing jocket, comfortoble, snug ond wizard at windbreaking; $25. The miss 
next to him sports Bogner stretch pants that bend easily, but never bag; for men or women; $48.95. The fellow in the bockground couples 
his knickers with crazy-potterned hand-knit knee socks; $10.95. Below, Пей: best boots, goodly gadgets. From the top down: hand-losted 
Nordica Sestriere boot; $39.50, held in adjustoble aluminum Tyrol Миготойс press-carrler; $3.95. Jon-E Warmer provides cozy pockets 
for cold hands; $3.95. Hoderer Slalom boot; $78. Northlond waxes; 50¢ each. Henke Speedfit with self-closing inner boot; $60. Gossner 
cable lock locks skis to car carrier; $3.95. Garmisch handmode "60" double boot; $58.50. Moody screwdriver КИ for on-snow edge repair; 
$2.50. Rubber tie straps; 50¢ a pair. Strolz Cortina racing boot; $64. Swiss skier's knife has a regular blade and 10 specialized tools; $9.50. 


PLAYBOY 


“Vikki Dougan it does something for. You it doesn’t.” 


Ribald Classic 


A newly translated tale from the Contes a Venus of Jacques Redelsperger 


х MARRIAGE, if either party seeks to 
n sell-importance and does not 
yield a little to the other, there is bound 
to be anguish. 

With the Bisson couple, when the 
wife thought one way the husband was 
sure to take the opposite stand. If Mad- 
ame said a thing was black, Monsieur 
would swear it was white. Everything in 
their marriage brought conflict. They 
couldn't even sleep together because of 
frequent spats about covers and space, 
and so early in their marriage they took 
to separate beds. 

They lived in a charming little bun- 
galow the suburbs of Paris, and one 
evening after a walk in the moonlight 
they came back somewhat weary and so 
retired early. Suddenly Madame Bisson 
felt a strong breeze from the front of 
the house. 

“You left the front door open. Go 
close it. 

"No, certainly not" answered the 
husband, warm under his blanket, "I 
am not to blame. 

"But I came in first. Since you came 
after me, it was your job." 


Boldly, the soldier removed. his clothes. 


“Your reasoning is False. Who usually 
locks up?" 

“I do, because you nearly 
into the house ahead of пи 

"Well, since it is your habit, it was 
not my affair.” 

"I will not close it.” 

"So be it,” snapped the husband. 
"Since you are stubborn as a mule, here 
is what I propose. We are going to re- 
main silent, and the first one to speak 
a word will go without hesitation to 
close the door.” 

“I accept,” she answered, certain she 
would not give in. 

And so with the door wide open, they 
said nothing, each waiting for the other 
to speak. 

For a long time there was complete 
silence, then to their surprise they heard 
someone enter the house. It was a sol- 
dier returning from his café, who, sec- 
ing the door open, entered as if it were 
his own house. He wandered around in 
the dim light for a few minutes and then 
came to the bedroom where he could 
see the two people lying in their beds. 
He paused, expecting to hear them 


ays come 


order him out of the house, but since 
nothing happened he looked around 
more closely. He could see the voluptu- 
ous form of Madame Bisson under the 
and he (€ boldly into the 
undressed, put his clothes in a 
neat pile on the chair, and got into bed. 

"The woman resisted, expecting her 
husband to protest, but since the stub- 
born fellow said nothing, she relaxed 
and enjoyed herself with the young man 
who stayed with her half an hour and 
gave her ample cvidence of his youthful 
enthusiasm. Then, fatigued and sleepy, 
he got up, dressed, and went out whis- 
tling а gay tune, leaving the door still 
wide open. 

When he was gone, the wife couldn't 
stand it any longer, “You brute!" she 
cried. “You let that young man get into 
bed with me and make you a cuckold 
without saying a word!” 

"Aha! roared the husband trium- 
phanuy. "You spoke first! You'll have to 
close the door!” 

— Translated by Hobart Ryland 


73 


PLAYBOY 


74 


FUN ON SKIS (continued from page 70) 


dormitory to chalet, to say nothing of 
swimming pools, restaurants, night- 
dubs, bistros, bars, pubs, lodges, coffee 
houses, cafés and shops. In fact, since the 
Е.1.5. (Fédération Internationale de Ski) 
races were held in Aspen in 1950, it has 
developed into one of the most color- 
fully exciting places in the world. About 
the only thing you can't do there, in the 
wintertime, is get sand in your shoes. 
"Thats why ргАүвоү selected it as an 
ideal spot to take the pictures you see 
in this issue. 

But, as we've said, it has only recently 
been thus at Aspen, and it has only 
recently been that American skiing has 
added to the excitement and adventure 
of the sport itself, the glamor and gaiety 
of its accompanying pleasures. And, just 
as the skier’s world has expanded from 
rugged outdoorsmanship to high good 
fun on and off skis around the clock, so 
ski fashions and ski equipment have 
evolved. 

Time was — again, not so long ago — 
when skiing was strictly for the rugged. 
Lifts were unknown and a day's arduous 
climb might precede a half-hour down- 
hill run. Skis were incredibly long and 
heavy — up to М fcet in length; bindings 
were primitive and clothing had to verge 
on the Eskimoid since there were no 
lodges or rest houses to speak of. With 
the introduction of rope tows, a few 
lifts and a few ski resorts — and skis of 
maneuverable length with steel edges — 
the picture began to change. The moun- 
taineering garb gave way to baggy wool 
pantaloons. Then came the “professional 
look.” The experts and the more sophis- 
ted skiers affected extreme conserya- 
m, patterned on the clothing of the 
European pros who came to this country 
to teach skiing. Ski caps gave way to 
headbands. The tight and tapered ski 
trousers (at that time called “instructor” 
pants) and trim, lightweight jackets, were 
the thing. The hipster was an every- 
thing-functional boy. Those were the 
days. too, of the development of all. 
metal ski bindings which, though they 
held the foot and boot firmly to the ski 
and thus improved technique, also 
proved as unyielding as a steel trap— 
with a resultant sound of snapping bones 
rising above the cheerful shouts of 
“Track!” and "Ski Heil!” 

Today this is all changed. ‘The safety 
binding. the laminated ski, the perfected 
steel edge, the double boot, the light- 
weight and virtually unbreakable pole, 
have made skiing safer, better and hap- 
pier. And the fashion picture has 
changed entirely. 

"There's virtually no sport activity in 
which a wider range of individuality can 
be shown within the bounds of good 
taste. Especially for good skiers, the 
bizarre and the original are perfectly all 


right. The famous skiers lead the way in 
this matter. Top coach Ernie McCulloch 
wears an old farmer-style straw hat with 
high crown and floppy wide brim; Willie 
Schaffler, coach of the University of Den- 
ver team, wears a stocking cap with a 
long tassle; Stein Eriksen, at Heavenly 
Valley, California, wears an Alpine 
beret, tam-o"shanter style. Tyrolean hats 
are common. And sweaters have made a 
tremendous comeback. This is new; only 
а couple of years ago, they were rarely 
seen, except when ski jackets were re- 
moved, Today, the tightly knit, hefty 
sweater is one of the most colorful items 
of the skier's wardrobe. And the styles 
are as varied as the patterns and colors 
— rollovers, double-breasted fronts, shawl 
collars, zippered backs and sides — all 
have their loyal adherents. 

Knickers are back, too—which gives 
the colorful skier an opportunity to wear 
some of those wonderful heavy Austrian 
and Scandinavian socks with ingenious 
designs and patterns. 

New materials and new ideas have in- 
fluenced ski clothing to such an extent 
that it is now possible to be original and 
even striking-looking, and still be dressed 
functionally for the sport. Underwear 
developed by the armed forces for cold- 
weather service, in which the fabric has 
а sort of waffle-weave which traps the 
warmth of the body, makes it unneces- 
sary to have your outer clothing warm — 
all it needs to be is reasonably wind- 
proof. Stretch pants, of course, are a 
boon to today's skier and — since they are 
also worn by the girls — the guy can read- 
ily verify some figure facts about a lass 
whose face he likes. 

But perhaps the biggest news in ski 
garb — from the style standpoint — is the 
development of original and interesting 
afterski clothing. Lederhosen, Austrian 
top hats, fur jackets of seal, reindeer or 
raccoon, paisley parkas, even loden cloth 
capes, flourish from the cocktail hour on. 

Any nonskier who has read this far 
may be somewhat bewildered by all this 
talk about the skier's world. If so, it is 
likely that he has some misconceptions 
about this way of life — there we go, us- 
ing that tired cliché. He may think that 
skiing is a sport of difficult acquisition, 
requiring the physique of a football 
player. The fact is that the very first run 
down a gentle beginner's slope is just as 
thrilling to the beginner as a schuss down 
а mountain is to an expert. And with 
modern equipment and modern teaching 
methods, the transition from beginner to 
fairly good skier is a quick and easy one 
which may be made even during a two- 
to-thrce-week vacation. The fact is, too, 
that good dancers, people who have a 
feeling for rhythm, and high spirits — 
rather than dogged determination — do 
better in learning to ski, and as skiers, 


than the heavy-muscle boys. The good 
skiers — and the top instructors — know 
this, and they know that élan and esprit 
mean more to the skier than brute force, 
That's why you will find them, after the 
day's skiing's done, not only sharing in 
the singfests, beerbusts, wine parties and 
gabfests around the roaring fires but, 
most often, leading the way in the jolli- 
fication. 

Anybody still in doubt? Then let's go 
back to Aspen and see how a man, per- 
haps like you, might spend his day there. 

A bright, crisp morning finds you at 
the foot of the single or double lift 
which in less than a half hour whisks 
you to the top of the mountain. Al- 
though the temperature is above freez- 
ing, say around 40, the high altitude and 
low humidity make the powder snow 
completely dry. At the Sundeck, over a 
cup of coffee by the crackling fire, you 
look over the distaff situation and con- 
sider which run will be yours, Perhaps 
the former will influence your choice of 
the latter. Or perhaps you see nothing 
that excites you so early in the morning, 
so you swoop down through the powder 
on Bell Mountain, or take it easy down 
Silver Bell or Buckhorn, and wend your 
way to Spar Gulch where you'll meander 
over to one of the most sociable double 
lifts in the world: a ride to the top of 
Number 3 lift may find you a fair com- 
panion for the day; if not, you'll find 
Number 4 lift on Little Nell or Number 
5 on Bell Mountain excellent places to 
make friends. 

You may decide to lunch at the 
Café at the bottom of Number І li 
you may want to go to the Little Nell 
Café next to the swimming pool, or the 
Glory Hole coffee shop, right at the loot 
of the slope. 

Possibly you've enrolled in ski school 
— a darn good idea unless you're way up 
among the elite. It is a rare thing for a 
ski class not to contain some delightfully 
helpless damsel who will turn to you to 
assure her that she hasn't got her skis 
on backwards. 

A few hours of skiing and of wonder- 
ful scenery may find you ready to doff 
your skis for the day, go back to your 
diggings and change for the alter-ski life 
which Aspen has to offer. At the Jerome 
bar you'll find the sophisticated crowd; 
at the Limelite you can sit around the 
fireplace, talking over the day's runs, 
while you watch the sun set over the ski 
slopes. you may prefer the Red 
Onion, always full of the younger college 
crowd, much given to the hoisting of 
tankards of beer. Maybe, before you 
settle down for some joyful preprandial 
swilling, you'll want to stroll the streets 
of Aspen — always thronged with skiers 
—to scan the offerings of the Aspen 
shops (Aspen Sports, the Mountain Shop, 
‘Terese David of Aspen, Sabbatini Sport, 

(concluded on page 94) 


ALL NEW 


1959 

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CALENDAR 


| 


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Here are a full дотеп af the mast delightful Playmates of the past in twelve new 
poses. Fram her first appearance within the pages of PLAYBOY, the pravocative 
Playmate of the Manth hos been the mast papular feature in the magazine. The 
1959 PLAYBOY Playmate Calendar brings together twelve af the loveliest, in а 
dozen different moads, oll in one handsome, full colar package. All this — and 
it's practical, toa. Dandy far the den — hondy far home ar office — a great gift 


for any man. 


50: throughout the U.S., slightly higher elsewhere 
NOW ON SALE AT YOUR NEWSDEALER 


"Now where the hell did he pick up that kind of talk?!" 


FAIR GAME 


(continued from page 16) 
startling. The texture is unique, for one 
thing. Most game doesn’t break under a 
fork unless cooked to death. And the 
flavor of game is pungent and racy rather 
than mild. It nips the taste buds, and is 
ge ly more tart than mellow. That’s 
what is meant by "вату," and once 
you've grown accustomed to its special 
blandishments, you may very well join 
the ranks of those who declare game the 
most exciting fare there is. 

Here now from rrAvnov's own plush- 
lined pup tent arc casy directions for 
the open season ahead. 


ROAST 


AEASANT WITH BREAD SAUCE. 
(Six portions) 


2 pheasants, 21% to 3 Ibs. each 
4 thin slices salt pork 

t, pepper 

м, cup chicken broth 

1 cup milk 

1 medium-size onion 

2 whole cloves 

114 cups bread crumbs 

2 tablespoons dry sherry 

1⁄4 cup butter 

2 tablespoons minced parsley 
2 tablespoons minced chives 
14 lemon 


Preheat oven at 450°. Wipe pheasants 
with damp cloth. Sprinkle lightly with 
salt and pepper. Tie slices of salt pork 
over breasts of pheasants. Place pheas- 
ants, breast side up, in a shallow roast- 
ing pan. Roast I0 minutes. Reduce heat 
to 350°. Add chicken broth to pan. Con- 
tinue roasting pheasants, basting about 
every 10 minutes with chicken broth. 
Roast until pheasants are tender — about 
one to Пу hours total cooking time. 
While pheasants are roasting, pour milk 
into a thick saucepan. Stick the cloves 
into the onion, Add the onion to the 
saucepan. Bring slowly up to the boiling 
point but do not boil. Add % cup bread 
crumbs to the milk. Stir well. Simmer 
about 10 minutes longer, stirring fre- 
quently to prevent burning. Remove 
onion and cloves from saucepan. Add 
sherry to sauce. When pheasants are done 
pour off fat from the roasting pan, or 
remove fat with a basting syringe, but 
save drippings. Add drippings to bread 
sauce. Add salt and pepper to taste. In 
another saucepan melt the butter, Add 
the remaining cup bre crumbs, Sauté 
slowly, stirring constantly, until bread 
crumbs are light brown, Add parsley and 
chives to pan. Squeeze the juice of 14 
lemon into the bread crumbs. Mix well. 
Serve the bread crumbs and the bread 
sauce in separate sauceboats at the table. 
Cut pheasant into portions with poultry 
shears. Serve pheasant with any tart jelly, 
such as red or black curr 
or crabapple. 


ROAST DRESSED PHEASANT 


This way of presenting pheasants on 
the platter is strictly for display pur- 
poses, but if you have the time and the 
patience, it's a lot of fun for a buffet or 
holiday table. Before the pheasant is 
plucked, cut off in whole sections the 
plumage of the wings and tail. Cut the 
wings close to the body. Cut off the tail 
with enough of the appendage to keep 
the feathers intact. Also cut ой the head 
and neck in one picce. For each section 
take a length of rather stiff wire 
force it through the solid part of 
appendage to which the feathers а 
tached. Allow about two inches of w 
to extend from the end for fastening 
each section later on. Roast the pheas- 
ants as described in the previous recipe. 
For dressing two pheasants, е two 
small loaves of unsliced white bread or 
one large loaf cut in half crosswise. 
Hollow out the center of each loa 
that it resembles a trough, into whi 
the cooked pheasant may be placed. Fry 
the bread in a large pan with deep fat 
heated to 370° or in а shallow pan con- 
ining one inch of hot fat, turning the 
bread as needed to brown evenly. Place 
the roasted pheasants on the bread on а 
large silver platter. Arrange the head, 
wings and tailpiece of cach pheasa 
fastening cach section into the bread, so 
that the birds look as though they were 
reconstituted to their natural state. If 
you buy pheasants for this purpose, be 
sure to ask for male pheasants in the 
lc wears the more 


colorful feathers. 


ROAST QUAIL WITH GRAZES 
(Four portions) 


4 quail 
2 thin slices salt pork 
1 sliced onion. 


I sliced piece celery 

2 sprigs parsley 

It. pepper 

1 cup chicken broth 

JA cup tomato juice 

Brown gravy coloring 

2 crushed juniper berries 

1 tablespoon arrowroot or 2 table- 
spoons flour 

1 oz. cognac 

8-07. can seedless grapes 


Preheat oven at 500°, Sprinkle quai 
lightly with salt and pepper. Cut slices 
of salt pork in half crossw а piece 
of salt pork over the breast of 
Place the quail breast side up 
low roasting pan. Add the onion, celery 
and parsley to the pan. Roast quail 10 
minutes. Reduce heat to 350°. Add 16 
cup chicken broth to the pan. Roast 
about 15 to 20 minutes long 
quail is tender, basting about every five 
minutes. Remove quail from pan. Re- 
move salt pork from quail. Skim fat from 
drippings in pan. Place the roasting pan 

(continued on page 81) 


Have you 
made merry with 
Maoris lately? 


If you have, you must know what great 
parties they throw. So, when you want 
to outshine the Maoris, and gain a 
reputation as a great host, be sure to 
have a supply of Champale on hand. It’s 
a sure way to add joie de vivre to any 
gathering. 

Just open those aristocratic looking 
bottles of Champale—well chilled, mind 
you—and pour into stemmed glasses. 
This sparkling bubbly beverage quickly 
kindles gaiety among your guests— 
Champale is like that! 

You don't need an aristocratic bank- 
roll to buy Champale. It costs but little 
more than beer. So head right now for 
wherever beer is sold . . . your favorite 
restaurant, grocery or bar, and order 
a bottle of Champale. 

You'll learn with your very first sip 
why Champale deserves its description: 
“the malt liquor you serve like 
champagne." 


FREE! For clever new 
drink recipes, including the 
fabulous Champale Cock- 
tail, write to Dept. 9B, P.O. 
Box 2230, Trenton, N. J. 


THE MALT 


Eo i LIQUOR 
YOU SERVE 
АС 
аай Une 
сй | | cHameacne 


E. 


CHAMPALE 


MALT LIQUOR 


A malt beverage specialty served in a wide, shallow or 
sherbet glass. Metropolis Brewery of N. I, Inc., Trenton, N. 1. 


77 


78 


17's NO NEWS that the humble, homespun 
greeting card of yore has been outdistanced 
in recent years by the "studio card" — a 
ophisticated gag message, toney and tart, 
sometimes biting, often sexy, with sharp. clever artwork 
to match. Now, photographs of full-figured fillies are be- 
ing used to good ellect by a little Los Angeles outfit called 
ink, inc. Adman Jack Roberts dreams up the concepts and 
photog Hal Adams (who has done a respectable number 
of гї.Аүвоү Playmates in the course of his carcer) snaps 
the shutter. The cards are, as they say, for all occasio 
and include such sentiments as “So you did the birds and 
bees scene — Congratulations! I hear you got little 
honey!” (decorated by a bare-bosomed beekeeper); "We'll 
have a ball at Christmas . . . if уше log time with m 
(with a cool yule cutie kneeling at the holiday hearth): 
and, of course, for that most special of all occasions, 
“Wham! Bam! Thank you ma'am!” (a nightied nitty in 
the company of her great and good friend, the rabbit). 


жоо NATIVES MUST LEARN 


ner ro erew Gee on voua mereces 


à‏ د 


UN 


pictorial 


THE CARDS 


IT'S AN ELECTION YEA 


ARE STACKED sexified sentiments for all occasions 


M + 
A CHEMISE, я 
Е 


FOR CHRISTMAS? 


WHAT ARE 


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ы хан SO GREAT 
IN THE 
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^M 


emen IE 


PLAYBOY 


80 


! NEVER KNEW 


ro mas vou зо MUCH! 


The gorgeous-girled greeting cards turned out by ink, inc., fit all the standard occasions and a few new anes, too. 


‘TWAS THE KNIGHT ВЕКОВЕ... 


WOW! WHAT A CHRISTMAS EVE! 
(MERRY-YOU-KNOW-WHAT!) 


IT'S YOUR MOVE . . . after you've gifted her with 
this bulky knit wool wonder that features gigantic 
checkboard squares. Warm as a kiss, just the 
sweater to turn an indoor girl into the outdoor 
type . ~- and UE, m black with white 
-squares or black with ti 

Sizes: $(30-32), M3430). “isso. Price 
pre-pai $24.95 


Send check or money order to ROYALS 
1159 North State Street e Chicago 10, Illinois 


ANT ANT 
DRIP ЙА SWEAT 


Your Beer Соп 


or 
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will not leave а ring on 
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clothes when you use а 


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The cork insulated plastic 


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drink 20° COLDER. 


For your gift fist toc. Appreciated by men or women 
Send $3.00 for set of 4 Postpaid 
In assorted porty colors 
SCHAEFER & SONS INC. 


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Indianapolis 23, Ind. 


Swagger styled for sports car comfort! 


DEEP oes ДИ 


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FAIR GAME 


{continued from page 77) 
over a top flame. Add balance of chicken 
broth, tomato juice, juniper berries and 
enough gravy color 
rich brown. Bring to a boil. Dissolvi 
arrowroot or flour in 1⁄4 cup cold water, 
mixing until no lumps remain. Slowly 
add arrowroot solution to the в 
while stirring constantly. пег 10 
minutes over a low flame. Strain gravy 
into a saucepan. Drain grapes. Add 
grapes to gravy. Bring to a boil. Add 
cognac. Add salt and pepper to taste. 
Place each quail on a piece of toast. Pour 
sauce with grapes over quail on serving 
plates or platter. 


BREAST OF MALLARD DUCK 
(Four portions) 


Many ducks on the Eastern flyway live 
on a dict of seafood which creates a par- 
ticularly strong fishy smell when the 
ducks are roasted or broiled. The odor 
which comes from the carcass isn't much 
of a problem in the recipe below, be- 
cause the breast meat is cut off of the 
carcass. The remainder of the duck, con- 
sisting of the leg and second joint, are 
seldom eaten, since they're generally 
quite tough. Sometimes the discarded 
meat is put into a duck press where the 
juices are extracted for the gravy. In 
roasting or broiling wild ducks, the meat 
should always be cooked rare for best 
flavor and tenderness. 


2 mallard ducks 

М cup olive oil 

2 tablespoons red wine vinegar 

JA teaspoon rose 

4 sprigs parsley 

1 onion sliced 

2 pieces celery sliced 

1 crushed clove garlic 

Salt, pepper, paprika 

Pluck the feathers from the duck, re- 
moving only those which cover the breast. 
With a very sharp knife, cut into the 
skin — not the flesh — starting at the neck 
and cutting straight back along the top 
of the breastbone to the tail. Remove 
the skin from the breast. To remove the 
meat, cut along each side of the breast- 
bone. Run the knife under the flesh 
and as close as possible to the 
Remove cach side of the breast in onc 
piece. Place the breasts in а bowl with 
'dients except 
and paprika. Marinate ove 
heat the broiler at 550°. Ке 
breasts from the marinade. Spr 
ast lightly with salt, peppe 
paprika. Broil under the broiler 
about five minutes on each side. 
with wild rice, creamed silver onions, 
fresh green peas and guava jelly. 


pve the 
each 
and 


KOAST PRESSED DUCK 
(Four portions) 


2 wild ducks, cleaned, drawn and. 
singed 


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postage and. handling 
SAVA 


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the 
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Great with a tie 

... but it really 

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long sleeves. 

1 Oxford cloth in 

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XL. Ours alone, 6.95 ppd. 

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81 


PLAYBOY 


82 


ACCESSORIES FOR THE COMPLEAT DRINE 
SPANISH WINESKIN (bota) 


The ultimate in swill flasks. Convenient, picturesque, 
and absolutely the most efficient item ever devised 
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Superb also for ski trips, boating and football 
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is suitable for any variety of grog, ond should last 
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Only $575, 


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DRINKING SWEATER 

Excellent warmup garment for drinking bouts, beer 
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Write for detoils and prices. 


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1 teaspoon minced shallot or onion 
24 cup red burgundy 

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% teaspoon beef extract 

Half lemon 

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is removed. from each 
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+ venison chops in. thick 

та cup French d: 

Prepared mustard 

Salt, pepper 

12-oz. can imported whole chestnuts 

2 tablespoons butter 

Va cup celery, small dice 

14 cup onion, small dice 

14 cup green pepper. small dice 

8-02. can tomatoes 

Y4 teaspoon sugar 

14 teaspoon garlic powder 


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per. Broil under a preheated broiler 
flame about five to six minutes on each 
Serve chestnuts alongside chops on 
plates. Garnish each plate with a 
large sprig of watercress and prepare for 
an evening of fun and game. 


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SINATRA 


(continued from page 66) 
functions as an artist, 1 can forgive him 
anything.” 

Apparently the public can forgive 
him anything, too, accepting him on his 
own terms, overlooking his mistakes and 
seeming immaturity, respecting him for 
his talent, his sincerity and his tempestu- 
ous struggling and striving. He has 
slugged a columnist for invading his 
privacy and а radio engineer for mak- 
ing an anti-Semitic remark; he can be 
rude and inconsiderate to those around 
him and is notorious for not being on 
time lor rehearsals and public appcar- 
ances or missing them altogether, but he 
will expend considerable time and 
cnergy helping a friend or even a casual 
acquaintance, or a cause he considers 
worth while: he once flew to Gary, In- 
diana, in an attempt to talk high school 
students into ending a strike against 
a time when he was turning 


all over the 
played two weeks at the M. 


country, he 
ambo in 
Hollywood as а tribute to a pal who 
owned the club. the late Charlie Mor- 
rison, and for the benefit of Morrison's 
widow (two solid weeks of SRO crowds 
that broke every house record within 
memory and had the biggest celebrities 
in town waiting in line with the rest for 
a chance at a table to watch Frankie 


club oflers 


perform). 
Unfortunately, many of Sinatra's 

friendships are not lasting ones. At one 

ume, Sin ackie Gleason were 


inseparable companions. Gleason was 
then pla parts in gangster films 
(“I got $500 a week but Г had to buy my 
own bullets,” he says) and Sin: was а 
star, A few years later their situations 
were reversed. Sinatra was in his pre- 
Eternity slump and Gleason was on his 
way to becoming the hottest property in 
television. Gleason gave Sinatra а num- 
ber of guest spots on his show. Later, 
after Sinatra had climbed back to star- 
dom, Gleason met him one night and 
jokingly made some remark about how 
he had helped Sinatra when he was 
down and out. Sinatra became angry. 
They have stopped speaking; when they 
meet, they merely nod. Not long ago a 
friend asked Gleason why the two old 
pals 

“I spe: 
him where he can go. 

Hank Sanicola is a friend who has 
stuck from the earliest days. Пе was a 
song plugger who used to bring Sinatra 
free sheet music from the musicpub- 
lishing firm for which he worked; when 
Frank joined Harry James band and 
later Tommy Dorsey's, Sanicola went 
along. He wrote This Love of Mine 
with Frank and Sol Parker and Sinatra 
recorded it with Dorsey; 


son said. "I tell 


icola is now 


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Sinatra's personal manager. He is a big, 
good-natured guy with very protective 
feelings where Sinatra is concerned. 
When Frank finds himself in a scrape, 
Sanicola is usually near at hand to help 
him out of it, which has given rise to 
the notion on morc than one occasion 
that he is Sinatra's bodyguard. 
Humphrey Bogart was one of Sina- 
tra's closest friends, and Frank was 
around thc Bogart houschold almost 
constantly. Sinatra and Bogart organ- 
ized a group of Bogey's neighbors into 
an informal hell-raising club, dedicated 
to drinking heavily and staying up ай 
night singing and waking non-partici- 
pating neighbors. They called them- 
selves The Holmby Hills Rat Pack and 
other charter members included the 
David Nivens, Katharine Hepburn and 
Spencer Tracy, Mrs. and Mr. Judy 
Garland, Nunnally Johnson, the Leland 
ards, Prince Mike Romanoff and 
his Princess Glori: ul Lazar 
and John H gey was the only 
man to whom Sinatra would listen,” ob- 


served a good friend of both. “Bogey 
and Betty were like a set of parents to 
him." Bogart said of Sinatra, “Frank's 


idea of Paradise is а place where there 
are unlimited supplies of women and no 
newspapermen, He'd be a lot better off 
if it were the other way around.” 

Betty Bacall has made no secret of 
her affection for Sinatra. Soon after 
Bogart's death, the two of them began 
appearing together frequently at prize- 
fights, in nightclubs, at Villa d'Amore, 
on weekends with friends in Las Vegas 
and Palm Springs. Rumors circulated 
that a marriage might be in the offing 
(although Sinatra is still legally tied to 
Av dner) but when Дос Hyams, 
who was the only newspaperman Bogart 
allowed the run of his house, called 
Betty and asked if it were true, she re- 
plied, "Marry that bum? I ought to 
clobber you for suggesting 

A bit later, she went to visit Sinatra 
on the set of Kings Go Forth. Sinawa 
id, "Excuse me, I've got to go do this 
scene with Tony Curtis where I tell him 
he's got to marry the girl.” 

“This,” said Bacall, "1 got to hear.” 

Nevertheless, friends noticed that 
whenever Sinatra's na 
Bacall's eyes would shi 
he was away from Hollywood, she would 
not leave her Bellagio Road house un- 
til after six т.м. each night, the time he 
called her every day, even when he was 
in Europe. 

Finally, one night at а party, Irving 
Paul Lazar, the literary 
friend of both Bacall a 


be married, and Miss Parsons dutifully 
broke the news to her readers. The 
trouble was, it wasn't truc. Joe Hyams 
called Betty immediately and asked if 
. "Well . . ." Sinatra, 
as usual was unavailable to the press. 


and she sa 


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The real story is that Bacall and Sinatra 
did, for a time, entertain the idca of 
marriage. Much was in their favor: they 
have a great deal in common, many 
mutual friends, and Sinatra worships 
her little son and daughter. ("That Les- 
lie girl of mine is ready to walk out of 
the house with him any time,” Bacall 
once said. Leslie is five) But then 
Bacall drew up sharply and, aided by 
reports she received of Sinatra's boudoir 
athletics in faraway places, began to 
wonder if she really was doing the right 


thing. A friend says, “She could handle 
Bogart because he was a completely 
fa 


hful husband. He never messed 
‘ound with other women. Something in 
si л makes him, when he stops for а 
hamburger or a malted, want to take a 
chop at the pretty little carhop who 
brings it to him.” Sinatra does not deny 
this. "I love broads," he says, which 
ranks as one of the more conservative 
public utterances of the year. 

Frank's heart leads his mind. Не func- 
tions on an extremely emotional level 
although he is an intelligent, self-edu- 
cated man (he reads voraciously, mostly 
non-fiction. is interested in astronomy, 
painting and serious music). And when 
his various peccadillos get him in hot 
water, he is apt as not to thumb his 
nose at sympathizers, asking help from 
no one, telling Ше press to go to hell 
and his friends to omit the flowers, His 
constancies are few, but they are in- 
dclible: a fierce devotion to his children 
and his friends; a fierce devotion to the 
twin muses of singing and acting; a 
fierce devotion to his privacy. Every 
thing else is Bridgeport. A therapist who 
attempted to strip away Sinaua's layer 
on layer of frustrations and angers 
would have to get down to these three 
constancies which sustain and protect 


him from what fellow actor Arthur 
Kennedy has called “the furies that 
possess d 

Frankie would say obscenity thc 


obscenity furies; they are nobody's busi 
ness but his own. His acting and his 
singing are in the public domain, but 
the rest of his life is his own business 
and if you cross over that boundary, in 
the words of a pug friend, “You're dead 
wit Frenk." He is always in the com- 
pany of a curious collection of friends 
who look like extras from Оп the 
Waterfront. Their chicf functions are to 
run errands and answer the telephone 
(Sinatra's telephone is never still, even 
though he gets a new unlisted number 
on the average of once a month; he gets 
new ones so often that he sometimes 
forgets them himself, which angers him). 
This entourage forms a near impene 
table wall between Sinatra and people 
who are trying to get to sce him. Even 
his business managers, Lefkowitz and 
Berke, have difficulty in getting him on 
the telephone. “Frenk ain't heah,” a 
low, ominous voice says to all callers, 


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even though Sinatra’s voice may be 
heard plainly in the background. 
“Frenk’s sick. Frenk's wit de doc-tuh.’ 

When Look did a three-part story on 
what makes Fran run. the of 
which seemed to be that he required the 
services of a firstrate headshrinker, he 
hit them with a $2 million suit for 
slander. The lawsuit for slander later 
was withdrawn and a test case for in 
vasion of privacy substituted. [t will be 
some time before it comes into court. He 
feels that no one has the right to pry 
into his personal life. and the concept 
of Sinatra as a skinny dragon, breathing 
fire and noxious fumes, has been per- 
petuated largely by reporters who resent 
this attitude. 

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the love god go from here? To a love 
goddess, perhaps. Over the big drink 
France, they have one called Brigitte. 
The publicists proclaim that Frankie 
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MARVELOUS LOVER 


(continued from page 4 
a degree or two, so stunned me ther 
so shocked me later, so surprises me 
even now. 

It was а Monday, that I remember, 
though not what I wore or what Porter 
wore nor anything else about the morr 
ing before I reached his shop at all. I'd 
like to say, I'd love to feel, that I'd 
some premonition, an inkling, 2 warning 
itch of disaster. But that would be a lie. 
1 do remember that once in the back of 
the shop, we made love that morning. 
That I've never forgotten. Made love 
shamelessly, soundlessly, wordlessly, be- 
yond even our own ordinary frontiers. 
It was marvelous past anything. For 
both of us, І know. But I didn't know 
this was in the nature of a gift, not 
from Porter but from my own muse 
(Clio, the Muse of History, the only 
one with a real job and a real sense of 
crime and punishment). 1 know that if 
I lived through another century (intact) 
I'd never have it like that again and, in 
a way... I'm glad. It was enough. Too 
much. Henry Shoemaker may 
thing with his love from A to Z for even 
that is onl fter all, a finite line, but 
infinity . . . too much for poor frail civ- 
ilized man with his juices sucked away 
in culture and commerce. 

And after we loved that Monday, we 
rested, and after we rested, we smoked. 
But very soon, somchow, 1 sensed some- 
thing, that temperature drop, that faint, 
only barely intuited restlessness of Por- 
ter's. Whether he had planned to talk 
about the square and the circle with me 
at all, I don't even know. Perhaps he 
hadn't planned to tell me anything. Or, 
knowing Porter, it was likely that he'd 
just not decided what he'd do about 
telling me, one way or the other. I only 
know that for the first time I found him 
abrupt, even rude, certainly uncomfort- 
able. And uncomfortable himself, Porter. 
immediately made me uncomfortable. 1 
wanted to know what was wrong. 

"Busy . . ." he mumbled, untruth- 
fully. 

"Oh Porter,” I moaned, at least I 
planned it as a moan. I think it was 
more likely a whine, the way it came 
out. 

And Porter did something so unlike 
him that it almost embarrassed me. 


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Porter shuffled! 

“Well,” he muttered finally, “if you 
come diddle a working man amidst his 
works . . .” 

"What can you expect?" J finished 
for him. My voice was adequate to bear 
its burden of words. I was a veritable 
Duse but my spirit trembled, trembled 
and fell. Not only was this unkind and 
unlike Porter, whats more, I didn't 
even know what diddle meant! 

“Also, I ought to catch a train . - 
He remained sitting, though, sitting 
away from me, and a from the 
shadows of love, sitüng at his desk, 
fiddling with his absurd display of those 
damned arrowheads and some aban- 
doned, unsharpened pencils. 

"What're ying, Porte: 

He didn't 

"Because I and I suggest 
you don't know either." Really, I didn't 
know what he knew or didn't but it 
seemed а good didactic stand to take. 

Porter there, massaging his god- 
damned beard. Then he tested the 
points on his arrowheads and then 
rubbed his beard again. 


1 asked. 


There was almost absolute 
silence the back room, in this arbor 
of Porter's amours. From the front of 
the shop, I could hear the voices of 
customers and Porter's partner or what- 
ever he was. But those voices were just 
a jumble. I thought I'd give it a try, 
though. 

"Your friend's diddling some custom- 
ers.” Use it three times and it’s yours. 
But Porter only smiled. Which was also 
unlike him. 

"Em getting married," he repeated. 
Yes, Г heard you," 1 answered, not 
defiant which I hadn't the strength for, 
only puzzled and хайде: nd troubled. 
Whom would Porter marry? Why would 
Porter marry? 1 had never considered, 
however wildly. such a possibility, not 
for myself nor for any other woman of 
his. My idea, at this moment, of his 
bride was vague but whatever her linea- 
ments І remember that my own seemed 
rapidly to defeat me. She must be a 
goddess, a heroine, а queen, Aspasi 
Madame de Sé poetess, a wit, a 
Valkyrie, a sexual athlete. I felt myself 
not only diminished, not even unattrac- 
tive, but simply, wholly, unlovely. 

“She must be quite a woman. 

Porter was obviously unmoved by any 


I had not even the imagination to fan- 
tasy. 

He shook his head. 
damned.” 

I sat down. He: 
Porter to be tragic . - 
had such hues to do with 


She's one of the 


у. How unlike 
or comic. What 
the silent 


primary colorama of his caresses, or his 
swoons or mine? 

"She's damned,” he said again, pull- 
ing at his beard with, was it possible? — 
shaky fingers. 

“What the damned hell do you mean 
by that?” And I blushed for myself. 

‘Oh Porter, dear Porter, I am sorry. 
I'm just . jealous, І suppose, and 
surprised. 

"You, you don't have anything to be 
jealous of.” He neither looked at me 
nor, I believe. thought of me. He was 
part of a drama of his own. And drama 
was not Porter's medium. 

"She's not brilliant,” he said, “nor 
beautiful, nor rich, nor clever, nor joy- 
ful, nor young, nor . . . lucky. 

"Does she love you?" I asked as 
though I were clutching a fleeting hope 
that she must have something of value. 

"She's a tormented soul." 

“Oh, my God, Dobey. This doesn’t 
sound like you. What are you talking 
about? 

“I'm talking about a woman,” he said, 
“not a girl. Not a girl with brains and 
education and cute titties like you.” He 
smiled then. And I've always been grate- 


ful that I didn't say: well, th: 

“I'm talking about a woman, deserted, 
wronged, divorced, a woman with three 
children, with thick ankles. With no 
money. 

“And your Iove." This was all either 
very funny or very profound. But for 
me it seemed neither. For me it seemed 
like nou I didn't know what it was. 
I just didn't know what it was. 

Porter stood up. He so 
this much. And his voice was somewhat 
cracked, I thought, and nasal. From so 
much speech or so much thought? Un- 
симотей both. Or had I just never 
heard so much of Porte: € before 
that I didn't really even know it? Had 
I never heard it, never heard more than 
a stiff and bristly rumble close to my 
was wonderful, saying I 
ying I was his, saying not 
ying now honey? Well, thi 


so fast, 
I thought, won't help me now. This 


way hell. So I shut that off, like the 
oven light is shut off. but still there, 
waiting for a match. 
"She's had a rotten life," he said. 
“And you're going to make it up to 
herz" 


"No thank you, sir — I'm on vacation.” 


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“Yes. Like that.” 
“But,” I was fecling desperate. “Is she 
do you know her? I mean . . ." 

He looked at me then, very wisc, very 
unamorous. 

"Have I slept with her, you mean? 
You mean, is she good in bed? Like 
you, you goddamned little bitch? Like 
you?” He laughed, taking the curse off 
i 


"Yes" he said, “yes to the first and 
no to the second. She's just а woman, 
That's all, Not you. Just a woman. Not 
special, not warm, not frigid. Not cold, 
Just a woman, You fondle her, you take 
her, and then maybe you read a book 
or light a furnace or some other god. 
damned thing. Whatever it is husbands 
do. Put the cat out. I don't know." 

Among my desperately chaotic feel. 
ings, thoughts and griefs was the amazc- 
ment of never before having heard Por- 
ter talk about scx. 

“You want to be domestic with her, 
you mean?" 
an I want to give her a break. 
"That's all I want to do." He sat down, 
and stopped fiddling. He looked like a 
piece of sculpture then. He should've 
been sitting on a horse. I could sce him 
as an Indian chief. Where are your 
lands, brave one? My lands ave where 
my dead are. 


Porter. You don't 
marry for that, How can you give a 
woman a break if you don't even de- 
sire her? What the hell kind of break 
would that be? You don't even want 
this woman," I said in amazement. 

You d understand." 

“That’s for sure.” 

“Honey, I've had a marvelous time of 
it. I mean it, all my life. I've really had 
it. I've really made it. So now I want 
this. I don't know . . . I've thought 
about it. I just want to do something 
for someone else now. Not something 
1 want, just for someone else. I want to 
do something big and sacrificial, I want 
to save someone else, Only this is all I 
can do." 

Ih, my God, Porter! You'll burn in 
hell, you really will, for that sacrilege. 
I mean, who do you think you are, for 
God's sake? Albert Schweitzer or some- 
thing?" I meant to be sarcastic. 
cs,” he said, his whole face brim- 
ming with pleasure at my comprehen- 
sion. "Only, I can't do it like him. I 
can't say, here I've lived half my life 
for myself and the rest I dedicate to 
the world. He lived 30 marvelous years 
doing what he wanted, so then he 
thought he'd do what he didn't want 
at all ... and help the world. I don't 
think people realize how much he proba- 
bly dislikes all that Africa business. But 
he made it his mission. Well, I'm no 
doctor. I'm nothing that could help the 
world. But Гус lived some marvelous 
years myself and now 1 want to stop 
and do something for someone . . . 


absolutely entirely for someone else.” 

I could see here that Porter was obvi- 
ously, in a sort of underwater kind of 
way, reliving his own years. You could 
tell from the still, quiet, taut face and 
body. he wasn't thinking of Bach or 
eschatology. He was thinking . . . well, 
hell, I was thinking of it, too. And to 
keep my stomach from lurching and my 
groin from crying, I flicked my finger- 
nails at him: 

“Go on, go on, Porter Dobey. Go the 
hell on.” 

He sighed and then he did go on, 
"Schweitzer thought maybe he'd liye to 
be 60 and he ollered up, Lord, he just 
offered it up like a damned bit of in- 
cense, like an Isaac, lik b, offered 
up the second half of his life to hu- 
To what he didn't like and 
didn't wan 
thanks," 1 reminded him. 

He nodded. "In thanks for his first 
30 years doin’ what he 

“Porter, your voice is getting thick 
And what's more, I want to tell you 
that what you're suggesting is disgust 
ing. It's п and nature 
and God. It's a 

“Maybe.” 

"Porter, 1 never heard of anything so 
obscen 
m not drunk.” 
ош'те nauseating!” 


“Honey girl I've really had a good 
time, fooling around. Fooling around 
with these damn fool dusty books. Just 
like I likcd. Didn't have to read them. 
Just sit and look at ‘em. And women. 
My God, like the Gamekceper in Lady 
Chatterly's Lover.” 

Oh, this is the utter end, I thought. 
is lunacy. 

Lady Chatterly’s lover would just 
puke at vour idea, Porter. What do 
you intend to do? Repay the Fates or 
Gods?" 

. . to the Rulers of Men and thei 
Destin-ies," he sang. 

"Oh, shut up. Of all the confounded, 
antilife reverent attitudes. 1 mean it, 
Schweitzer would throw up, I'm not 
Kidding. You're going to pay for your 
sexual gluttony by going out and marry- 
ing an absolute nothing you don't even 
love in the first place and be faithful to 
her to boot and you think you're doing 
something for humanity! You must be 
absolutely insane!” 

"Don't shrick, pussy kid, I didn't say 
Т didn't want to sleep with he 

"Oh nuts | know you. I sec right 
through you. You're a combination of 
absolute hysteria, insanity and middle 
classiness. You'd never dream of marry- 
ing anyone you really wanted.” 

“1 never dream," he said, “especially 
of marriage." 


Ru 


“But, Porter, if you want to make up 
for your fun which is an idiotic and 
probably psychopathic idea incidentally, 
why don't you become a monk? Or join 
the Foreign Legion or the Ford Founda- 
tion or something? Or better still, why 
don't you just go on sprcz 
around? Let all the women taste it, 
yummy, Dobey darling, let them all 
have some of you. You could adv 
Wouldn't that be better for hum: 
Make love to all the ugly women in the 
world maybe, give your great joy to the 
bereaved, to all the bereaved, the halt, 
the accursed, the febrile, the smelly . . .” 
1 ran out of words and breath and 
strength. 

He sort of patted the desk in front 

of him as though he were patting my 
head. “I couldn't do that, girl,” he said, 
maybe seriously. God, 1 don't know if 
he was serious. 
That wouldn't work," he said. “Be- 
sides, I don’t want to spread it around 
. . . anymore, 1 don't want to do any- 
thing I want to do anymore. Don't you 
understand? 

“Porter,” I said weakly, finally, unable 
to stand this any longer. “Why did you 
pick this girl? Why her? I mean, if you 
want to get married, why don't you 
marry mc or someone you could . . . 
care for?” J didn’t know exactly whom 
he could care for nor what that would 


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mean in Dobey's terms but I knew what 
I meant. 

“That’s just it,” he said almost beam- 
ing, for him, at having hit upon just the 
way of explaining that would make me, 
he thought, understand at last. “That's 
just it. You don't need me: 1 mean, you'll 
marry someone just right for you one of 
these days. You're a doll. You'll have 
no trouble. You'll fall in love and get 
married. So will . . . lots of people. But 
she won't. You see? If anyone is going 
to help her, it has to be me and now 
and this way. You get me?" 

I nodded, fecling partially I think 
that it would be dangerous in д way not 
to humor him. I felt like a character in 
Dr. Caligari’s cabinet. 1 didn't know 
who was in and who outside the lunatic 
asylum. 

“Well, Porter. Who is she? I mean, 
where did you have to go to find the 
perfect pathetic ¢ for your attention? 
Did you advertise: 

"Don't be cruel. It’s not becoming to 
you," he said. "She's a friend of a friend. 
I met her through friends. She's a good 
person. Really. I mean you'd like her. 
You really would." 

“Well, thanks. Thanks. Pm sure I 
would. Charming. What's her nam 
"Her name is Sonia Shoemaker.” 

My first thought was a sort of mer 
registration that in addition to having 
no looks, no brains, and no money, she 
had a funny name. My second thought 
was hardly a thought, it was a tiny cor- 
rosion in the heart. a melting in the 
stomach, a lightning bolt in the brain. 

“Sonia Shoemaker!” So here it was. 
Sonia Shoemaker. Henry and his great 
romance had got parted. But not for 
me. And Porter Dobey would sacrifice 
himself. But not for me. The strangest 
quadrangle I could possibly imagine out- 
side of a fairy tale. Henry and Sonia 
and Porter and me. And Sonia got all 
the men! I mean, I guess I'm so shallow 
and selfish that that was, honestly, my 
third thought: Sonia got all the men 
and I'd got nothing! 

Oh, I suppose I had some philosophi- 
Cal observations too, but they came 
much later. Afterward, it sort of seemed 
to me that someone here, very subtly, 
getting the short end of a stick, 
somcone was being punished but I 
didn't know exactly who it was. Not 
Henry Shoemaker who was, I thought, 
neatly escaping nor Henry's poor wile 
who was obviously being just as neatly 
salvaged. Maybe it me, Or so it 
seemed then, faced with all I was appar- 
ently losing. But now, so much later, 1 
think it was Porter himself who, through 
his sentimental, guilt-ridden notion of 
sacrifice, was paying by painful duty for 
what he had pleasured himself with in 
his grasshopper days, It was Porter's 
story, all the way. 

Still, at that moment, on that morn- 
ing, in that dusty back of the store, 


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which had always in the past scemed to 
me the epitome of comfort and release, 
I really felt only that I was the one who 
was losing out all the way and what was 
worse, to my own literary sense of my 
character, I was probably not going to 
be able to exit with any dignity cither. 

Porter, dear Porter who had never had 
to worry about such things, did make 
one, feeble. gesture in my direction and 
for that, though it hurt, I was grateful. 

“Look,” id, “I know this is queer, 
that it sounds crazy to you. To me it's 
good and 1 have to do it. And I'm going 
to do it. l'd do it now no matter how 
1 felt or what anyone said. But, if it 
gives you any satisfaction, I . . . look, 
1 feel bad only about you. Really. And 
you. baby, ГЇЇ mi: 
Porter.” 1 observed cautiously, “you're 
going to miss some other things.” 

He spread his hands out on the desk 
in front of him, separating cach finger. 
I waited. Unwilling to tell him about 
Henry and Sonia and my own double 
forsakenness, I had. in revenge, set him 
a verbal wap, a test. Only I terribly 
didn't want him to I'd set it up 
like a straw man and most anybody 
would've said it but I didn't want him. 
to, 1 didn’t want him to say, deflating 
all my image of what he is, that love 
after all wasn't everything. that sex 
wasn't the most important thing in the 
world. And, he didn't it. either. To 
his eternal glory. he didn't. out of ex- 
planation, expiation and farewell say 
that one awful lie. 

No, he stared at his spread-out 
and he said only. “I'll miss everything, 
the best in life. The best thing in life, 
love. 

Sentimental? God, it stank of it. But 

it was truly vintage Porter. 
So then I left. I never saw Porter 
sain. I suppose he married Henry's 
poor wile but even that 1 don't know 
for sure. I never did meet her and 1 
never, what's more, heard about or from 
Henry Shoemaker a So, though it's 
all years ago and maybe time enough 
in which to have garnered such nuggets 
of wisdom as inhere in my memory of 
that queer quadrangle, I'd be unwilling 
to offer any maxims for life out of my 
experience. There's almost nothing I'm 
willing to offer up by way of observa- 
tion, nothing I can truly say, that I 
simply know and believe, except that of 
all the people who may in this life have 
been challenged toward sacrifice, Porter 
Dobey was the truest altruist of all. He 
really sacrificed something, the very fluid 
of life's embrace, that rare thing, pleas- 
ure without pain. And the only other 
thing I still know is that he was a 
marvelous lover. All the years since have 
only confirmed what I thought as а girl. 
He was a marvelous lover; maybe he was 
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FUN 0N SKIS 


(continued from page 74) 
Elli of Aspen, and many others). You 
can buy almost anything in Aspen that's 
in any way related to skiing, the finest 
imports and the best domestic stuff, too, 
much of it handmade—and you can 
find wonderful gifts at such places as the 
Alpine Jeweler and the Wonder Shop 
with which to console your non-skiing 
girl back home. 

Perhaps you want to save your more 
alcoholic refreshments for after dinner. 
If so, be sure to try the very European 
coffee house atmosphere at the Epicure 
or the Delice pastry shop — or indulge 
i pizza with beer at the Heidelberg 
(there's a пісе juxtaposition of nation- 
alities). 

Night life in Aspen is, well, nifty. 
You might try dinner (to the accompan 
ment of folk singing) at the Limelite, 
or drop in to hear a chanteuse at the 
Rendezvous. with its mate atmos- 
phere and French cooking, or sample 
the Swiss fare at the Golden Horn and 
Guido's, or assay one of the Red Onion's 
charcoal broiled steaks. Or you might 
want to drive out of town to the Copper 
Кеше. And alter dinner you have a 
choice of jazz at the Red Onion. dancing 
and floor show at the Golden Horn, or 
a quiet tête-à-tête over a nightcap at the 
Jerome. 

Whatever you do, chances are you'll 

want to go to bed not too late because of 
tomorrow's skiing. Ihis shouldn't prove 
a hardship, however, since the fun starts 
сапу in the р.м. At any rate, when it's 
time to wander homeward, you'll be 
going to the accommodation of your 
choice, made from a wide variety of 
lodges, motels, chalets, apartments or 
even dormitories. There's the Jerome, 
the luxurious Aspen Meadows, the Pros- 
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heated pool, the more informal Holland 
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lodges — or the Mountain Chalet for the 
young at heart. Maybe yours will be an 
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Lamarr, the Aspenhof, Boomerang 
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Glory Hole Motel, Bell Mountain Lodge, 
The Pines, The Vagabond, or Alpine 
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Wherever you stay, though, we offer 
one word of warning: don't imbibe so 
much that you risk the fate that befcll 
a lad we know. One fine night late, this 
boyo staggered sleepily into a girls’ dorm 
by mistake, only to be awakened at day- 
light by the sound of pretty young things 
cavorting about in their longjohns. For- 
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(continued from page 37) 
have been literally horrifying. You would 
have been scared to death. 

Right off, the word bevy would cause 
you to wonder what you were getting 
into. In Latin bibere meant to drink. 
This became beivre in Old French, and 
entered English as bevee, a group of 
drinkers. It gradually changed to mean 
a company of "roes, larks, quails, and 
ladies." But in those days a bevy was 
more likely to be a gang of drunks. 

Pretty and cute would put you on 
your guard. A “pretty” girl was one who 
was sly, cunning or crafty, and a “cute” 
one was clever or shrewd, Such a girl 
was definitely interested in getting the 
best of you. If you knew a little Latin, 
their lace was another reason to worry: 
it comes, by way of Old French las, from 
the Latin laqueum, a snare or noose. 
“Lasso” has the same root. And your 
fears are borne out by allure: from Old 
French aleurrer, to entice into a snare. 
So far, some crafty lushes are scheming 
to put your head in a noose. 

And then, when you find that you are 
to be enchanted with charms, you are 
really frightened, because you realize 
that you are dealing with witches — and 
witches were nothing to fool around 
with in the Middle Ages. A girl who en- 
chanted (Latin incantare) you in those 
days was literally putting a wicked spell 
on you. She was using black magic, €x- 
ercising the evil arts, and practicing her 
charms: from Latin carmen, a song, 
which soon came to mean a та! in- 
cantation like the song of the Lorelei or 
the Sirens, to lure you to your doom. 
Man, you're in deep! 

In fact, you're about to be inveigle 
from the French aveugler, to blind or 
delude. Totally bamboozled, totally un- 
der their spell, you let this passel of 
witches drag you off to their pad and 
make use of you in their hideous rites. 
You haye, in a word, had it. 

‘That is, if you were living in the Mid- 
dle Ages. Living today, you probably 
had a very interesting evening; and if 
there was any possession, it wasn't by 
evil spirits. 

So а sentence can mean one thing at 
one time, and something entirely difter- 
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what? How can we blame the ladies for 
this? 

Well, of course, we can't. The cour- 
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cute enchantresses of the next; and, by 
and large, the ladies break about cven. 
They don't pull the language down; on 
the other hand, they don't ennoble it 
either. The simple fact is that words 
change their meanings as time gocs by, 
and the most you can say is that when 
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PLAYBOY 


96 


PLAYBOY 
READER SERVICE 


Janet Pilgrim can tell you where 
you can buy any of the 
interesting items you see 
featured or advertised in 


PLAYBOY. Use the Index of 


Advertisers and coupon below. 


INDEX OF ADVERTISERS 
ADVERTISER PAGE 


О After Six Forn Sad id 
22 

P 

Campus Casual Company. 19, 82 


Champale Malt Liquor 


oo 


Hardwick Blazers 
Head Skis. . 
Heath Hi-Fi 
Henke Ski Boot: 
Holiday House. 
Jonsen Hi-Fi Speakers. 
Kentucky Club Pipe Tobacco. 
Kings Men Grooming Aids. 
L'Aimant by Coty.. 
O Chester Laurie Clothing. 

Lucien Lelong Colognes. 
D Linett Clothes. . 

Long Island Auto Museum. 
О Medico Filter Pipes. ecc 
О Mercury Records... 11, 15, 22 


n 


п 


n 


Murdoch & Company. -6 
My Sin by Lanv ud 
NoDoz -85 

D) Paris Belts. -6 

О Plymouth Rain Wea: лі 
RCA Victor Popular Album Club... 5 
Shaw-White and Associates 
Sirloin Room Stegks. 

О Sounderaft Tapes 


Stylark Company, 
Тов Shop, The. . 
"Top Brass’ by Revlon. 
Usher's Scotch Whisky 
Varsity Shop Flasks & Canteens. , 
Village Squire, The. 
Hiram Walker 
Woodmere Mills 


Check boxes above for information regard- 
ing advertisers. Use these lines for informe- 
tion about other featured merchandise. 


Your Name 


PLAYBOY READER SERVICE 
232 Е. Ohio Street, Chicago 11, Il. 


PLAYBOY’S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK 


BY PATRICK CHASE 


JANUARY Is CARNIVAL kick-off month in 
many Caribbean isles, including Irini- 
dad and the French West Indies. At 
Martinique and Guadalupe, in particu- 
lar, carnival comes as close to а booze 
and-broad-happy bacchanal as anything 
you're ever likely to sce. Add to this: 
exotic atmosphere that might have been 
dreamed up by Maugham and Conrad in 
tandem, the pungent beauty of the un- 
inhibited mulatto girls, whose passionate 
dancing of the beguine on a Saturday 
night at places like Le Select Tango is 
dazzling, Creole grub like calalu herb 
па agouti stewed in white wine, 
Parisian shopping at prices that put 
Paris to shame, the totally disordered 
friendlir of staff and management at 
the two tiny hotels on Martinique. You'll 
have a mad old time of it for sure. 

New Усагз Orange Bowl and the mid- 
January opening of Hialeah should be 
enough to lure you to Flori 
tra bonus is the Greek Orthodo: 
bration of the Epiphany January 6 
Tarpon Springs, during which every- 
body partakes of the dancing and fcast- 
ing on Greek green cheese, honcycake, 
wine and pitch-black coffee. Try the go- 
ingson at Louis Pappas’ picturesque 
waterfront restaurant. In California, the 
Rose Bowls the January lure— but 
don’t stop there. Drive up the coast to 


NEXT MONTH: 


Santa Barbara, San Luis Obispo, Mon- 
terey and San Francisco on a leisurely 
two-day run in a rented convertible 
(your round trip planc ticket, good from 
cither L.A. ог San Fi 5со, gets you a 
5% discount on a Hertz car). 

In Europe, should you wish to eschew 
the run-of-the-milicu ski slopes, why don't 
you try France's Auron? А few short 
hours from the Mediterrancan, it boasts 
two dandy hotels (Collet and Pilon) 
that can handle your billeting problems, 
and a better-than-average rest nt (La 
chaumitre) to assuage your appetite, in 
addition to a gaggle of tows, slopes, rinks 
nd pleasant outdoor sources of vin 
chaud. Then, just 60 miles away, you're 
Nice with its bikini-bedizened beaches 
d its bustling bevies of Bardot types 
who sway down the Boulevard des An- 
is. If you want to make your own 
choice of ski spots, then be sure to get 
the gratis guidebooks put out by the na- 
tional tourist offices of France (resorts 
generally on the expensive side), Switz 
erland and Italy (middle range), and 
Germany and Austria (usually quite 
reasonable). 

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


PLAYBOY'S SPECIAL FIFTH ANNIVERSARY ISSUE 


Five fabulous years of sophisticated urban entertainment are signalized 
with a pleasure-packed package of grand new, brand new literary and 


pictorial prizes 


“A KNIGHT LAY DYING"'—A complete new novelette by JEROME 
WEIDMAN, author of the current best-seller, “The Enemy Camp" 


THE FIVE MOST POPULAR PLAYMATES —A quintet of your all- 
time favorites—the Playmates that created the greatest reader response 
during PLAYBO Y's first five years of publication 


PLUS FINE FICTION, ARTICLES AND HUMOR by STEVE ALLEN, 


TV's ad-glibing Steverino -GARSON KANIN, Author 


of "Born 


Yesterday"—THOMAS MARIO, chronicler of elegant eating--JOHN 
SACK, urbane sojourner to faraway places--H. ALLEN SMITH, 


America's jester laureate 


IT’S A COLLECTOR'S ISSUE THAT WILL BE LONG REMEMBERED, 
AN ISSUE YOU WON'T WANT TO MISSI 


ди 


Pici BouRBON wa 


wake | 
де - 

—— B 
E av 


Something old (the bourbon). Something new 
(the bottles). The old: Walker's DeLuxe straight bourbon aged 
7 years in cask. The new: Pint and half-pint flasks—curved, with 
Jigger Top. Handsome new labels, too. No bourbon anywhere is more 


deluxe than Walker's DeLuxe! 


STRAIGHT BOURBON WHISKEY e 7 YEARS OLD • ЕБ 8 PROOF + HIRAM WALKER & SONS INC , PEORIA, ILL 


A young man-about-business who knows how to put his ideas across, the PLAYBOY reader is as adept with a line of 


reasoning at the conference table as he is with a romantic line at the cocktail table. What's his line? 


According to the leading independent magazine survey, PLAYBOY has a higher percentage of readers who are business 


owners or are engaged in professional and technical occupations than any other men's magazine. Of the men who 
read PLAYBOY, 33,8%, pursue such vocations as law, teaching, science and art or have companies of the 


Not surprising to discover that the median income of the prAvnov household is $7281, the highest figure reported 


in the survey for any men’s magazine. (Source: Consumer Magazine Report by Daniel Starch & Staff, August 1 


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