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MARCH 60 ce 
ERTAINMENT FOR MEN 


RAY BRADBURY: THE ILLUSTRATED WOMAN 
BEN HECHT: A JACKPOT OF CORPSES 
BARNABY CONRAD: TAHITI 

KEN PURDY: THE FERRARI 

HAS SUCCESS SPOILED MARLON BRANDO? 
SHEL SILVERSTEIN: TEEVEE JEEBIES 

NEW NUDES IN HOLLYWOOD FILMS 
PLAYBOY PANEL WITH MORT SAHL, 
STEVE ALLEN, LENNY BRUCE, 

JONATHAN WINTERS, MIKE NICHOLS 
BILL DANA, JULES FEIFFER 


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PLAYBILL 


COVER GIRL лири: scorn, a frequent guest 
on Playboy's Penthouse, phones in the 
word that the Ides of March, to say 
nothing of the Calends and Nones, hold 
ї bur good tidings for our readers. 
Riding high on the goodly tide is the 
second Playboy Panel: the frst in the 
November issue, you may recall, turned 
the problem of narcotics and the jazz 
musician over to a discussion group 
that included Stan Kenton, Dizzy Gilles- 
Duke Ellington, Shelly Manne, 
nnonball Adderley, jazz critic Nat 
Hentoff, Maxwell T. Cohen, attorney 
nd legal expert on narcotics addiction, 
ad Dr, Charles Winick, Secretary 10 
the National Advisory Council оп Nar- 
cotics and Director of Research of the 
Narcotics Addiction Research Project. 
Our second Panel tackles a considerably 
lighter, but no less interesting, subject 
| Hip Comics and the New Humor, 
with panelists as qualified to discuss 
their subject as were the first: on hand 
re, in alphabetical order, Steve Allen, 
Lenny Bruce, Bill Dana, Jules Feiffer, 
Mike Nichols, Mort Sahl and Jonathan 
Winters — а healthy cross section of the 
new school of cultivated funnymen — 
and we think you'll fiid fascinating 
their views of themselves and each other, 
its origins, its social — or 
tent, its form and, espe- 
cially, псе and powerful ap- 
peal in the US. tod 

Jerry Tallmer, Associate Editor and 
drama critic of The Village Voice, has 
done as much as 
the world’s liveliest neighborhood news- 
paper its enviable reputation for cl 


buses the 

beam of his critical insights against the 
kleig lights of commercialism, shows us 
Brando as the artist he was on the 
waterfront, argues persuasively that — 
otherwise —hes been on the wrong 
track since getting off a streetcar named 
Desire. Strong meat, this — opinionated 
and eye opening. 
Eye-opening in another way is an 
enticing eyeful of filmic females who are 
riding The Nude Wave in Hollywood; 


CONRAD 


under that tide you'll find a word-and- 
picture survey of the trend in Flick City 
lare toward what bluenoses might term 
overexposure of the well-developed. 
Our own view is that the greater leniency 
recently allowed by the Supreme Court 
is a step toward narrowing the nation's 
cultural time lag, and though the first 
“art” excursions we've screened m 
leave something to be desired in subtlety 
we applaud their lightheuted attitude 
and humor — a refreshing contrast to the 
thinly veiled prurience of some far less 
décolleté footage regularly on view 
your local movie house. Anywa 
see from the stills of Janet Leigh, Jean 
Simmons, Debra Paget and a gamboling 
gaggle of girls from Not Tonight Hemy 
(а low-budget epic, j.g.) that Hollywood 
is turning the other cheek 

Our lead fiction this month, The Ma- 
chine in Ward Eleven, is an engrossingly 
disturbing story of a profoundly dis- 
turbed man and the tortuous path by 
which he came to the tortured end of his 


tether. Ehough this is the author's debut 
in our pages, Charles Willeford is no 
novice — he has five novels to his credit. 
His full-time writing career was preceded 


by a bit of fascir 

j. horse cavalryman at the 

to tank unit commander in 

ЕТО (five decorations), to postwar р; 
iv and. Lima, to T' 


the 
int- 


life was launched 


fornia. 
during a stint with the Armed Forces 


His writing 


Radio Service in Japan. The illustration 
accompanying the story is by Merle 
Shore, who speaks of it thus: "The cen- 
figure contrasts the fugitive life of 
оп (warm color, classical grace) with 
the desperate story situation (sombre 
color, linear unrest and tension)." Our 
Art Director, Arthur Paul, who super- 
vises all phics for PLAYBOY, avers this 
illustration and layout typify the origi- 
nality and vigor which won for the 
nore awards, citt and 
medals in last year's Art Directors Clu 
ion than any other 


story. The Illustrated 
Woman, is an anticfantastic story of 
flesh tones and етс mal overtones. 
This is Bradbury's twelfth praynoy 
story; its title, need we say, is nder 
of his classic The Illustrated. Man. An- 
other prose stylist and eravsoy regular 

Charles Beaumont; Chuck. makes his 
seventeenth rrAvnoy bow with Comics, 
a warmhearted tour of the funnies, [rom 


burys short 


The Yellow Kid to Peanuts. Comic 
its own right is Fx-Execurive-Editor 
Ray Russells 1 Have the Spirit of the 


Stairs, а treatise on pre-planning punch 
lines for social situations. (Russell's Sar- 
donicus —our January lead novella — 
has been bought for the movies and Ra 
is curently in Hollywood doing the 

play) Among other praynoy 
arts in an issue that begins to seem 
Old Home Month: 


deo is уды Ore ЛИТЕ 
and Shel Silverstein, who presents yet 
another episode in his Late, Late, Late, 
Late Show — this one called Son of Tee- 
vec Jeebies. 

It seemed appropriate this month, 
when vernal wanderlust starts stirring in 
the blood, to offer à tempting — yet tem- 
pered — view of Tahiti, the enchanted 
isle chat mesmerized Gauguin, Могао 
and Hall and, more recently, Barnaby 
Conrad, author-diplomat-painter-pianist- 
matador-boniface and world traveler. 
Conrad's practiced eye sees through the 
surface attractions and beneath the 
haunting spell. Result: another Conrad 
article for pLaysoy which, like his Cor- 
rida (November 1957) is uniquely 
perceptive and compel 

More March memorabil 
of Corpses by famed frontpager Ben 
Hecht, who mines his newsman's past 
for a ghoulishly ri «count of rive 
rat rivals and thei racket; fashion 
reports on how to feel high à nd be dry 
despite wet weather (Swingin in the 
Rain), and a shoe wardrobe for the city 


1 Jackpot 


scene (Urbanity Afoot). Al of which 
might seem aplenty, but there's lots 


more. Please proceed. 


vol. 8, no. 3 — march, 1961 


PLAYBOY. 


Tahiti P. 80 


Н 4 


Illustrated Woman Р. 62 


GENERAL OFFICES, PLIYDOY GUILDING, 222 E. 
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FOR UNSOLICITED MATERIALS, CONTERTS COPY- 
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NOTHING MAY BE REPRINTED IN WHOLE CR IN PART 
WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION FON THE PVO- 
LISMER. ANY SIMILARITY BETWEEN THE PEOPLE AND 
PLACES IN THE FICTION дао SUAI.FICTION IN THIS 
MAGAZINE AND ANY REAL PEOPLE AND PLACES 15 
PURELY COINCIDENTAL. CREDITS: COVER DESIGN 
BY ARTHUR PAUL. PHOTO BY PlAYDOY STUDIO; 

PHOTOS BY ALLAN GOULD, EUGENE ANTHONY; P. 35 
PHOTOS BY MORT SHAPIRO. MARVIN KONER Р. 35 
PHOTOS BY вор WILLOUGHBY, MIKE SHEA. MARVIN 
KONER: P. 45-89 PHOTOS BY DANIEL RUBIN; P. ЗУ 
PHOTO тү ROSE в MAYER: Р. 56-58 PHOTOS BY VIC 
SKAKONESKI, P вз PHOTCS BT ARNOLD NEWMAN, 
WALTEN © MALLORAN: P. 74-76 PHOTOS BY PLAYBOY 
STUDIO. SHOE TALES COURTESY OF ROCHESTER SHOE 
Intt company: т. во PHOTO вт ERWIN LANG: P. Bl 
PHOTOS шт DON BRONSTEIN, FRED LYON: P. ст 
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DY Сима: P. 99-91 PHOTOS BY WILLIAM GRAHAM 


CONTENTS FOR THE MEN’S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE 


PLAYBILL... cue: 1 
DEAR PLAYBOY — Жа сад ES 
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS.. 5 сь 15 
THE PLAYBOY PANEL: HIP COMICS AND THE NEW HUMOR—discussion..._ 35 
THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR... = omens WE 


THE MACHINE IN WARD ELEVEN—fi CHARLES WILLEFORD 44 
-KEN PURDY 48 


BEN HECHT 51 


THE FERRARI—modern living... 


A JACKPOT OF CORPSES—restolgia 


А GOOD EGG—food THOMAS MARIO 5з 


MARLON BRANDO: THE GILDED IMAGE—oertich JERRY TAUMER 55 


SWINGIN’ IN THE RAIN—attire € 56 
ACADEMIA salire... 59 
ON THE SCENE— personalities. DÀ : . 61 


THE ILLUSTRATED WOMAN—fiction. wa RAY BRADBURY 62 
PLAYMATE WITHOUT RESERVATION—playboy's playmate of the month mats 


PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor. . 


— д 72 


URBANITY AFOOT—. 


cnn ROBERT L GREEN 74 


COMICS—arti 
TAHITI—tra vel... 
1 HAVE THE SPIRIT OF THE STAIRS—humor. 


CHARLES BEAUMONT 77 
BARNABY CONRAD 80 
—— ..........RAY RUSSELL 83 


THE NUDE WAVE IN HOLLYWOOD-—pictoriol. eee 86 
THE WINGS—humor _ : — c. SHEL SILVERSTEIN 92 
ERNIE'S—man at his leisure... E = 94 


THE PANGS OF LOVE AND HUNGER—tibeld classic -JUAN TIMONEDA 97 


SON OF TEEVEE JEEBIES—totiro ss -SHEL SILVERSTEIN 99 


PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK—trav. PATRICK CHASE 136 


HUGH M. HEFNER editor and publisher 
A. C. SPECIORSKY associate publisher and editorial director 
ARTHUR PAUL art director 


JACK J. KESSIE managing editor VINCENT T. YAJIRI picture editor 


DON COLD associate editor REID AUSTIN associate art director 
SHELDON WAX associate edilor Jons млзако production manager 


MURRAY ER associate editor 


HOWARD w. LEDERER advertising director 


OR LOWNI 


promotion director ELDON SELLEKS special projects 


XOBEKT s. PREUSS business manager and circulation director 


KEN PURDY, WALTER GOODMAN contributing editors; ROBERT x. GREEN fashion di 
ioi; BLAKE RUTHERFORD fashion editor; DAVID TAYLOR assistant fashion edilo: 
TUOMAS MARIO food & drink editor; PATRICK силк travel edilor; ARLENE BOURAS 
copy editor; JOSEPH н. PACZEK assistant art director; ELLEN PACZEK art assistan 
BEY CHAMGERLALN assistant piclure editor; DON BRONSTEIN, POMPEO POSAR staff photog- 
raphers; TENS д. MEARTEL production assistant; ANSON movnt college bureau; 
BENNY DUNN public relations manager; THEO FREDERICK personnel director; JANET 
PHORM reader service; WALTER J. HOwARTH subscription fulfillment manager. 


the 
incredible 
story 


of British inspired 
tallow leather 
and the Paris belt 
that is made 


to last for years 


In this hurly-burly era of 
“planned obsolescence,” it is 
good to know that there are 
still people like “Paris” * who 
believe products should be 
made to last for years. 


The belt shown is superbly 
crafted of tough, tawny Tal- 
low Leather—remarkable for 
its incredible past and un- 
believable future. The inspira- 
tion for this robust belt comes 
from the British Isles, where 
English saddle-makers use tal- 
low to give choice hides a rare 
suppleness. 


"Paris" craftsmen have 
mastered this difficult art, and 
now rub hardy, well-bred 
steerhide with tallow until it 
becomes soft and pliant, 
smooth and lustrous. 


With proper care, this belt 
will last you many years— 
never cracking or splitting— 
requiring only a casual buff- 
ing with a soft cloth to main- 
lain its magnificent finish. 


Only $3 in the 1” width, 
$2.50 in the 34” width. At all 
fine shops. 


Paris is a registored trademark of A. Stein & Co, 
Another fine Д Kayser-Roth product, 


It's great to take chances 
but not on your bourbon 


Walker’s DeLuxe is aged 

in char ak casks for 

eight long years, twice as long 
as many other bourbons. 

Its extra years make it 

extra mellow. 


SIRAIGRT BOURBON WHISKEY + В YEARS OLD • 86.8 PROOF ~ HIRAM WALKER & SONS INC., PEORIA, ILLINOIS 


DEAR PLAYBOY 


EJ] Apress PLAYBOY MAGAZINE - 222 E OHIO sr, CHICAGO 11, ILLINOIS 


PLAYBOY PANEL REPRISE 

I think the November round-table dis- 
cussion on narcotics was a gas. I've had 
many comments, Also I see you are using 
cartoons by E. Simms Campbell — J think 
he's all the jazz musicians’ favorite. Keep 
it up. 


Dizzy Gillespie 
Flushing, New York 


The problem surveyed by the panel 
оп narcotics is typical of the mid-century 
U.S. scene. No one serious problem can 
be solved because it is so closely inter- 
twined with other serious problems. Nar- 
cotics and the Jazz Musician highlights a 
number of soft spots, such as medical 
care for non-millionaires, scientific psy- 
chiatry, civil liberties, race prejudice, the 
place of the creative artist, law enforce- 
ment, etc. To me, the most important 
point about drug addiction is this: it 
very often leads to great human suffer- 
ing for both the addict and those de- 
pendent on him. We know enough to 
treat practically every case and to pre- 
vent drug addiction as a social ph 
nomenon. It is interesting that we don't 
apply that knowledge. 
redric Wertham, M.D. 
New York, New York 


Alter perusing Narcotics and the Jazz 
Musician, X say huzzah for this timely 
revelation. Please keep enlightening your 
disciples — they're all the better for it 

Lee Brooks 
The Cash Box 
icago, Illinois 


ACAPULCO DISPATCH 
USING NOVEMBER PLAYBOY AS GUIDE ТО 
ACAPULCO. FIRST TIME IVE GONE ANY 
WHERE ON STRENGTH OF A TRAVEL ARTICLE. 
CONGRATULATIONS, FERNANDO OF EL MIRA- 
DOR TELLS ME TOWN HAS NEVER HAD THIS 
TYPE OF REACTION FROM ANYTHING = 
MARK RICHARDS 
AMERICAN BROADCASTING COMPANY 


NEW YORK, NEW YORK 


HAPPY OVER HARPY (CONTD) 
I thought Tom Brown's Harpy was a 
compelling and excellently written piece 


of work (with the added virtue of an un- 
familiar and fascinating milieu), though 
I confess it would have been nice to see 
the eagle chew up the husband as well 
as the wile. 


James Ramsey Ullman 
New York, New York 


PLAYBOY’S PENTHOUSE 
How does a рілувоу fan go about 
getting your television show, Playboy's 
Penthouse, shown in a city where it is 
not presently being aired? 
Charles Woodbury 
Miami, Florida 
“Playboy's Penthouse” is available to 
television stations on both tape and film, 
and if it is not presently being shown in 
your area, write or wire your local TV 
station managers requesting the show. 


COOL PAPA 
Roger Price's Father Brother and the 
Coal Colony was a masterpiece. It seems 
impossible for one man to write with 
such wit. The article “best” 
among Ше many rLavsoy bests. 
Bill Raume 
Seattle, Washington 


es а 


There is no such thing as a “cool 
colony.” The colony in the story sounds 
more like a “hate-the-squares colony.” 
Which is just as silly 
And for the same reasons, like a reversi 
ble raincoat of hate. The original mem: 
bers of the beat generation did not sec 
that it was of any particular social sig. 
nificance that a guy was a hobo under a 
bridge ramp or worked in an ad agency. 
What mattered was the spirituality of 
the person. 


Jack Kerouac 
Northport, New York 


SILVERSTEIN'S ZOO 

Setting up zoos is not an casy task, but 
it seems to me that Shel Silverstein is 
going about the job in just about the 
right way, which, of couse, is the wrong 
way, leading as it does to many peculiar 
housing problems. To say nothing of the 
problems of feeding. But I think Mr. 


SUBSCRIPTIONS: IN THE U.S. ITS 
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MY SIN 


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PLAYBOY 


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PLAYBOY 


YOUNG MAN : work with 


British on American project 


A great deal of superiority will be required of our man. Must take his 
drinks without ice. Must be able to carry а Sportcoat as new as our 
English Jacket. A direct steal of the English riding coat. A Cricketeer 
introduction: slanted pockets, flaring skirt, deep riding vent. What it 
docs: creates the Best-Dressed Look either ‘side of the Atlantic. English 
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for Anglo-American stores, write: 


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This is appeal #25 to The Young Man Who Wants To Make $10,000 A Year Before He's 30. 


slightly higher in West € Reg. U.S. Pat. Off. 


rstein is going to solve them. I cer 
tainly will watch future issues of rr avnoy 
with pleasure to check up on him as he 
accumulates further specimens. 

Ted Geisel (Dr. Seuss) 
La Jolla, California 


Good grief! Yet another facet of Shel 
lverstein's amazing talent. Let's all 
hope that the Slithergadee didn't rcally 
catch him. 


Larry Landrith 
Tulsa, Oklahoma 


Silverstein's Slithergadee got me. His 
Zoo is by far the most riotous collection 
of whimsy since the work of Lewis 
Carroll. 


Sharon Gaio 
East Chic: 


э, Indiana 


Make the Glump Playmate of the 
Month. 
Karl Kantrowitz 
Passaic, New Jersey 


I haven't missed a copy of PLavnoy in 
five yea joying everything in gen- 
eral and Silverstein in particular, but 
December's Silverstein’s Zoo is just the 
most ingenious piece of hilarity, bar 
none. I don't see how Shel can top hin 
self after this, but it will be fun watch- 
ing him try. 


Charles E. Саан 
Levittown, New J 


су 


As you may or may not know, Shel 
Silverstein was once a member of the 
staff of the Roosevelt Torch, the student 
newspaper of Roosevelt University, and 
many of his carly, but nonetheless hu- 
morous, cartoons аге in our files, I 
thought your readers might be interested 


"Arnold studies herd like 
that before erry exam.” 


in this typical sample of Shel's early 
work, dated February 19, 1931. Silver 
stein also wrote a college column titled 
The Garbage Can, in which the follow- 
ing item appeared: “Many of you have 
written in asking me if 1 know what has 
become of the house of ill fame (the 
only suggestive word used in tod 

ess 


column) once located at Com 
State. The scoop is that the establish 
ment, run by two Chicago hoodlums. 


COLUMBIA RECORD CLUB 
now presents an 
exciting new selection 

of recordings by the 


GREATEST 


JAZZ 


ARTISTS 


of all time! 


49. THE AHMAD JAMAL 
TRIO. Ten exciting per- 
forminces Including: Love 
for Sele, Rica Pulpa. Don- V 
key Serenade. Perfidia. ete, 


18. GERRY MULLIGAN QUAR- à 


TET What Is There To Say? 
Blueport, Just in Time, As 
Coteh Can, 8 more 


23. INSIDE SHELLEY BER- 
МАМ. Recorded in actual 
performance. “Hilarious, 

truly” priceless comedy, 
Los Angeles Examiner 
28. ELLA FITZGERALD Ger- 
shwin Song Book, Vol. 1. 
Love is Here to Stay. Clap 
do Hands, But Not for 


31. DAVE BRUBECK QUAR- 
TET—Gone With The Vind. 
Lonesome Road. Swanee 
River, Georgia on My Mind. 
Basin Street Blues, etc. 

38. ERROLL GARNER GEMS, 
Nine great jazz hits inclu 


DAVE BRUBECK 


BILLIE HOLLIDAY 


of these superb 
high-fidelity 12° 


records for only 


..and as a new member you are invited to take 


ANY 5 2197 


if you join the Club now and agree to purchase as few as 5 selections 


91. ELLA FITZGERALD — 
Mack The Knife. On tour 
In Berlin Ella sings Gone 
With the Wind, Dady is а 
‘Tramp, Misty, ete. 


104. DINAH WASHINGTON— 
What A Diff'rence A Day 
Nakes. Time After Time. 
Im Through With Love, 
Cry Me A Tver, eic. 


122. ERROLL CARNER  Con- 
cert By The Sea, Its All 
Right With Me. ТИ Re- 
member April, etc, 


124. AHMAD JAMAL — The 
Piano Scene of Ahmad Ja- 
mal. Old Devil Moon. А 
Gal In Calico, Slaughter on. 
‘Tenth Ave., Folnclang, ete. 


ae” 


ERROLL GARNER 


ing: Laur. Fm. їп the EN 

Мсни мелен 1 e 127. THE WONDERFUL 
46. LIONEL HAMPTON — ‘te: 7А WORLD OF JONATHAN WIN- 
Golden Vibes. Hamn plays W TERS. "Ап authentic comic 
12 solos. Smoke Gets in 1 i genius with & suberb gift 
Your Eye Funny Уел, Ao Сысу 
ie, Neames oF Vou eit. o zy GILLESPIE 

48. SARAH VAUCHAN-—After 128. GERRY MULLIGAN 


Hours. The Divine Sarah 
sings Deep Purple, Perdido, 
My Reverle, ete. 

50. MILES DAVIS—Kind Of 
Blue. Miles blows hot with 
FlamencoSketehes, Preddle 
Freeloader, Blue in Green, 
So What, All Blues 

63. DUKE ELLINGTON — 
digos. The Duke and nis 
Orchestra play Solitude 
Where, or, When, Willow 
Weep for Me, etc. 

65. ANDRE PREVIN — Like 
Love. When I Fail in Love, 
Falling їп Love With Love, 
I Love a Plano, 12 In all 
88. OSCAR PETERSON TRIO 
—Gscar Peterson At The 
Concertgebouw. Ive Got 


the World cn а String, 
Drahoud, Budo. etc. 


SIT IN ON THE GREATEST JAM SESSION 
OF ALL TIME! Described above are tne 
finest recorded performances by Amer- 
газ greatest јан artists.. a treas: 
Шу of "must" records for every well- 
rounded record library, And what a 
selection... from Columbia, whose cat- 
alog of jazz is the world's largest... - 
from Verve, another leader in this field 
.. and from many other top labels! 

To introduce you to the money-sav- 
ing music program of the Columbia 
Record Club, we now offer you ANY 
5 of these’ great jazz records for 
only $1.97! 


TO RECEIVE YOUR 5 JAZZ RECORDS FOR 
ONLY $1.97 — mail the coupon now. Be 
sure to indicate which опе of the Club's, 
Your musical Divisions best suits your 
musical taste: Jazz; Listening and Danc- 
ing; Broadway, Movies, Television and 
Musical Comedies; Classical. 


HOW THE CLUB OPERATES: Each month 
the Club's staff of music experts se- 
lects outstanding records from every 
field of music. These selections are 
described in the Club Magazine, Which 
you receive free each month. 


SARAH VAUGHAN 


MEETS STAN GETZ. Any- 
thing Goes, Lets Fall in 
Love, "hat Old Feeling, 
Ballad, etc, 


129. MILES DAVIS—'Round 
‘About Midnight. Tadd's De- 


[i 


«ФЕ 


ANDRE PREVIN 


130. DAVE BRUBECK QUAR. 
TET — Time Out. Strange 
Meadow Lark. Take Five, 
‘Three to Get негау, etc. 


131. BILLIE HOLIDAY- Lady 
Day. Billie's Blues, Easy 
Living, H You Were Mine, 
What's Little Moonlight 
Can Do, etc- 


132. BILLIE HOLIDAY—All 
Or Nothing AtAII m Wind, 


But Not for Me, Sey Tt 
Isn't So. Speak Low, ete. 


You may accept the monthly selection 

your Division . . . or take any of the 
ide variety of ather records offered 
in the Magazine, from all Divisions . - - 
or take NO record in any particular 
month. 

Your only membership obligation is 
(о purchase 5 records from the more 
than 200 to be offered in the coming 
12 months. Thereafter, you have nu 
further obligation to buy any additional 
records .. . and you may discontinue 
your membership at any time. 


FREE BONUS RECORDS GIVEN REGU- 
LARLY. If you wish to continue as à 
member after purchasing 5 records, 
you will receive — FREE — a Bonus rec- 

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dividend. 

The records you want are mailed and 
billed to you at the regular list price 
of $3.98 (Classical $4.98; occasional 
Original Cast recordings somewhat 
higher), plus a small mailing and hand- 
ling charge. 


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146. СЕМЕ KRUPA — Drum. 


Bh 


MILES DAVIS 


GERRY MULLIGAN 


mer Man. The inimitable 
Krupa beats out Drum 
Boogie., Let Me Off Up- 
town, Slow Down Boogie 


lues, 9 more hits 


147. RAMSEY LEWIS TRIO— 
Down To Earth. Dark Eyes, 
Greensleeves, John Henry. 
‘We е It. Come Back to 
Sorrento, Soul Mist, ete. 


148. COUNT BASIE—Basie 


223, DUKE ELLINGTON — 


134. SARAH VAUGHAN—No 
Count Sarah, Moonlight in 


In London. How High the 
‘Moon, Flute Juice. Jumpin’ 
st the Woodside. Blee Blap 
Blues, Roll "em Pete. etc. 


149, LESTER YOUNG Presi- 
dent Plays With The Oscar 
Peterson Trio. ‘There Will 


Vermont. Darn, That Never Be Another You, m- 
Din sist Qn of These Чет. "fva foe Fw. ele 

ae aat AHMAD JAMAL 150. LES BROWN — Band- 
135. LOUIS ARMSTRONG land. A String cf Pearls, 
PLAYS М. С. HANDY. Lone — 138. THE HI-LO'S AND ALL Begin the Beguine. And the 


Gone. The Memphis Blues. 
St. Louls Blues, Beale 
Street Blues, ett. 


136. CHARLIE PARKER — 
Night Е Day. almost Like 
Being in Love, What is 
This Thing Called Love, 
Stella By Starlight, 7 more 


137. LAMBERT, HENDRICKS 
 ROSS The Hottest New 
Group in Jazz. Charleston 
Alley, Cloudburst, „Bijou, 
Everybody's Boppin’, ete. 


THAT JAZZ. Lidy In Red. 
Of Thee I Sing, Fascinatin’ 
Fuythm.Someining’scom- ем 
ing, Love Locked Out, etc. 


139. RICH VERSUS ROACH, 
Sing Sing Sing. Big Foot, 
‘The Casbah, Figure Eights, 
Limehouse Blues, etc. 


140. CHARLIE MINGUS — 
Mingus Ah Um. Better cit 
it in Your Soul. Goodbye 
Pork Pie Hat. Boogie Stop 
Бие, Jelly Roll. 5 more 


141. JAY & KAL - 6. Nicht 
In Tunesia. Rise ‘n’ Shine. 
No Moon At All, You're 
‘My Thrill, Jeanne, 7 more 


142. STAN GETZ AND J. J. 
JOHNSON AT THE OPERA 
MOUSE. Funny Valentine, 


It Never Entered My Mind. 
hues in the Closet, etc. 


143. DRUM SUITE. Art Bla- 
key: Cubano Chant. Sacri- 
fice, Oscalypse; The Jazz 


Messengers: Just for Marty. 


DERLY—Sharpshooters, 1f 1 
Love Again; Straleht, No 
Chasers; Fuller Bop Man; 
Stay cn It: ete. 


LAMBERT. HENDRICKS, 
'& ROSS 


Angels Sing. Got A 
WIth an Angel. Marie, Car- 


151. DIZZY GILLESPIE 
Have Trumpet, Will Excite! 
My Heart Belongs to Dad- 
бу. My Man. Wray 
‘Troubles In Dreams 
glow, ete, 


114 & 115. BENNY С000- 
MAN — THE FAMOUS 1938 


an, 12 In ali 


ELLA FITZGERALD 


мост 


Blue Skies, Honeysucki 
Rose, One O'Clock Jump. 
Loch Lomond. etc. 


Date 


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а 


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Т accept your special offer and have circled at the right 
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in the following Division of the Club: 

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O Jazz [] Listening end Dancing [ Classical 

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nd Musical Comedies 
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cand Address. 


CIRCLE 5 NUMBERS: 


14 88 132 142 
18 91 133 143 
23 104 134 144 
28 122 135 145 
31 124 136 146 
38 127 137 147 
46 128 138 148 
48 129 139 149 
50 130 140 150 
63 131 141 151 


65 1148115 
“Counts as 2 sele 


Угит Oum TOi. ine Гуш 


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In Living Stereo and Monaural Hi-Fi on RCA VICTOR. 


was doing well both socially and finan- 
cially until a Detroit syndicate tried to 
muscle in. There was a considerable 
ruckus r 
finally came to the attention of the 
police who closed the emporium down 
All of which goes to prove the old adage. 
"Тоо many crooks spoil the brothel 
Allen H. Kelson 
Roosevelt Torch 
Roosevelt. University 
Chicago, Illinois 
Silverstein is presently visiting our 
forty-ninth and fiftieth states and will 
have reports for our readers on them in 
early issues. 


sed and the entire matter 


FRIEDMAN AND O'BRIEN 

I certainly did enjoy 23 Pat O'Brien 
Movies by Bruce Friedman, and also his 
oot in the Door, In 


earlier story, 4 
both yarns, Mr. Friedman has done one 
of the hardest things I can think of: he 
has taken cliché situations and given 
them an entirely new twist — but not at 
all in an obvious or mechanical way. In 
essence and detail, these stories hav 
flavor all their own. Most of today 
writers seem to be strenuously pursuing 
the offbeat — you can sense the effort in 
their writing. For Mr. Friedman, the off- 
beat is only the starting р 
fortlessly unique. 

George B. Leonard, Jr 

Look 

San Francisco, California 


; he is ef 


NOVEMBER COVER 

How come there was no rabbit on 
г November cover? I've discovered 
famous emblem as everything from 


girl's eye on covers of the past, but I 
find neither hide nor hare of my long- 
cared pal on the front of your November 
issue. 

Claude Mitchell 

San Francisco, California 


What a clever idea, representing the 
PLAYBOY bunny on the November cover 
with nothing but a pair of girls’ gloves 

Robert Simmons 
Detroit, Mic 

PLAYBOY'S rabbit emblem has become 
so well known that one reader recently 
wrote us from New York and placed 


nothing on the outer envelope except 
the rabbit which he had clipped from 


one of the maga The letter 
was promptly deli AYBOY's 
Chicago offices and, most delightful of 


one has just been released. 


SIDE 1: En El Aguo; Come All You Foir & 
Tender Ladies; Jug Of Punch; Utowena; 
Bonny Hielon’ Laddie; Hord Trovelin* 
SIDE 2: Hongmon; Speckled Roon: The 
River Is Wide; Oh, Yes, Oh!; Blow The 
Condle Out; Blue Eyed Gol (SIT 1474 
IS] indicotes stereo version ovoiloble 


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all, no one with the post office in either 
New York or Chicago spoiled it by writ- 
ing the publication’s name, address, city 
or state anywhere on it while it was 
being processed and delivered. It ar- 
rived exactly as it was sent: with the 
only name and address upon it the so- 
phisticated PLAYBOY rabbil. 


TAKE FIVE 
Nothing could have thrilled me more 
than seeing beautiful Janet Pi 
ing up a page in the December issue. 
Next time, however, Janet should be 
more careful when she's in the tub. You 
know — too many suds clog the machin: 
ery. I'd like to see more of her more 
often. Thanks for page 94 
Lonnie В. Hayes 
Milford, Ohio 


Regarding those December Playmates 
in your anniversary issue, those pus 
faced blondes with too much front are 
getting very monotonous. The brunetic 
Miss Vargas is the only one with any 


glamor at all Why don't the sexpor 
bunny types you pick have as much class 
as your prose? 

Mrs. Theodore Paul L 
San Francisco, California 


CHRISTMAS JEER 
I think pLavnoy’s Christmas Cards are 
horrible. 
Ogden Nash 
New York, New York 


BUNNY PROSPECT 
How does a girl go about applying for 
а position as a Bunny Girl at the Playboy 
Key Club? 
Cheryl Johnson 
Deuoit, Michigan 
Applications for positions with the 
Playboy Club should be sent to the mag- 
azine, giving home address, age, and eu 
closing a photo. Bunny Girls are hired 
more on the basis of their beanty than 
previous experience. Eventually there 
will be Playboy Clubs in most of the 
major cities in the U.S. and abroad, and 
positions will be available in all of them, 
but in the meantime, Bunnies are being 
trained at the club in Chicago. Trans 
portation is supplied to Bunnies chosen 
from anywhere in the U.S. 


TITERS TO A CRITIC 

I think Eric Bentley's article in the 
December issue of rrAvnov is onc of the 
half dozen best things I have ever read 
concerning new playwrights. | think 
articles of that intellectual level and 
peneuation are an important way in 
which your magazine will increase its 
readership. 
John Reich, Director 
Goodman Memorial Theatre 
Chica Illinois 


Eric Bentley's Letter to a Would-Be 


Playwright is as true as it is delightful to 
read. He said everything so well that I 
have nothing to add to his viewpoint. 
But I should like to congratulate the 
editors of rtavpoy for publishing so 
good an article. 

John Gassner 

Sterling Professor of Playwriting 
and Dramatic Literature 
fale University 
New Haven, Connecticut 


I thought Eric Bentley's article а good 
one. It is even more useful to the gen- 
eral playgoer than to a would-be play- 
wright. That is as it should be. 

Harold Clurman 


New York, New York 


DISSENT ON DEDI 
J wonder at what our world is becom 
ing when T see such a cartoon as 
peared in your December issue on p: 
79. There in multicolor blasphemy, one 
Mr. Dedini has fashioned, and rrAvnov 
has chosen to print, one of the most sor- 
did and sick expressions of modern 
humor T ever hope to come across. Any 
magazine so hard up for humor that it 
lowers Christ's birthday to the depths of 
а liquorfilled bistro, and associates it 
with semi-nude women, can't help but 
be just another filthy instrument further 
ing public moral depravity. 
Leonard Н. Sassenrath 
Columbia, Missouri 


The cartoon on page 79 of your De 
cember issue was a complete mockery ol 
the meaning of the Christmas season. 
Often, the Christmas season is thought 
of as an excuse for nothing but good 
times and merriment, and the real mean- 
ing is lost. Please do not contribute to 
this mistake. 


Richard Parris 
Terre Haute, Ind 
We trust that most of our readers 
were well aware that Dedini's cartoon 
was a crilically satirical statement about 
the sorry state of Christmas in America 
today and the loss of much of its origi 
nal religious meaning. 


ana 


WILD OVER WILDER 
Richard Gehman's December article 
on Charming Billy was just that. The 
Billy Wilder he wrote about is the man 
1 know down to the last penetrating 
paragraph. 
William. Goetz 
William Goetz Productions 
Hollywood, California 


The article on Billy is an extremely 
good one. It is usually difficult to do 
Stories on people like Billy — they very 
rarely capture the essence of the man, 
You did it. Is а marvelous article. 
Tony Curtis 
Hollywood, California 


8%. OUNCER 

is the sport coat 
reduced to its 
smartest essentials. 
This exclusive hopsack 
blazer is lined in 
foulard, buttoned in 
brass. About $45 


Fabric by Warren of Stafford 


BloomIngdale's University Shop 
New York City and Branches 


Lytfon's, Chicago 
Phelps-Terkel, Los Angeles 


Juster Bros., Minneapolis 


13 


PLAYBOY 


14 


Johann 
Sebastian 
Bach 
(a composer) 
“drank 
эт cups 
of coffee 


Last year alone, people ( an—very lyrical. A titillat- 


dud. хайа Ro 


ing composers, musicians and ing re 
jeter acer! ay | 


million and a half cups of Kahlua 


Kahlua 
sly by 
writing: Kahlua SA, Avenida Juan 
Au 
DF (U.S. postage rates apply). 


pe book of exot 


accordion playe cocktails is available me 


...wîthand without cream. There's Sanche: ›па 1447, Mexico, 


a record that would put Bach to 


shame. Kahlua is the delectably Let’s make music together. Kah- 


delightful Mexican coffee li- lua, the 53 proof coffee liqueur. 


queur that makes for melodic is imported and distributed by 


days and harmonious evenings. Jules Berman & Associates, Bev- 


With vodka over ice, it's a Black = erly Hills, Calif. Kantua 


1 really enjoyed Mr. Gehman's Billy 
Wilder piece and agree that he’s tops in 
all lines. However, I selfishly disagree 
bout one statement he makes. I quote: 
“In addition to those films already men 
tioned, they made Midnight, What a 
Life, Rhythm on the River, Arise My 
Love, Hold Back the Dawn, eve.” Among 
the many scripts Charles and Billy wrote 
for me and which 1 directed were Mid: 
night, Arie My Love and Hold Back 
the Dawn. It was after these that they 
became a writer«lirector-producer team. 
I may add that once you have directed a 
Brackett and Wilder script. you are com. 
pletely spoiled for all others — 
sheer pleasure. 

Mitchell Leisen 
Los Angeles, California 


1 liked the article Charming Billy very 
much: the insert about me actually hap- 
pened and was presented truc to form. 
Tam a вілувоу fan, and while 1 may 
not excavate the way-off-center things, I 
do di Playmates. and thoroughly 
enjoy PLaysoy cach month. 

Paul Whiteman 
New Hope, Pennsylvania 


CAMPBELL SOUPCON 

As а longtime admirer of the artistic 
work of E. Simms Campbell, I am happy 
to find him represented in the pages of 
your unique publication. 1 hope this 
continue to be the case, for Camp- 
bells talents are exceptional and his 
production appealing. 


- Bunche 
ecretary 


United 


I have enjoyed the cartoons of E 
Simms Campbell for many years and it 
a pleasure to find them now 
rly in PLAYBOY. 

Katherine Dunham 
PortawPrince, H 


AFTER HOURS 

Your movie reviewer has gotten away 

with murder in the December issue. 

What gall to say Kirk Douglas doesn’t 

belong in the same class as Olivier, 

Laughton, Ustinov. et ak. in Spartacus 
Jim Menzer 

Associated Newspapers 

Lid. of Australi 
New York. Ne 


York 


Is your movie reviewer some kind of 
nut? How could anyone w 
to sit through a Z movie like Studs 
Lonigan possibly have any praise for it? 
I predict that this sick flick will send 
more movi ing up the aisles 
than a laxative in the popcorn 

Fred Blasedell 
San Francisco, C 
Well, thats showbi: 


th guts enough 


vers runn 


fornia 


PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS 


ronic events have been taking place 
iround us, portents, we like to think, 

of more amiable times. We learn, for 
instance, that toll booths on one of 
those stupefying New Jersey turnpikes, 
recently operated upon so that they 
might dispense toll cards without human 
assistance, are now being staffed ag 
with real people, because the machines 
couldn't handle this simple job. Mean- 
while, in a large New York office build- 
ing, whose owners have spent heaven- 
Kknows-how-many thousands of dollars to 
make their elevators self-service, Mesh- 
and-blood operators have been brought 
back to push the buttons for the five 
м. crowds. The un-operated clevators 

did not react well to rush-hour tensions 
Frequently they did not react at all 
Sometimes their doors would not open. 
Sometimes they would not shut. Some- 
mes they would open and shut and 

open and shut, but the clevator would 
not budge. Often people on the seventh 
floor could only get to the lobby by first 
going up to the tenth floor. At the 
outset, office workers, imbued with 
American reverence for technical accom- 
plishment, blamed the machines’ antics 
on themselves; one commuter, in par- 
ticular, took to stepping gallantly out of 
stalled elevators with some remark about 
reducing the load — thereby insuring that 
he would miss the 5:21 to Hartsdale. 
But after several instances of secretaries, 
imprisoned behind the closed doors of a 
motionless cab, emitting those little 
squeals that precede panic while ex- 
ceutives made weak jokes about their 
hospitalization coverage, blame was laid 
where it belonged — squarely on the 
machines. We are not prepared to argue 
that automatic facilities are by nature 
incfficient. No doubt laundromats, auto- 
mats, parkom 


ain 


and most of the other 


omats that have done away with people 
and their vagaries get the clothes washed, 
the food served, the cars parked. etc., 
perfectly well And we have no inten 
tion of defending featherbedding on 
the railroads. Nevertheless, we cannot 
help but [ecl a little twinge of delight 
whenever a machine is called on the car 
pet, and man comes back into the pic- 
ture, If we have to pay tolls to travel in 
New Jersey (if we have to travel in New 
Jersey), we like to have our LB.M. cards 
handed to us by a fellow creature, to 
feel his brief touch, and maybe even 
hear him mumble, "Take it.” And if we 
have to ride to the seventeenth floor to 
get to work—an odd ascent to make 
every day when you stop to think about 
it — we like having a man there with us 
to say, “Watch your step, buddy,” and 
tell us what he thinks about the Chicago 
White Sox or Khrushchev. 


Headline on a t 
lease: САТ HOUSE 
YORK PET SHOW 


de show press re- 
INTRODUCED AT NEW 


Sign prominently posted on cither 
side of a main-line railroad crossing near 
à, Japan: “Positively no intercourse 
on these tracks while trains are passing.” 


The Minneapolis Tribune covers the 
activities of the local fire department 
Under its WHERE'S THE FIRE? heading re- 
cently appeared: "2:16 — 1500 LaSalle 
Ave., ladies’ pants. 


Bugged once too often by recorded 
messages and answering services, Robert 
P. Newman, Hollywood indie producer, 
has taped a short announcement which 
he uses on his enemies — usually at about 
three in the morning. The victim's phone 
rings, he slecpily answers it, and before 


he collects his wits, the following re- 
corded message has been delivered: 
“This call was not intended for you 
You may have the wrong party in mind, 
or perhaps you have answered incor- 
rectly. Please — do not pick up the tele- 
phone unless you know the call is for 
you." Click. 


From Dr. Joseph Molners To Your 
Good Health column in the Chic 
Sun-Times: 


imo. 


“Dear Dr. Molner: Can a person have 
adhesions from any cause other than a 
major operation? Mis. W. S. 
it's possible. 

nclose а long self-addressed, stamped 
envelope and 5 cents in coin to cover 
the cost of handling." 


Y 


You've all scen those imposing-Jooking 
sex manuals, which are so popular in 
this era of the Human Relations Coun- 
selor. We've looked into quite à number. 
and found them interesting. enough — 
but limited; as their titles suggest, viz., 
Ideal Marriage, they are written for 
married people. Now, non-marital intcr- 
course is wrong: everybody's agreed on 
that— Dear Abby, Dr. Joyce Brothers, 
everybody— but, you know, it isn't 
necessary to go all the way, and we're 
pleased to report that a studious friend 
of ours, Mr. Paul Krassner, is now busy 
figuring out just how far the unmarried 
should go, and how to get there most 
enjoyably. He is working on a book, to 
be called Fear Without Love: А PreSex 
Sex Manual for Adolescents of All Ages. 
Part One, Hand-Holding, will lead off 
with the crucial chapter, “Nine Difler- 


ent Positions for Holding Hands and 


Three More if You Are Double Jointed 
"There will also be frank advice on such 
hush-hush subjects as "What to Do 


15 


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A. Тань \ 

& МУ Йй, Tommy t DORSEY, 


249. Their 12 top bite. Т. Stunning new record- 
w Sentimental Me: Rag Mop; ing af the dramatic ©. 
Naughty Lady of Sh 


245. The Sing-Along 244. Hin 12 zanicst hits. 
Spectacular! 43 all-time Cuchinile for Tiro, Chloe, 
top tunes, song sheets My ОЧ Flame, Glow 
for home harmonizes. Worm, Laura, ete. Tane: You. Vou, 
Heart of My Heart, ete. Regular LP. oniy. Regular L.P. only, 


"KIMPORTANT—PLEASE NOTE: Ге tho Glenn Miller album is available orly in regular L. P., you may get it and still join either the Stereo or the 


£ 102. 12 Dixieland clas, 
um by the sier f. Muskrat 


this up-to-date list of RCA VICTOR best-sellers 


EITHER STEREO 
or REGULAR L.P. 


ORIGINAL Нан 
FILM SOUND Ee 


NATIONALLY ADVERTISED 


PRICES TOTAL UP TO $29.90 


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If you ТОГЫ, you may choose this special 
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GLENN MILLER 
MASTERPIECES 


BOSTON POPS 


250. The origindlsound- 247. Sound extrara- 4. Original sound 

‘rack ol one ot he years ganza. Love Js û Many- recording from Rodgers 
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atandingscore with much Around the World, Song hit. 15 hardy perem 
from "Moulin Rouge. 


DITTTIM 


melody Billboard M: Gaynor, R- Палі — 
TWILIGHT TV-NIGHT Ee 
MEMORIES CLUB COMIC TUE XN S. EDITION 
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IN GOLD 
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NATIONALLY ADVERTISED PRICE $24.98 


Ray Eberle, Marion Hutton, The 
Modernaires—arrangers Jerry 
Gray, Bill Finegan and Glenn him- 
self{—sidemen Hal McIntyre, Tex 
Beneke, many more. Illustrated 
booklet tells the Glenn Millerstory. 


AT Last, this incomparable album 
has been reissued. Here are the 
band's greatest recordings, plus 
highlights from the broadcasts. 
You'll find all the stars of Miller's 
"Golden Age" singers Kay Starr, 


12 warmly sung im. 236. Entire night-club 
na spirational Set. шгирепыв corned. 
Talea, Crale Deli ape суу ЖУЙ Meese a PAA 
cado, Come Clover to Me На i ies. ete. Their 
The Peanut Vendor, ete Funniest album! 


esecee 


J JEANETTE THE SONGS IN THIS MEMORABLE COLLECTION 


T инн 
& NELSON 


ALOHA 
ALWAYS IN MY HEART 
AMERICAN PATROL 
ANGEL CHILD 


THE LAMPLIGHTER'S 
SERENADE 
LET'S DANCE 
LITTLE BROWN JUG 


Í FAVORITES BABY ME LOVE WITH A CAPITAL "You" 
4 BLESS You MAKE BELIEVE 
ч BLUE MOON MELANCHOLY BABY 
is 12 biggest 28.12 pop favorites and 9. Operetta film stare 
[тезе БАЗ заа аши жасу Cae iM a BLUE ROOM A MILLION DREAMS AGO 


Star Dust, Frenesi, Temp. Song, Warsaw Concerto, hits. Indian Love Call, 
taion, Dancing inthe Diane, Tenderly, Too Will You Remember^, 
Dork. Regular ЇР. only. Young, Charmaine, more. Rosalie, Wanting You 


easseneccesss Wa. МАДИ = Seo 


; : 
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° DOWN FOR THE COUNT PERFIDIA Н 

=) FAREWELL BLUES RAINBOW RHAPSODY 4 

Á > TLAGWAVER RHAPSODY IN GLUE ° 

100. Two super-ears, 74. 12 "MET . FOOLS RUSH IN RUG CUTTER'S SWING e 

12 Gershwin tren waltzes, Charmaine, FRESH AS A DAISY жүл а! е 

‘modern manner. Ramona, Always, Memo- GLEN ISLAND SPECIAL SLEEPY TOWN TRAIN . 

m Summertime, It Ain't. ries, Together, Girl of My HERE WE GO AGAIN SLIP HORN JIVE Ч 

Necessarily So. Dreams, Would You? — S THE HOP. STOMPING AT THE SAVOY e 

Е . 1 CAN'T GET STARTED STRING OF PEARLS M 

JAMES . 1 GUESS I'LL HAVE TO SUN VALLEY JUMP . 

MICHENER'S 3 CHANGE MY PLAN SWEET ELOISE 3 

> ioa THERE'LL BE SOME z 

ә IMAGINATION CHANGES MADE . 

5 wmTRODUCTON TO A WALTZ TWENTY POUR ROGERS — = 

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Н JAPANESE SANDMAN WEEKEND OF A Н 

e JUST A LITTLE BIT SOUTH PRIVATE SECRETARY 7 

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ITE TET туда) KING PORTER STOMP WISHING WILL MAKE IT SO в 

Polynesian | recorded Whe 2 ‘Sorry Nou, р е LADY BE GOOD WONDERFUL ONE T 

Sin ki G, Ma АШ Right in Йаман Include full anders, Ragtime Hand. © = 
Me, dE of Ys calor hci of Howat, EFE So gee go cece nesaseces sa eosteesesesececssoseces 


Regular L. P. Division of the Club. Regular L. P. discs sound better than ever on stereo phonographs. However, steren records can be played only on stereophonic equipment. 


BLUEBERRY HILL 
BOULDER BUFF 
BUGLE CALL RAG 
‘CARELESS 
CARIBBEAN CLIPPER 
CHATTANOOGA CHOO-CHOO 
CHIP OFF THE OLD BLOCK 
OEVIL MAY CARE 
DON'T SIT UNDER 


MISTER MEADOWLARK 
MOON LOVE 
MOON OVER MIAMI 
MY DARLING 
MY DEVOTION 
NAUGHTY SWEETIE BLUES 


19 


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About Involuntary Knuckle-Cracking. 
(A scale drawing of mutual finger-inter- 
twining, front and side views, will illus- 
trate this portion of the book.) Part 
Two, Necking, will explain, clearly and 
“What to Do with Your Chewing 
^ Also in the works is a provocativ 
chapter entitled, “If Your Partner Wears 
ases.” Part Three, Petting, will be 
loaded with valuable hints, includi 
“How to Develop Body English Throw 
iscs an illumi 
known experts on. 
Circle us. Direct- 
rget Approach.” You'll doubt 
to place your order immediately. 
purchaser will receive his copy of Fear 
Without Love im a plain wrapper 
marked: PERSONAL — SEX BOOK INSIDE. 


As of this moment, we're not with 
those who sell short the little old ladies 
in Pasadena. According to a report in 
the Los Angeles Examiner, а seventy- 
yearold woman from that rose-dotted 
haven left her husband, also seventy 
after two days of matrimony. Her reason: 


the marriage w: name only. 


An acoustics engineer of our acquaint- 
ance has perfected a diabolic sports car 
accessory. It's an electronic horn that 
realistically imitates the sound of shrick- 
ing brakes. 


BOOKS 


With his fifth novel, Peter De V 
pulls out of the slump of preciosity 
created by his fourth, The Tents of 
Wickedness (Playboy After Hours, 
August 1959). In Through the Fields of 
Clover (Little, Brown, $3.95) De Vries 
serves up a nourishing broth, which 
comes to a bubbling boil in a small New 
England town peopled by hypercivilized 
eccentrics with goofy names — Wetwil 
liam, Glimmergarden, Chaucer (he's a 
TV writer), Nat Bundle, Bill Prufrock 
and Cotton Marvel (he's w 
kyesque play called The Seven Who 
Stank). The whole is liberally peppered 
with puns and witty cracks. (“On her 
wedd night she had been forced to 
commit an unnatural act: sexual inter- 
course.”) Prominent among the assorted 
oddballs are: TV comic Harry Mercury 
the image of Phil Silvers; a pompous 
Civil ertiesnik who, rushing to de- 
fend а persecuted merchant named 
Aronson from anti-Semi 
fallen to discover that the man is not 
Jew at all but а Swede; and an ex- 
Southern boy who deplores the South 
bur retains a hominy-thick accent (“Fom 
aid something about it last week,” 
Tom who?” "Tom М ine."). There 
a phony feud Бегин two TV come- 
s which never gets off the ground 


ism, crest- 


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21 


PLAYBOY 


because they become angry with са 
2553/5 other. ("It stands to reason you 


Norman Luboff have a feud with a goddamn sorchead.") 

Roin There are even young lovers, and a 

BOUE 3 higher sensual humidity than in pre- 
RCA Victor! 8, М 


vious De Vries books— often cooled 
suddenly by a burst of humor: "Hc 
rolled the tips of her breasts in his 
teeth. ‘Jujubes,’ he said . . . She was dis- 
gusted. She bore him two children, and 
a good deal of resentment.” Bri 
light reading, all of it 


ING зге 


America's Teste (Simon and Schuster, 
$12.50) is a fat and fascinating scrap- 
book, crowded with a hundred years’ 
worth of reviews, pictures and cartoons 
reproduced from The New York Times 
Here you'll find, in sometimes pictur- 
esque, if difficult-to<lecipher. type. con- 
temporary criticism of Uncle Tom's 
Cabin and East Lynne or The Earl's 
Daughter; of Horatio Alger and Sig 
mund Freud; of the Gibson Girl and 
the Statue of Liberty: of Amos n Andy 
and Porgy and Bess; of Caruso and Pi- 
КСА Victor is proud to present the thrilling Norman Luboff caso, Joyce and Dostoicvsky, Tenny- 

Choir in a new album chock-full of joyous variety. URL ME 
jorie Longley, Louis Silverstein and 
Samuel A. Tower, did the culling, with 
for everyone especially you! Hear it soon. discrimination, intelligence and no ef 


In Living Stereo and Monaural Hi-Fi on ROA VICTOR fort to resist the Iure of nostalgia. 


Here are show tunes, folk music, pops . . . drinking songs, 
hymns, blues. There’s something special 


Mid-Century (Houghton Mifflin, $5.75) 
is John Dos Passos’ tired attempt to rc- 
capture the weight and breadth of his 
influential U.S.4. by borrowing the 
techniques of the carlier novel. The 
separate stories of the characters, some 
told forward, some backward, interrupt 
one another, until everyone is somehow 
The pattern, a miniature glen plaid, connected with everyone else. These 


The Hall is a natural shoulder suit 
tailored as tradition dictates, 


with lapped seams and center vent. 


is a new interpretation of an old classic. fragments are juxtaposed to point- 
pounding profiles of well-known people 

он кс UIT он ес урду : (ranging from Douglas MacArthur to 
James Dean) and to "documenta 
views of the times in the form of head- 
lines and. news items. The effect is sup- 
posed to be panoramic, but the reader 
is more likely to be struck by what has 
been left out of this long survey of mid- 
century American life than by what has 
been put in. He is also likely to be 
struck by how few things people do in 
the book and how repetitiously they do 
them. Each of the characters has two 
unconnected lives: a public one which 
is exclusively economic; and a private 
one which is narrowly biolog; 
the daytime the characters org 
unions and build industri 
pressure of work permitting, they go to 
bed with assorted ladies. Dos Passos’ 
main theme is the inevitable frustration 
of all noble intentions by the forces of 
corruption in both labor and capital. 
Every hope sours; the rare man of in- 
>. tegrity is, in the uninventive rhetoric of 

A DIVISION OF PHOENIX CLOTHES ™ TEE а ө | the novel, “hounded to his grave" or to 
some comparable oblivion. Dos Passos’ 


nize 
s. At night, 


good people include Wobblics and Joc 
McCarthy, Phil LaFollette and Senator 
McClellan, From such an assemblage 
there emerges only a fuzzy notion of 
reaction mixed with wistful reminis- 
cence. The novel exudes a strong feel- 
ing of bitterness at a sellout— but a 
sellout of whom or what? Of the fic- 
tional characters and their real-life mod- 
els? Of America? Or perhaps merely of 
the author — by himself. 


ACTS AND 
ENTERTAINMENTS 


Frank D'Rone's recent stint at Chica 
Mister Kelly's proved a remarkably effec- 
tive exercise in verbal economy. D'Rone, 
a supersonic young man about to orbit 
into the Big Time, sang and accom- 
panied himself on the guitar— period. 
No jokes, no table banter, no song intro- 
ductions. The tunes, and D'Rone's forth- 
right handling of them, spoke eloquently 
enough, with one song flowing into an- 
other as smoothly and felicitously as 
twelve-year-old Scotch into an cight- 
ounce tumbler. D'Rone's de , both 
visually and vocally, is completely de- 
void of mannerisms, but this is not to 
imply that he lacks style. Far from it. 
He had the packed house in his pocket 
right from the opener — a quick-tempo'd 
Just One of Those Things — on through 
an encore-ending reprise of his best- 
seller, After the Ball. And there were 
equally attractive goodies strewn along 
the way, including a superb run-through 
of Joey, Frank Loesscr’s hits-youright- 
here folk ballad from The Most Happy 
Fella. Sharp of feature and soft of voice, 
D'Rone has the ability to belt without 
blasting, and the heartier items on the 
agenda were delivered forcefully with- 
out shattcring any of the glassware. To 
give his vocal cords a respite, ex—full- 
time guitarist D'Rone performed Mala- 
gueña with admirable proficiency. Never- 
theless, we were happy to hear him 
dimb back on the vocal wagon, espe- 
cially si post-guitar solo segment 
contained a leisurely-paced and tenderly- 
treated That’s All, which ranked, we 
thought, with Nat Cole's classic handling 
of the Alan Brandt-Bob Haymes stand- 
ard. For an at-home sampling of Frank's 
finely-wrought wares, we recommend the 
LP titled After the Ball (Mercury). 


THEATRE 


Despite the combined efforts of 
Frederick Loewe, Alan Jay Lerner and 
Moss Hart, despite the sumptuous cos 
tumes of the late Adrian and his suc- 
cessor Tony Duquette, despite the most 


[message from Valleyfeld, Quebec to the usa] 


Tradition 
20 hang! 


Imported O.F.C. is the only 
Canadian whisky sent to the U.S.A. 


at 8 and 12 years old. 


А. you probably know, most lead- 
ing Canadian distillers traditionally 
send 6 year old whisky down to 
America. Not us! For as fine as six 
year old Canadian whisky is—we 
firmly believe that 8 year old Im- 
ported O.F.C. is that much better. 
And to encourage you to try our 
older whisky, you'll find that 8 year 
old Imported O.F.C. costs no more 
than most other leading (and much 
younger) Canadian whiskies. 


Imported 12 year old 


amous as our international gift 
whisky, 12 year old Imported O.F.C. 
is the oldest Canadian whisky on 
the market. Unfortunately, it is 
often in scarce supply—and when 
you do discover it, you will nore it 
is rather expensive. But for those 
times when only the best will do, we 
think it's worth the premium. 


— 
Imported O.F.C. is well worth the 
extra years ъс have to wait. And 
our many new American friends 


seem DN 


William Е. Tigh, President Canadian Schenley Led. 
Oldest Finest Canadian comes tissue-wrapped and boxed the year round. 


CANADIAN WHISKY, a blend. Distilled, aged, and blended under supervision of the Cana- 
dian Government by Schenley Ltd., Valleyfield, P.Q., Canada. 8 and 12 years old. 868 Proof. 
O.F.C. Distilling Co., New York, N. Y., Sole Agents in U.S.A. 


W. in Valleyfield, feel that 


tradition or no tradition, our older 


PLAYBOY 


24 


| Bacardi Party 
turns up at 


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From Mexico City comes word that Texas 
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to the American colony there, amid great 
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On Friday nights, the fun-loving Ameri- 
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await the faithful rains" A galón of 
Bacardi and a bevy of mixers are kept at 
arms reach. What a way to end the week 
and start the weekend! 

What is a Bacardi Party? The guests 


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i 


eye-whacking sets that Oliver Smith 
ever designed — full of pavilions and 
palaces, gardens terraced and enchanted 
—Camefor won't do. Lerner has produced 
a pretentious and meandering adapta- 
tion of The Once and Future King. 
T. Н. White's imaginative novel based 
on the Arthurian cycle; the Round 
Table has never been so square. The 
evening starts off pleasantly enough, as 
bashful King Arthur (Richard Burton) 
courts his Guenevere (Julie Andrews) 
with 4 Wonder What the King Is Doing 
Tonight. And she replies in all musical 
modesty with The Simple Joys of 
Maidenhood. But the score is not up to 
the best Lerner-Locwe. and the result 
doesn’t live up to the myth by a mile 
No fault of the cast, we hasten to add. 
Burton is probably the best actor who 
has ever pretended to sing his way 
through a musical. Julie Andrews, 
course, would be a fine fair lady in 
century. Robert Goulet as a lacklustr 
lovelorn Lancelot, and Roddy McDowall 
as Arthur's bad bastard son Mordred, 
battle with the dreadful dragon of a 
plot like the valiant knights they are — 
but, verpbody is vanquished. At 
the Majestic, 44th Street, West of Broad- 
way, NYC. 


of 


Maybe those who love Lucy will find 
more pleasure than we did in watching. 
Lucille Ball play a lady named Wildcat 
Jackson in a Southwesterly soap opera 
with music called Wildcat. Given a chance, 
Miss Ball can sing Hey, Look Me Over 
and make it stick, dance Sombrero 
and flip her Spanish lid with abandon. 
But this slim-hipped redhead's innate 
ebullience can only do so much to 
liven N. Richard Nash's rubberstamp 
story of a tomboy with a secret heart 
who tours the border country in search 
of an oil well and happiness for her crip- 
pled sister (Paula Stewart). In ou 
just have to know, crippled sister finds 
Mexican lover, and Lucy finds an oil well 
and an Irish husband, played with wel- 
terweight bravado and a hokey brogue 
by Keith Ande: ing score by Cy 
Coleman igh manages to 
add some spirit to this synthetic product, 
but director-choreographer Michael Kidd 
has trouble stirring up more than a to- 
ken jamboree with his brawl 
diggers and dancing me: 
tabby-cat entertainment. At the Alvin, 
250 West 52nd Street, NYC. 


With Invitation te a March, Arthur Lau- 
rents has written and directed a new 
comedy on an old theme— the conflict 
between conformists and nonconform- 
ists. His heroine in a Long Island beach 
house is Jane Fonda, a darling young: 
ster with a daring mind who must choose 
between a routine married life with Tom 
atcher, her inhibited fiancé, and seduc- 
tio ad infinitum with James MacArthur, 


stard in the legitimate sense of the 
word. An added complication is that 
Richard Derr happens to be the father of 
both contenders for Jane's hand and the 
rest of her. While’ Hatcher has been 
residing properly en famille with papa 
Derr and mama Eileen Heckart, the il- 
legitimate lad has been living it up 
down the beach with his mother, Celeste 
Holm, a philosophical spinster who has 
never once regretted that fateful day 
twenty years ago when she took a sun- 
bath in the nude behind a sand-dune. 
Even if you find Laurents’ solution to 
all this somewhat pat, you may still en- 
joy his wit and the play's stylish. per- 
formance. At the Music Box, 230 West 
45th Street, NYC. 

Under the Yum-Yum Tree is full of the 
snickers and simpers that are substituting 
for laughter on Broadway these days 
This is the fable of the sweet girl who 
wants to find out all about her fiancé 
before marriage — по carnal intent, of 
ndra Church, pertly persuasive 
is gets her rugged boyfriend, 
Jones, to spend а month in her 
San Francisco pad just to see what kind 
of music, books and toothpaste he likes. 
Jones, A Fine Upstanding Fellow, con- 
rape and rejects it. Across the 
ppily for playwright Lawrence 
n's weak try at comedy, lives а 
shouldered, beslippered and 
ng character who rejects nothing 
as long as the gal is under fifty. Gig 
Young plays this lecher with an alco- 
holic leer and a sharp sense of cor 
frustration. The fun of 
ooze in and out of the gir 
causing more confusion than concep’ 
is the only possible reason for spending 
any time Under the Yum-Yum Tree. At 
the Henry Miller, 124 W. 48rd St, NYC. 


ion, 


DINING-DRINKING 


"We whisked briskly across the Dela 
ware River from Philly to visit the brand- 
Lotin Casino theatre-restaurant on the 
side, directly across from the G 
den State Park race track on Route 70 in 
Merchantville, and found it immediately 
apparent why this three-million-dollar 
palace has engendered a whole new 
lexicon of showbiz superlatives. 105 the 
most (you fill in the blank), from the 
time you walk into the spacious lobby 
(with two cloakrooms, so those arriving 
for the late show are not forced to swim 
upstream like salmon against those leav- 
ing from the early show) until you are 
seated before the stage's great, golden 
curtain in the main dining room where 
the capacity at the white-clothed tables 
is no less than 1500 at any one time. 
(The night we were there, all tables 


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UAS 6135 (Stereo) UAL 3135 (Mono) 


were full) Diners are 
in seven levels from the 
you're ensconced at a rear table you still 
have a fine view of the stage, which 
could easily hold a big Broadway mu- 
sical plus the Army-Navy football game. 
For those of us who sardined into the 
old, walkdown Philadelphia Latin, the 
present establishment's proportions seem 
breath-taking. The same owners, Dave 
Dusholt and Dallas Gerson, are respon- 
sible for this metamorphosis. The decor 
pitches for elegance with charcoal walls 
relieved by golden embellishments and 
bright clusters of crystal. This suburban 
suppershow Valhalla also has banquet 
rooms, reached by a golden-railed stair- 
way which climbs over а fountain, and 
а cozy (for the Latin Casino) room 
equipped with two bars and wandering 
minstrels to add to the intimate mood. 
In spite of the plush surroundings, 
Messrs. D & С have managed to retain 
their old sixdollar minimum, and that 
gives you show, dinner and drink. We 
were there for the Holiday in Japan 
shindig which made a big splash at Las 
Vegas. Top headliners star in the stage 
bills— Tony Martin, Sammy Davis, Jr., 
Harry Belafonte, Milton Berle, Bobby 
Darin, Eydie Gormé, Steve Lawrence and 
like such. Its a seven-day-a-week oper- 
ation, two shows nightly and no 
Pennsylvania Saturday midnight curfew 
or Sunday Blue Laws to wet-blanket 
weekend festivities. Show times: Monday 
зу, 8:30 and 11:30 rw. 

rday, 8:30 к.м. and 12:30 л.м. Sun- 
day, 6 and 10 р.м. The menu offers a 
complete Polynesian dinner at $5.50. Ш 
you're not interested in the fried rice 
department, there's a diverse list of sea- 
food, poultry dishes and prime beef. 


nped upward 
stage, so if 


RECORDINGS 


The reason we look with doubting eye 
on purport to pioneer the 

а ion of jazz from familiar molds 
is simply that the overwhelming ma- 
jority of them strike us as pretentious 
and irrationally unmusical or, at best, 
worthy striving that doesn't make it. 
When we see on liner notes that so-and- 
so "studied at Juilliard, digs Bach, Bartok 
and Hindemith,” etc., we can feel our 
cyebrow lifting cynically, try as we do to 
preserve an open ear for new sounds. 
We indulge in this long preamble to a 
record review because we're cer 
many share our feelings and. it is to 
these we want to say: forget past pain, 
skip the liner notes on the Dave Brubeck 
Quarter's Time Out (Columbia) and listen. 
"Then listen again, this timc reading the 
intelligently explicatory notes on cach 
of the scven bands. The set puts back 
the thrill of discovery in jazz listening; 


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trunk smart, in soft, white cotton knit 
with Nobelt® waistband. $1.50; 6 for 
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sweaters, sportswear, pajama: 

The Allen-A Co., Piqua, Ohio 


THE PERFECT MAP 
for the sports car 


Auto-Mapic does away with 
folding and unfolding bulky 
road maps. Select the map you 
need with two fingers. Each 
plastic map case holds 15 up- 
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Send check or money order to: 


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Chicago 54, Illinois 


Now ... for the first time, PLAYBOY's travel- 
wise editors have combined the benefits of 
independent travel with the fun of traveling 
with a congenial group. The happy result is 
Playboy Tour: . and the touch is distinc- 
tively PLAYBOY 


Your companions will be a group of cosmo- 
politan young men and women who share 
your interests and zest for enjoying a care- 
free, fun-filled holiday. Whether you choose 
a jaunt to Jamaica, a holiday in Hawaii ога 
European escapade, you'll find your Playboy 
Tour wonderfully, excitingly different. 


Unlike the typical bus-bome grind, Playboy 
Tours welcomes you as an invited guest 
wherever you go. You'll be free to join your 
new Tour friends . . . say, for an afternoon 
of yachting, skin-diving or sight-seeing—for 
an evening of gourmel dining, dancing and 
nightclubbing. Or if you prefer, strike out 
solo or, better yet, à deux, in pursuit of indi- 


vidual diversion. And your host, a PLAYBOY 
staffer, handles all your individual arrange- 
ments, leaving you free to do just as you 
please. 


Chances are though, that you won't want to 
stray too far from the rich variety of unique 
activities that PLAYBOY's globe-trotting ed- 
itors have fashioned for you. It's an odds- 
on bet too, that you won't want to give up 
the camaraderie you'll find with “your kind 
of people"... . vital young men and women 
who share your discriminating taste and 
enthusiasm for good times. 


And as a special touch, Playboy Tours are 
spiced with many little extras—surprise 
pleasure bonuses arranged by organiza- 
tions that are eager to be associated with 
Playboy Tours. 


What it all adds up to is an unprecedented 
good time—compliments of PLAYBOY! 


GET SET FOR YOUR GREATEST VACATION 


PLAYBOY IN EUROPE 

18- and 23-day Tours to the most fabulous 
Continental playgrounds, Paris, Nice, Mon- 
aco, Rome, Lucerne, Frankfurt, Majorca, 
London, etc., $1225 to $1440—all expenses— 
including round-trip via Boeing 707, 
В.О.А.С, jet from New York. 


PLAYBOY IN HAWAII 
15-day Tours on “the most beautiful isles 


PLAYBOY IN MEXICO 
9- and 15-day Tours with the undeniably 
magic touch of PLAYBOY. Mexico City, 


Taxco, Acapulco, etc., from $254 to $397— 
plus eir fare to Mexico 


PLAYBOY IN JAMAICA 
9 glorious days on the Riviera of the Western 
Hemisphere... Montego Bay and Ocho Rios 
. .. Skin-diving, yachting, water-skiing, all 
included in Tour price. $345 including air 
fare from Miami. 


CARIBBEAN ISLAND HOPPING— 
16 days 


FAR EAST—23 days 
SOUTH PACIFIC—23 days 


©HMH Publishing Co. 


FOR ALL THE EXCITING DETAILS MAIL THE 
COUPON BELOW NOW . . . OR SEE YOUR LOCAL 
TRAVEL AGENT 


To PLAYBOY Magazine 
232 E. Ohio Street, Chicago 11, Ш. 


Gentlemen: 

Sounds greal . . . please send me all the exciting 
details on the Tour circled at left. 

(Мг.) (Miss) 

"NAME (please print) SEE 
ADDRESS е ы 

[бт ZONE STATE - 


See 
what 
happens 


when 


4 U.S. 
sailors 
take 
over 
a 
Geisha 
house 


(COMPLETE 
WITH 
GEISHA 
GIRLS) 


PLAYBOY 


COLUMBIA PICTURES presents 
A WILLIAM GOETZ PRODUCTION 


GLENN FORD - DONALD O'CONNOR 


CRY FOR HAPPY 


co-starring JAMES SHIGETA 
and those yum-yummy girls from “Sayonara” 


MIIKO TAKA and MIYOSHI UMEKI 
Screenplay ty IRVING BRECHER - Based on the novel by GEORGE CAMPBELL 


Directed by GEORGE MARSHALL > CinemaScope = Eastman [COLOR] 


it soars and it swings, it is rhythmically 
a break-through (a heady forctaste of 
which fans heard at PrAvnov's jazz les. 
tival, when the Brubeck group rocked 
the house). Once you've sampled its im- 
probable rhythms in counterpoint and 
alternation — for instance, 9/8 against 
4/4. and such jazz rarities as ten-bar 
phrasing, a lot of what you've liked а lot 
will seem a bit pallid. But the overall, 
the operative comment that's the key to 
this LP's success is still: "It swing 


inspirational and architectural 
ry of Johann Sebastian Bach is 
tically evident in performances of 
his Cantata No. 33 ond Cantata No. 105 
(Bach Guild) by the Danish State R 
mber Orchestra and Madrig; 
conducted by Mogens Woldike. Soprano 
Ruth Guldback, contralto Else Brems, 
tenor Uno Ebrelius and bass Bernhard 
Sonnerstedt аге the soloists in these as 


scrtions of the firmness of faith. Credit 
Woldi for the skilled weaving of 
voices and instruments into a towering 


of Bach. 

A light touch is the common meeting 
ground for the Billy Taylor Trio and а 
group which selLeffacingly bills itself 
as the Modest Jazz Trio. The Taylor 
uiumvirate is, of course, а known quan- 
tity to most keyboard. fanciers. Warming 
up! (Riverside), Taylor's latest album, is 
deftly compounded of a dozen "com- 
merciallength” items, all penned by his 
in а most happy display of musical 
togetherness. Everything is tightly con 
uolled, with cach figure rolling out in 
precise fashion. And Taylor's firm but 
delicate technique prospers within the 
friendly confines of his spouse's airy 
roundelays. Bassist Henry Grimes a 
drummer Ray Mosca perform. piar 
simo but with a fastidious dexterity that 
helps add another — brightly-colored 
feather to the well-festooned Taylor 
cap. Ihe Modest Jazz Trio is a felicitous 
amalgam of guitarist Jim Hall, Red 
Mitchell (abandoning bass for piano), 
and Red Kelly on Mitchell's discarded 
bass. These three musically wise men 
make their LP debut with a quiet, oft 
times introspective offering, Good Friday 
Blues (Pacific Jazz). Mitchell's piano pl: 
ing is an unusual demonstration of a 
technique for one instrument tran- 
scribed to another. Right-hand phrases 
tinkle off in ueble echoes of their boom- 
ing counterparts we're sure Mitchell 
would have played if he had bass in 
hand. And this happily contributes 
much to a marvelous interplay amon 
the three. Hall's guitar work is partic 
ularly praiseworthy, especially durin 
the moody tone poem, Willow Weep 


for Me, 


tribute to the glor 


Songs of Russia Old ond New (Electra) is 
Theo Bikel's ninth platter of cu 


tunes, Side One presents the melodies of 
czarist Russia: Side Two is a batch of 
newer stuff from the Soviets. Strang 
tell, the second side may sound more 
"Russian" to uninitiated — and perhaps 
even to initiated — ears, Our particular 
favorites, in fact, are all on the flip side: 


to 


the strong 
the Don; the romantic, Hit Parade-y 
Moscow Evenings; the catchily synco 
the infectious Part 
ing, as Slavic as cabbage soup. Bikel is 


driving From the Volga 10 


puted Concertina; 


in resonant voice throughout, and is 
occasionally joined by open-throated 
choir members of Manhattan's Russian 
Orthodox. Church. Bikel bufls may also 
want to li 
songbook, Folksongs and Footnotes 
(Meridian, $2.95 paperback, $4.95 hard- 
hound), a definitive. laborol-love collec- 
tion of eighty-four songs from all over 
the globe, with words in the original 
tongues and English, scored for voice 
and piano with guitar chords, and pro 
fusely annotated by Bikel. It is dedi. 
cated “To all those who have roots and 
know not where; who have an heirloom 
crusted over and going to waste . . ." 


ch onto his really excellent 


^ cu 
much food for thought, only half of 
which is digestible. The Authentic Sound 
of the New Glenn Miller Orchestra — Today 
(Victor) has the Ray McKinley-guided 
Miller Orchestra echoing а dozen nu 
bers made fa 
aggregation. The same tunes, played by 
the original Miller band, make up the 
second LP, The Authentic Sound of Glean 
Miller — Yesterday (Victor). McKinley's cf- 
forts аге a frightening demonstration of 
the madness attendant upon living 
twenty years in the past. The McKinley 
band plays almost note-for-note copies 
of the dassic Miller arrangements, and 
the sound produced shows it — listless, 
mechanical run-throughs, as lacking in 
heart as they are in originality. The 
Miller reissues, by contrast, have a 
warm, spontancous esprit about them 


ent twodisc package provides 


5 
nous by the old Miller 


which no amount of technical improve 
ment in recording techniques can im. 
part to the McKinley offerings. Sere- 
nade in Blue, In the Mood, Tuxedo 
Junction —in original and facsimile — 


as Caruso and Lanza. A 
nostalgic bouquet to Miller; an assem 


bly-line brickbat to McKinley. 


are as disparate 


The nobility and high drama of Shake- 
spearean English rarely have been as 
richly recorded as they are in One Man 
in His Time (Columbia), John Gielgud's 
program of selected speeches from the 
Bard's works. H ud. 
duplicates the vigorous performance he 


the two LPs, Gic 


gave on tour a year ago—a masterly 
view of man's life and passions com- 
bining Shakespeare's lustrous language 
and Gielgud's dextrous, dedicated de 
livery. As Hamlet, Macbeth, Lear, An- 


The ASR-880, stereo pre-amp, power amplifier with its conservative rating 
of 64 watts is one of the most powerful amplifiers available at any price. 
Music – Dixieland to Debussy — comes over as large as life in your own 
home, thanks to its exceptional flexibility and satin-smooth, clean power. 
This magnificent amplifier has earned lavish praise from the high-fidelity 
press. Yours for only $199.95 (suggested list price). 


For the sheer Јоу of listening..." There is nothing finer than a Stromberg-Carlson"' 


STHROMBERG-CARLSON 
a oıvısıon oc GENERAL DYNAMICS 


Write for full line component catalog to: Stromberg-Carlson. Box AS, 1403 М. Goodman SL. Rochester 3. N. Y. 
Tune in "Special Report" Saturday afterncons immediately following the Metropolitan Opera broadcast. 


29 


VOL. I, NO. 8 


\ Playboy Club Netws 


SPECIAL EDITION 


PLAYBOY CLUB SET FOR NEW YORK CITY 


7-STORY BUILDING PURCHASED 


NEW YORK, February 15 
(Special) Architects and de- 
signers are currently completing 
extensive remodeling plans for the 
exterior and interior of the New 
York Playboy Club at 5 E. 59th 
Street in Manhattan. 

The 7-story New York Club will 
incorporate many of the facilities 
currently available in the Chicago 
and Miami Clubs plus numerous 
additional features. Among new 
attractions planned, the New York 


Club will have a Theatre Room 
presenting The Playboy Players, 
nightclub 


а permanent revue 
company. 

The “Grand Closing" of the 
New York Club is being rushed to 


accommodate the many Members 


in the coupon below for more 
det d information), 


MIAMI CLUB SET FOR OPENING 


MIAMI, February 15 (Spe- 
cial) —Miami's New Playboy 
Club, at 7701 ayne Blvd., will 
make its debut here shortly in 
what is certain to be one of the 
most glamorous events of the cur- 
rent Florida season. On hand to 
welcome the second in a chain of 
over 50 clubs planned for key U.S. 
and foreign cities will be many 
native Miamian: well as Club 
Members vacationing in the fabu- 
lous playground. 

Located on a spacious 20,000- 


square-foot estate on а colorful 
palm-lined waterway, the new 
Club incorporates many of the 
outstanding features of the first 
Playboy Club in Chicago, inclu. 


stereo and color-TV unit. In addi- 
tion, Members will find attractions 
especially suited to the balmy 
Southern Florida climate. Among 
these are a swimming pool and ca- 
banas, yacht mooring facilities and 
extensive areas for outside enter- 
taining in a tropically-landscaped 
garden setting. 


Cut and Mail Today for Membership Information 


To: International Playboy 
c/o Playboy Maga: 
Chicago 11 


Gentlemen: 


Pleaxe send me full information regarding membershi; 
understand that if 1 am accepted for membership my key will 
e to Playboy Clubs now in operation and others that will soon 
in the Us 


£o into operation in major 


bs, 3 
ine, 232 E. Ohio Street, 


the Playboy 


and abroad. 


Name, 
(please print) 
Address, 
City. Zone. State. 


bers are posted ан n 

Zelma Payton and Kay Knapp, post 

ypical of the girls stuffing each ne 

ing search throughout the country 
serve un Нит 


EXTRA! 


L.A. CLUB TO ADD 
140 GUEST ROOMS 


LOS ANGELES, February 
15 (Special)—Construction 
of the West Coast's most unique 
private elub will be underway 
shortly according to plans an- 
nounced here. 


The new Los s Club 
located on the Sunset Strip will 
have the basic Club entertainment. 
and dining facilities available in 
the New York, Chicago and Miami 
Clubs and also luxury room ac- 
commodations for transient as well 
as resident members. The new 
Club will have 140 plush guest 
rooms and suite together with a 
swimming pool with adjoining ca- 
banas, all exclusively for the use of 
Club Members and their guests. 


Playmate — Bunny " 


TEE OTE 
| or the Bunnies at the Chicago Club 
] he also has been featured aso 

laymate in etavsor. Barbara wan 
V mis February. Remember? 


Playboy 


г the prettiest possible additions 


in the fast-expanding Club operations. 


Capacity Audiences 
Hail Chicago Club’s 
New Showroom 


CHICAGO, February 15 
(Special) —"Standing Room 
Only" has been the word here, 
night after night, in the Playboy 
Club's new showroom, Playboy's 
Penthouse, as capacity audiences 
cheered the triple opening bill of 
French-born singer-comedian 
Robert Clary, the Edmond Sisters, 
favorites of the western supper 
and nightclub circuit, and come- 
dian Paul Dooley. The elaborate 
new cabaret room on the Chicago 
Club's fourth floor debuted New 
Year's Eve. 

Featuring top-name talent and 
designed to serve as an addition to 
the more intimate entertainment 
policy of The Library on the 
Club's third floor, Playboy's Pent- 
enables Club Members to 
n the town" without ever 
leaving the Club’s premises. 


$1.50 STEAK PLATTER 


The new room also offers Mem- 
bers the unique “ Playboy's Pei 
house Prime Platter”—a delicious 
charcoal-broiled prime tenderloin 
steak covered with a tangy, roque- 
fort. cheese sauce. A casserole of 
potatoes à la Playboy, 
tempting hot chee 


bread, as- 
paragus spears and assorted rel- 
ishes accompany your top-qua 


steak platter to your table- 
this for 
one drink. On Fridays, a seafood 
alternate — Broiled and Boned 
Rocky Mountain Trout, Almon- 
dine—is offered at the same price. 

Dinner is served in the Pent- 
se from 7 p.m., including Sun- 
days. See the earliest dinner show 
in Chicago, at 8 р.м. cach night. 


tony and other immortals of drama, 
Gielgud “delivers in such apt and gra- 
cious words that aged ears play truant at 
his tales." Will Shakespeare would have 
been delighted. 


Mel Tormé aims high on Swingin’ on 
the Moon (Verve), His 
phrasing 
on the title song, Moonlight Cocktail, 
Blue Moon, Moonlight in Vermont, Oh, 
You Crazy Moon and a slow, slow con- 
quest of How High the Moon. The 
moon-tune motif may somewhat 
whiskered, and the choice ns may 
nat be the best, but "Tormé's soothing 
sound more than compensates. Sammy 
Davis makes like Ra les and Frank 
Sinatra on his latest disc, І Gotta Right to 
Swing (Decca). As С he grunts his 
way through This Little Girl of Mine. 
Mess Around, Get on the Right 
Baby and I Got a Woman. As 
he turns out a finger-snappin’ The Lady 
Isa Tramp and several other standards, 
Sammy's sense of rhythm and insight 
into both blues and ball; enable him 
to pull it off nimbly; a less able crooner 
would have falien on his vibrato. Roar- 
ing in the background is the Basie band, 
is the C corge Rhodes does 


Modem cultists who've d ied 

Louis Armstrong as the moldiest of figs 
should dig the ageless strong man on 
lovis end the Dukes (Audio Fidelity) 
v collaboration between Satch and 
the Dukes of Dixieland preserved in 
stunning stereo. Louis Avalon 
is a gem that Dizzy or ıt covet, 
and his work on the likes of Bourbon 
Street Parade, Just a Closer Walk with 
Thee, Sheik of Araby and Sweet Georgia 
Brown is comparably invigorating. In- 
spired by Louis horn and voice, the 
Dukes loosen up and really wail. They 
may never be the same — which might 
be fine. 


Three ageless swingera  songstresses 
relative newcomer are well worth. 
Peggy Lee's latest is Olé Alo Lee 
(Capitol a Latin romp in which she's 
surrounded by the pulsing sounds of 
Joe Harnell's ensemble. By Myself, Just 
Squeeze Me, You Stepped Out of a 
Dicam and Peg's own Olé 

the dazzlers, In Jo plus Jazz E 
the nifty Miss Stafford is joined by a 
host of hip sidemen, including Ben 
Webster, Johnny Hodges, Ra 
and Соте Candoli, in a pm en 


among 


muh is especi ерш m s 
You, Midnight Sun, I Didn't Know 
About You, Imagination and Рос Got 
the World on а String. Anita O'Day and 
Billy May Swing Rodgers and Hart (Verve) is 


There was a time when practically any import was sure- 
fire with the sophisticated set. French furniture, English wool- 
ens, Scotch and Canadian whiskey...if it came from abroad, it 
had to be good. But today a new pride in things native is being 
evidenced by the rise in popularity of Kentucky bourbon. 


Folks are learning to choose their whiskey not on the basis 
of an import stamp—but on how good it tastes. 
And for a long time now, Kentucky, U.S.A. has 
produced the tastiest whiskey in the world... 
bourbon! 

In the South and the West it has long been 
known that “bourbon and branch” (‘branch’— 
grass roots for cool, pure water) has always been 
the natural thing for a thirsty man to order. Now you hear it 
ordered all over the country. Good old-fashioned taste appeal 
has made this earliest of American favorites the latest thing. 


Leading the trend is the greatest name in 
bourbon—Old Crow. Old Crow comes highly rec- 
ommended to the present generation of Ameri- 
cans. It won the unstinting praise of men like 
DANIEL WEBSTER and ANDREW JACKSON. Today, 
it is the favorite bourbon of the nation. To enjoy 
the fundamentals in your drinking, become a 
bourbonite with... 


Light-Mila Mat 


THE OLD CROW DISTILLERY CO., FRANKFORT, KY. KENTUCKY STRAIGHT BOURBON WHISKEY, B6 PROOF 


31 


PLAYBOY 


32 


The Pleheian View 


Be alert for that Playmate! Stay awake with NoDoz? 


No real playboy wants to feel too pooped 
ha playmate on the 
scene. That's why so many of 
them take NeDoz. It keeps | 
you alert with the same safe 


awakener in coffee and tea. 
Yet non-habit-forming NoDoz 


Another fine product af Gi Labo 


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is faster, handier, and more reliable. 
NoDoz is also easy to take when you're 
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-.or sitting through a lec- 
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some in your pocket. 


THE NEW LOOK OF TOMORROW... 


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playboy's familiar rabbit in bright 
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earrings $4.50 bracelet $3 the set $7 


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a title studded with cnough first-rate 
names to rule out any need for elabora- 
tion. Among the tunes are Litile Girl 
Blue, I Could Write a Book, It ver 
Entered My Mind, Spring Is Here and 
Falling in Love with Love, and. Anita 
swings, sighs or scats her way through 
them with vivacious artistry. She's rarely 
sounded better. More moody is F 
Jeffries, Dick Haymes’ wife and showbiz 
partner, on Fren Con Really Hang You Up 
the Most (Warwick) Aided by Ralph 
Burns’ arrangements and studio orches 
tra, she effortlessly enlivens a twelve- 
tune set, mixing standards — Love and 
the Weather. Out of This World and 
Aren't You Glad You're You? — with rich 
rarities like Cy Coleman's lm Gonna 
Laugh You Right out of My Life and 
the Gershwins’ Isn't I a Pity? As it 
turns out, Fran can hang you up. 


FILMS 


What's Pepe about? Well, there's this 
little Mexican ranch foreman, Pepe, who 
calls а prize stallion his "son" (lots of 
jokes about that), and when the horse is 


у been movie director, the 
foreman wails along to a rundown 
Hollywood chateau and sleeps om the 
billiard table with him — the horse, that 
is and when Edward G. Robinson, 
played by Edward б. Robinson. refuses 
to finance the director's comeback, Pepe 
follows his drunken boss to Las Vegas 
and wins a quarter-million for him at 
the tables; and then everybody goes to 
Acapulco to make a movie, amd there 
are fiestas and winsome Mexican tots 
and teary church scenes and а half-dozen 
tuncless soi 

a bullfight, all in color. The whole in- 
cessant] heartwarming nightmare was 
cooked up to put over Cantinflas, the 
Mexican movie comedian, with Ameri- 
can audiences (his only previous English 
sp 
Word in 80 Days). Thirty-five guest 
stars, including Hedda Hopper, are scat- 
tered through Pepe, which shamelessly 
(and unsuccessfully) apes Around the 
World's successful employment of the big- 
name-dropping technique. All con 
tribute generously to the tedium. Ca 
tinflas, although gifted as these things go. 
is not up to keeping this unwieldy 
vehicle on the move. Shirley Jones and 
Dan Dailey, in the romantic leads, are 
licked by the lines; and George Sidney 
pr 

directorial cliché since Vitaphone. It 


runs three and a quarter hours. 


and a dream sequence and 


ing appearance was in Around the 


n- 


ves he has an eagle eye for eve 


The active ingredient of The Gross Is 
э wit. Not gags, but smart dia- 
log which, for a couple of hours, may 


Greener 


ished earl who, with wife Deb- 
orah Kerr, lives in one comer of his 
castle and gives over the rest of it to 
g tourists. An American 
rubberneck (Robert Mitchum) pokes his 
nose out of bounds into the wifes sit 
n Simmons, 
amily friend, has her pretty eyes on 
nt, tries hard to make the triangle а 
Hugh and Margaret Wil- 
not entirely succeeded in 
g up their London маре hit 
nto supple film material, but with 
director Stanley Donen's help, they've 
come close. Grant and Miss Kerr know 
how to deliver a bon mot; the one 
clinker in the piece is R. Mitchum who, 
in eggshell comedy, has а crushing 
touch. 


The Marriage-Go-Rownd has been trans- 
formed from a smash Broadway play 
into а phony т The story is set in 
one of those colleges that exist only on 
studio lots. James M is а brilliant 
professor; Susan Hayward, his w 
nt professor, too, and Dean of 
Women to boot. They're expecting a 
visit from the daughter ol old Swed- 


brill 


ish friend, a girl they haven't seen since 
she was a kl. She arrives and... 
yes, she -foot blonde with endow- 


ws in pointed proportion (Julie 
Newmar, playing the same part she 
had in the stay . The girl 
‚ naturally, to have а eugenic baby 
the genius profesor. A dab — the 
merest soupçon — of repartee might have 
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discussion 


THE PLAYBOY PANEL: 


HIP COMICS AND THE NEW HUMOR 


second in a series of provocative 


PANELISTS 
STEVE ALLEN 
LENNY BRUCE 
BILL DANA 
JULES FEIFFER 
MIKE NICHOLS 
MORT SANL 
JONATHAN WINTERS 


PLAYBOY; There is a new kind of humor 
und tod: nd of comic 


— and a new 


— known variously as “hip” or “sick” or 
simply “new,” and everyone seems to be 
talking about them. For our second 


Playboy Panel, we have with us several 
of the major exponents of this new 
school of cultivated funnymen, plus Steve 
Allen, who has done perhaps more than 
ny other man to present this humor on 
television, and Jules Feitler, who pro- 
duces the same sort of humor on thc 
printed page with his cartoons. Gentle. 
men, how does this new brand of satii 
cal humor — however you want to label 
it — differ from the kind of comedy that. 
was being used in nightclubs and on TV. 
ә? Mort Sahl, you're the man 
rted the “new wave.” Is it 
Шу new, or is it that there is a new 
responsiveness — à new audience — for 
something that’s always been around? 
sau: There is no new school of humor. 
‘There are just a lot of guys working now 
who can't Sing or dance — so they get up 
and talk like insurance salesmen. Jack E. 
Leonard says that Jessel м up 
his mother thirty years before Shelley 
Berman got on the phone. I think what 
people mistake for a new school is a 
matter of coincidence. All the years they 
thought Jack Benny was the comedian, 
they refused to recognize the other 
guys who were coming up — then, when 
they finally became aware of us, sud- 
denly we're a “new school” — just be- 
cause we happened to come along in 
the same time period. There's a terrible 
tendency to lump all of us together, and 
then, secondly, to make us competitive 
so we'll cut each other. In the days when 
we were really struggling, we all used to 
tell each other about different clubs 
where we could work, and share some- 
thing in common. We were trying to 
raise this rabble into an army. There's 
still no reason to compete with cach 
other. The audience has a capacity for 
everybody —and more. When I get a 
night off, there aren't many other acts 
to catch — let's face it. There was Ken- 
nedy and Nixon, of course, but J hear 
a booking agent went backstage after 


conversations about subjects of interest on the contemporary scene 


their debates and told them: "I can only 
use one of you. 

PLAYBOY: Jonathan Winters, you were 
doing pretty much the same act for sev- 
eral years before this so-called new form 
of humor became the vogue and began 
getting all the publicity. How do you 
{eel about the “new school"? 

winters: Well, everybody has to have 


some gimmick, and our gimmick — at 
least minc — was to get away from jokes 
per se, because that route always risks 


comparison with the greats: Red Skelton, 
Jack Benny, Groucho Marx, on down 
the line. So Mort and Lenny turned to 
the political and timely subjects. Mike 
and Elaine, Bob Newhart and I do the 
bit of developing and exaggerating ordi- 
nary situations. You can be funny v 
out making it hokey. I pray to God that 
we're past the pie-throwing phase, and 
усе — I'm almost contradicting myself — 
I can still truthfully say that I laugh at 
Laurel and Hardy. 

nicuots: I think all the people in the 
"school" have at least one thing in com- 
mon. We're all peddling a kind of inside 
humor, which gives an audience the im- 
pression that they're the only ones who 
really understand it. Everybody said in 
the beginning that we were too inside. 
But now cverybody is inside, so inside 
is ош. Е cabdrivers know that a 
T.D. is a Technical Director. It's a new 
frame of reference, and one that many 
more people share than one would thin 
But I worry about whether it actually 
a school at all. It’s something that news- 
papers and magazines have classified. to- 
gether, like they do the angry young men 
and the beat writers. hey make a cate- 
gory, and then they fit into it whatever 
come 
BRUCE 


long. 
Time magazine propagated this 
new school of comedy because it gave 
them something to write about. Then 
everybody climbed aboard without any- 
thing really happening. There is no new 
school as such. It's just that all these 
comics went into the business — Mort 
Sahl, Shelley Berman, myself — about the 
same time — seven, eight, ten years ago 
— and all like came into their own at the 
same time. 

PLAYBOY: Steve Allen, you can hardly be 
described as one of the new humorists, 
but as the author of The Funny Men, 
and as а serious student of humor gen- 
erally, what do you have to say about 
this new hip humor? 

ALLEN: Well, the first thing that occurs 


sau: I just can't face my own problems, 
so I try to avoid them by talking about 
the hydrogen bomb and Kennedy and 
Nixon and a lot of unreal things like 
that... 


WINTERS: My only message is to put down 
the pseudo-intellectual and the out-and- 
out bore .. - 


wicmors: I don’t think you cam make 
fun of anything you don't partake of to 
some extent... 


35 


PLAYBOY 


36 


FEIEFER: For the first time, a comic is 
speaking in his personal voice with his 
n point of view... 


pana: It’s the old physical law of equal 
reaction 10 every action — if you dig the 
audience, they dig you back С. « 


Bruce: If the audience takes my humor 
as literal truth, they'll also believe Hitler 
was handled by MGA... 


ALLEN: Often the only way you can get 
the world to pay attention to your plea 
is through some sort of savage salire . 


to me is that Jayne has very funny hip: 
They're about the most humorous hips 
I've ever sce 
PLAYBOY: Let's start over. What do you 
responsible for the development 
and the acceptance of this often contro- 
versial comedy? 
1 don't 


T can h da 
number of guesses. First, it seems to me 
that as the broad mainstream of humor 
— represented by motion pictures and 
radio and television — has become a 
tle ower, it has become more 
ited — this being the age of conformity 
and all that. Humor has sort of gone 
underground into two tunnels, where it 
remains as vigorous as it ever was: that 
is, into the arca of hip nightdub humor, 
and into cartoons, which I think are 
getting better than ey 
тілувоу: Jules Feiffer, you're a member 
of the new school in a somewhat differ- 
ent sense; you put your social commen- 
tary down on paper rather than act it 
out on TV or the nightclub stage. Вис 
your humor directly parallels the new 
verbal comedy. What do you think 
counts for the current development and 
acceptance of this type of humor? 

retreer: Well, World War П helped, but 
the Korean War really capped it. The 
ah-rah spirit was gone. There was a leel- 
ng of cynicism, of entrapment, of “what 
the hell kind of deal is this?” At those in- 
doctrination lectures —you know, where 
they were explaining who was right and 
who was wrong — there'd be general 
laughter, or people just turning off their 
hearing aids. People sull remembered 


ow, 1 


what war was really like, so you couldn't 
glorify it. Plus the intrusion of nuclear 
weapons and ihe fear that America was 


no longer the big power that could lick 
everyone. The world had become so com- 
plex that the labels of left and r 
didn't work any more. And the left 
was much more dangerous ti 
been at any time since the Twenties — 
you couldn't be left and be respectable 
—all you could be was right in the mid- 
dle. The humor of people like Sahl and. 
Nichols and May and Bruce, ] think, 
represents the postMcCarthy period — 
although Sahl began in the McCarthy 
period, and he's probably greatly respon- 
sible for some of the change. This humor 
expresses a kind of reawakening of the 
American conscience and also of guilt 
feelings for the Fifties, when everybody 
just didn't want to be bothered — let 
Papa E Does 
that answer your question? 

PLAYBOY: Beautifully. Bill Dana, you've 
written a good portion of Don Adams’ 
comedy routines, you've written for the 
Steve Allen шу, 
you've scored as а comic yourself as that 
remarkable Latin, José Jimeiiez. As 
writer-performer. what do you think of 
this new school of humor? 
pana: It’s probably cyclic 


hower take care of us. 


show, and most rece 


nature. It 


stems 10 me, if T remember my history 
correctly, that social commentary of this 
kind gained a lot of yardage even during 
Lincoln's ега. I'm not trying to put a 
beard оп Mort Sahl, but I don't think 
humorous social commentary is really 
new. Like la ronde, it’s just 
come around again. As in Lincoln's time, 
we are engaged in great civil strife. 
World problems, the likes of which none 
of us have ever seen before, have loomed 
up. It isn't really something that keeps 
me at night, to make а t 
confession, But [m delighted that a 
good segment of the population is ac- 
cepting people like Sahl, and that the 
Allen show was accepted as it was. I 
don't know why the hell it's happened. 
but I do know that it’s happened before. 
This time, though, on the threshold of 
universit upheavals, we may soon be do- 
ing split weeks between Venus and M 
ALLEN: I think part of the reason for it 
iy the world-wide uprising of youth. 
Everywhere you see rebellion among the 
young. In our own country, John Ke 


somet 


nedy а young man is elected Pr 
dent. АН the little mosaic bits fit to- 


gether. OF course youth has always bec 
in revolt to some extent, but never as it 
is today. And that, in turn, may be be- 
cause the world was never in such dan- 
ger. If you're twenty years old and just 
beginning to live, you have reason to be 
angry when you find out that the gene 
ation ahead of you may not leave a 
world for you to live in. Consciously and 
unconsciously, this disturbing awareness 
may well be adding more fire to this 
natural revolt of youth. It's no surprise 
that the new comedians all have some 
thing pretty bitter and critical to say. 
There may always have been a few of 
these guys around, but now there is a 
ready-made audience for them. The mo 
ment they're discovered, they're natio 
heroes. And thank goodness for that, 
I зау 
rrAYBOY: Ironically, the last time tha 
Henny Youngman — a gentle 
old school — м 
told a couple of sick jokes himself. 

DANA: Youngman is more of a reporter 
than anything else. I think he just de- 
cided to bring something current into 
his medley of old jokes. Anyway, the 
term "sick comic" is getting а little sick 
in itself, People come up to me and say, 
"How about that sick comic Mort Sahl? 
I happen to consider Mort one of the 


s on your show, Steve, he 


wellest comics there is 

ALLEN: But about Henny — his style is so 
traditional, so borscht belt that he could 
probably do Mort's whole act and it 
would still sound like Henny Youngman. 
When he throws three or four hip jokes 
into his act, they'll come out sounding 
old-fashioned. And whats wrong with 
that? 

sanr: What / think is sick humor was 
indulged in by those guys, not the new 


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borscht belt comics saying, 
play in traffic,” or, “I hit one of those 
things in my car the other day—what 
do you call it—a kid.” Sick humor is 
indulged in by everybody— it isn’t just 
the performers. People do it in offices, 
around the 
cooler being the social center of an 
office. Everywhere you go, they're telling 
very irreverent jokes. It’s just a step 
away from swearing. 

reierer: Pm sure that all through his- 
tory sick jokes were being told before 
there was really a school of sick humor. 
There've always been cripple jokes— 
Jerry Lewis has done it all of his acting 
career — and makes up lor it by heading 
up Muscular Dystrophy. What's interest. 
ing is not that comics have always used 
it in their acts, but its sudden accept- 
ance as a mass mania, with everybody 
telling these stories, and at the same 
time being embarrassed by them. You 
know, “I really hate these sick jokes, but 
did you hear the one They have a 
sense of the unhealthiness of this whole 
aspect of humor and yet they indulge 
themselves in it as a release. 

ALLEN: If you go through one of those 
old joke books — especially those pub- 
lished before 1930— you'll find jokes 
that are anti-Semitic, anti-Catholic, anti- 
Negro — less vicious than in poor taste 
— jokes about Ikie and Abie cheating 
somebody out of money, jokes where 
"Pat came home drunk the other night 
and met Father Murphy.” Those are 
really sick jokes, although not in the 
contemporary sense. 

pıaysov: Jonathan, some of your mate 
ril would seem to be a litle weird 
and on the macabre side— things like 
the petshop skit, which we printed in 
PLAYBOY some years ago, and your popu 
lar gas-station-attendant bit. These were 
both pretty far out. Do you consider this 
sick comedy, or yourself a sick comedi 
WINTERS: Well, who's to say who's sick? 
You find the audience laughing at the 
sick, and the sick. back at them; 
it works both t could be sicker 
than The where a guy 
takes his thumb and drives it clear to the 
back of the other guy's skull, or takes a 
hammer and, boing, hits a guy over the 
head and laughs (unh, unh. unh), or 
pushes somebody down a flight of stairs 
and a horse drags him six hundred feet 
into a barrel of flour—what could be 
ker than that? Where do you draw the 
line? J don't know. I can say one thing 
definitely, though. I don't sce anything 
funny about cancer, blind people, or 
mental cases. This is just my own opin 
ion, of course. I first came into contact 
with sick humor when I spent six months 
in a Naval hospital during the war, 
where guys made fun of their deformities 
because they had to — to keep from going 
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their arm, or their eyes, or whatever 
it was, they kidded about it, so they 
wouldn't lose everyihing. But to peddle 
this in a club, I just don't buy. 

xicnots: Nothing that I've ever seen of 
Jonathan's see: to be sick. There's 
nothing sick about Mort, there's not 
sick about Elaine and me, and there's 
nothing sick about Jules, even though 
one of his books was called Sick, Sick, 
Sick. He's concerned with neurotic pco- 
ple, but his viewpoint about them 
healthy. You could 1 certain things 
that Lenny does sick if you wanted to, 
but he's really the only one. I've эсеп 
him sort of pretend to have intercourse 
with a guy on stage and everything. I've 
Iie 1d him say that Bobby Franks was a 
aid that The Diary of 
not as funny a movie 
ia Funny little things 1 


Sickniks, 
as you said before, number 
of the new hip comedians, you're the 
only one of the group who has really 
been labeled “sick.” Do you consider 
your comedy sick 

BRUCE: We're all sick — Mort kisses news- 
papers, Shelley's got a phone that he lays 
bed with, and Jonathan doesn't make 
noises for laughs — he's a deal mute. No, 
my humor is mostly indictment — making 
fun of people — which in essence is cruel. 
ОЕ course if this particular individ 
were in the audience, I wouldn't do the 
joke. Not because of cow: 
cause it would make him 
Thave bigots in my audiences sometimes, 
and І make fun of them, because Um a 
bigot myself. not as bad as I used to 
be. but times I've said things like 
“free, white Protestant,” and in the con- 
text I used it, I certainly didn’t mean 
with love. Naturally, 1 am 


“arthy. even part iis Paar. I 
corrupt, That’s where my humor comes 
from, I think. Because I am continually 
verbalizing to find an answer for myself. 
It may be because of propaganda, but I 
n identify with theology. The princi- 
ples seem correct and profound to me. 
rLAYhOY: And yet, people consider you 
sacrilegious . . . 

вкось: Those who don't really hi 
"Those who have cars will hear. "Ye shall 
know me by my works." Time magazine 
found this title, “Sickniks.” Now 
zine writer has to sketch things out real 
quick, and so he says things like “Chap 
linesque," “Alec Guinness quality.” 
“Beatnik” — then everything's beatniks, 
there's a whole new school of beatniks, 
everybody's beatniks, beatniks till they're 
t to death. Now we've got sick com. 


ar me. 


be: 


ics. So everybody falls in the category of 
s. Take Shelley Berman — a 


sick comi 
brilliant s 
100, ро 


tirist. But he's a good actor, 
use he docs humor that re- 


volves around life, a good slice of life. 
"That's sick? 

NICHOLS: Sick is not a word 1 would use. 
But if somebody's going to use it I cer- 
tainly don't think it be applied to 
anybody else but Lenny. But if you pre- 
fer to call what he does gay and irrever: 
nt, go ahead. 

TLAYhOY: Mort, didn't you imply before 
that sick and irreverent arc synonymous? 
sani: When I said irreverent, I linked it 
to sickness. I don't mean irreverent be- 
cause it's about the President. I mean 
negative about mankind. People scem to 
question my auacking specific institu- 
tions more than they do the guy who is 
negative about all institutions. You can 
be completely negative and function 
quite well in the American theatre to- 
day. Nobody will accuse you of being 
negative. But you rock the boat a little 
bit and you're in trouble. 

з лувоу: Do vou feel that people aren't 
reading the basic affirmation. between 
your lines? 

samt: Right. If you tell a joke about 
segregation, naturally it means you're in 
favor of integration. But the legacy of 
the Eisenhower years seems to be that 
you can be against one, but not for the 
other. You're in the middle. 1 think Pm 
m of that kind of thinking on thc 
part of other: 
ALLEN: The people who create these 
sometimes cruel jokes, I think, actually 
have more tender concern for the world 
than some of these fifty-five-year-old 
«іва 
they're saying. Often the only way you 
сап get the world to pay attention to 
your plea is through some sort of savage 
satire. Voltaire was а man who was con- 
sumed with a rage for un al tice. 
His weapon for making men wake up 
and share his views was bitter and savage 
humor which, I suppose, in h 
called sick humor, humor that was goi 


a vi 


-chewers who don't understand what 


day was 


Avnoy: Right — and the same may be 
id of Dean Swift, whose 4 Modest 
Proposal was a deadpan polemic su 
ng the poor eat their young — as a solu- 
n to poverty and hunger . . . АП of 
the comedians of the new hip school 
seem to evoke harsh negative critical re 
actions [rom some quarters. How would 
you explain this lack of rapport with it 
part of their potential audience? It’s not 
simply a lack of enthusiasm, as you might 
get from someone who just does not en- 
joy a Bob Hope or a Red Skelton, but 
in some cases an open and pronounced 
hostility 
ALLEN: [t may be simply a reflection of 
the historic lack of understanding be- 
tween the conservative and the liberal. 
between the man defending the status 
quo and the radical who would disturb 
it. I don't think it’s so much a case of 
a critic saying, “I know exactly what 
Lenny Bruce means, and I don't like it." 


PL 


I think it's more that they just don't 
know what the hell he's talking about 
One of the points I tried to make in 
The Funny Men was that people are 
never entitled to say “So-and-so isn’t 
funny." In a room full of people who are 
all laughing so hard they're falling off 
their chairs, it's absurd for some guy to 
say, "Lenny Bruce isn’t funny.” All you 
can say i don't know what the hell 
Lenny Bruce is talking about, he's not 
funny to me, but I heard a lot of people 
laughing, so maybe I'm wrong: 
PLAYBOY: While Lenny was doing his 
kind of satire without much success in 


the earlier years, Mort was receiving n 
tional attention and popularity for his 
own brand of biting, controversial hu- 
mor. One day there didn't seem to be 
any real market for this kind of social 
commentary, and the next, it was the 
hottest thing on the club circuits. How 
do you account for it, Mort? 

ЗАНЫ ГЇЇ have to answer that with a 
question, much as I hate to. Who's do- 
ing social commentary? 


rrAYnoY: You are. 
sanı: Thank you. But who else? I mean 
guys who are really talking about society 
as they see it? 
pLaynoy: Lenny Bruce is, certainly .. . 
sant: So you think that we're related — 
that somehow we are related just because 
we haye our own individual views of 
society? I'm just asking. Anything I say 
about other performers, I say as а mem- 
ber of the audience, not as a competitor. 
Because I'm barely a performer myself — 
arely ted. making a go of this 
g in 1953. 1 was preceded, of course, 
by Jonathan — truly an original thinker, 
but I don't know if he's doing social 
commentary. Whatever I talk about, I 
try to have an honest approach. A lot of 
performers talk about a false world. I try 
to talk about the world I came from — 
World War 11, the GI Bill, being 
in California, a mobile society with auto- 
mobiles, high fidelity, a lot of mechanis. 
tic stuff, a changing America — that’s 
where I come from. 1 didn't give that up 
хо get into show business; 1 just sort of 
extended it. I lived a few more weird 


reared 


bohemian years in San Francisco, and 
then I started stamping out small plastic 
replicas of the whole thing, which I give 
to the audience from city to city. In 
other words you cin trust the audience. 
You can tell them who you arc. You 
“performer.” 
pLayuoy: Jonathan, Mort said he doesn’t 
know whether or not you do social com- 
mentary. What do you think? 

WINTERS: Well, I just look upon myself as 
а humorist. I don't want to usc the word 


don't have to be 


"fight" because it isn't a fight — when it 
becomes one, then you're in trouble — 
with yourself most of all. My only mes- 
+ is to put down the pseudo-intellec- 
and the out-and-out bore, and say, 


“Here, this is what he's like — you decide 
what to do with him." You know, the 
ig guy with the fifteen Brotherhood 
Week cards on him, and all the secret 
rings, and little things in his lapels. This 
is the guy I've always been hoping to 
expose —and slow down. We'll never 
stop him, of course; he'll always be 
around. But I sull enjoy putting the 
pin in, like into a big balloon in the 
Macy's Day parade. ИЛЇ go down, but 


not that fast— until the end of the 
parade. 
PLAYBOY: Have you found that these 


people are 

fun of them? 
WINTERS: Not the ones I've met. I was in 
"21" one day, and this guy came up — 
one of the Binky and Buzzy set, with the 
lower jaw that sticks out like a lakefish — 
and he said in this Ivy League drawl, * 
think you're rather a funny guy on TV. 
I turned to him and said, “You know, 
Im working on a new character, he's 
called Binky Bixford and he talks like 
this — [imitating him] 
guys who carries a polo mallet in one 
hand, and a half a martini in his other, 
and wears a regimental tie and seven 


ware that you're making 


he's one of these 


buttons on his coat. He's a real fun 
guy." And this character did а take, and 
said ezus, that's fabulous; I know 


million guys who talk just like that.” 
Jt went right over his skull. 

DANA: You know, I thought I was tread- 
ing on very dangerous ground at the 
hungry i—I do the act half as José 
Jimenez, and then José introduces Bill 
Dana, But a fellow came into the club 
the other night, and said to me, “You 
know, ai jos’ come down here so ai con 
chake your han’ an’ tell my famly ai meet 
José Jimericz." Not only has there been 
no offense in Latin American areas, but 
they seem to be my big fans. 

PLAYLOY: Would you say there's any so- 
cial commentary in your act, Bill? 
DANA: I make a social commentary, but 
in areas which really aren't controver- 
sial — because I'm half in the old school 
in that my main thought is that the au- 
dience should be thoroughly entertained. 
"Thats what makes me happy. The riski- 
est thing I do is dialect. Dialects do 
exist, after all. They are based on the 
speech of real human beings. If those 


human beings are sympathetic, then 
there's really not any danger of offend 
ing anybody. That might be called one 
arca of social commentary. Also, 1 do an 
tronaut bit with José, where he's the 


first man that's going to be sent ont to 


spice. There’s a line where the inter- 
viewer says, “Where are you going to be 
landing?" — апа José says, "Ai gon’ to 


lan’ in Nebada." And the interviewer 
"So you're convinced they'll get 
you back to earth?" “Yes, ai convince 
dey will get me bock to cart" — how far 
into cart, ai not so convince about," 


"But surely they've provided something 


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to break your fall." “Yes, 
-лувоу: Mike, would you that you 
nd Elaine use the stage as a platform 
12 

I mean protesting isn't 
what you start out to do. Our bits are 
simply vehicles for certain observations 
pout people. Very often the most com- 
mercial thing you can do is social protest. 
Like if Lenny has a gag about the Pope, 
it's like throwing a pie in the face of a 
with a top hat— a sure laugh. The 
commercial thing is to say before 
as Lenny would say — that he's attacking 
dishonesty. But he's not. He's just mak- 
ing funny jokes about the Pope. 105 
really that the big, money-making thing 
is to be brave and courageous in pre 
senting your point of view. 

sam: You know, Lenny is really a crea- 
tive person, but I've often heard him 
say that Ше other comics are just wind 
up dolls. 1 suppose some people can live 
better with stuff that they put together 
themselves on the spot. But look at a 
guy like Don Adams. He's as hip as the 
come, but boy, there's a guy who is un 
form. You never get short-changed with 
him. You don't say. “He was off tonight 
because he wasn't swinging.” I've prob- 
ably cheated mysell by not developi 
and organizing my ideas. 1 get tired of 
them when they don't fascinate me an 
more — and 1 discard them. And yet, one 
of them might be the best thing I've got. 
microns: The r nprovisation is 
funny is that it’s just occurred. to you, 
ike anything that happens in life, really 
ty, or among friends. The fun- 
ips are the ones that have just 
happened, because they come out of 
specific moments. And when you rep 
them, theyre just not as funny — be- 
cause it isn't with the same people 
the same set of circums 
Elaine п tiring of some 
we have to try to make it new aga 
rather than throw it out, just be 
e said it before. 

PLAYBOY: Mike, you and Elaine had 
worked with the Compass Pl 
really first-rate improvisational group in 
Chicago, but nothing very big 
pening to cither you or the group, 
though you were doing some ol the 
best and most exciting creative comedy 
round. Then the two of you decided 
to wy it on your own, drawing from this 
How important do 


for soci 


nd — 


ason an 


nd I bc 


hap 


carly work togethe 


the room. If it’s your own material, you 
can go with whats working best. If an 
integration joke goes very big for Mort, 
he can extend the whole integration 
theme as long as he wants, because that's 
what's happening with this audience 
There's no way to prepare it before. Our 
stuff is а Little different from Mort's, of 
course, because it's closer to plays. We 
do scenes about characters. But you're 
never quite sure what element out of a 
given scene will be chosen by an audi- 
ence to connect with. 

retrer: The really new thing about thc 
new humorists in nightclubs is that. just 
about all of the good ones, and a few 
of the mediocre ones, write their own 
material. Sahl does. Bruce does, Nichols 
and May do, Berman docs — they all do 
the first time, a comic comes out 
nightclub floor and he is more 
than a comic. He is speaking in his per- 
sonal yoice with his own point of view. 
He's not telling mother-in-law jokes and 
saying, “Ha, ha, but I really have а 
Tovel You know that if he's put- 
ting down his mother-in-law, it's because 
Шу doesn't like her. 

г Jack Benny's fu 
x joke? You know, the thing he did 
on radio where somebody said to him, 
"Your money or your life,” and there was 
a long silence, and then he said, “I'm 
thinking it over.” He built on that gag 
for ten уа gag based on an imagi- 
nary frame of reference. What most. peo- 
d it 


ple in the new school do is to bu 


out of common experience, rather than. 
a setup made for the vaudeville stage. 

ALLEN: The audience never seems to 
e dist hed between the comed 
ns who jorists and the comedians 
who are just marvelous comedy perform- 
ers and don't ever write any of their own 
material But it's ап important distinc- 
tion. I think that a comedian who writes 
h al today will be of this 
new, this modem, fresh type. If yo 
=, snappy. classy performer who is 


own mater 


re 


a your 


ically a tap dancer, you can go to one 
of the comedy writers and get yourself а 
good act for about а thousand dollars. 
But the writer who will do your act is 
usually a guy about forty-eight years 
old, who's been writing for Milton Berle 
and Bob Hope and Jerry Lewis for 
twenty years, so he'll write you а good 
act that can play the Copacabana and 
get you a р Variety. 


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winters; The reason I write my own 
his own material? stuff is that I'm cheap. 1 admit it. When 
Nicuors: Well, it’s important that it be I first came on I had two or three bits 
worked out in front of the audience. and I worked with a guy who's still with 
When you have people in front of you те from time to time, and when 1 go on 
and уоште trying something, they fell television — if I take over for P 
you something. not from their laughs, then I pull in 
just from the way they sit there, They have to. But I still write about ninet 
help build the material, by the nature eight percent of my own material. There 
of their silence. It even influences what — are a lot of people who would say "I can 
occurs to you— just whats going on in do that" but when you nail it right 


yon think it is that the new comic create 


three or four 


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down, can they? 

ALLEN: There аге a few, But they're the 
exception. 

vrAYBOY: Jo act is 
fairly well thought out ahead of time. 
isn’t it? Do you use any improvisation 
at all? 

winters: I've enjoyed winging it from 
time to time, after 1 finish my set rou- 
tines — you know, when the people throw 
out something like "Be Caesar in the 
desert" and you create a situation right 


than, most of vour 


on the spot. This is where I get тут 
Kicks. 


It doesn’t have to have 


ht on your feet. Creating some- 
thing new, 

PLAYHoy: Mort, your work remains ¢ 
tremely fluid and freeform. It never 
seems to come out the same, even though 
you keep specific рар idea 
and punch lines with which you pay off 
many of your new comments. Do you 
merely improvise on the basis of pr 
vious reactions to specific ideas and 
events 


situations 


sanı: No, they don't hold up. I've neve 
used the word "satire" or “improvise, 
but they apply. Every word I've ever used 
in my act has really started on the sta 
ls а very insecure way to go to work, 
but it's the best way. I'm always talking 
—а% а jazz fan — about. form, and yet 1 
get out there and I go the other way. I 
nd of go with the moment. It's like the 
high hurdles — if I get of on the wrong 
And if Pin 
ng I can't go with 
predetermined response, because there's 
nothing in my repertoire that. alw. 
works. But | keep trying to open up new 
streets. So 1 guess I do improvise. The 
best thi is to cat dinner 
and walk into the show when it’s time 
to go on. Then, it's like a conversation 
with the audience — you know, you can 
feel it — à cadence, a rhythm. 

praynoy: Lenny, you 
fairly free-form way 
BRUCE: Yes. When the Berle, 
Youngman, Jackie Miles and 
Kent school was formed, order! 
polish, that was it. Boy 
an act down. pat — "Eve enty-two 
minutes of dynamite, each line is a gem.” 
It was admired: it was form. Today the 
form is по form, abstraction, and 
people admire that, But we may return 
to form, again, as we continue to ch 
our views. You may remember t 
one society that considered it correct to 
throw Chris to the E 
another society tater 


foot, it's an hour of boredoi 


it’s amazing 


Гуе found 


also work in a 


Henny 
Lanny 
ness and 
ud to get 


and then 


ms, 


yems would say, 


“Well, I mean, that's been done before, 
so now were throwing lions to the 
You know — like Clyde 


Beatty. 
form at all, the 


But I've got form — if I had по 
I would be completely 
subjective and private, and 1 woul 
be able to earn any money because every- 
thing would relate only to me. So I 


cnough form to be recognized by enough 
people, like abstract art. Sometimes on 
stage І will just wait — if the audience 
gives me love, acceptance right away — 
(wow!) — like I'll really cook for maybe 
filteen or twenty minutes. 

PLAYBOY: How do they show this love? 
By the warmth of their laughter? 
sRUCE: That's the only way I know 
at my best when they let me be silly — E 
mean zany— nuts. If they think I'm 
funny, I think, “Boy, these arc my 
people, they think like Lenny Bruce, 
then Im и oing to show off for 
them — E really feel a love for them. 
Platonic or sexual? 

BRUCE: І think all love is sexual. One 
guy, one girl, they see cach other— 
strangers — what's the attraction? The in- 
tellect is resolved larer. Instead of say: 
"Well, gee, we just got together 
shiup.” he says, "She's got a great sense 
of humor, that chick, she's so hip,” and. 
she says, "He's so nice, he’s so sensiti 
But that first attraction when they 
cach other was wanting, man, like they 
dug cach other. If you are a good Chris- 
tian, or a good Jew, vou realize that He 
was hip, that this was the master plan, 
to make sex the basis of marriage. 
"There's no couple who's going to intel- 
c about how the population's 
chopping. It's always, "Listen. it's shtup- 
" "But I'm shaving." "I don't 
Those are the marriages that 
last, the marriages of twenty- 
twenty-five years, where i 
hockin’ that ol lady 


Im 


PLAYBOY: 


to 


муз still 


Bur I don't feel as 
if I'm blatantly balling the audience. I 
just [eel an affectionate love — the first 


degree of sex — I feel like I want to hug 
‘em and kiss 'em 

axa: I's the old physical law of equal 
reaction to every action —if you dig the 
audience, they dig you back. IE you don't 
like them, boy. that’s exactly what you 
get back in equal proportion 

8 


хуну: 
what you do on pape 
formers do on stage? 
Ferrer: Well, really not at all, because 
my situation is a good dea I don't 
have to operate ever und 1 do one 
strip а week for The Village Voice, and 
a strip a month for rrAvnoy, so that I 


Jules, how would you compare 
to what these per- 


ion 


casier. 


have time to relax and decide what 1 
want to say. Of course, the other guys 
have set pieces too. But 1 don’t h 


to worry about my audience. Mort and 
Lenny and the rest of them have to 
get surelaugh material, but I don't 
really worry about getting laughs. Some- 
times I will do strips that just go for 
point. If the stuff comes up funny, that's 
fine, but I won't work for a punch line. 
I think I'm really in а more comfortable 
position than they are. 

Your work has always seemed 
pproximate on paper the things that 
Mike and Elaine do “live.” Why is that? 
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41 


PLAYBOY 


school" we are discussing, I admit that 
Mike and Elaine are the ones 1 admire 
the most. I think they're by far the most 


PLAYBOY PROUDLY PRESENTS intelligent and the best performers. De- 


pending on where they develop from 


T H E here. They represent, I think — in terms 
of gencral interest, intellectual level — 
G R EAT E ST the peak of anybody working the боа 
cab, 
mors: Thank you. There's no doubt 
PAC K AG E about it you have to be am intellec 
tual. The main difference between Jules 
and us — apart from having to unn out 
0 F J A Z Z different strip every week. fifty-two 
es more than we do—is that he 
draws little pictures. But I object to the 
E ү Ё R whole thing about “intellectual” come- 
dians. These days you can be an intel- 
lectual in twenty seconds just by sayin 
A S S E M B L E p! certain names: Nathanael West, Dj 
= | Barnes, Dostoievski, Katka — its а new 
David Suskind type of eggheadism. In- 
tellectual used to mean either а process 
of thinking, or а body of knowled 
For some nutty reason, it doesn't a 
p 
rLAYBOY: Do you and Elaine know 
where you're headed in a piece, or is it 


Never before in the history of jazz have so many stars been brought to- 


"getherin a single package. THE PLAYBOY JAZZ ALL-STARS, VOLUME just a kind of telepathy? 

THREE, includes all the winners in the third annual Playboy Jazz Poll— xıcıoıs: We usually know we're head 

PLUS all the All-Stars" All-Stars chosen by the musicians themselves. ng toward a last line. And when were 

There are32 separate featured performances on three 12" LP records—includ- on television we have certain check 

ing highlights from the nationally acclaimed PLAYBOY JAZZ FESTIVAL. points — things in the middle that we're 
getting to. We improvise around a set 


idea, and they give us a signal when we 
have so many seconds left, and then we 
h. 

PLAYBOY: Jules, in the process of crea 
ing one of your strips, do you s 

a general area and work your way toward 
the final point, or do you start with the 
final statement and work backwards? 

1 probably start from both ends 
toward the middle. 1 usually 
start putting words in а 
mouth, and sce how it begins to ride 
In the beginning 1 may have a fixed. 
direction in mind, but it may take oll 
completely and wind up something else 
ntirely. It's almost like improvisation 


rt with 


character's 


ALBUM A 


Mort Sahl — Count Basie Ella Fitzgerald—Stan Ken- Oscar Peterson—Dizzy 


Coleman Hawkins—Shelly ton—Benny Goodman Gillespie — Kai Winding 


Manne—Stan Getz—Four Ray Brown—Hi-Lo's Earl Bostic—Gerry Mulli- on paper except that, since I'm not do 
Freshmen—Erroll Garner Jimmy Giuffre-Louis oan—Lionel Hampton ing it before an audience, E can doctor 
Jack Teagarden—J. J. Armstrong—Barney  PaulDesmond-Mill Jack- it and tighten it up before it's used. You 
Johnson—Chet Baker Kessel—Dave Brubeck son—Frank Sinatra—Sonny know — apropos nothing — Mike and 
Bob Brookmeyer Miles Davis Rollins—Cy Coleman Elaine are the only ones in the field whe 

go after one of the things that really in- 
More than two hours of solid jazz enjoyment by the greatest jazz talent terest me; the relation between boys and 


where 


girls. This is one area, E think 
Mort doesn't do well at all. It's less boys 
and girls with him tham it is "adults." 


2 He seems to have а slightly sophomoric 
absolute mustar avery real jazz Gel TE Tene boyhood dream of the way girls should 


today. Ella Fitzgerald's festival performance is worth the price of the entire 
volume by itself—Down Beat called it “the most electrifying of her career'" 
—"think of the best you have heard from her and double it," This is an 


act with boys. It's a fantasy and 1 don't 
think it works as well with him as his 
political things 


All three records, in high fidelity, beautifully boxed with а 32-page booklet 
containing biographies, up-to-date discographies and full-color pholo- 


graphs of the artists. sant: I just can't face my own problems. 
Stereophonic (3 LPs) $16.50. Monophonic (3 LPs) $13.50. so I try to avoid them by talking about 
the hydrogen bomb and Kennedy and 


SOE Op ny огде Dept SEO, Nixon and a lot of unreal things like 


PLAYBOY JAZZ 222E. Ohio street, Chicago 11, Illinois (continued on page 116) 


THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR 


Im planning to throw a large dinner 
party in my apartment. My girlfriend 
wants to act as hostess but she’s afraid 
that it will give the impression we're 
living together and I'm afraid it might 
give her the notion she's just a license 
fee away from becoming a bride. Is there 
а rule governing this — N. K.. Char- 
lotte, North Carolina. 

If the little lady wants to lend a hand, 
that’s commendable; an assist from the 
opposite sex can be very helpful when 
you're playing the host. You can get 
your female friend off the hook, if she’s 
worried about wagging tongues, by 
seeing that she makes an early depar- 
ture. If it’s mutually agreeable, she can 
come back later on, after the tumult and 
the shouting dies, and help you stack 
glassware, empty ashtrays and share a 
nightcap. She'll have avoided gossip and 
you'll have neatly sidestepped giving 
her a mental image of eternal together- 
ness engendered by the picture of the 
two of you waving tandem farewells to 
departing guests. 


WW hich variations on stud and draw 
poker are considered legitimate Ьу 
knowledgeable card players and which 
are outré? And what makes one iN and 
the other our? — J. T., Phoenix, Arizona. 

PLAYBOY's stand, which is in accord 
with expert opinion, has not changed 
one poker chip since its November 1957 
coverage of the great American pastime 
—the only real poker players’ poker 
games are straight five- or seven-card 
stud and five-card draw; all the rest ~ 
spit-in-the-ocean, baseball, etc. — are bits 
of foolishness that distort the whole 
meaning of the game. Pokers special 
appeal is the way it satisfies man’s gam- 
bling appetite (unlike bridge or chess) 
without depriving him of a chance to 
exercise some control over his own fate 
(unlike roulette or craps). Any ap- 
preciable alteration of the basic arrange- 
ment throws the whole gambling-skill 
ratio into imbalance. For example, the 
introduction of a joker into five-card 
poker transforms the odds drastically, 
Three of a kind, which would normally 
appear once in every 4732 five-card 
hands, will now pop up in your fist once 
in every 209 deals—in fact, the joker 
makes it now just as easy to get three 
of a kind as two pairs. Four of a kind, 
which usually causes quite a stir when it 
appears once in 4165 hands in five-card 
poker, will show up in your hand on 
the almost ho-hum average of once in 
919.7 go-rounds when a joker is used. 
The joker and wild cards may be a 
break for the beginner who doesn’t 
know how to figure the odds, but for the 
experienced player, wild cards make for 


dull poker. One slight concession, which 
is really no concession at all, is the ad- 
missibility of high-low as an acceptable 
form of stud poker. High-low wreaks 
no havoc with hand values, but it does 
offer an added challenge to the wide- 
awake player. Poker, basically, is a fun 
game that should be taken seriously. It 
is not designed for yoks, time-passing, nor 
as a theme for variations. 


ДА short white ago, I started dating the 
girl in the next apartment, a delectable 
redhead who lives with her sweet, 
widowed mother. Our relationship so 
far has been one big frustration. The 
mother's always home — she's a TV nut 
who keeps a twentyfourhour vigil in 
front of the home screen. We live in a 
new apartment house where the walls 
are tissuepaper thin. And Mama has 
ears like sonar. She can even tell when 
my sinuses are acting up, let alone 
whether I've got her darling daughter 
next door. Please help me find a solu- 
tion before I retire to a monastery. — 
B. L., New York, N. Y. 

If Mums is as bugged on TV as you say, 
the solution might very well lie in the 
problem. It’s a fairly simple proposition 
to get her tickets for the live evening 
TV shows, and the later they're on the 
better. The dear woman will think 
you're a prince of a fellow, since no TV 
fanatic can resist the opportunity of 
seeing a favorite in the flesh. And while 
she is, you can be, too. 


И dearly love chianti, but lately the 
“chianti” I've been getting tastes chalky 
or vinegary. Is there any way of telling 
(in advance) it I'm getting chianti or 
carbona? — R. McD., Chicago, Illinois. 

There are two fairly consistent guide- 
posts to good chianti, and neither is the 
raffia-covered bottle. Genuine chianti is 
made from grapes grown in Tuscany in 
an area between Florence and Siena. 
The chianti produced there is usually 
labeled “Classico” and carries an oval 
emblem of a black rooster on a gold 
background on the neck of the bottle. 
This is the guarantee of the Association 
of Chianti Wine Producers that the con- 
tent of the bottle is the real thing. 


WI, record collection is growing, but 
so is my accumulation of surface noise. 
Some of my best Basie and Bach seem 
doomed because of the dust that sits in 
constantly. What's the most effective way 
to fight LP decay?—M. W., Boston, 
Massachusetts. 

Cleaning records is a touchy matter. 
You must. remove the static charge that 
attracts dust, then eliminate the gunk 
by some method that doesn’t mash it 


into the grooves. Brushes don’t do much 
more than create additional static elec- 
tricity. Spray cleaners, most experts as- 
sert, add a gummy residue to the dirt 
already on the record; and the chemicals. 
in some of them can damage the rubber 
or latex suspension used in most car- 
tridges. Wiping with a treated cloth 
sweeps gook into the grooves; a damp 
cloth does the same, and—unless you 
use distilled water—adds chemical de- 
posits to your woes. The most reliable 
record cleaner is the Dust Bug, a clear 
plastic arm mounted on a suction-cup 
pivot which moves along the grooves 
just ahead of the stylus. (You can also 
get them without the arm, and equipped 
with clips to hold them on changer 
cartridge heads.) This widget cleans the 
surface with a pad (moistened with a 
special Ethylene Glycol solution) and 
cleans the grooves with a nylon brush 
that follows the pad. Some purists claim 
nothing surpasses the wash-and-rinse 
method (using a pure detergent, like 
Ivory Liquid, m a one-to-fifty detergent- 
towater ratio), but even with washing, 
the Dust Bug should be used regularly. 


Ws a restaurant, when is it proper to 
send food not to your liking back to 
the kitchen? I'm always hesitant to com- 
plain about something I've been served, 
as the waiter is either embarrassingly 
solicitous or else he tries to give me the 
third degree on what was wrong with 
the food. Т. R., Pittsburgh, Pennsyl- 
vania. 

There is a vast deluded multitude of 
restaurant-goers which is cowed into 
submissively accepting anything and 
cuerything that's brought out of the 
kitchen. It can be burned, raw, wrong 
or rancid —no matter, it will either be 
eaten or left for the busboy to remove. 
It sounds crazy, but it's done every day 
across the nation. There are some simple 
tenets to adhere to in dining out: if the 
food’s bad, back it goes; if it's wrong, 
it's returned. If you want your beef 
rare and it's medium, send it bach; if 
the waiter recommends something and 
you don't care for it, tell him so; if it's a 
decent restaurant, he'll say he's sorry for 
leading you astray and will bring you 
something more to your liking; if it 
isn’t а decent restaurant, what are you 
doing there in the first place? 


All reasonable questions —from fash- 
ton, food and drink, hi-fi and sports cars 
to dating dilemmas, taste and etiquette 
— will be personally answered if the 
writer includes a stamped, self-addressed 
envelope. Send all letters to The Playboy 
Advisor, Playboy Building, 232 E. Ohio 
Street, Chicago 11, Ilinois. The most 
provocative, pertinent queries will be 
presented on this page each month. 


43 


memories, and the ability to laugh at himself = 


that’s all a mortal man has left 


fiction By Charles Willeford 


1 out to him 
пу things to do 

IN 

never had a chan, 

Which 


PLAYBOY 


them for us when we call to him. There 
have been times when I have had to 
wait so long when Fred or maybe one 
of the loose patients (there are quite a 
few of these loose ones who are allowed 
to carry matches, and they do little odd 
jobs around the hospital, only their 
work details are called "therapy" for 
the convenience of the authorities) came 
around to light my cigarette 1 actually 
forgot what I called out for in the first 
place. 

But at night it is different. The men 
in the other eleven (that unlucky num- 
ber always makes my stomach feel 
queasy) cells in this locked ward are all 
good sleepers. Right after the supper 
meal, or within an hour or so, most of 
them are asleep. Old man Reddington, 
in No. 4, has nightmares that are truly 
terrible; if I had nightmares like his I 
would never go to sleep. But when 
I mentioned his nightmares to him he 
denied having any, so I guess he doesn’t 
remember them. I wonder if I have 
nightmares? That is something ГЇ] have 
to pump Ruben about sometime. The 
reason | don't go to bed early at night 
is because of my long, peaceful nap 
every afternoon. I'm not allowed to go 
to Occupational "Therapy. so when the 
other patients leave the ward for O.T. 
after lunch I am locked in my cell. It is 
quiet then, and I sleep. I have nothing 
to think about; my memory is almost all 
gone, except for isolated, unsatisfactory 
and unresolved little incidents. Trying 
to remember things, however, is a fasc 
nating game. 

I like Ruben. He is a nice guy. Oh, 
yes, it was about the cigarettes. 

“I don't really care, Ruben,” I said to 
him the other night (I know it wasn't 
tonight), “but every week when the 
Gray Lady comes around with the ciga- 
rettes I get a different brand. And I 
don't think it's right, even if I am satis- 
fied with whatever brand I'm given. I 
realize that smoking is a privilege, but 
Ive also concluded that any man who 
smoked all the time would sooner or 
later decide that he preferred one partic- 
ular brand. And if he did, he'd buy and 
smoke the same brand all the time. Is it 
because we're crazy that we get a differ- 
ent brand every week, or what?" 

Ruben looked quizzically at me for a 
long time, and his searching expression 
made me feel apprehensive. He's a good- 
looking young guy (in a rather coarse 
way), twenty-five or -six, and friendly, 
with very white teeth, but when he ex- 
amines me for a long time without 
replying I have a premonition that he 
doesn’t truly like me, and that he might 
possibly be a doctor’s spy. But then 
Ruben grinned fraternally, and I knew 
that he was all right. 

“Do you know something, Haskell,” he 
said with unfeigned sincerity, “you're 
the only nut in my whole ward who's 


got any sense.” 

‘This incongruous remark struck both 
of us as funny, and we had to laugh. 
“No, seriously,” Ruben went on, “that 
comment was a sign of progress, Haskell. 
Do you possibly remember, from before 
maybe, smoking one particular brand of 
cigarettes? Think hard.” 

“No,” although I didn’t even try to 
think, “but this talk about cigarettes 
makes me want one. How about a light?” 

“Sure.” As he flipped his lighter he 
said: “If you ever do feel a preference, 
let me know. Nobody is trying deliber- 
ately to deprive anyone of their favorite 
cigarettes. But I've been working here 
for two years now, and you're the first 
patient who's ever mentioned the sub- 
ject.” 

‘Then maybe I'm not so crazy after 
all?" I said lightly. 

"You're crazy all right" Ruben 
laughed. "Would you like some coffee? 
Im going to make a fresh pot." 

I remember this conversation well; 
the smoking of the cigarette; and yet 
I'm not absolutely certain whether he 
came back later with the coffee or 
whether I went to bed without it. I've 
had coffee with Ruben late at night on 
many occasions, but that particular night 
has disconnected gaps in it. I cannot 
always orient the routine sequence of 
daily events. It is probably because of 
the sameness here; the only difference 
between day and night is that it is 
quieter at night (except for old man 
Reddington in No. 4); and there is a 
lot of activity in the mornings. Break- 
fast, the cleaning up, the doctor making 
his rounds, and I have my chess prob- 
lems to puzzle over every morning. X 
work two or three problems on my board 
every morning, although I would never 
admit it to Dr. Adams. 

"A man's mind is a tricky thing, 
Haskell" Dr. Adams said, when he 
brought me the board and chessmen. He 
made this statement as though I were 
unaware of this basic tenct. "But if you 
use your brain every day — and I think 
you'll enjoy working out these chess 
problems — it'll be excellent therapy for 
you. In fact, your memory will probably 
come back to you in its entirety, all at 
once.” He snapped his soft, pudgy fin- 
gers. “But I don’t want you to sit 
around trying to remember things. 
That's too hard. Do you understand?” 
He handed me a paperback book of 
elementary chess problems to go with 
the set. 

“Yes, I understand, Dr. Adams,” I 
said unsmilingly. “I understand that you 
are a condescending sonofabitch.”” 

"Of course I am, Haskell," he agreed 
easily, humoring me, "but solving chess 
problems is merely an exercise to help 
you. A person with weak feet can 
strengthen them by picking up marbles 
with his toes, and — ” 


"I haven't lost my marbles,” I said 
angrily. “They've only rolled to опе 
side!” 

“ОҒ course, of course,” he said wearily, 
looking away. (I've learned how to dis- 
comfit these expressionless psychiatrists 
every time: I stare straight into their 
moronic, unblinking eyes.) “But you will 
try solving some of the problems, won't 
you, Haskell?” 

“I might.” (A noncommittal answer is 
the only kind a headshrinker really 
wants to hear.) 

So Гуе never given Adams the satis- 
faction of knowing that I work three or 
four problems every morning: When he 
asks me how I'm getting along I tell him 
I'm stil on the first problem in the 
book, although I've been through the 
book four times already, or is it five? 
Ahl Here is Ruben with my coffee. 

‘The coffee is strong, just the way I 
like it, with plenty of sugar and 
armorcd cow. And Ruben is relating the 
story again about why he elected to be- 
come a male nurse. He has told me all 
this before, but each time he tells it a 
little differently. His fresh details don't 
fool me, however. He actually took the 
two-year junior college nursing course 
to be the only male student in a class of 
thirty-eight girls. But talking to me at 
night—or should I say “at me'?—is 
undoubtedly good therapy for Ruben. 

“By the way, Haskell, your wife will 
visit-you tomorrow. You asked me to re- 
mind you." 

"Already?" I made a ducking sound 
in my throat. "Му, my, how time flies. It 
seems like only yesterday, and yet thirty 
happy, happy days have flown by.” I 
shook my head in mock dismay. 

"Not for me.” Grimly. He took my 
empty cup and closed the door. 

Y'm beginning to get accustomed to my 
wife and her monthly visits now. "The 
first time she visited me I didn’t even 
know the woman. I still don’t recall 
marrying her or living with her before 
I assumed the bachelor residence of this 
cell. But I had uncommonly good taste. 
Hazel is a real beauty, still well under 
thirty, and she’s a movie actress (she 
keeps telling me). The first time Hazel 
visited me — at least the first time that I 
remember—1 made the undiplomatic 
mistake of asking what her name was, 
and she wept. I felt so sorry for her I've 
never made the same mistake again. 
Now, when her name escapes me mo- 
mentarily, I either call her Honey or 
Sweetie-Pants. She likes these pet names. 
We usually spend our whole hour to- 
gether talking about the movies, about 
technical details mostly, and she often 
asks me questions about acting tech- 
niques. (The doctor probably suggested 
such questions to Hazel as an aid to help 
me regain my memory, but I enjoy giv- 

(continued on page 98) 


ll take that one.” 


“р 


47 


YEARS AGO I WAS LOOKING at three cars 
in the Ferrari pits at Sebring. It had 
rained in the afternoon and the Florida 
sun, dropping to the rim of the great 
plain, shone red in the black pools of 
water on the circuit. There were only a 
few cars running in practice, howling 
separately in the distance, out of sight 
most of the time. The blood-red Ferrari 
cars would go a few laps as soon as the 
mechanics finished with them. These 
were stark, open two-seaters. Their paint 
was flat and crude. The bucket seats 
were upholstered in wide-wale corduroy. 
Everything else in the cars except the 
wood-+rimmed steering wheels was bare 
unpainted metal, much of it roughly 


finished. Heavy weld-seams joined the 


thin tubes of the frames. Shiny streaks 
here and there showed where oil had been 
mopped up. A man next to me turned, 
remembering the old pilots’ gag: “You 
wouldn't send the kid up in that!" he 
said. A small, dark, red-eyed mechanic 
got into one of the cars. An ignition key 
looped in a piece of sisal wrapping twine 
stuck out of the dashboard. He leaned 
on it with the heel of his hand and a 
bare-metal clanging and clattering be- 
gan. You wanted to move away before 
the thing exploded. It fired suddenly, 
all of a piece, and pumped out a gout 
of blue smoke that drifted low over the 
wet grass of the infield. The mechanic 
sat there with his foot on it for five 
minutes. There was somebody in each of 
the other cars, and they were running, 
too. Juan Manuel Fangio materialized, 
pear-shaped in a rain jacket. He looked 
sleepy, he looked bored, he looked indif- 
ferent, until one noticed the incessant 
flickering of his eyes. The mechanic 
yelled something into his ear. Fangio let 


him see а sad smile, he shrugged mas- | 


sively. He got into the automobile, stared 
briefly at the instruments and then he 
went away and the other two, Eugenio 
Castelotti and Luigi Musso, howled after 
him, down the straight and under the 
bridge and around the corner out of 
sight. We could hear them through the 


esses and into the Warchouse road and | 


then not again until they showed up on 


the back straight, the three of them in | 


echelon astern, the howling of the en- 
gines squeezed down by distance to a thin 
buzz, their progress across the horizon 
apparently so leisurely that you won- 
dered why this should be called racing. 
They were running around 140 mph. 
They went down through the gears for 


the hairpin turn, а 180-degree reversal, | 


the rear wheels spinning or erying to, 
and then suddenly they were in the hole 
(continued on page 52) 


* 


| 


EU 
nm R 
are te TM 


PLAYBOY 


“First of all, you must learn to be preoccupied with sex!” 


nostalgia BY BEN HECHT 
the traffic in floaters was bringing milt a pretty dollar until the competition muscled in 


GOURFAIN 


OF ALL THE CRIMINALS I HAVE KNown, Milt Feasely, long, long dead, remains my favorite. In the days when 
I was a newspaper reporter in Chicago, knowing criminals was part of the job. The more you knew and 
the better you knew them, the more valuable you were to your city editor. For in that happy time, before 
the prospect of planetary destruction pre-empted the front pages, criminals were our most vital news source. 

It was for this reason that I spent much of my youthful leisure in Big Jim Colosimo's café, one of 
the leading roosts for the town’s criminal talent. Here coveys of killers, thieves and white slavers came 
nightly to relax, brag and buy their girls a bottle of wine. Nevertheless, it was a stylish and orderly place. 
Although he owned a score of brothels and was over his ears in all manner of underworld skulduggeries, 
Big Jim insisted on everybody acting like a gentleman while basking in his café. And, himself, he was as 
elegant a host as ever beamed out of a tuxedo, 

Big Jim brought “my favorite criminal” to the table where I sat alone, waiting for some tardy news- 
paper companions. 

“This is Jackpot Milt,” said Colosimo. He poked a bean pole of a man in the ribs and added, “Tell 
him your story. Maybe his paper can help you.” 

Jackpot Milt Feasely had big hands, noticeably calloused. He was gaunt-faced and bald-headed and 
looked a cross between a skeleton and a scarecrow. He had obviously put on a tie for this special occasion. 

After scowling at me a bit, he said, “Big Jim’s a fine fella who I am willin’ to trust. But I don’t know 
you and never heard of you.” 

I pointed out that Colosimo had vouched for me. 

“I got to be careful,” he said, “because if I talk to any wrong party I'm sunk. Yes, sir, sunk.” He 
repeated the word with an oddly lighted eye. 

“Suit yourself, Mr. Feasely,” I said. P 

“І tried Deanie O'Banion on the North Side," he said, "but couldn't get him interested, on account 
of the cops tryin' to pin a couple killings on him. Although he didn't give that as any reason. He just said 
it was out of his line. Then I figured on goin’ to the cops with the problem. But the cops would want a 
big cut. So I come to Big Jim, through certain connections. I feel I can trust him to consider the problem 
without gettin’ too greedy. You ever heard of me — Jackpot Milt?” 

I shook my head. 

“Well, I never heard of you either," he said, and became silent. 

I sent a waiter over to get Colosimo. 

“Mr. Feasely has a problem," I explained, “that he doesn't care to unload on just an ordinary stranger.” 

Mine Host beamed and sat down. 

“What's your problem?" Big Jim asked, after commanding a free bottle of wine to be fetched. 

“It’s this way,” our visitor said, “I operate in the river, the Chicago River, (continued on page 132) 


A JACKPOT OF CORPSES . 


PLAYBOY 


52 


FERRARI (continued from page 49) 


at the bottom of the finishing straight, 
drifting up to the edge of the concrete, 
coming past the pits, Fangio first, sit- 
ting there limp as pasta, then Castelotti, 
then Musso, all of them turning 7000 
revolutions 2 minute and then one 
after the other they shifted up a gear, 
three successive explosive whacks as the 
engines bit, and they were gone again. 
They ran over the five-mile circuit a 
dozen times like that, tight together, so 
stable they seemed locked to the ground 
like buildings, but flying past light as 
deer at the same time. Wet with rain, 
the hurried-on paint glistened like oven- 
fired enamel as the cars screamed down 
the shiny conercte chute, the drivers sit- 
ting back from the wheels, their arms 
straight. These were beautiful objects, 
perfect of their kind, there was nothing 
of crudity or starkness about them now. 
It was hard to believe that any of the 
other sixty cars that would start the race 
the next day could run ahead of the red 
Ferraris, and none of them did. 

Enzo Ferrari of Italy may make a 
dozen such cars a year, full racing cars, 
Grand Prix cars, now that the times have 
swung away from the so-called big sports 
cars, and he will make 350 or 400 pas- 
senger cars for the entire world market. 
His clients will wait from three to 
eighteen months for delivery and they 
will pay from §12,600 to $17,800 per 
car. Some of them, perhaps wishing 
something out of the ordinary, may find 
it politic or necessary to go to Modena 
to see П Commendatore Ferrari. They 
may wait an hour for an audience. They 
may wait three days. After all, these may 
be the best automobiles in the world, 
and not many of them are made. Some- 
times desirable possessions must be paid 
for in more than money. 

Since he began to build motorcars, in 
1947, under his own name and the black 
prancing horse that is his trademark, 
Enzo Ferrari has laid down about forty 
models of sports and Grand Prix cars 
and about forty passenger models, prop- 
erly gran turismo or “fast touring" cars. 
There is no annual or seasonal model 
change. The Ferrari catalog is changed 
when the Commendatore thinks a change 
is due, and not before and not after- 
ward. At the moment, six models are of- 
fered, some of them rather tentatively. 
They are the 250 Granturismo coupe, 
with body by Pininfarina, $12,600 in New 
York. This, one of the most enchanting 
automobiles ever built, will be discon- 
tinued and replaced with a four-passen- 
ger coupe on the same chassis, also by 
Pininfarina, also selling for $12,600. 
This is the first four-passenger саг Fer- 
rari has made. The Berlinetta, slightly 
better suited to competitive use than 
the 250 GT, has a shorter wheelbase, the 
same engine in a higher state of tune, 


and a body by Scaglietti, who specializes 
in lightness. All three of these use essen- 
tially the same engine, a 12-cylinder, 3- 
liter (180inch) specimen which some 
authorities consider the most nearly per- 
fected high-performance engine in the 
world. The models Super America and 
Super Fast, built to order only, use bigger 
12-cylinder engines, one of 4.1 liters, one 
4.9, or as big as a Studebaker V-8. These 
are 170-mph cars and they cost a mini- 
mal $17,800. Extant as a prototype with 
body by Bertone is a small car, with a 
1000-cubic-centimeter, 75-horsepower en- 
gine, called the “mitra” (machine-gun) 
by the factory people, or the “Fer- 
rarina," The car has been tentatively 
priced at $4500. 

The new car will be fast for its size, 
but it will of course not be comparable 
with the standard model. A Ferrari 250 
GT will do, depending on gearing, from 
around 125 miles an hour to around 150. 
So will a Chevrolet Corvette, for one 
third the price. The Ferrari will acceler- 
ate from 0 to 60 miles an hour in 6.0 
seconds, the Corvette in 6.6. Is six-tenths 
of a second worth $8000? Hardly. Is the 
Ferrari's road-holding better? Yes, but 
the difference is critical only in the up- 
permost ranges, where few drivers are 
capable of going, areas no one should 
enter on an open road in this country. 

Is the Ferrari better made? Probably, 
since it is largely made by individual 
men working with individual machines 
and micrometers, but against this must be 
laid the incomparable General Motors 
experience and the casy availability of 
Chevrolet parts. A windshield wiper-arm 
сап fall off a Ferrari, too. 

Is the Ferrari esthetically superior to 
the Corvette? Here I think there is little 
room for discussion. Ferrari Granturismo 
coachwork is from the hand of Pinin 
Farina, whose firm is now officially Pinin- 
farina, and the bodies are chaste and 
beautiful, simple, unadorned. They are 
full of enchantments for the eye. For ex- 
ample, seen from the driver's seat, the 
hood of the GT is not a flat expanse of 
metal, dull to the view. Two tunnel- 
like effects run along the side of the 
hood, to culminate in the headlights, 
and Farina has contrived to make them 
appear to be, not parallel, but converg- 
ing strongly, thus creating the illusion 
that the hood is not only narrower than 
it is in fact, but that it comes to a direct- 
ing point. Is it worth $8000, then, to 
have a car beautifully appointed, cun- 
ningly made comfortable for the passen- 
gers, and appearing to the onlooker so 
conservative in line and unspectacular 
in ornament that only the sophisticated 
will recognize it as an imported high- 
performance automobile? Yes — for some 
tastes, a few, this is worth $8000. For 
most, no. 


What, then? Why pay $12,600 for a 
250 GT, $17,800 for a Super America? 

To buy the only thing of its kind in 
the world, of course. 

‘The Corvette, the Aston Martin DB4, 
the 5000 Maserati, the Alfa-Romeo and 
the Mercedes-Benz 3008L are compara- 
ble with the Ferrari in speed, in road- 
ability, in interior comfort. In a lower 
category, only because they have not 
been demonstrated in competition, are 
the Chrysler 300G and the Chrysler- 
engined Facel-Vega of France. What sets 
the Ferrari distinctly apart from these 
seven great motorcars? Breeding and 
greatness, beauty and performance. Sit- 
ting beside the curb, moving away from 
a stop light, many cars look as good as 
a Ferrari, but when the last 24Hour 
race was run at Le Mans, six of the first 
seven cars to finish were Ferraris. When 
the 1000-Kilometer Race of Paris was run 
this year, Ferrari 250 GT's came across 
the line first, second, third, fourth and 
fifth. These were not racing cars, they 
were passenger cars that anyone can buy. 
Stirling Moss won the last Tourist Tro- 
phy in a 250 Berlinetta, running mer- 
rily around the course with the radio 
playing. The ability of Ferrari compo- 
nents to take the pounding of long- 
distance, big-money European road races 
sets the car apart from every other auto- 
mobile in the world. The formulae of 
weightdistribution and geometry and 
springing that keep the car hanging 
limpetlike under maximum power to a 
rain-soaked Alpine road set it apart. 
Luigi Chinetti, the American distribu- 
tor for Ferrari, remarked to me that he 
liked the balance of the four-passenger 
Ferrari better than the Granturismo, cit- 
ing the fact that he had been able to 
make the run from Geneva to Paris over 
a rainy night at an average of 75 mph 
without often running faster thau 100, 
when in the GT he had to use 112 mph 
a good deal of the time and 125 occa- 
sionally in order to make that average. 

I consider Chinetti to be objective, 
and his judgment in such matters must 
be regarded as definitive: he is among the 
greatest long-distance drivers who ever 
sat in an automobile. He has won the 
Le Mans 24-Hour race twice, in 1932 
with Raymond Sommer, in 1949 with 
Lord Selsdon. In 1949 he and Selsdon 
won the Spa 24-Hour race as well, and 
in 1948 the Paris 12-Hour. In 1951, driv- 
ing with Piero Tarufi, he won the Car- 
rera Panamericana, a race over the length 
of Mexico. 

Every owner of a fast car is used to 
hearing the skeptical, “Yes, but where 
can you use that kind of speed in this 
country?" One answer is, “Yor 
prised where you cam use it. 
might say that having that kind of per- 
formance in reserve is something like 
having a lot of money in the bank: it 

(continued on page 128) 


GOOD 
EGG 


on the art of coddling your guests with shirred delights 


SQUIDS LAY THEM. Auks lay them. Titwillows, tinamous and teals lay them. Even Broadway shows on 
Boston tryouts, all too often, lay them. But mainly chickens, by the millions, lay them. Since thé first 
pecking order was established in the jungles of prehistoric India, the lowly chicken egg — unborn 
progeny of the most ridiculous of barnyard creatures — has become man's most prodigal delicacy. 
As eggs go, it is a rather prosaic creation — lacking the monumentality of the ostrich egg, the 
diminutiveness of the butterfly egg, the toughness of the flamingo egg, the fragility of the 
hummingbird egg, the rarity of the platypus egg, the proliferation of the frog egg, the 
resplendence of the pheasant egg, the status of the Beluga sturgeon egg. the academic 
interest of the Tyrannosaurus egg, even the practical value of the nest egg. And yet 
it has decorated the lacquered dinner tables of Ming China, the marble cenacula 
of Periclean Rome, the damask tablecloths of Louis XIV France and the wicker 
picnic baskets of Twentieth Century America. It has been fried in skillets 
with hickory-smoked ham, shirred in earthenware ramekins with toasted 
bread crumbs and melted Swiss cheese, scrambled in chafing dishes with 
tomatoes and chili peppers, beaten gently into plump and feathery 
omelets blazing with curacao. Even more exotically, it has been 


food ву THOMAS MARIO 


PLAYBOY 


thrown at vaudeville actors, rolled on 
the White House lawn, painted for 
Easter, spiked for eggnog, chug-a-lugged 
with chocolate malteds. It has even 
been immortalized by Humpty Dumpty. 

Once it breaks out of its chaste cham- 
ber, the chicken egg becomes the 
swingingest of ovoids — from the three- 
minute egg of early morning to the 
century egg of a late-evening snack in 
Chinatown, from the cold egg stuffed 
with artichoke puree on the hors 
d'oeuvres tray to Salzburger Nockerln 
on the dessert plate (a weightless cloud 
of beaten egg floating atop a sea of 
brandied vanilla sauce). 

For the bachelor chef who treats it 
with respect and understanding, the 
pristine egg can become a vessel of 
many such gustatorial delights. His first 
prerequisite, of course, is discrimination. 
Even the archaeologist on trek for fos- 
sils insists on a contemporary breakfast 
egg. Thanks to modern refrigeration, 
freshness isn't usually a problem, but 
even today in an occasional supermarket 
carton you'll run across a nogoodnik — 
a sorry specimen with watery white and 
sagging yolk. The magnanimous cook 
preparing omelets or scrambled eggs can 
afford to overlook such symptoms, but 
if poaching or frying is his wont, then 
swift but decent burial is strongly ad- 
vised. The best safeguard is to give cach 
egg the once-over in a small dish before 
committing it to pan or poacher. 

Ancient Egyptians were said to have 
whirled their eggs in slings at such 
speeds that internal friction finally 
boiled them in their own shells While 
we don't recommend that you try this 
technique yourself, there are a few 
modern improvements that might be 
suggested. First is the iron frying pan — 
the classic utensil of egg-meisters the 
world over—a seasoned skillet that has 
known only the velvety touch of omelet 
and wiping cloth. Its mellow surface is 
eternally innocent of meat or vegetable, 
soap or water. Those less fastidious or 
more gluttonous, of course, may prefer 
the trusty and commodious electric grid- 
dle, which can take on six or eight eggs 
at a time without making a cruel yolk 
of the proceedings. For shirring, earth- 
enware and porcelain dishes are the 
thing; for poaching, the standard inset 
pan for those who favor gentle steam- 
ing. Whether you boil or bake, shir or 
coddle, fry or scramble, you'll want a 
long, pliable spatula that’s wide enough 
to convey finished product to serving 
dish without loss of dignity. 

But before you venture forth with 
whisk and chafing dish at the ready and 
tantalizing visions of crab meat foo yung 
or stracciatella à la Romana dancing 
mistily before your eyes, pause long 
enough to devour a few morsels of basic 
information on egg cookery. An egg 
taken directly from the refrigerator, for 


instance, will take more cooking time 
than one that’s been nesting on the pan- 
ty shelf for an hour or so. A strapping 
leghorn egg must likewise spend longer 
on the fire than a pullet pellet. Another 
time-consumer is the small boiling pan 
with six or eight eggs in it—a crowd 
that reduces the water temperature so 
radically that you may have to wait ten 
minutes for three-minute eggs. 

To a self-respecting hen, overcooking 
would be the most disgraceful destiny 
for her unsprung offspring. If you leave 
your shirred eggs in the oven a moment 
too long, they will come forth looking, 
and perhaps even tasting, like an albino 
innertube. On the top of the stove, eggs 
must always be cooked below the boil- 
ing point, with the water barely drawing 
its breath around the edge of the pan. 
At this genteel temperature, soft-boiled 
eggs should simmer three to five min- 
utes, medium eggs six to eight minutes, 
hard-boiled eggs no less than fifteen to 
eighteen minutes. But remember — they 
must be firm, not stony. And as soon as 
they are plucked from the deep, they 
must be plunged into cold water. Other- 
wise internal heat will go right on cook- 
ing them, producing a baleful green- 
rimmed yolk that will stare reproach- 
fully at the thoughtless chef. Edward 
Lear had another sobering thought: 

“There was an old man from Ther- 

mopylae 

Who never did anything properly; 

But they said, 'If you choose 
To boil eggs in your shoes, 

You shall never remain in Ther- 

mopylae’ ” 

For young men who wish to remain in 
Thermopylae — and in the good graces 
of their feminine dinner guests—we 
commend the following delicacies: 


POACHED EGGS BENEDICT 
(Serves two) 


6-02, jar Hollandaise sauce 

1 tablespoon vinegar 

% teaspoon salt 

4 eggs 

4 slices ready-to-eat ham 

2 English mufüns 

1 small truffle 

Warm the Hollandaise sauce, follow- 
ing directions on the jar. In a wide, 
shallow saucepan bring one quart of 
water to a boil, adding the vinegar and 
salt. Open each egg into a small dish, 
and then, stirring the boiling water with 
a spoon, slip each egg into the vortex. 
Reduce flame, and let simmer 3 to 4 
minutes, spooning water over each yolk 
several times during cooking. Lift eggs 
from water with a slotted spoon and 
trim off any ragged edges of white. Place 
in a bowl of warm water until ready to 
serve. Broil or saute ham slices 3 or 4 
minutes. On each serving dish place a 
split toasted muffin. Place а ham slice on 


each muffin half. Lift each egg from the 
water with a slotted spoon and rest on 
towel to drain all excess water. Then 
place on ham. Spoon Hollandaise on 
top of eggs, and trim with slivered truffle. 
Serve at once. Since there may be a few 
purists who recoil from prefab sauces, 
we present a full-blown but short-order 
recipe for Hollandaise: 


HOLLANDAISE SAUCE 
(Serves two) 


3 egg yolks 

Juice of 14 lemon 

J4 cup hot melted sweet butter 

Salt, pepper 

Into the well of an electric blender, 
pour the egg yolks and lemon juice, and 
mix well for a few seconds. Then, with 
the blender at high speed, add the hot 
melted butter a teaspoonful at a time 
until it is completely absorbed. Remove 
from blender and salt and pepper to 
taste. Serve lukewarm, for excessive heat 
will curdle the sauce. 


GRAB MEAT FOO YUNG 
(Serves four) 


6-oz. pkg. frozen king crab meat 

8 eggs 

Y teaspoon salt 

24 teaspoon monosodium glutamate 

4 teaspoon pepper 

8 tablespoons cold water 

¥ cup celery, cut into small dice 

2 tablespoons scallions, thin-sliced 

% cup water chestnuts, thin-sliced 

% cup bean sprouts, well drained 

Salad oil 

Foo yung is a dish of flat omelets 
served with a hot clear Chinese sauce. 
To serve it as hot as possible, prepare 
the sauce (listed next) before the omelets 
are cooked. First, thaw crab meat. Then 
drain, squeeze dry, and break into small 
pieces. In a deep bowl beat eggs until 
whites are no longer visible. Add salt, 
monosodium glutamate, pepper, cold 
water, crab meat, celery, scallions, wa- 
ter chestnuts and bean sprouts. Mix 
well. In two omelet pans pour salad oil 
to a depth of 14 inch. When fat is hot, 
add one eighth of the egg mixture to 
each pan. When egg is browned on bot- 
tom, turn it with a wide spatula and 
brown on other side. Make eight flat 
omelets in this manner. Place two on 
each serving plate, and cover them with 
the hot sauce described below. 


SAUCE FOR EGG FOO YUNG 
(Serves four) 
1 cup chicken broth 
уф teaspoon soy sauce 
М teaspoon brown gravy color 
Y% teaspoon sugar 
14 teaspoon monosodium glutamate 
4 teaspoons cornstarch 
¥4 teaspoon pepper 
Mix all ingredients in an electric 
(continued on page 114) 


the tragic metamorphosis of an actor into a movie star 


article By JERRY TALLMER 


MARLON 
BRANDO: 

THE 

GILDED 
IMAGE 


AS A RECRUIT IN THE ARMY I was thrown together in friendship 
with a fellow named Eddie Szemplenski; half a year later at 
another base I became buddies with a soldier named John J. 
Wodarski. Edward Szemplenski was a hulking, rough-looking 
drugstore cowboy from Hamtramck, Michigan, the place the 
men who make the automobiles come from. I had hardly heard 
of it before I met him; before long, I was to hear enough from 
him to fill a couple of novels. Johnny Wodarski was a shorter, 
chestier, far more handsome laughing boy from Paterson, 
New Jersey, a famous hard-boiled town that in those days 
meant nothing more to me than that it was across the river 
from my own New York. Wodarski had a white-gold shock 
of hair which inevitably gained for him, wherever he 
went, the nickname Whitey. There was a typically scrappy 
St. Louis Cardinal third baseman of that era named 
Whitey Kurowski. I always associated the two of them. 

Whether either of those enlisted men is now alive — 
whether they сусп survived the combat for which we 
were preparing —I do not know. I hope so, and rather 
suppose so, for each was a young man of strength, stamina, 
adaptability, intelligence (not education), and each was 
far more than generously endowed with a ferocious 
appetite for life. Also with the loud indelicate snort of 
life, which they were given to expressing and acting on, 
irreverently, coarsely, sometimes brutally, wherever and 
whenever the G.I. strait jacket offered a gaping seam. 

Yet they were not brutes. If Johnny Wodarski could love 
the ladies and leave them and even gladly boast about them, 
I also once saw him go in against a larger man than he 
(a snotty Ivy League washout named Aten) just to teach him 
the impropriety of some very sustained and nasty anti-Semitic 
talk directed at Whiteys comrade Isadore Lieberman. Whitey 
emerged not unmarked, but Whitey taught him. It was like a scene 
from a lot of the movies of the same period, only it happened to V 
be for real. And if Eddie Szemplenski could cut a rampaging track 
through every bar and whorehouse and Polish dance hall of East 
St. Louis, Illinois, with me like a wide-eyed kid brother on his heels, 
there were also those dozens of other times when, back in the 
barracks or in the mess hall or on guard, we would talk all through 
the night about America, Germany, Poland, Roosevelt; about the 
Negroes, the Catholics, the Jews; about rich and poor; about factories, 
unions, colleges, movies, sports; about Harntramck and New York; 
about non-coms, officers, airplanes, radios; about ack-ack; about 
bombs; about death; about the world after the war. 

And then one fine day the war was over (continued on page 60) 


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HODEVER I AM 
COMMUNICATING 
SUPERFICIAL. BESIDES T4 EXTREMELY WELL. 


DO BUSY KEEPING UP 
ITH 


PLAYBOY 


MARLON BRANDO (continued from page 55) 


and without announcement there came 
walking in on me, from stage-right, fresh 
from the bowling alley, the sweat still dry- 
ing on his neck and forearms, the most 
living breathing Szemplenski Wodarski 
that I'd laid eyes on since the Army had 
separated me from the originals: a phe- 
nomenon, a sheer, fabulous, heartstop- 
ping phenomenon. He had their brow, 
their jaw, their mouth, their shoulders; 
his stance was theirs, his walk, his temper, 
his pride; certainly his crassness, and that 
snorting hoot; certainly also his un- 
abashed and thrusting masculinity. He 
even had their thickness of speech, Eddie 
Szemplenski’s anyway, and from his lips 
there seemed to issue every word and at- 
titude they had ever mumbled or pro- 
claimed. He even had their name, or next 
thing to it .. . he had the name of Stanley 
Kowalski, and though 1 had been going 
to theatre, or been taken there, more 
or less regularly since the age of ten, I 
had never before in all my days seen 
anything on any stage (or any screen) 
that equaled this. There he was, down 
there in the dark, fifty feet away from 
me, with that poor sick crazy woman 
planting herself in his house and bath- 
тоот — and I knew him! I knew every- 
thing about him. Hadn't I lived with 
him, even closer than that deranged ii 
vader, in some ways even closer than her 
sister Stella who was his wife, during the 
four entire years immediately preceding? 
How he must detest that Blanche Dubois 
-..and be bugged by her. Like an inside 
straight, a come-hither smile on Water 
Street, a gnawing itch. I knew him and 
1 understood. 

Since then I have had professional 
reason to see a great deal of theatre. 
Only once or twice, before or since, have 
I seen anything on Broadway to match 
the brilliance and verisimilitude and 
freedom of Marlon Brando as Stanley 
Kowalski in A Streetcar Named Desire. 

It was indeed so brilliant a perform- 
ance, and such a "new truth" for the 
American (or any) theatre, that it ef- 
fected a certain displacement in the re- 
actions of many of us to the play. I do 
not mean in the official, authorized, 
routine reactions of the drama critics. 
Among these experts and their wild 
hallelujahs (or, in a few instances, chill 
upper-egghead condemnations) there was 
only one, Harold Clurman, who recog- 
nized even then, despite his own lavish 
praise for Brando, how much the Brando 
magnetism and theatrical fearlessness 
might be pulling the average spectator 
more toward Stanley than toward the 
bedeviled Blanche who stood at the real 
heart of this great new play by Ten- 
nessee Williams. (You can look it up, 
and it is worth it, in the Clurman pieces 
collected under the title Lies Like 


Truth.) I know that I myself, on that 
first viewing, felt far more empathic 
with Stanley than with his temptress- 
victim. I was sorry for her; but 1 could 
share far more of what was going on 
inside him. And when, on whichever 
side I turned, I was perpetually seeing 
Stanley categorized as some simple type 
of beast or brute, something hardly 
more than animal and surely less than 
man, I believed that either I had taken 
leave of my senses or they had—those 
who in such blind chorus were impress- 
ing the mark of Cain, of Caliban, and 
that alone, on Stanley Kowalski's tur- 
bulent forchead. For to me thc Stanlcy 
Kowalski of Marlon Brando was (before. 
they went on to make the movie) noth- 
ing more nor less than the precise op- 
posite. Taking him for all in all, for 
better and for worse, he was nothing 
more nor less than a man, a human 
man, a Wodarski, a Szemplenski, a 
rough-hewed young chunk of typical 
workaday American  malenes; and 
therefore to some irrefutable extent 
nothing more than a chunk of myself. 
Now, with the distance of time and 
thought, I have partially, but only par- 
tially, revised that opinion. It would 
not be possible for me, even today, to 
un-identify with Stanley entirely, but I 
have through the years become willing 
to read much greater destructiveness 
into his character and conduct by allow- 
ing in retrospect for the overstrength of 
Brando's performance as one allows for 
the cant of a rifle to left or right. 

The other day I asked for a think- 
back evaluation of that original (i.e., 
pre-movie) Brando performance from 
an up-and-coming New York director 
whose productions (off Broadway) have 
seemed to me to have shown unusual 
awareness of what theatre is all about. 
He is roughly Brando's age, and my own. 

“Fantastic!” the director replied. “It 
‘was simply fantastic. To be able to start 
with such incredible ease. I'd almost say 
psychotic ease: he just didn’t know he 
should be neryous on stage. Because, 
don't kid yourself, everybody's always 
nervous on stage. But Brando just didn't 
know. I don't think it was really any 
kind of unparalleled skill; it was just 
the ease, the rubbing, the rubbing. I 
see it as a sort of rubbing, like someone 
rubbing for pleasure against a desk. Call 
it what you will, however, that's some- 
thing you don't get in the theatre — and 
ме all look for it, all the tine — more 
than once in a generation. He came 
along when The Method was just com- 
ing along, and it worked for him: that's 
all you can say. His sickness became a 
style. The tragedy is what's happened 
since. 

“Marlon Brando,” he continued, “was 
the greatest new actor this country has 


produced, or will produce, in my life- 
time, What he did in Streetcar, and in 
On the Waterfront, has changed every- 
thing that’s followed. Liberated it. Lib- 
erated us. But the only person it hasn't 
liberated is Marlon Brando. He’s done 
to himself just what Stanley did to 
Blanche Dubois; it's weird, it’s almost 
EMIT 

I said: “Uh-huh, but let's stay on the 
subject of Streetcar.” 

He thought a minute. “In Streetcar,” 
he said, “Marlon Brando broke the box 
of the American theatre and threw away 
every restriction we'd been nursing for 
as long as we'd had a theatre. He came 
to it with a sort of, I dunno, gigantic 
super-naiveté: the naiveté of absolute 
self-reliance. Let's see if I can phrase 
this. There's plenty of self-assurance in 
the theatre, whatever the actuality un- 
derneath. But self-reliance is some- 
thing else; something of a higher order 
completely. Carricd to extremes, of 
course, it means something terrible. It 
means . . . what was his name? that 
fellow in New Jersey .. . Unruh, How- 
ard Unruh . . . it means walking down 
the street with a .22 in your hand and 
blasting everybody in sight because you 
don't need any of them. But Brando 
needed Tennessee Williams and Elia 
Kazan and Stanley Kowalski, and Stan- 
ley needed his Stella, so it wasn’t dread- 
ful then but . . . а miracle. A mirade 
still relating to other people and still 
under control.” 

I said: "Like Waterfront?” 

"Like Waterfront," the director said, 
and as he said it I was visited with per- 
haps my ten-thousandth mental flash- 
back of how the kid that Brando played 
in Waterfront still had, no matter how 
punchy, this urgent need to relate to 
the girl, the crooked brother, the priest, 
the Lee J. Cobb mobster, and even the 
pigeons on the roof. Even to that Ho- 
boken scenery, and the river — there was 
something working back and forth be- 
twccn him and those roofs and those 
streets and that river which to this day 
I can't forget and won't forget, and 
neither will any of you who ever saw it. 
Relatedness? Nobody in any Hollywood 
movie сусг related more to the texture 
of the place and situation of his movie. 

“And then,” said the director, "it all 
stopped. Just as with Howard Unruh. 
Or bit by bit it all stopped, movie by 
movie, headline by headline, kook by 
kook, gossip item by gossip item, until 
at last it had absolutely all stopped and 
there was nothing left but the boy with 
the .22 and the universe his oyster and 
a lot of dead people everywhere. Only 
not a boy any more. And no more of 
that free-flowing self-reliance. Just some 
kind of unbelievable self-indulgence, 
and the hell with everyone else in the 
world, on or off the movie screen. Or 

(continued on раве 126) 


5 ДАУ R =" 
WILLEM DE KOONING: whzte-maned and ionized 
THE EXPLOSIVELY DIRECT CANVASES ОЁ abstract expressionist Willem de Kooning, which blaze in 
searing slashes of color from the walls of the world’s top museums and art collectors (at prices 
currently in five figures) give little indication of the months of trial, error, scraping, scrapping 
and repainting he demands of himself before he considers a painting completed. De Kooning, 

a Dutch-born Greenwich Villager, who has influenced more of his fellow artists than any other 

painter in the past decade, has evolved a method of keeping oils wet for long periods, a tech- IF 

nique which gives his canvases a spontaneous, smeary look although weeks may have passed 

between brush strokes. Volatile, one-time house painter de Kooning first threw the usually NE 
wellinsulated art world on its haunches in 1953 with The Women, an eye-popping exhibition 

of femicide (Woman I became the most widely reproduced art work of the 1950s). "We are not 

yet living in a world where everything is self-evident,” he says, and paints things as he sees them. 


CESAR BALSA: who is conrad hilton? 


торлу, as in ancient Roman days, the things [B 
which are Caesar's are rapidly being rendered 
unto Caesar. Chic, prestigious hotels across the 
Western Hemisphere are being added to the 
corporate holdings of thirty-seven-year-old, ex- 
bellhop Cesar Balsa as though part of a rigged 
game of Monopoly. His recent acquisition of 
New York's St. Regis (five million clams for a 
two-hundred-year lease) was historic, for it 
meant that Cesar had crossed the Rio Grande 
into the plush hunting grounds of the U.S.A. 
then, his National Hotel empire had been 
confined" to owning or leasing nine hotels, 
two restaurants and a couple of nightclubs in 
Mexico City and Acapulco. Now, with the 
St. Regis in his pocket and Chicago's swank 
Ambassadors being negotiated for as we go to 
press, sleekly dark-haired, sartorially conservative 
Balsa is eying other lucrative properties. A 
canny combination of Frank Merriwell and 
Hernando Cortez, Balsa was a Barcelona bell- 
hop at twelve, manager of Madrid's Palace Hotel 
before he was twenty-one. He went to Mexico. 
in 1948 (on his honeymoon) and it wasn't long 
before he opened the Focolare, one of Mexico's 
most popular bistros. An interim accolade to 
the Balsa touch was supplied by a Mexico 
City newspaperman who, when asked what Һе f 
knew about Conrad Hilton, promptly replied: 
"Hilton? He is the gringo Cesar Balsa.” 


61 


fiction By RAY BRADBURY 


THE ILLUSTRATED WOMAN 0 men could ask for more 


i Pr 
ыш. 


SULLIVAN 


than emma willingly gave willy 


WHEN A NEW PATIENT wanders into the 
office and stretches out to stutter forth 
a compendious ticker-tape of free-asso- 
ciation, it is up to the psychiatrist imme- 
diately beyond, behind and above, to 
decide at just which points of the 
anatomy the client is in touch with the 
couch, 

In other words, where does the pa- 
tient make contact with reality? 

Some people seem to float half an inch 
above any surface whatsoever. They 
have not seen earth in so long they have 
become somewhat airsick. 

Still others so firmly weight them- 
selves down, clutch, thrust, heave their 
bodies toward reality that long after 
they are gone you find their tiger shapes 
and claw marks in the upholstery. 

In the case of Emma Fleet, Dr. Wil- 
liam C. George was a long time deciding 
which was furniture and which was 
woman and where what touched which. 

For, to begin with, Emma Fleet re- 
sembled a couch. 

“Mrs. Emma Fleet, doctor,” ап- 
nounced his receptionist. 

Dr. William C. George gasped. 

And it was a traumatic experience, 
seeing this woman shunt herself through 
the door without benefit of railroad 
switchman or the ground-crews who 
rush about under Macy's Easter bal- 
loons, heaving on lines, guiding the 
massive images to some eternal hangar 
off beyond. 

In came Emma Fleer as quick as her 
name, the floor shifting like a huge 
scale under her weight. 

Dr. George must have gasped again, 
guessing her at four hundred on the 
hoof, for Emma Fleet smiled as if read- 
ing his mind. 

“Four hundred and two and one-half 
pounds, to be exact,” she said. 

He found himself staring at his furni- 
ture. 

"Oh, it'll hold all right," said Mrs. 
Fleet, intuitively. 

She sat down. 

"Ihe couch yelped like a cur. 

Dr. George cleared his throat. “Ве- 
fore you make yourself comfortable," he 
said, "I feel I should say immediately 
and honestly, that we in the psychiatric 
field have had little success in inhibiting. 
appetites. The whole problem of weight 
and food has so far eluded our ability 
for coping. A strange admission, per- 
haps, but unless we put our frailties 
forth, we might be in danger of fooling 
ourselves and thus taking money under 
false pretenses. So, if you are here seek- 
ing help for your figure, I must list my- 
self among the nonplussed.” 

“Thank you for your honesty, doc- 


PLAYBOY 


tor,” said Emma Fleet. "However, I 
don't wish to lose. Га prefer your help- 
ing me gain another one hundred or 
two hundred pounds." 

"Oh, по!” Dr. George exclaimed. 

"Oh, yes. But, my heart will not al- 
low what my deep dear soul would most 
gladly endure. My physical heart might 
fail at what my loving heart and mind 
would ask of it.” 

She sighed. The couch sighed. 

“Let me brief you. I'm married to Willy 
Fleet. We work for the Dillbeck-Horne- 
mann Traveling Shows. I'm known as 
Lady Bountiful. And, Willy . . 2" 

She swooned up out of the couch and 
glided or rather escorted her shadow 
across the floor. She opened the door. 

Beyond, in the waiting room, a cane 
in one hand, a straw hat in the other, 
seated rigidly, staring at the wall, was a 
tiny man with tiny feet and tiny hands 
and tiny bright blue eyes in a tiny head. 
He was, at the most, one would guess, 
three feet high, and probably weighed 
sixty pounds in the rain. But there was 
a proud, gloomy, almost violent look of 
genius blazing in that small but craggy 
face. 

“That’s Willy Fleet,” said Emma, lov- 
ingly, and shut the door. 

The couch, sat on, cried again. 

Emma bcamed at the psychiatrist who 
was still staring, in shock, at the door. 

"No children, of course?" he heard 
himself say. 

"No children.” Her smile lingered. 
"But that's not my problem, either. 
Willy, in a way, is my child. And J, in 
2 way, besides being his wife, am his 
mother It all has to do with size, I 
imagine, and we're happy with the way 
we've balanced things off." 

“Well, if your problem isn't children, 
or your size or his, or controlling weight, 
then what . . 2” 

Emma Fleet laughed lightly, toler- 
antly. It was a nice laugh, like a girl's 
somehow caught in that great body and 
throat. 

"Patience, doctor. Mustn't we go 
back down the road to where Willy and 
I first met?” 

"The doctor shrugged, laughed quietly 
himself, and relaxed, nodding. “You 
must." 

“During high school,” said Emma 
Fleet, “I weighed one-eighty and tipped 
the scales at two-fifty when I was twenty- 
one. Needless to say, 1 went on few 
summer excursions. Most of the time I 
was left in dry dock. I had many girl- 
friends, however, who liked to be seen 
with me. They weighed onc-fifty, most 
of them, and I made them feel svelte. 
But... that's a long timc: ago. I don’t 
worry over it any more. Willy changed 
all that.” 

“Willy sounds like a remarkable man,” 
Dr. George found himself saying, against 


all the rules. 

“Oh, he is, he is! He— smoulders — 
with ability, with talent as yet undiscov- 
ered, untapped!” she said, quickening 
warmly. “God bless him, he leapt into 
my life like summer lightning! Eight 
years ago I went with my girlfriends to 
the visiting Labor Day carnival. By the 
end of the evening, the girls had all 
been seized away from me, by the run- 
ning boys who rushing by grabbed and 
took them off into the night. There I 
was alone with three Kewpie dolls, a 
fake alligator handbag and nothing to 
do but make the GUESS YOUR WEIGHT 
man nervous by looking at him every 
time I went by and pretending like at 
any moment I might pay my money and 
dare him to guess. 

"But, the GUEs YOUR WEIGHT man 
wasn't nervous! After I had passed three 
times I saw him staring at me. With 
awe, yes, with admiration! And who was 
this GUESS YOUR WEIGHT man? Willy 
Fleet, of course. The fourth time I 
passed he called to me and said I could 
get a prize free if only I'd let him guess 
my weight. He was all feverish and ex- 
cited. He danced around. I'd never been 
made over so much in my life. I blushed. 
I felt good. So I sat in the scales chair. 
I heard the pointer whiz around and I 
heard Willy whistle with honest delight. 

“Two hundred and eighty-nine 
pounds!’ he cried. ‘Oh boy, oh boy, 
you're lovely!" 

“Tm what?’ I said. 

“You're the loveliest woman in the 
whole world,’ said Willy, looking me 
right in the eye. 

“I blushed again. I laughed. We both 
laughed. Then I must have cried, for 
the next thing, sitting there, I felt him 
touch my elbow with concern. He was 
gazing into my face, faintly alarmed. 

“J haven't said the wrong thing — ?° 
he asked. 

"No, I sobbed, and then grew quiet. 
‘The right thing, only the right thing. 
It's the first time anyone ever —" 
"What? he said. 

‘Ever put up with my fat,’ J said. 

"'You're not fat,’ he said. ‘You're 
large, you're big you're wonderful. 
Michelangelo would have loved you. 
Titian would have loved you. Da Vinci 
would have loved you. They knew what 
they were doing in those days. Size. Size 
is everything. I should know. Look at 
me. I traveled with Singer's Midgets for 
six seasons, known as Jack Thimble. 
And Oh my God, dear lady, you're right 
out of the most glorious part of the 
Renaissance. Bernini, who built those 
collonades around the front of St. Peter's 
and inside at the altar, would have sold 
his everlasting soul just to know some- 
one like you . . .” 

“Don't!’ I cried. ‘I wasn't meant to 
feel this happy. It'll hurt so much when 
you stop.” 


^'I won't stop, then,’ he said. 
“Miss . . Р" 
‘Emma Gertz.’ 


‘Emma,’ he said, ‘are you married?" 
‘Are you kidding?” I said. 

Emma, do you like to travel? 
T've never traveled.’ 

‘Emma,’ he said, ‘this old carnival’s 
going to be in your town one more 
week. Come down every night, every 
day, why not? Talk to me, know me. At 
the end of the week, who can tell, maybe 
you'll travel with me." 

“What are you suggesting? I said, 

not really angry or irritated or anything 
but fascinated and intrigued that any- 
one would offer anything to Moby 
Dick's daughter. 
I mean marriage!’ Willy Fleet 
looked at me breathing hard, and I had 
the feeling that he was dressed in a 
mountaineer’s rig, alpine hat, climbing 
boots, spikes, and a rope slung over his 
baby shoulder. And if I should ask him, 
“Why are you saying this?” he might well 
answer, “Because you're there." 

“But I didn't ask, so he didn’t answer. 
We stood there in the night, at the cen- 
ter of the carnival, until at last I started 
off down the midway, swaying. ‘I'm 
drunk!’ I cried. ‘Oh, so very drunk, and 
I've had nothing to drink.’ 

"'Now that Гуе found youl" called 
Willy Fleet after me, ‘you'll never escape 
me, remember!’ 

“Stunned and reeling, blinded by his 
large man’s words sung out in his so- 
prano voice, I somehow blundered from 
the carnival grounds and trekked home. 

“The next week. we were married.” 

Emma Fleet paused and looked at her 
hands. 

“Would it bother you if I told about 
the honeymoon?” she asked, shyly. 

“No,” said the doctor, then lowered 
his voice, for he was responding all too 
quickly to the details. “Please do go on.” 

“The honeymoon.” Emma sounded 
her vox humana. The response from all 
the chambers of her body vibrated the 
couch, the room, the doctor, the dear 
bones within the doctor. 

“The honeymoon . . . was not usual." 

‘The doctor's eyebrows lifted the faint- 
est touch. He looked from the woman 
to the door beyond which, in miniature, 
sat the image of Edmund Hillary, he of 
Everest. 

“You have never seen such a rush as 
Willy spirited me off to his home, a 
lovely doll house, really, with one large 
nommal-sized room that was to be mine, or 
rather, ours. There, very politely, always 
the kind, the thoughtful, the quiet 
gentleman, he asked for my blouse, 
which I gave him, my skirt, which I 
gave him. Right down the list, 1 handed 
him the garments that he named, until 
at last ... Can one blush from head to 
foot? One can. One did. I stood like a 
(continued on page 134) 


"I hate to bother you, but can you do something about my fuse?” 


65 


PHOTOGRAPHY BY MARIO CASILLI 


playmate 
without 
reservation 


indian-maiden 
miss 

march 

15 а 
modern-dance 


delight 


A tantalizing girl-on-the-go, Tonya is a pretty picture of perpetual mation as she rehearses with her partner for forthcoming concert. 


OUR RAVEN-TRESSED, delightfully-undressed Miss March, born and bountifully bred in 
Oklahoma, is part Choctaw, once lived on a Navaho and Hopi reservation in Arizona. 
Curvaceous Tonya Crews could hardly be expected to hide her assets (37-22-36) under a 
Navaho blanket, however, and it wasn’t very long before she cut out and started to 
carve a career for herself as a dance teacher in Hollywood. Tonya is currently deep in the 
choreographic intricacies of a jazz dance concert which our enterprising maiden intends 
also to produce and appear in. After all that jazz, she has big eyes to open her own dance 
studio. If and when she does, we, and our two left feet, will apply for lifetime membership. 
When she’s not atwirl, Tonya gets her kicks from strumming a bass guitar, harbors a 
secret ambition to be a mathematician. With her figure, that just doesn’t figure. 


Tonya, one of the most provocative impresorio-performers around, tokes five to take stock ot ner jozz dance 
troupe. After the break, she leads the Crews crew in c swinging run-through of choreographic things to come. 


PLAYBOY’S PARTY JOKES 


Our Unabashed Dictionary defines race- 
horse as an animal that can take several 
thousand people for a ride at the same 
time. 


Marriage starts with billing and cooing, 
but only the billing lasts. 


A girl who finds it po: 
every attempt made to seduce her should 
be going out with stronger men. 


Chivalry has changed from the days of 
Sir Walter Raleigh, but contrary to 
rumor, it hasn't died out altogether: a 
man will still lay his coat at the feet of 
a pretty girl; the difference is that now- 
adays it’s intended to keep her back 
from getting dirty. 


A heartening note in women's fashions, 
of late, is that they're running truer to 
form. 


There are more important things than 
money, but they won't date you if you 
don't have any. 


les easy to lie with a straight face, but 
it's nicer to lie with a curved body. 


Leon, an unemployed actor, came shuf- 
ing dejectedly home after a fruitless 
day of visiting booking offices. But in- 
stead of the quiet comfort he expected, 
he found his apartment in shambles and 
Martha, his beautiful young wife, lying 
on the bed in hysterics. It was obvious 


that her clothes had literally been torn 
from her bruised and ravished body. 

“Good Lord!" Leon cried. "Martha! 
What happened?" 

“Oh, darling!” she sobbed. "I fought 
and fought, but he . 

“Who did this awful thing? Who? 
Who was it?” 

“He came here looking for you. He 
said it was very important. Finding me 
alone and defenseless, he lone a 

“Who?” Leon roared. “Who?” 

She hung her head and in a husky 
voice replied: “Your agent.” 

“My agent!" Sunlight suddenly flooded 
Leon's face. “Did he say whether he'd 
found a part for me?” 


A sweater girl is one who knows that 
it’s possible for a man to concentrate on 
two things at once. 


== 


э \ 


Our Unabashed Dictionary defines mad 
money as a psychiatrist's fee. 


The surest sign that a man is in love is 
when he divorces his wife. 


Margie was an enthusiastic newlywed 
and, after discussing the family budget 
with her husband, she decided she 
rary job. Bouncing 
ry, she approached 
old maid sitting at the 


quired. 
“What kind of positions did you have 
in mind?" asked the old librarian with a 
starched smile. 
"Oh, you know" explained the 
ight-eyed young girl, “— the different 
kinds of positions a bride might take." 


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


73 


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article By CHARLES BEAUMONT 


from the yellow kid to peanuts, the funnies have 
become a permanent part of american folk art 


IT IS FASHIONABLE, IN OUR PRESENT INTELLECTUAL CLIMATE, to denigrate, pooh-pooh and otherwise put down anything 
that has a purely visceral appeal. We are grown sophisticated — willing to chuckle but afraid to laugh. For when 
we laugh, we lose control: off guard and helpless, bellies aching, eyes full of tears, we step back a million years, 
naked and mole-blind, to join our forefathers in their caves. This, apparently, is a bad scene. It is not enough to 
be human any more. In this age of super-weapons and super-gadgets, we must be super-humans, and that means 
no weaknesses. Yet it is all a vast and silly deceit, and there is no greater proof of this than the fact that comic strips 
are still being enjoyed. 

In older, simpler days, we were less leery of our emotions — possibly because we hadn't been tipped that 
they were signs of frailty. Everybody had his favorite comic strips then and was happy to say so, intellectuals 
not excepted. One of our Presidents, Franklin Delano Roosevelt, managed to get his mind off World War II by 
following the exploits of Chester Gould's axe-jawed hero, Dick "Tracy. (Unable to endure the suspense of waiting 
until Monday for the solution to Friday's dilemma, F.D.R. would occasionally phone the strip's syndicate for a 
sneak preview.) At about the same time — when new Chevrolets were selling for $475, delivered, when short ribs 
cost 7166 a pound, and Lucky Strike green was preparing to go to war — King George VI relaxed, during the 
blitz, with The Little King, Emperor Hirohito perused his smuggled copies of Blondie and A. Hitler giggled 
over the antics of his favorite, Mickey Mouse. Mussolini succeeded in banning all comics in Italy, but national 
protest forced him to exempt Popeye. 

Then, in the midst of our laughter, some sourpuss carne along and pointed out that comics were a lowbrow 
form of amusement, fit only for kids. Fortunately, the syndicates and newspaper editors didn’t buy this. They 
continued to distribute and print comics, which they would not have done had they honestly felt that the appeal 
was solely to kids, for the purpose of comics has always been to sell newspapers, and it's Papa, not Junior, who 
buys these newspapers. 

So it was that, as comics lost their respectability, they actually gained in popularity — no surprise to anyone 
who remembers what happened to liquor during Prohibition — and before long they were delighting millions 
who might otherwise never have been attracted. 

With Walt Kelly's Pogo came such a wealth of lunacy and fun and wit and warmth that this irrepressible 
opossum and his Okefenokee friends soon made even the most jaded readers forget themselves. It was not, of 
course, the first time they had thus forgotten themselves. Farlier, there had been Crockett Johnson's whimsical 
Barnaby and before that Percy Crosby's talky, philosophical Skippy, around both of which formed smug in-groups, 
but with Pogo ingroupiness gave way to love — even among hardened cynics. When the cynics realized what they 
were doing, they explained that, of course, Pogo could hardly be considered a comic strip. Rubbish. Though 
better drawn than most, and better written, Pogo was indeed a comic strip, and in the classic tradition, at that. 
Kelly cliques sprang up all over the country. He became the darling of the intellectuals, hailed by them as a 
great comedic spirit, an incisive commentator on our mores — as everything except what he was, and is: a profes- 
sional cartoonist. In time, Kelly became famous. He was In. But this did not impress him. He had been famous 
and In with the kids for years before the intelligentsia finally caught up. 

With the arrival of Peanuts, the unofficial ban was lifted. It had to be. For breathed there a man with soul 
so dead that to himself he had not said, “Good grief!"? Could anyone in his right mind be expected to occupy 
the same world as Charles M. Schulz and not acknowledge the fact humbly and in gratitude? Charlie Brown, 
who was born between hydrogen bomb tests, asked only one thing of us: that we love him. He needn't have 
bothered. Yet, just like Pogo, Peanuts was "merely" a comic strip; if anything, more traditional than most. 

Inevitably, the tide began to turn. Mature, intelligent people began to let it slip that they followed Lr'l Abner. 
And of course Steve Canyon was always worth a look. Thumping good story values in that one. And, it went with- 


72 


PLAYBOY 


78 


out saying, Beetle Bailey — well, after all, 
didn't President Eisenhower himself ad- 
mit that this was a favorite of his? 
Didn't Grace Kelly’s father express en- 
thusiasm for The Phantom? And one 
couldn't really afford to ignore Dick 
Tracy, could one? And King Aroo, need- 
less to зау. And Tarzan. And . . 

At Boston University $37,000 will be 
spent in a study of the history and in- 
fluence of comic strips. There are already 
several books on the subject. We are told 
it is all right for us to dig the funnies 
because they are of vast sociological and 
cultural significance. And already there 
are mutterings to the effect that they are 
art, of the highest order and deepest 
importance. 

Maybe so. If, as thé Encyclopaedia 
Britannica tells us, art is "anything 
which is not natural," then there is no 
reason to withhold the handle, particu- 
larly not if it will comfort us after we 
have split a gut over the funnies. But 
even if there's more to art than that, 
even then the comics might qualify: a 
few of them, anyway; the best of them. 
In terms of beauty, imagination, com- 
munication, emotional response, and 
general good to the world, whose crea- 
tion is more deserving of the laurel — 
Salvador Dali's The Invention of the 
Monsters or Peanuts? 

Before 1895, there was no such thing 
as a comic strip. The newspapers of the 
period were gray with tight, tiny rows 
of type, unrelieved except by an occa- 
sional realistic sketch or a laboriously 
detailed cartoon of the Hogarth school. 
A funny animal feature, The Little 
Bears and Tigers, began to appear regu- 
larly in the San Francisco Examiner in 
1892 but it had no real continuity and 
is mentioned only because its creator, 
James Swinncrton, was later to become 
a major infiuence on comic artists. The 
first bona fide ancestor of our present 
family of comic strip characters was a 
bizarre little elf called The Yellow Kid. 
He came into existence July 7, 1895, 
born of a happy union between Richard 
Felton Outcault and Joseph Pulitzer. In 
keeping with tradition, neither of these 
gentlemen had any inkling of what he 
was starting. Pulitzer, whose New York 
World was locked in mortal combat with 
William Randolph Hearst's Journal, 
simply wanted a gimmick to sell more 
newspapers. The gimmick, however, was 
not a trail-blazing excursion into comic 
art but, instead, the newly-discovered 
color printing process. Pulitzer had it 
working fine, except for yellow. For 
some reason, no one could make this 
color dry properly. So Pulitzer decided 
to experiment — publicly. For the pur- 
pose, he called in staff-artist Outcault 
and laid the problem before him. Out- 
cault responded with a variation on his 


popular Hogan's Alley drawings. Into 
the New York slum settings, replete 
with mobster brats, broken bums and 
scrofulous dogs, he inserted a wildly 
improbable creature belonging neither 
to Hogan's Alley nor to the natural 
world, It—no one could guess the 
gender — was about half the size of the 
smallest child, yet with its mandarin 
features, its bald head and conch-shell 
ears, it was clearly no child. (Years later 
Milton Caniff revived The Yellow Kid 
in Terry and the Pirates, changing his 
name to Connie, adding a few feet to 
his stature, but otherwise sticking to 
the original. Few but insiders ever got the 
joke.) Outcault himself never stated the 
reason for the outré features, but for 
the flowing nightgown there was full 
justification: it was a perfect proving 
ground for the color tests. 

The Yellow Kid (from whose name 
the phrase “yellow journalism” is said 
to have been derived) became popular 
at the outsct. So popular, in fact, that 
even after Pulitzer gave up wondering 
where the yellow went, the panel was 
continued. Soon thereafter, Hearst lured 
Outcault to the Journal, but Pulitzer 
retained legal rights to his feature and 
shortly there were two Yellow- Kids— 
each a tremendous hit. 

It is difficult to understand why. 
Despite his sagacious countenance, the 
Kid was a vicious little hoodlum, taking 
keen delight in such boyhood pranks as 
torturing Negroes, hectoring dog-catchers 
and breaking windows. The captions, 
talcumed throughout each drawing, were 
as phony as an operatic laugh, depend- 
ing for their effect almost entirely upon 
dialect and freakish word combinations 
(“Gee Dis Beats De Carpet Which Is 
Hard To Beat"). Certain representatives 
of the “genteel readership” posted sharp 
protests, but to no avail. The Kid was 
a winner, 

He stayed a winner for two years; 
then, when people began to tire of the 
backalley humor, Outcault came up 
with Buster Brown, who differed from 
the Kid in that he was rich and of a 
somewhat less homicidal nature. 

Still we have no comic strip as such, 
but we are getting close. In 1897 an ele- 
gantly mustachioed young artist moved 
East. His name was Rudolph Dirks, He 
possessed an uncertain line, an average 
imagination and a lucky star. The latter 
manifested itself when the Journal's 
comic editor, Rudoph Block, suggested 
that Dirks put together a feature based 
upon German humorist Wilhelm Busch's 
famous rapscallions, Max and Moritz. 
Dirks experimented with his adaptation, 
renamed the mischievous heroes The 
Katzenjammer Kids, and made the 
speech “balloon” an integral part of 
graphic humor in America, 

“Mit dose kids society iss nix,” com- 


mented one of dose kids’ victims, and 
he was tight. Hans and Fritz were row- 
dics, but unlike Outcault’s grotesques, 
they perpetrated their maddening japes 
in a spirit of fun. By 1900 they had be- 
come a permanent landmark on the 
American cultural scene, beloved by 
millions. 

As in the case of Outcault, Dirks was 
seduced away from his home paper, and 
out of this came a now famous legal 
dispute. The Journal claimed ownership 
of the Kids. So did Dirks. The courts 
decided in favor of both. Dirks could 
continue with his characters, but he 
could not retain the title. Result: the 
Journal hired H. H. Knerr to carry on 
The Katzenjammer Kids, while Dirks 
chose the title The Captain and the 
Kids and went on drawing and writing 
as before. There was never much to 
choose between the two. Dirks was 
zanier and had a better grip on the 
Ach! Himmel! dialog, Knerr drew with 
а surer line. Both creations were splen- 
did. 

Legend has it that Bud Fisher created 
the first honest-togosh comic strip (as 
we understand the term: four or five 
panels running across the page, either 
developing an episode or telling a com- 
plete story). The truth is that Clare 
Briggs beat everyone to the punch with 
his A. Piker Clerk, in 1904. The strip was 
not very good, however. But neither was 
Fisher's strip much to shout about until, 
on March 29, 1908, a magical accident 
occurred. Mr. Augustus Mutt, a flashily 
dressed racing tout, had been planned 
as a lone hero. Although no one could 
claim that he was a sensation, he had a 
certain appeal, and for the most part, 
people liked him. Then, one day, Fisher 
decided to give Mutt a friend. He would 
call the friend Jeff, after the fighter Jim 
Jeffries. Appropriately, the two met for 
the first time in an insane asylum, and 
the rest, as they say, is history. Mutt and 
Јер became the most popular comic 
creation in the world, and Harry Con- 
way Fisher became the first cartoonist to 
earn $1000 a week. Now Fisher is dead, 
but, after fifty years, his characters are 
still going strong, carried on in the old 
tradition by Fisher's one-time assistant, 
Al Smith. 

After Mutt and Jeff, the comics 
stopped being a novelty and became a 
respectable occupation. Of course there 
were no training schools then, and most 
of the artists came either from the sports 
departments (as Fisher did) or from 
magazines. For some reason, the maga- 
zine illustrators didn’t cut the condi- 
ments, perhaps because they were too 
good. More often than not, their pictures 
were so well drawn that people forgot 
the stories. An exception, however, was 
Winsor McCay. Having established an 

(continued on page 110) 


“Surprise!” 


79 


the jewel of oceania casts a haunting spell on those who 


DAYDREAMING ABOUT TAHITI is a universal pastime and now all of a sudden, thanks to jet air travel, one 
can make the dream come true and go to this heretofore inaccessible place in about twenty-four hours. 

But do you really want to go? Is it for you? Will it be what you've expected; what the writers, the 
movies and travel posters have claimed for it? Or will you find a land of toothless beauties and hairy spiders, 
a country long on fruit salad and fish and painfully short on hot running water and news of the outside 
world? In other words, have you heard the unvarnished truth about this place? 

Tahiti is not for everyone. But when a man's been given a bad time by his boss, when his wife's made 
him feel inadequate as a husband and father, 
when he’s caught his mistress cheating on him, 
when the insurance premiums and car payments 
smolder unpaid and payable on the desk, where 
does a man think of heading for after he chucks 
it all? 

Canada? Venice? Bombay? Tokyo? 

No—he'll generally stare out the window 
and dream a familiar dream of one place: the 
South Seas. And in the minds of most men, that 
is Tahiti. For three hundred years now, an island 
no longer than thirty miles and no wider than 
eighteen has captivated the romantic imaginations 
of men as no other place in the world has been 
able to do. 

Why? What has Tahiti got, besides such good 
press agents as R. L. Stevenson, Gauguin, and 
Nordhoff and Hall? Except for England, more 
books have been written about Tahiti than any 
other island. I had read just about every one, plus dozens of magazine articles, since I was fifteen, but I 
still didn't know what the place was really like till I went there a year ago. I'll try to give it to you straight, 
without succumbing to the overripe adjectives, the wishful thinking, and the romance of the past which 
so often clouds writings about Polynesia. 

Before we get to the woman question (which seems to be uppermost in the minds of prospective 
travelers, both the males and their apprehensive wives), let's list a few things Tahiti does not have, and 
in so doing we will indirectly be explaining why this place can charm the harassed American looking for 
surcease even more than it charmed Captain Bligh and his lustily libidinous crew of sailors back in the 


TAHITI 


have the temperament to yield to its seductive beauty 


travel By BARNABY CONRAD 


ear 1788. 
Ч Tahiti has no: Newspaper, television, juvenile delinquency, stop lights, tipping, suicide, neon, golf 
course, murder, billboards, rape, PTA, trains or psychiatrists. 

ОЕ how many other places in the world is this still true? No wonder writers have to struggle to resist 
employing the tired phrase “The Last Paradise.” 

The only evidence of modern life on the island is the new-fangled modes of transportation; there 
are over one thousand cars, generally little Renaults, and there are another couple of thousand scooters 
or motorized bicycles. This is the biggest difference in the Tahiti of today compared to yesteryear; other- 
wise, it has changed very little, probably less than any other place in the modern world. ‘The main reason 
it has maintained its charm over the centuries has been its inaccessibility. 

First of all, the French have always discouraged tourism there — they want no "touristes bananes” 
as they refer to would-be beachcombers, types who intend 
to live off bananas and coconuts in a thatched hut; be- 
fore being granted a visa you must show ability to sup- 
port yourself without a job and you must have a return 
ticket. Secondly, travel facilities have always been ex- 
pensive and awkward. For example, last year 1 took a 
direct cruise from San Francisco and it cost around twelve 
hundred dollars before I was through. I flew back, and, 
what with changing planes and waiting at Bora Bora, 
Fiji and Honolulu, it took four exhausting days and cost 
another twelve hundred dollars. 

Now the travel picture has changed virtually over- 
night, and Tahiti, which has so bravely resisted the ad- 
vance of civilization, might be doomed. Some gloomy old- 
timers are saying that in ten years Papeete (pronounced 
pah-pay-AY-tay, the capital and only real town of Tahiti) 
will be just another Waikiki. Others say that Tahiti is 
made of sterner stuff and will never change much. The 
situation is that Tahiti has always been an expensive play- 
thing for the French; since it was a beloved one, how- 
ever, they didn’t mind putting out millions of francs a 
year to maintain it. But now they simply can't afford it. 
De Gaulle has given the order: the island must pay its 
own way. With the income from copra and phosphate dwindling, the 
French realize that there is only one way for the virginal pearl of the 
Pacific to make money: to submit to the lusts of tourists, mainly les 
Americains with all those nice heavy dollars in their seersucker pockets. 

So Otaheite (as Captain Cook called it) is about to be sacrificed to 
the damnedest tourist boom in recent travel history, and no one is 
happy about it except those for whom profit is all. and they are rubbing 
their hands with glee. And with reason, mon vieux; where there were 
only three thousand tourists of any nationality last year, they are now 
talking in terms of fifty thousand Americans alone within two years! 

The long-time resident foreign colony of Tahiti is sick at the 
thought, and the Tahitians themselves couldn't care less. The French 
are revolted by the possibility of this lovely place being strewn with 
cola bottles and awash with pale, Brownie-snapping tourists, yet merde 
alors, they shrug, what is one to do? Actually, what they would like 
most of all. only they haven't figured out a way to say it diplomatically, 
is for us just to stay home and send our money to them in an envelope. 

(I'll get to the women, but I do have to get in a few facts, no 


Bl 


82 


matter how spindly they may be.) 

The blame for the rape of Tahiti lands squarely in the lap of the Wright brothers. The island has 
never had an airport, the once-a-week plane service being wonderful vintage British flying boats that take 
off from the lagoon and connect with other islands like Aitutaki and Bora Bora which do have landing 
strips. Now they are filling in that lovely lagoon for a jet port. All day and most of the night the trucks 
rumble along the road with loads of boulders to dump in the transparent coral waters. They've been 
working a year now; it's ready for prop jobs, and by April 1961 it will be finished — and so might old Tahiti. 

They speeded the sickening process last year by inaugurating direct flights from Honolulu to Bora 
Bora (TAI and South Pacific have round- 
trip ückets for about five hundred dol- 
lars). From there it's less than two hours 
to Papeete. "Travel companies are starting 
cutrate flights and tours (“twenty-one 
romantic days for only sixteen hundred 
dollars!”) and the prices promise to drop 
even lower when the hordes of tourists 
swarm to the area. It’s unfortunate that 
the Americans by going there will be help- 
ing to eliminate the very thing that drew 
them there in the first place, i.e., the ab- 
sence of the American attitude and way 
of life. 

So, should you pack up and rush 
down to Tahiti quickly before it gets 
ruined? The answer is the same I give to 
people asking whether they should get 
married: if there's any doubt in your 
mind, don't. Tahiti depends upon who 
you are, what you want, and what you ex- 
pect the island to be. 

If you are trying to make up your 
mind among various resorts and vacation 
spas, forget "Tahiti. It's not an either/or 
place — "either we go to Jamaica or Ber- 
muda or Palm Springs or Tahiti.” If that's 
the way you're thinking, skip it, because, 
as the Chinese storekeeper says when he 
tells you you're crazy in Papeete, “You 
topside savvy box no belongee proper." 

Tahiti is unique and in no sense a 
resort — yet. The five little hotels are 
primitive, most not having hot water and 
none accommodating more than sixty 
people. (The two best are Les Tropiques 
and the new Hotel Tahiti, both attractive 
bungalow style on the edge of town.) 
While there are no poisonous reptiles, 
there are bugs, giant moths, spiders, liz- 
ards, mosquitoes, and big land crabs all 
over the place, generally in one’s bed- 
room. (I'll never forget the night my com- 

ion woke me up to ask me to come 
in and kill a spider that was in the basin. Grumbling sleepily at the alarmist, constant-burglar-hearing 
species of female, I got out of bed and went into the bathroom. There I woke up quickly, for in the 
washbowl was something as large as my fist, twice as hairy, and vaguely resembling Godzilla. “І hope you 
didn't kill it,” said the landlord the next day, “spiders eat insects, they are our friends, you know." "Kill 
it, hell,” I said, “I jumped back in bed and pulled the covers over my head!”) 

"There are few pre-fab entertainments of any sort for the tourist. After you've (continued on page 84) 


humor ву RAY RUSSELL 


ihavethespiritoft 


WHEN OSCAR WILDE, upon espying a skull 
doing paperweight service on a friend's 
desk, “Death is so Gothic; life is so 
Greek"; when Noel Coward tosed off 
"Women should be struck regularly, like 
gongs”: when Leo Durocher — we'd bet- 
ter get a Real He-Man in here qui 
said "Nice guys don't win ball games" 
or whatever that was; they did more 
than go down in history as snappy con- 
versationalists. "They made life tough 
for mortals less gifted than they. Mortals 
like me. The French have a phrase for 
it: Il а Pesprit de l'escalier. This, liter- 
ally translated, means “He has the spirit 
of the stairs,” but a more idiomatic 
rendering would be “He never has a 
ready answer,” the implication presum- 
ably being that he always thinks up 
those salty comebacks when he’s walking 
down the stairs on the way home. 

"That's me all over. 

First thing I do upon entering a taxi 
to return to my digs after a party is 
splinter my elbow on the ash-receptacle 
which invariably has been left open by 
the previous passenger. Second thing I 
do is close the ash-receptace. Third 
thing I do is tell the driver where I 
want to go. Fourth thing I do is recon- 
struct the evening in my mind, wincing 
every time I recall the soggy silence 
with which I greeted somebody's bon 
mot. Fifth thing I do is mentally fill 
those silences with a string of shimmer- 
ing ex post facto witticisms. 

A fat lot of good it does me. “Better 
late than never" is an axiom that com- 
pletely crumbles when applied to the 
parry and thrust of conversation. And 
so, faced with the humbling realization 
that І am a conversational fizzle, I have 
taken steps: if I cannot fit my words to 
the situation, I will fit the situation to 
my words, by Phthahl* Sort of a Shat- 


* A deity of ancient Egypt. His name is 
sung frequently in the opera Aida, thus 
accounting for the fine spray of saliva on 
the lapels and bodices in Row A. 


tering To Bits This Sorry Scheme Of 
Things Entire And Remolding It Nearer 
To My Heart's Desire proposition. To 
this end, I have built up a small reper- 
toire of situations which, if I can succeed 
in bringing them to pass, will provide 
me with some absolutely stunning 
ripostes and sweeten my social life no 
end. 

For instance, let's imagine I find my- 
self in the company of a young lady who, 
justifiably proud of her prowess in the 
kitchen, plies me with a platter of candy 
of her own manufacture. While we're 
imagining, let's imagine rhat it's pretty 
good candy. Let's imagine, further, that 
while I enthusiastically munch piece 
after piece of the savory stuff, the lady 
herself does not. Even when I shove the 
platter toward her and raise my eye- 
brows expressively, she demurs, saying, 
"T really don't care for candy myself" 
or the like. At this point, I whip out 
the gem I have been saving for just this 
occasion: smiling wryly, I say, “You 
don't have the courage of your confec- 
tions." And, dazzled by the brilliance of 
my brain, she succumbs instanter to my 
fatal charm. 

Here's another example from my files: 

I, а slavering lecher, have succeeded 
in luring an innocent young damsel to 
my apartment. Not without difficulty, 1 
have persuaded her to sample a bit of 
my grandmother's loganberry cordial. 
From this, she has graduated to a spot 
of sherry, then to a small snifter of 
Calvados ("Just apple juice, really"). 
Now, getting ready for the kill, I 
break out my secret supply of absinthe 
She regards it with horror, for she is 
a damsel who, her innocence notwith- 
standing, has read the lives of the more 
prominent French painters, all of whom 
drank absinthe and all of whom there- 
fore ended up with varicose brains. It 
is, she maintains, filthy stuff: degrading, 
decadent, deadly. "Nonsense," I say 
lightly; or better still, “Balderdash.” 
And then I spring it: “Absinthe makes 


improve your conversation this brand-new easy way 


e = @у 


uet ү 0 
heart 

coy, RF 
fonder.'" 
(Whereupon 


she slaps my face and Is 
leaves. This one, admit- 
tedly, needs work.) 

Let's try another. After the 
theatre, I escort my companion to an 
intimate little Russian restaurant for a 
bite of supper. Her tummy is a wee bit on 
the delicate side (as opposed to the left 
side or, for that matter, the right side), 
and so she avoids the more formidable 
items on the menu and chooses some- 
thing which, being composed in the main 
of such wholesome dairy products as 
cheese and sour cream, strikes her as safe: 
blintzes. “Oops,” I say, wagging a warn- 
ing finger, "put not thy trust in blintzes.” 
From that moment on, of course, she is 
putty in my hands. Or possibly sour cream. 

One of these days, I am going to have 
to acquire a friend or acquaintance 
named Morris. It doesn't matter whether 
his first or his last name is Morris, but 
Morris it must be. Morris, the man, must 
be an artist and, in addition, a person 
of profligate bent who delights in depict- 
ing on canvas and paper the more de- 
praved aspects of our society. He depicts 
them in oils, pencil, in pen and ink, but 
most often he depicts them in egg 
tempera. One day, as he is showing me a 
arly repellent series of paintings 
in this latter medium, I scold him for 
his obsession with life's seamier side and. 
he replies that he is merely mirroring 
the times. Clapping the back of my hand 
to my brow, I throw back my head and 
cry, “О tempera! О Morris!" 

I am also going to have to turn up 
another friend who invariably finds him- 
self filled with fright whenever under- 
taking intimacies with young ladies he 
has never undertaken intimacies with 
before. And he is going to have to pour 
out his troubles on my shoulder. Which 
will give me (concluded on page 115) 


PLAYBOY 


TAHITI (continued from page 82) 


taken a tour around the island once 
(half a day) and spent a day or two over 
at the beautiful neighboring island of 
Moorea, you've just about had it as far 
as organized sightseeing is concerned. 
You can also consume one Sunday and 
a lot of local Hinano beer at the Ta- 
hitians ridiculous and charming version 
of horse races (the jockeys ride bare- 
back, saronged and drunk). And you can 
Kill a few nights watching the wild 
and wooly tamure dances in the three 
so-called nightclubs. Also you can go 
over to Les Tropiques or the Hotel 
Tahiti when a cruise ship comes in for 
its three-day layover and enjoy one of 
Tahiti’s favorite pastimes: tourist watch- 
ing. They nearly all look exactly the 
same — gray, pale, becamera-ed, and mil- 
itantly in pursuit of pleasure. After the 
luau-type dinner the hotel tosses for 
the tourists, dancing girls — stars like Te- 
hura and Choua—come churning out 
with everything God gave them in excit- 
ing motion, and every silver-blue-haired 
Mom's mouth sets in a grim Victorian 
linc of disapproval and every paunchy 
Dad's eyes light up with the recollection 
of fleshly delights he never had. 

(Don't bug me— slowly but surely I 
am getting to the matter of the women.) 

But after the first three or four days 
there's really nothing much to do — noth- 
ing. that is, that you or your libido don't 
think up by yourselves. The sport fish- 
ing is lousy compared to Mexico or 
Nassau, there's no water skiing, riding, 
tennis or golf, and compared to Hono- 
lulu or the Virgin Islands the beaches 
are rocky and second rate. There are 
only two swimming pools on the island. 
Theres no public library, or even a 
stand to buy current magazines. 

There are less than two dozen perma- 
nent American residents on the whole 
island of thirty-five thousand people and 
these are hardly of the international, 
partying, jet-set variety you run across 
in Jamaica and Cannes. 

And Tahiti's not cheap; don't expect 
another Spain or Majorca. Just about 
everything, except fresh fish, coconuts, 
and women, costs as much or morc than 
in the United States. 

And the weather. I bate to come right 
out and say it can be rotten; let's just 
say that if 1 owned Мап-Тап I'd get a 
branch factory going down there as fast 
as possible. It rained so much last sum- 
mer (theoretically the best time to go) 
that I came home after three months 
paler than when I had left San Francisco. 

So what, then, is so good about the 
famous Tahiti? Why did I bawl like a 
baby when I left last year? Why did I 
go back this year — and reserve the house 
for next year, and the next? 

Pert of the magic, of course, lies in 
the visual. The island is beautiful, rain 


or shine. I've never seen a more breath- 
taking sight than I did when first sailing 
through that coral reef into that toy 
harbor at dawn with the volcanic moun- 
tains springing suddenly out of the sca 
and clawing up higher than seven thou- 
sand feet into the clouds. (Arrival by air- 
plane is all right but not quite so stag- 
gering.) And the little town of Papeete, 
while dirty and crowded, is— sorry, 
there's no other word — picturesque. 

But it's the people who live in Tahiti 
and the people who go to Tahiti that 
make for the constant fascination of the 
place. Every day you sit on the quai at 
thc sidewalk café called Vaima and you 
sip your rum and discuss who slept with 
whom the night before and watch the 
never-ending parade of characters. 

For example, Emile Gauguin is sure 
10 waddle by and put some sort of bite 
on you; he's the painter's sixty-yearold 
son, the only beggar on the island, and 
he can usually be found selling auto- 
graphs or posing for tourists’ gag shots. 

ine Gauguin 
picture when I was in Tahitil") 

The French baron, who gave up a 
chateau in Tours for a grass hut, strolls 
by hand in hand with his saronged 
vahine. The lovely daughter of writer 
James Norman Hall comes from market 
staggering under the weight of a tuna 
fish. And a few feet away a grandson of 
the twenty-sixth President of the U.S.A. 
ties up the small boat he sailed there 
from Honolulu. Over there, in front of 
the Bar Lea, Andre Kostelanetz has a 
local musician cornered trying to find 
out why there's no minor-key inusic on 
the island, and he is temporarily dis- 
tracted when a gorgeous Tahitian- 
Peruvian brunette with the incredible 
name of Nita Wanamaker ankles by in 
a Dior dress. She, in turn, stops to talk 
to someone more incredibly named than 
herself, Cambridge Shiu, the Chinese 
merchant. 

Characters, does this island have char- 
acters! Take my neighbors, for instance. 
I was talking to one, a bald, bearded 
fellow who had introduced himself as 
Bengt Danielsson, anthropologist, and I 
complained that it had taken me ten 
whole days to get there by steamship. 

“Well,” he said in his pleasant Swedish 
accent, “it took me three months.” Dan- 
ielsson was on Kon Tiki. 

‘Then take the eccentric American mil- 
lionaire down the beach from my house. 
He hates noise, and every dawn his na- 
tive neighbors’ roosters would wake him 
up. So he had his butler buy them all 
and kill them. Soon a new crop and an- 
other appeared and he had these killed 
also. He still doesn't know that he's the 
greatest single outlet for the rooster mar- 
ket in all Polynesia. 

Or meet the Nocl Coward trio across 


the way; a retired Englishman, his at- 
tractive Parisian wife, plus the most 
beautiful hunk of Bardot-type sixteen- 
year-old Polynesian female you ever saw. 
They are all in love with each other, 
Interesting. 

Which, at last, brings me to the main, 
and perhaps cole, reason that you're 
reading this article: les vahines. Is it 
true that they're all beautiful and that 
it doesn't mean anything more to them 
than a handshake? 

People have been kissing and telling 
on Tahitian women for centuries. Here's 
one of the first evaluations of them, writ- 
ten in 1773 by Captain Cook: 

"Great injustice has been done the 
women of Otaheite . . . by those who 
have represented them, without excep- 
tion, as ready to grant the last favor to 
any man who will come up to their price. 
But this is by no means the case; the 
favors of married women, and also the 
unmarried of the better sort, are as diffi- 
cult to be obtained here as in any other 
country whatever. . On the whole, a 
stranger who visits England might, with 
equal justice, draw the characters of the 
women there, from those which he might 
meet with on board the ships in onc of 
the naval ports, or in the purlieus of 
Covent Garden and Drury Lane. I must, 
however, allow that they are all com- 
pletely versed in the art of coquetry, and 
that very few of them fix any bounds to 
their conversation. It is therefore no 
wonder that they have obtained the 
character of libertines . . .” 

No question about it, most Tahitian 
women are more relaxed and overtly de- 
lighted by sex than most of our women. 
But then they're more relaxed about 
everything in life. And if you walk into 
some bar like the famous Quinn's on the 
waterfront, you're going to find the most 
relaxed atmosphere you've ever been ex- 
posed to. I won't say it's the most open 
joint I've ever been in, but I will say 
that its the only public place I've ever 
walked into at high noon for the first 
time and immediately had some uniden- 
tified vahine give me the warmest and 
lowest greeting I've ever experienced. 

Their reputation for greatness in the 
hay seems to be well deserved. A promi- 
nent doctor studying the customs there 
told me that it’s because of their unin- 
hibited natures and also because of cer- 
tain interior muscles which the girls de- 
velop through doing those incredible, 
convulsive dances which they perform 
from childhood. ("Like a man shaking 
hands,” he stated, though somehow it 
sounded more scientific when he said it.) 

Whatever their sex life, the girls are 
friendly and delightful. At first many 
people are disappointed in their looks; 
unfortunately, every girl in Tahiti does 
not look like a tanned Elizabeth Taylor. 
Many are fine looking in every other way 

(continued on page 94) 


“This jet age is amazing. Just think, I had breakfast in 
New York, lunch in San Francisco . . .” 


85 


„NUDE 
WAVE 


IN HOLLYWOOD 


Slick city producers, big and little, find there's 
nothing like an undraped dame to boost box of fice 


AS PLAYBOY APPRISED its rcaders in Novem- 
ber's The Immoral Mr. Teas, the censorial 
climate on these shores has tempered con- 
siderably. Knowing a cue when they see 
one, a number of lightly capitalized cine- 
matic entrepreneurs have recognized the 
box-office potential of low-budget "art" 
productions that focus their lenses on sex 
and skin. The S producers have no corner 
on the bare essentials, however. Hollywood 
stars and studios of major stature have 
come around to the realization that a soup- 
gon of sex and a nude or near-nude vignette 
are not going to hurt receipts one whit. 
Stratospherically budgeted epics such as 
Spartacus have taken out extra investment 
insurance in the thinly veiled form femi- 
nine, and screen luminaries of the calibre 
and calibrations of a Jean Simmons, Janet 
Leigh or Debra Paget have happily lent 
their talents to the cause. The pleasures of 
the flesh are by no means the raison d’étre 
for the big-budgeted opuses, but they are 
proving to be the epidermal cake-frosting 
which producers are adding more and more 
frequently. In most of the minimum-cost 
"art" flicks, the approach is baldly sex- 
oriented: plot lines arc cphemcral, talent 
obscure, and photographic quality is on the 
Baby Brownie level, but there is meticulous 
attention paid to the wholesale uncoverage 
of delightfully endowed females. The view- 
ing public, meanwhile, sits in pleasant. 
contemplation, delighted by what the cast- 
off clothing reveals. 


While the sight of Jean Simmons, delightfully 
déshabillé in the drink with co-star Kirk Douglas, was 
not the major attraction of multi-million-dollar-smash 
Spartacus, it added another hypo to the box-office 
take. Janet Leigh added spice, first in a shower in the 
Hitchcock chiller, Psycho, and then in a bubble bath in 
а scene from the Cantinflas starrer, Pepe (at right). 


One of the girls sprinkled liberally throughout Not Tonight Henry, a typical low-budget flesh flick, is helped "into" her costume. 


American-International's exotic Journey fo the Lost City was aided not 
inconsiderably in its meanderings through the Indian jungle by the torrid 
temple dancing of Debra Paget who, as an eye-opening Eurasian 
cooch Pavlova, raises temperatures in an already steamy setting 


replete with king cobras, tigers, maharajas and sinister prime 


Not Tonight Henry, a slimly-budgeted opus that is plot-lined as an hovr-and-a-half color romp 
through the pages of history, is octually а string af broodly-based burlesque skits hung together 
оп the dreams of a Milquetoost character played by little-known café comic Hank Henry. Each 
vignette comes fully equipped with appropriate moments when the females on camera find it 
necessary to kick off their clothes. Top: comic Henry as с grateful John Smith tries to express his 
thanks їо  half-a-buck-skinned Pocahontas, who's giving John the Indian sign. Above and 
right: Pocahontas’ tribesmaidens hold an in-the-pool powwow decked out in the uniform-of-the- 
day: pigtails, headdress and damp epidermis. Smith and the audience are allowed to sit in on 
mast of ће meeting. Ted Paramore and Bob Heiderich, the enterprising young producers of the 
revealing "or!" flick, have bared every phase of history in No! Tonight Henry which, as a con- 
sequence, is playing to heavy grosses in recently censor-liberated m: houses across the country. 


Further Not Tonight Henry flashbacks show, above, Caesar and Cleopatra contering briskly through Cleo's garden of splendidly-stacked 


statuary. Caesar only has eyes for Little Egypt, but the 
turned into bountecusly buttressed terra cotta. Below left: Napoleon takes time off from the wars to indulge in a little palace par 


with a scantily-dad Josephine. Below right: a delectable Delilah dallies with a couple of Roman stage- 


iewers are given ample opportunity to case the reverse Pygmalion bit of living dolls 
lor game 


door Juniuses cfter clipping Samson. 


PLAYBOY 


THE WINGS 


sd 


PLAYBOY 


TAHITI (continued from page 84) 


but in the teeth department, due to 
the lack of dental care and absence of 
minerals in the drinking water. When 
you're driving along Tahiti's one road 
you frequently sce up ahead a motor 
scooter, and astride it a superb nine- 
ten-year-old body dressed in a scanty 
flowered print, waistlength hair flying 
in the breeze. You speed up, come along- 
side, and see that she has the face of a 
goddess. You smile. And then she smiles. 
No teeth! The classic present for a popaa 
(white visitor) to give his vahine when 
he leaves the island is a dental bridge. 
Marlon Brando put this deficiency to 
great practical use when he and the 
company that remade Mutiny on the 
Bounty went there. The girls are notori- 
ously undependable and work only when 
they feel so inclined. Money doesn't in- 
terest them enough, so Brando & Com- 
pany played on their vanity. They took 
a dentist to fill their oral gaps with 
bridges. However, the girls had to turn 
in the false teeth every night before 
leaving the set. 

Of course there are girls with perfect 
teeth and perfect everything, girls so 
beautiful they make you ache inside, but 
they are not as plentiful as the travel 
folders would like to have you believe. 
I think the Tahitians have acquired their 
reputations for beauty largely because 
of their magnificent bodies and hair. 
Also, the Tahitian girl's skin is usually 
of a beautiful color and amazingly soft, 
and their eyes are nearly always lovely. A 
delightful custom is that the standard 
form of greeting in Tahiti is kissing — 
on both cheeks, yet. 

As for communication, it helps if you 
speak a little French, since almost по 
one speaks English. The basic tongue is 
Tahitian, a mellifluous and intricate 
language. However, the language barrier 
has been surmounted or ignored in more 
than one highly successful liaison. 

One pleasant surprise I wasn't pre- 
pared for was the costumes of men and 
women. I figured it would be like Hono- 
lulu, they'd put on sarongs for ship de- 
partures, luaus and dance performances. 
But in Tahiti the natives dress in pareus 
(pronounced pah-RAY-ooh) most of the 
time. This consists of a wrap-around 
garment of beautifully designed flowered 
cloth. Both sexes wear it, plus a bra to 
match for the women. Disappointingly, 
you won't find any girls wandering 
around without bras, but when you get 
to know them they'll take them off in a 
trice when a group of you go swimming 
in the fresh-water pools up the valleys. 
"They are, however, excessively modest 
about the lower garment and sometimes 
never take it off, even when going to 
bed with a lover. 

The Tahitians are the cleanest people 
I've ever seen. They generally bathe in 


the fresh-water streams three times a day. 
There is never any odor about them, 
even in the tiny bars where dozens of 
sweaty dancers are writhing to the fran- 
tic beat of a temure drum. 

"They are a dignified, friendly, inde- 
pendent and happy people, but basically 
very lazy. Why not be? They have every- 
thing they want. There's fish in the sea, 
and bananas, oranges, breadfruit and 
coconuts in the trees. Leave the worry 
and striving for the crazy popaas and 
the Chinese. 

The Tahitians want almost nothing 
that they can't get from nature, and this 
has driven more than one European 
crazy. Movie companies have frequently 
given up in disgust halfway through 
filming a picture because the natives sud- 
denly get fiu (fed up) with work and 
wander off. The main reason they work 
for money at all is со get enough Hinano 
beer to get drunk on the weekend. They 
don’t drink during the week, but come 
Saturday, the whole family is usually off 
on a party that lasts till Sunday night. 
They are amiable drunks who just love 
2 good outdoor party with their friends. 

The best time of all for them is the 
Bastille Celebration. This starts on July 
14, is supposed to last a week, but gen- 
erally drags on for three weeks; the in- 
tensity of the mooing of the unmilked 
cows and the barking of the unfed dogs 
tells you how long the family's been in 
town. There are spear-throwing contests 
and the men’s accuracy is astonishing; 
they can hit a coconut atop a fifty foot 
pole at two hundred feet. There are 
canoe races and singing and dancing ex- 
hibitions and cockfights. But most of all 
the Tahitians enjoy les baraques, the 
booths made of woven palm leaves along 
the waterfront. Here they have carnival 
games of skill and chance and little 
dance pavilions where they drink and 
do the tamure dance ecstatically all night 
and most of the day, loving cach other, 
loving life, and loving their island. 

Does it all sound too pat, too plati- 
tudinous, too traveloguey, this picture of 
the happy native in the garden of Eden 
as the sun sets behind a silhouetted palm 
frond? I keep looking for the catch but 
I can't find any; I'm afraid that they are 
the happiest people on earth in the 
loveliest setting left to the world. 

Yes, it's great—for them. But the 
modern man doesn't always fit in this 
environment. It's nice to think of going 
back to nature in theory, but that fed-up 
guy on the Madison Avenue treadmill 
who thinks he yearns for Tahiti usually 
can't take it for very long once he gets 
there. Tahiti tells you who you are 
quicker than any place I know; it’s in- 
teresting to see how different people 
react to the revelation. Thoreau (or was 

(continued on page 130) 


man at his leisure 


ERNIE'S, in San Francisco, is a sump- 
tuous restaurant out of the crystal-and- 
velvet Victorian age. From the Gibson 
Girl prints adorning the walls to the 
gaslight fixtures glowing softly, Ernie's 
is a luxurious reminder of Nineteenth 
Century grandeur. The three dining 
rooms, two downstairs and one upstairs, 
are plushly upholstered. Much of their 
warmth — as LeRoy Neiman's painting 
indicates — stems from the deep, tex- 
tured red that adorns walls and tufted 
chairs,and dominates the rooms. A mas- 
sive mahogany bar just beyond the main 
entrance, and a small vintage replica up- 
stairs, are elegant complements to the 
air of luxurious ease. The main-floor 
bar is a creation of rare beauty; ac- 
cording to artist Neiman, it is a stun- 
ning introduction to Ernie’s. “Once 
you pass through the single, incon- 
spicuous door into this connoisseur's 
world, you're immediately struck by 
the enormous, regal bar. It is amaz- 
ingly large and its already command- 
ing presence is enhanced by row after 
row of bottles lining its rear wall,” 
Neiman recalls. But it is the food ¬ 
сусп more memorable than the decor 
— that keeps diners lingering longer at 
Ernie's than at most restaurants. 
Served expertly by waiters of Conti- 
nental discretion, the food is the heart 
of Ernie's allure, in the opinion of 
hosts Victor and Roland Gotti. A 
glance at the menu reveals its auspi- 
cious nature; a sampling from it con- 
firms the Gottis' judgment. Among the 
choice hors d'oeuvres are Iced Cracked 
Crab with Sauce Mayonnaise and Im- 
ported Italian Polli Peperoncini. After 
French Onion Soup or Tortellini alla 
Romana, you may select from a list 
of entrees that includes Filets of Sole 
Normande and Chicken Sauté Sec with 
Mushrooms and Fine Herbs or de- 
light in one of the Specialitá della 
Casa — Tenderloin of Beef En Bro- 
chette, with Sauce Chaseur (and 
Risotto of Wild Rice) or Roast Boned 
Royal Squab, Montmorency, for exam- 
ple. The morethan-ample wine list 
enables you to match one of your 
favorites to each course. For dessert, 
Zabaione al Marsala is perfect for two. 
And after-dinner liqueur, from Ernie's 
treasured stock, brings the meal to a 
leisurely сове. Strolling through the 
parlor-like premises for a final savoring 
of the comforts of the Gay Nineties, 
before returning to modern San Fran- 
cisco, you are reminded anew that this 
is one of the world’s elite epicurean 


retreats 
Ba 


“It’s one of those 
television surveys, 

darling. They want to 
know what show 

you're watching.” 


Cs 
4 


Ribald Classic 


THE PANGS OF LOVE AND HUNGER 


ONCE UPON A TIME, a farmer's wife was having an affair with a young lawyer who was her husband's companion 
and confidant. The farmer, of course, suspected nothing, and all would have gone well but for the wife's appetite. 

One day the farmer invited his friend home to dine upon a brace of fine partridges he had shot. All after- 
noon the wife roasted and basted, roasted and basted, and the house was redolent with the aroma from her oven. 
The woman began to cut little slivers from the partridges, and the slivers were so tasty that before she realized 
what she had done, she had completely eaten both birds and had nothing for dinner. Her husband, she knew, would 
be furious and would beat her. Just then, she glanced from the window and saw the young lawyer approaching. 

She ran to the back yard and handed her husband the carving knife and a file. “Sharpen the knife,” she said, 
“so as to do a neat job with the carving.” 

Then she flew to the front door and said the following words to the lawyer: “Run for your life, my love, 
for my husband knows everything that has passed between us and he plans to cut off both your ears! Listen, and 
you can hear him sharpening the knife.” 

As the lawyer made for the highway, the woman ran back to her husband and said: “Quick! That hungry 
friend of yours has run off with both the partridges we were to have for dinner! Run after him and persuade him 
to come back and eat with us. 

As the farmer ran out of the house and down the road alter the lawyer, knife still in hand, he called in a loud 
“Let me have at least one!” 

But the lawyer called ba “Not on your life, my friend. You can't have either one!” 
— Translated by J. A. Gato 


A newly translated tale from Juan Timoneda’s 
El Sobremesa y Alivio de Caminantes 


voici 


PLAYBOY 


98 


Machine in Ward Eleven (continued from page 16) 


ing her sound advice.) 

lam an expert in the field of falsely 
induced emotions, and although I don't 
remember directing anv of the plays or 
movies or TV shows she told me I di- 
rected 1 am apparently well-acquainted 
with all of the terms and aspects of the 
craft — or so it seems. Hazel may be lying 
to me. of course. It is quite feasible t 
this vast store of movie knowledge I 
dredge up and dispense so freely during 
our visiting periods was gained by read- 

g books on the subject before T came 
here. And it may be u ik memory 
breakthrough allows me to remember 
various things concerning films the way 
a person does who has a photographic 
memory. "That's а пісе double meaning. 
Г mention it to Harel when she cor 
tomorrow. if I don't forget it. But if 
Hazel is an actress, she is а most comvine 
ing actress, because I always believe her 
when she tells me that I was once а di- 
rector, Besides, there is that sharp, single 
scene that keeps recurring inside my 
mind at odd times; and although Т 
thought at first that it was a delusion, I 
have finally learned how to tell the dif 
ference between delusion and realit 
The secret w mple it escaped me 
for a long time. If I can see myself with- 
in the scene, it's an imaginary scene, and 
I can enjoy the experience for what it is 
worth. But if I see the scene through my 
eyes —as though I were a cimera — it is 
something that actually happened in 
the past. There can be no other rational 
explanation; it would be impossible for 
а man to see through his own eyes and 
watch his body perlorm as tor at a 
distance — both at the same timc. 


a dr 


so si 


The sun is so hot! 

This is our fifth twelve-hour day on 
desert location, and it is the twentieth 
episode of the series. Nineteen more to 


go after this one is in the can, and if 
Red Faris doesn't change his attitude 
well never finish them all — which 


means, of course, that I will not. We may 
not even finish this one, The Pack Rats, 
which is, in my considered opinion, the 
lousiest script Гуе ever directed. But Red 
is brilliant, he knows everything. This is 
his third year as the star of the series, 
and he now owns a juicy fifty percent. A 
big, stupid, sixfoottwo — ex-football 
player who never had anything better 
th walkon at the Pasad 
house before he Jucked into this West- 
ern series, and yet he tries to tell me 
how to direct a scene. And when I ex- 
plain some basic acting principle to him 
he nods condescendingly and winks 
broadly at the grinning crew members 
he plays poker with inste: 
his lines, 

Take Twelve coming up; far too many 
lor the budget, but every time he does 


na Play- 


d of studying 


some annoying thing wrong. Purposely? 
I'm beginning to won The scene 
unimportant; even a poor 
be valid enough, but I seem to h 
some sort of uncontrollable compuls 
to shoot it over and ov: in until it's 
perfect. The arid heat must be at least 
a hundred and ten degrees, but the en 
mity from everybody on the set is hotter 
than that, much hotter. They all hate 
me now, they hate my guts. Wonderful! 
OK, Red?" My chapped lips hurt as I 
grin pleasantly at our stupid star, who 
nds petulantly beside his sweaty gray 
€. "I know Fm a real bastard, Red, 
but let's try jt one more time. Rollin 
rette is supposed to be : 
breathing to a cowboy, and yet —— 

“Aud Pm also supposed to be tired, 
Haskell, after riding across the desert! 
And after about fifty d 
mended. 

“— Tm not faking it! I am tired.” 

“Get mounted." Ignoring his petty, 
childish outburst I turn my back on 
h "Here we go, kiddies,” I announce 
10 the sullen crew. No one moves; they 
avoid my eyes: they are looking past me 
toward Red Faris I turn. Red is still 
standing stubbornly beside his horse. He 
lares at me, pouting with his upper lip 
nly (no mean feat for a television 
tor). Avoiding my eyes, he looks to- 
ward the camera, raising his dimpled 
chin. “That's it, everybody!" He shouts 
fiercely, in stentorian, but unuained, 
pectoral tones. 

\ triumphant crew-cheer mingles with 
the heat waves, thirty-one voices, includ- 
ing the scriptgirl’s parched, cigarette- 
contralto. My face grows numb as Red 
flashes his trade-mark, the sneersnarl 
smile, an endearing grimace which has 
been described with gushing detail in 
seven trade magazines. “And on the way 


back,” Red yells a ng a long 
arm (the football signal for “Free 
7). “the steaks are on me at Palm 


Another enthusiastic rejoinder, fol 
lowed immediately by the happy sounds 
of furious tearing-down, leave-taking 
activ 

“I've been fired before, Red," I men- 
tion quietly, "but not this way.” 

“Hell, you aren't fired, Hask! I's be 
а rough weck, that’s all. The cuing- 
room boys can piece together at least 
one good take out of the eleven, and if 


nou" shrug, “we'll simply junk the 
scene. ОК. Hask?" Sneersnarlemile. А 
patronizing hand reaches for my shoul- 


der, but 1 back 
touches me. 


ay quickly before he 


n't OK. Either I h 
authority or 1 don't direct. 
the little rules a good dir 

y m't done anything to hurt your 
, Hask. In fact, | submitted 


ve full 
H's one of 


ctor lives by 


damned well to every stupid id 
had this week, And vou know 
1 do, there isn't another star in television 
who'd go through eleven straight takes 
row without sounding off! Am I 
Sneersnarksmile. 


right or am I wrong?" 


ones at the Springs, rustle up some 
—and Monday is another week. R 

4 "s по use getting sore over — ^ 
I swung for his dimpled єй 


n — and. 


missed. It should have been rly de- 
cent brawl, but it wasn't. Although I'm 
shorter than Red, fiveeleven, Um well 


over two hundred pounds; but Red's 


though it contained а roll 


. slammed into my jaw. The 
color film snapped, with a clicketyc 
etyclickety clack, as the crazy reel 


whipped around and around, and that's 
all that I remember for a while. 
At first the thing-in-itself confused me. 


Bam! A hard right to the jaw could not. 
or did not, at 
up to two heavily band 
was snugly warm, in bed: 1 was letha 
comfor т ble; 


and my 
ге, didn 
all. 1 was fighting memory. 
total recall washed over the surface of 
my mind in a humiliating torrent. 

No. I hadn't stopped with the 
in Palm Springs. 1 pushed 
Porsche, top dow! forbidden speed. 
all of the way home to my craggy red- 
wood retreat in the Verdugo Woodlands 
above the L.A. smogbelt. А drink, alone 
on the sundeck, except for my fear. Eco- 
ure fear. I had been 
ad been reasonable. and 
through. Aware of this, 1 


gically 


wrong, Fari 
now I was 


impatiently awaited the confirming 
phone call. The breezy deck was cool 
fter a miserable weck in the desert; 


axed 


a dozen giant potted plants with w 
green leaves. placed strategically 
gered intervals along the rail, masked 
successfully the dusty chaparral of the 
steep olive-colored hills. In some kind. 
of wild optimism my eyes kept return- 
ing to the white telephone on the big 
circular coffee table. Would I finish one, 
two, three or four drinks before it rang? 
The total was six, and I allowed it to 
ring three times before I reached for it. 
“ask, baby!" Weldon Murray, my 

ent. 
“Willy, boy! And you've found 
ob for me already? You've the greatest, 
Willy — I shall not want 
“I really am the greatest, Hask. I nı 
aged to keep you on the payroll, and it 
wasn't Only you'll have to be sa 
fied with the standard director's contract, 
one-cighty per week. It stays in effect 
till the series plays out, and that may 
be forever. But I still haven't heard vour 
side, sweetie, and everybody always has 
a side. If it's a fight they want, we can 
do that, too. Why didn't you call me 
(continued on page 102) 


new 


SON OF TEEVEE JEEBIES 


you guessed it: still more daffy dialog for those aging, late-late flicks 


i's BEN А FULL FOUR MONTHS since our last serving of Teevee Jeebies — too long 

‚ then, is another batch of out- 
n the hoary latenight TV flicks 
we've all grown to abhor. The next time the picture begins to pall, try the 
game yourself. Douse the volume on your set, refill your brandy snifter, and 
write your own punch lines, just as we've donc here. 


“Why don't you quit bugging me, officer! “Better late than never.” 


Тоу League is dead. On the Continent, 
everybody is wearing these!” 


“Sure I act silly, but it kept me out of the Army!” “Remember what 1 told you I'd do the next time 
dinner was late? I told you 
I'd break your arm, remember . 


salire By SHEL SILVERSTEIN 


99 


PLAYBOY 


100 


“And don't come back to India until you 
learn to put that thing on right.” 


“Marsha wants to know where you parked the car...” 


“Funny —I never noticed it before, 
but you have beautiful eyes.” 


“My chili looks like what?!" 


“On second thought, I think I'd rather 
pay the parking ticket.” 


“Say, Bernie—I'm willing to be friends, 
if you're willing to be friends.” 


“Hey, this means that you're free “What do you say, J.B. — can't we 
for the rest of the day!” continue this conference tomorrow?” 


“The Brylereem people say they'll refund your money “Good morning, Breakfast Clubbers, 
and buy you а hat and that's the best they'll dot” hooray, hooray . . . 1” 


"Maury . .. come on! You promised! "You mean you .. . you ... 92..." 
Not again, Maury...” 


101 


PLAYBOY 


102 


Machine in Ward Eleven 


first, baby? I didn't have any ammo to 
shoot with ——' 

And ] didn't have any to give you, 
Willy 
Uh-huh.” Pause. "I don't suppose 
you'd be willing to cry a little, kiss and 
make up?" 

"No, that wouldn't do any good. It’ 
been coming for-weeks. And Um tired, 
ү. tired." 
love you, sweetheart, but you're 
going to get a damned long rest. "Three 
is the fatal charm, it has been muttered 
high places, and this is the third time 
for you in less than a ycar. TV can't 
afford perfectionists, baby ——” 

know 

“Its just that TV isn't the movies, 

and today even the movies can't —" 


“Please. No lecture, Willy,” I said 
wearily. 
“Have you called Hazel? 


"No. She's in London — or w 
“Want me to call her for you 
“TI call her later. But thanks, Willy. 
After racking the phone 1 fished a 

squirming, many-legged arthropod out 

of my drink. How many men, I won- 
dered, are all washed up at the age 
thirty-two meridional? Was I ahead of 
or behind schedule? And yet 1 don't 
believe that I was really depressed. In 

a way, I had a rather sickening sense of 

relief. The uscless struggle was finally 

over. The End. I drank slowly, spacing 
my drinks, enjoying the quiet evening 


(continued from page 98) 


and the ycllow sky above Glendale. Min- 
utes later, perhaps hours later, I was 
giggling. lurching through the empty 
house in search of a razor blade. A sixty- 
thousand-dollar house, meaning the 
mortgage, a swimming pool, and no 
blades. How can a man slash his wrists 
h an electric razor? The phone kept 
ringing all the time. Necdlers. The gloat- 
ing sympathizers. But I didn't answer it. 
At last 1 found a blade, a rusty, used 
blade, in an old plaid train-case that 
had belonged to my wife. In all prob- 
ability, the ancient blade had nibbled 
golden stubble fom Нага» long 1 
I giggled again as I eased the blade 
with concentrated caution into a cake 
of soup. No, I didn't want to cut the 
fingers holding the blade — too painful 
—and yet 1 wanted to slice my wrists. 
This paradoxical prudence struck me as 
very funny indeed. 

The hospital — not this place I'm 
now, buta private hospital — was a warm 
white womb. There was a sunny, glassed- 
in porch running parallel to the far end 
of the ward, and the meals were served 
on schedule in the dining room. I liked 
every one of my eighteen fellow patients 
—a charming, mixed-up group — 
would have been content to remai 
mant in the friendly ward forever, My 
closest friend was Dave Tucker, an actor 
who had been possessed (literally) by 
the Devil. Dave had played The Devil 
and Daniel Webster in summer stock a 


wi 


“That’s what I call a 


Spectacular!” 


few months before, and while he was 
immersing himself in the role of Daniel 
the Devil had gotten inside of his skin. 
Our unimaginative psychiatrist, unfor- 
tunately, couldn't exorcise the Devil 
from poor old Dave because the doctor 
didn't believe that the Devil was really 
under Dave's hide. 1 didn't believe it 
cither, not at first, although I never 
expressed my doubts, and besides, I 
didn't really know. 

‘The worst thing about him, Hask,” 
Dave told me, “is the constant itching. 
I itch all the time because he squirms 
around so much, and scratching can't 
get to him. 

Poor Dave. His discomfort was rcal 
enough. Why would any man lie about 
something like that? But 1 still couldn't 
resist, from time to time, giving Dave 
the business. “Your case is the inevitable 
result of method g. Dave.” I told 
him one afternoon, “but it could've been 


worse, 
“How?” 
“You could've been playing in Jumbo." 
"Move!" he s ir 


his chest. “It’s your move." And we con- 


tinued our d; 
lit porch. 

T sec now that it was a mistake to 
become friends with Dave Tucker, or 
anyone else, for that matter. It hurt me 
too much — it was only a few days later 
— when the Devil finally got him. We 
were playing chess, as usual, smoking, 
not saying much of anything, when Dave 
stage-whispcered my name; “Hask! Get 
the doctor! He's turned on the heat! 

I looked up from the board, and 
Dave's face was fiery. There was no per- 
spiration. No time. The Devil had caught 
Dave in an unguarded moment. 1 rushed 
frantically into the ward, screaming my 
head off for the doctor. And although 
I returned to the porch with Dr. Feller- 
man within a minute and a half, at the 
very longest, Dave was dead when we 
got there. It was a preposterous scene. 
Impossible. And yet it had happened. 
The Devil had boiled Dave's blood for 
him, and fled. I was unreasonable, more 
than a little hysterical, and I cursed 
Fellerman for all he was worth (which 
wasn’t much), although it hadn't bei 
ntirely his fault— except that he had 
efused to even pretend belief in Dave's 
story. The Devil would have taken Dave 
sooner or later anyway, but the swift- 
nd I 
had a prolonged crying spell. After Dave, 
I dropped out of the ward activities. 
No more friends for me — not after Dave 
— 1 simply couldn't take it, and 1 was 
wise cnough to see that I couldn't. 

A truly successful, nigrescent state of 
depression to be nourished, cher- 
ished. The strong black wall can. kcep 
everything out and everything in, but 
it must be built stone by stone. Each 
brick must be carved patiently from 


ily chess game on the sun- 


ness of the attack unnerved me, 


igneous rock: every added layer must 
be laid meticulously, with the stones 
so close together that no mortar is rc- 
quired. 

Before I retired to my walled-in gar- 
den, I had been well on the road to re- 
covery. AIL of the written and oral psy- 
chological tests had been taken docilcly 
the needles had been inserted into my 
scalp for the recording of my brain 
waves; and I had been a reluctant, but 
participating, member of Ward Four- 
teen's group therapy group. We met on 
Mondays, Wednesdays and Frid 
cleven Ward Eleven, under the 
joint chairmanship and supervision of 
Doctors Fellerman and Mullinare. 

‘There were four of us, not counting 
the two doctors (they merely observed. 
and listened): Tommy Amato, the seven- 
ten-year-old son of a well-known movie 
star (and every night Tommy drowned 
his bed); Randall Hickman, an ex-hotel 
manager who had deliberately wrecked 
his car, and. now possessed a corrugated 
skull and he nd Marvin Morris, 
a songwriter who, like me, had also un- 
successfully attempted suicid 

І never did understand fully what the 
four of us were supposed to accomplish 
during these weird, triweekly sessions. 
The two psychiatrists never uttered 
sound: they sat impassively on their 
metal folding chairs, looking us over 


ys at 


A-M. i 


adaches 


like a couple of bespectacled owls caught 
out in the sunlight at high noon. We — 
the sick ones ~ were supposed to dis- 


cuss our problems; 1 believe that was 
the general idea. But the atmosphere 
in the scaly, gray-walled ward was too 
depressing for talk of kind. The 
first few minutes of every meeting were 
ably awkward, taut with the clear- 
ings of tense, dry throats. Ward Eleven 
was an unused ward (by cannily raising 
its monthly rates, the hospital had man- 
aged to rid itself of several unwanted, 
low income patients). We sat in а rough 
semicircle, smoking, trying to avoid look- 
ing in the direction of the six unoccu- 
pied mattresses on the floor by the dooi 
way. ‘The electroshock machine rested 
on a small metal мап! in опе corner 
of the room, and r 
the  rubber-sheeted 
When the shock treatments were give! 
carly every morning the unconscious 
bodies were deposited on the mattresses 
until they recovered, and then the be- 
dazd patiems were led away to 
breakfast. No, the atmosphere was 
exactly conducive to animated talk, but 
the hospital was still amped for space 
апа Ward Eleven һай been pressed into. 


service as a 


any 


t next to 


igh was 
treatment tabl 


eat 
not 


oup the 


apy meeting place 


lor electro- 


as well as а treatment тоон 
shock therapy. 

Although there is a federal law against 
photographing nuts in а funny factory, 
these group therapy sessions were great 
human comedies that should have been 


put on film. They were the kind of 
Chaplinesque comedies that cause strong 
men to weep copious tears. Albert Mc- 
cery would have loved to show them 
live on television's old Cameo Theatr 
cutting back and forth from face to face. 

After the prolonged silence becami 
most unbearable, young Tommy wi 
always first to break the unhappy un- 
siness. 

I wet my bed again last night 
simple announcement. Tommy w 
longer embarrassed by his chronic cnu- 
resis, now that the doctors had convinced. 
him that his was a psychosomatic con- 
dition, and he felt that we older patients 
could help him. We were grateful to 
Tommy every time, of course, for get 
ting us through the sound barrier. 

Did you try clevating your fect? 
Marvin would ask eagerly. 

“Yes, sir. I slept with three pillows 
under my fect, but they didn't do any 
good.” 

The group therapy session was then 
under way. We discussed movies, B.B., 
Russia, bridge, paperback novels, the 
quality of the hospital food, taxes, the 
L.A. walfic, the new long-distance dial 
п fact, except our 
ıl problems. Tommy, 
however, was always provided with sev 
eral thoughtful suggestions for Ais litle 
problem — not that any of them ever 
proved to be successful. The two doctors 
didn't take notes. they never made any 
comments or suggestions, and they never 
tied to steer our digressive conversa- 
tons. For this much we were grateful, 
all of us, and I believe we did our best 
to entertain them so they wouldn't be 
too bored during their listening-in hour. 
But maybe the meetings did the doctors 
»od — 1 really don't know or care. 
ave died, I refused flatly to a 
tend any more of thi 

W: 


personal, individu 


n. 


1d Fourteen wasn't a locked ward, 
nd as its privileged residents, we had 
considerable freedom within the hos- 
pital. There were 16mm movies every 
night in the patients’ lounge; there was 
a small library, а ТУ set on the porch, 
nd there was a snack bar, but I gave 
up these frivolous activities for the full- 
time occupation of my uncomfortable 
bedside chair. I ate my three full meals 
every day, marching to the dining room 
with the others when it way our ward's 
turn to Cat, but I returned immediately 
rd to my chair. After dinner each 
night [ went to bed, sleeping dream- 
lessly until six-thirty л.м. I could have 
slept all the time, I think, but we weren't 
allowed to lic on our beds during the 


afterw 


day. Unable to drowse in my hard metal 
id meditated, read and 


chair, I read 
meditated again, and it was always the 
same book: Thomas Merton's The Silent 
Life. 


I was fascinated by the various ac- 


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PLAYBOY 


104 


counts of monastery life, particularly the 
account of the Carthusians, and the way 
they lived in their isolated hermitages. 
Here were the men who had discovered 
the right answer to the complexities of 
life, and I was saddened by the knowl- 
edge that I could never be one of them. 
These holy monks had a curious mixture 
of humility and vanity I could never 
hope to achieve. They believed that 
they were humble enough they would. 
sec God when they died — surely this 
was a strange vanity. But I knew that 
God would never look at a wretch like 
me. However, there was another way, 
and now that I had timc to think, more 
time than I had ever had before in my 
entire life, the new idea appealed to me 
more and more. To reach the top wasn't 
ficult; only a small percentage com- 
peted for the top, and I had been up 
there three different times already. But 
the pyramid was much broader at the 
base. How many men had consciously 
directed every effort toward achieving 
the absolute bottom of the pile? bu: 
ing their way purposely to the 
center of the bottom of humanity? If I 
could only get down there, really down, 
Ш the way down, and without any out- 
side help — Ah! — here was a unique 
terrible aspiration! How? How? A man 
could meditate forever on this fascinat- 
ing problemt 

My deliberations were interrupted 
one morning by Dr. Fellerman, who had 
approached my bed surreptitiously and 
tapped me on the shoulder, He wanted 
to know if I would like to talk to 
alone in his office twice a week. 

"I've got an hour open on Thursday 


now, and another on Monday. I'll 
squeeze you in.” 
“Squeeze in somebody «е? I told 


him coldly. “E have nothing to say to 
you.” Unbidden, he had interrupted a 
very important train of thought, and I 
glared at him to express my annoyance. 
Fellerman was a tall, almost cadaverous- 
looking man; a tired-faced and osten- 
sibly overworked doctor. In his loose, 
knee-length white coat, with his humped 
shoulders, with his narrow head 
cocked to one side, he always reminded 
me of an unskilled mechanic listening 
for an engine knock. 
nd you won't rejoin our group 
therapy sessions, cither?” 

"No. But if I happen to come up with 
id suggestion for Tommy Amato,” 
id sarcastically, "I'll write it down 
and give it to him in the dining тоот." 

І got to my feet, turned my back on 
the doctor, and sat down again fa 
the wall, thereby terminating the unwel- 
come interview. This brief interchange 
occurred on a Monday afternoon. On 
Wednesday morning, right after break- 
fast, Luchessi, the male nurse, told me 
that we were going to Dr. Fellerman's 
office. Any mental patient has the privi- 


and 


ng 


lege of arguing with his doctor, but only 
а crazy man will argue with a male 
nurse. Without protest, I accompanied 
Luchessi to Fellerman’s office. 

“Гуе decided to give you the short 
series of nine electroshock treatments, 
Mr. Haskell." Fellerman stated this calm- 
ly, without any preamble; the scntence 
was a nail on a slate. 

The hand, my right, carrying the 
arette to my mouth, was arrested in mid- 
l was astonished, yes, but my fear 
was even greater. The hairs at the nape 
of my neck stiffened. The six white- 
sheeted mattresses on the floor in Ward 
Eleven appeared vividly, sickeningly, in 
my mind. And the small electroshock 
machine, which resembled a cheap port- 
able phonograph more than anyth 
else, became a leather-covered symbol of 
terror — swift, sudden death! 

"No," I managed to say at last, 
aren't serious!” 

І don't know what else to do with 
you, Mr. Haskell" He shrugged. “Do 
you still hold the opinion that the Devil, 
rather tl 


you 


"What my opinions happen to be on 
any subject arc not your concern —" 

"But you are, as my patient. You won't 
attend group therapy, you've refused to 
talk to me, and you aren't getting any 
better.” 

‘Depression is something I can learn 
to live with,” I said bitterly, “but I can’t 
live with death.” 

“Now you're being melodramatic: 

“Am P How many people survive 
electroshock treatments? 

“The fatality percentage is so small 
we don't even consider it as 
any longer — that is, in compa 
the good — 

"lcs important to me! What is the 
percentage?" 

“I don't recall the exact figures, but 
it’s less than one fatality in three or 
four thousand. And that would be a 
person with a weak heart, or —" 

“Nine treatments in a row drops those 
odds down to a damned dangerous level! 

“If we thought there was any г 
danger, Mr. Haskell, we wouldn't con- 
sider electroshock therapy. You're a 
strong, healthy young man, except for 
being a little overweight; and to lessen 
the convulsion we'll give you curare to 
relax you.” 

"Poison? І see. If the shock doesn't 
kill me the curare will! Is that the idea 
assure you, Mr. Haskell, you have 
nothing to worry about. The treatments 
start tomorrow morning. Don't go to 
breakfast with your ward.” 

And if I refuse?" 

"Don't you want to get well?” 

“Not if I have to take shock treatments 
I don't!” 

‘There's absolutely no pain, Haskell.” 
don't care about the pain, but I 


don't want to lose my memory. My mem- 
ories may be bitter, but they're all I've 
got left, and I want every single one of 
them. 

"There is a slight memory loss, but 
it's only a temporary condition.” 

"I don't care to discuss it. I refuse to 
take the treatments, and that’s final!” The 
forgotten cigarette burned my fingers, 
and I dropped it into his desk ashtray — 
skull. The ashtray alone 
was the key to the psychiatrist's sadistic 
nature. 

The choice isn’t yours to make, Has- 
kell.” he reminded me. 

You're frightening me, Doctoi 

“You needn't be. Your wife has con- 
sented to the treatments." 


“I don't believe you!” 
“Irs true, 


nevertheless. Don't build 
these simple shock treatments up out of 
all proportion in your mind. If all goes 
well, and it often does, you may not 
need nine of them. Sometimes six are 
plenty, and you'll be going home before 
you know it. 

"But I don't want to go home!" I 
wailed. Despite my shame, 1 couldn't 
prevent the tears that streamed down my 
face. “All I want, all I ever wanted, is 
to be let alone. Blubbering helplessly 
into my sleeve, 1 stumbled blindly out 
of his office, and Luchessi took me back 
to the ward. 

A few minutes later, and considerably 
calmer, I realized upon reflection that 
most of my scanty knowledge about elec 
troshock therapy had been learned sec- 
ond-hand from а fellow patient, Nathan 
Becker, during bull sessio: on the 
porch. Unintentionally, perhaps, Nate 
had implanted a dread of the little ma- 
chine in my head by innocently under- 
playing the description of his own course 
of treatments. 

"I didn't mind too much," he told me 
quietly. His dark, sienna eyes already 
had a puzzled expression, and at the 
time, he had only had three treatments. 
“On the first one I asked to go first be- 
ause I was scared and I wanted to get 
over with. I climbed up on the table 
in Ward Eleven and the four nurses — 
Luchessi's one of them — all got а good 
hold on my pajamas and. dressing gown. 
One guy held onto my feet. When the 
electricity shoots through your brain 
you get one helluva big convulsion, you 
see, and if these guys didn’t hold you 
in a tight brace you'd get your back 
broke. Anyway, Dr. Fellerman slipped 
the little harne: 1. There's 
a chromium electrode that clamps tight 
over each temple. Then they stick a 
curved piece of rubber hose in your 
mouth to bite down on. If they didn't, 
you'd bite off your tongue, I suppose. 
And that's it. 


s over my h 


‘What do you mean, that's it?" I asked 
tensely. 
“Blooey, that's all.” 


“Bloocy?” 


"I know you rest in the daytime, but it’s sleep 
at night that's important.” 


PLAYBOY 


106 


"Blooey. 1 didn't feel anything. Next 
thing I know I'm awake and looking up 
at the ceiling, only instead of being on 
the table I'm flat on my back on one of 
those mattresses in Ward Eleven. You 
know the — 

"E know, E know. But what did vou 
feel? Did vou have any screwy dreams 
while you were out, or anything like 


I don't think so.” He shook his 
st blooey, thats all. One min 
ute I'm wide awake. а little scared, look 
ing up ас Dr. Fellerman's face, and then 
I'm on the mattress looking at the ceil 
ing instead. A funny feeling. Soon's the 
orderly sees you're awake he sends vou 
across the hall to the kitchen in Ward 
Ten for scrambled ¢ 
way vou want, but I always get n 
scrambled.” 

"But there must be more to the shocks 
n that, Nate. You make the whole 
thing sound too simple.” 

“Lt is simple, Hask. 1 watched some 
of the other guys before Т took my sec 
d treatment to see how it worked with 
them. And that was it. Soon's the elec- 
trodes аге in place Dr, Fellerman turns 
the two knobs on the machine. There 
can’t be more than а hundred and ten 
volts, because the cords plugged into 
the wall socket— and Dr. Fellerman 
watches the needle pretty close.” 

"What's this about the needle? 


. You can get “em 


ne 


“The needle on the gauge. The mi- 
chine is preset, but there isn’t any theo- 
stat, or whatever you want to call it. So 
when the needle hits the right number 
n the gauge the doctor just turns off 
the machine. And thats it. ES 
"But the patient on the table: what 
kind of a convulsion does he hav 
"You can't really tell, not with all 
those guys holding him and all. But all 
all, it's a very humane machine, Hask 
ine the electric chair works the 
y when they execute somebody 
r, flip the 
switch, and blooey, that's all. OF 
ate frowned, "they have to 
v into the electric chair be- 


1 imagi 
same w: 


They shove the guy in the ch 


old 


ip the 


probably snaps 1 
he's dead by that time so 
any difference.” 

Nate Becker was no longer with us 
The course of shock treatments had 
helped him —perhaps they had e 
nated his mental depression. altogether 
— and he had been discharged from the 
hospital. But after a very few treatments 
he had developed a frowning, perplexed 
expression. He had been unable to re- 
call entering the hospit ny of the 
events that had occurred for several 
months prior to his admi 1 had 
Iked to him several times before his 


doesn't make 


. 0 


release, and except for his loss of mem- 


“Darling, I think it may be wisest for you to remain 
out of sight while I negotiate this loan.” 


ory, which bothered him conside 
he was a rational. perfectly normal— 
nothing. That was it. nothing! He was 
neither depressed nor elated. He was 
stonily indifferent, and he had believed 
Dr. Fellerman when he was told that 
his memory would return, all in good 
time. 

But | 
second 

My 


didn't believe it, not for 


ms perspired. My throat 
first time in my 
I ar! Ord 
familiar emotion 1 had known intim 
ly, many times = the fear of los 
ım or a leg or an eye in battle, when 
I had fought. (for a blissfully short thre 
months toward the very end) in Ko 
the fear of being broke, the Tear of suc- 
cess, and the fear of failure; and cer- 
t of death. And I had also 
nvoiced fe 


was 
dry. For the very life 


new true f 


secret, ц r, the 


ly rarely to himself: the terror of 
th! Is there an afterlife or isn’t 
there? and if there is, how will a man 
fare there? Will he be able to withstand 
the punishment meted out to him ac- 
cording to his earthly record? 

But what were any of these childish, 
mundane fears compared to the worst 
fate on earth, the worst possible misfor- 
tune that could happen to mortal m 
The [ear of becoming a vegetable! Could 
ny misfortune he grea 

His memories, 
at his own stupiditie: 
are fi 


alterde; 


when the chips 
ally down, these are all that а 
left to him. Otherwise, а man 
ip, а pine wee, a daisy, а weed, 
through the grace of the sun 
g the day, and 
nself of excess carbon d : 


death, 1 could have faced it. Perhaps 1 
even could have mustered some show of 
insouei bravery—1 didn't really 
know 

But 1 had only to go to one of the 
glass windows on the porch and look 
out over the verdant hospital grounds. 
On а warm day there were always five 
ix hospitalized human vegetables 
sitting on benches beneath the sun. Most 
of them were old men, white-thatched, 
perfectly harmless, and they were al- 
lowed to remain outside all day long 
when the weather was nice. They never 
bothered anyone, they didn't talk, they 
didn't think, they couldn't rc 
anything, not even their names, and 
their ability to laugh was completely 
gone. Plants. Vegetables. 
ients live for an uncommon- 
ıd 1 was only thirty-two. 
th that 
or dires 


or 


nembe 


coursed 


or must 
have to achieve any kind of success in 
the world of make-believe: the 


to put myself into someone else's place. 
I could project myself into the future, 
near and ; Haskell the Vegetable, sit- 
ting in the sunlight year after year until 
he was a feeble old man of eighty 
ninety! — the damned busybody med 
were learning more about geriatrics 
every day! 

No longer was I Haskell the Arrogant, 
the onc man im Hollywood who had 
never taken anything from anybody. I 
transformed almost instantaneously 
ny cool, logical imagination into 
kell the Abject, Haskell the Craven 
If Dr. Fellerman 
wl I would crawl. IF 


wa 


by 
H 
Haskell the Begg: 
wanted me to c 
he wanted to sce me humbled, or if he 
wanted his feet washed, 1 would wash his 
feet and anoint them with scented oils. 
The gelid dread that clutched my 
trails was panicky, and there was so little 
time! The relentless clock Lu- 
chessi’s desk told me that it was 11:40. 
1 had to see Fellerman now, before he 
left the hospital at noon. When tomor- 
row morning came it would be too late; 
they would inject their South American 
re into my veins and destroy my 
nd forever with their machine. Con- 
my inner conflict 5 
could, 1 headed for the nurse's desk at 
the end of the ward. 

You should've те 


above 


c 


as well 


led me, Luches- 
I said smil bout the group 
py session in Ward Eleven. 
^I thought you dropped out of group 
apy?" But he wasn't suspicious; he 
already filling in a hall pass for me 
“I did for a while, but I was supposed 
gain today. Thats what the 
doctor wanted to talk to me about this 


Luchessi 
isn't my 


u know." 
ss. "But it 


“Jus mine, I know, but I simply for- 
got about it. 105 probably too late to go 
at all now, but if I didn’t show up any 
Dr. Fellerman would say that I was 
+ uncooperative. You know how 


wi 


You'd better get a move oi 

I had escaped legally from the wa 
Despite our privileges in the unlocked 
ward, we allowed to wander 
around the hospital without an official 
pass and a destination of some kind 
But nobody stopped me. When I reached 
Ward Eleven the group therapy session 
was just breaking up. Tommy 
was the first patient through the door. 
I nodded to him absently, brushed by 
the three other emerging patients а 
entered the ward. Dr. Fellerman 
Dr. Mullinare were still seated on their 
folding metal chairs, holdi post- 
mortem, I supposed, on the lately de. 
parted quartet of singers. I hesitated just 
ide the doorway, not allowing my 

to look toward the ri nd the 


weren't 


Amato 


eye 


| 
| 


“All bette 


. Mr. Nelson — you'll be 


out of here in no time.” 


electroshock achine and 
able. 

Jello there, Haskell!” Dr. Mullinare 
called out cheerily. “Long time no see!” 
(This Mullinare character was a real 
cornball.) 

pod morni: 
sponded pleasantly 
you gentlemen thi: 


to talk for a 


treatment 


Sorry to intrude on 
way, but Tw 
moments with 


Dr. 
Fellerman." I moved toward them, hold- 


few 


myself. 
Th 


ily erect. 

"s quite all right, Haskell,” Fel- 
said. "We're finished here” He 
winked at Mullina “We an 
about that Jat ЇЇ right. Frank?” 

“Sure.” Mullinare clasped my shoul- 
der with а sweaty, meaty hand. “We've 
missed you at our little sessions, Ha 
kell," he said lightly 

I've missed them too, Doctor," I lied. 
"Perhaps Dr. Fellerman will let me re- 
join the group? 

Mullinare didn't reply. He left the 
ward, closing the doors behind him. I 
wet my parched lips, wondering how to 
begin. The practiced silence peculiar to 
psychiatrists puts every patient on the 
defensive. These doctors rarely, if ever, 
ask questions, except perl 
incurious, unblinking eyes — but even 
their eyes are distorted, as a гий 
hind glasses. Fellerman, his skinny shoul 
ders hunched, his narrow head cocked 
to the right as he looked up at me from 
his seated position, gave me no eacour- 


lerm 


s- 


, be- 


agement whatsoever. His 
personal as doom, How could any man, 
human being, approach such а ma- 
chine? 

I've been hoping 
bly (it was the first u 
another male a ge of 
twelve), “that you might reconsider the 
idea of putting me on shock treatments. 
My attitude has been poor all along, 
sir, and I realize that now. And I apol- 
ogize. If 1 am to help myself, I must 
cooperate ft and the other 
members of the staff. And Т want you 
to know, Dr, Fellerman, I'm ready to 
turn over a new leaf. И you'll allow me 
to do so, IT return gladly to the group 
therapy sessions. Amd if you still have 
those two free hours a week open you 
rd li advantage 
of them as well. Why, when I finally 
managed to get it through this thick, 
dumb head of mine, Doctor, that I was 
only hurting myself by my poor attitude, 
I began to feel better right away. Yes, 
and that's the truth! Why, I'm not 


ace was as im- 


I began hum- 


ne І had addressed 


ir" since the 


ly with yor 


mentioned, to take 


s depressed as 1 was when I 
talked to vou earlier this morning 

I essiyed a little laugh then, and it 
was indeed a pitiful, strangling sound. 
Js there anything more heartrendi 


false gaiety? 


than the sound of forced, 

“And what's more, sir" I continued 
doggedly, "my change titude. will 
be beneficial to my fellow patients, too. 
Out in the hall just now, when 1 bumped 


107 


PLAYBOY 


108 


“Of course, when we were first married we were compatible. 
Sometimes as often as three ov four times a night.” 


into young To 
how selfish I've been all along, thinking 
only of myself instead of the others. 
And as you may remember, Doctor, I 
talked quite a bit at group therapy, just 
as much if not more than any of the 
other patients. I've got a good mind, 
Doctor, an inventive mind, and if I put 
all of my intelligence to work, TI bet 


you anything you want to wager that I 
п come up with a valid solution to 


Tommy's bed-wetting problem! Yes, sir! 
If you'll cancel those shock treatments 
ГИ get a notebook and pencil and start 
working on Tommy's problem right 
way. I know it sounds funny, now that 
Im a mental patient, but when I was 
in college I got straight A’s in Logic. 
And I'll also bet you, sir” (for a brief 
instant I considered injecting another 
forced, merry little laugh into my mono 
log. but I swiftly changed my mind, 
knowing I couldn't pull it off convinc- 
ngly) "that once І solve Tommy's 
problem ГЇЇ also solve my own! 

"From what little knowledge I've 
picked up about Freud — оГ course, I 
don't know nearly as much as you do, 
what with your wonderful training and 
the brilliant record you've established 
and all — but it's a sign of progress 
1 mean, when a mental patient starts 
to think about other people instead of 
himself, isn't that an indication of re- 
covery? Well, maybe not. But what I 
want to get over to you is that I'm not 
in any badly depressed state any longer. 
Electroshock treatments are for people 
who really need them. And when we get 
into our private consultations — just you 
and I alone —I don't like to confess 
really personal things in a group session, 
but when its only you and I, I'll tell 
you everything, anything you want to 
know!” 

Involuntarily, in the face of his si 
lence, my voice dropped down to an 
aspirate whisper. “For instance, 
my wife and I were first married we were 
very much in love, Doctor. And some 
of the things we did together — sex play, 
I guess you'd call it were pretty un- 
usual. 1 know you want to go home to 
lunch now, but when we meet alone ГЇЇ 
tell you about every intimate thing we 
did together. They were really sordid, 
some of the things we did, at least from 
a Freudian point of view, but I'll tell 
you all the details. FI even make notes 
if you want me to, so I don't forget a 
single moment. I'll do anything, 
thing, only please, please, please. . . 

I was unable to continue. Dr. Feller- 
man's impassive expression hadn't 
changed once as I had talked. Nothing 
I had said (or possibly could say) made 
any impression on the man. I dropped 
abjectly to my knees, and kissed the toes 
of his shoes. He wore black, rather old- 
fashioned, high-topped shoes, and white 
cotton socks. And I was furious with 


when 


sc. 


myself because I couldn't cry. The 
needed tears wouldn't come, and I had 
a desperate need for every crutch on the 
emotional scale to elicit sympathy from. 
this stone, this dehumanized machine 

"Get up, Haskell, get up from the 
floor. 

“Yes, sir." I scrambled to my fect. 
“You'll take me back in group therapy, 
Doctor? And you won't put me on shock 
treatments?” 

He got up from the chair, stretching 
his long arms as he yawned, and yawn 
he did! “No, Haskell, the shock treat- 
ments will do you a lot of good.” With- 
out a backward glance, he started toward 
the exit. 

Before he took three steps I caught up 
with him. My fingers dug deeply into his 
throat before he could cry out. He strug- 
gled, but he didn’t have a chance. De- 
spite his height, he didn't weigh more 
than a hundred and fifty pounds. I 
icked his feet out from under him and. 
followed him to the floor, still clutching: 
his scrawny neck. I squeezed relentlessly 
until my fingers tingled with pain, but 
the moment his body went limp I 
dragged him to the treatment. table in 
the corner. Using hastil ripped strips 
of sheeting I snatched from one of the 
mattresses on the floor, І tied his body 
to the table. As I began to stuff his slack 
mouth with wadded paper towels from 
the pile on the metal stand, Fellerman 
gagged slightly and opened his eye: 
Without his glasses, which had been di: 
lodged during our one-sided wrestling 
match, his brown eyes were very expres- 
deed, particularly when I slipped. 
lastic harness over his head and ad- 
sted the shiny electrodes to his temples. 
A simple, impersonal, uncomplicated 
machine. I plugged the cord into the 
wall outlet, turned the two plastic knobs 
to the right as far as they would go, and 
left them there. The black, sensitive 
needle beneath the glass of the gauge hit 
the red plus-pole so hard it almost bent. 
‘The convulsions were terrible. 1 couldn't 
bear the sight of this long, skinny body 
buckling and jerking beneath the steady 
flow of electricity. But it was no halluci- 
nation; I can see him still through my 
own eyes. 

"Turning away, I lit a cigarette. And as 
I hurried back down the corridor to my 
ward (it was time to get into the lunch 
line for the march to the dining room), 
1 considered the 
lems of capturing 
flm from a directors point of view. 
Handled right, with an exceptionally 
good score on the sound track, the scene 
would scare hell out of an average movie 
idience. But one mistake of any kind, а 
slipup, and they would burst into em- 
barrassed, giggling laughter. For the 
discreet, unblinking eye of the camera, 
sympathy for either one character or the 
other would have to be firmly established. 


io 


nvolved technical prob- 


this unusual scene on 


prior to showing the scene. And who 
would the hero be? Fellerman or me? 

I never took any electroshock treat 
ments, that much 1 know for certain. 
But although 1 won the battle with 
Fellerman, I lost the war with the hospi- 
tal. They gave me insulin shock treat- 
ments instead, and they were started be- 
fore my transfer came through. The 
nurses came for me early in the morn- 
ings, jerking me out of sleep, dr 
me, kicking and screaming, down the 
dark halls to the unnumbered sound- 
proofed room. When my ankles and 
wrists were bound with loops of 
to the bedstead, they forced the sugar- 
cating, mind-destroying plungerfuls of 
insulin into my terror-stricken body. And 
the long 
than the brief electroshocks could pos- 
ibly have been. Strange things hap- 
pened to me during the comas; some of 
them were my of them 
were те they were r 


ulin comas were much worse 


"What's the matter, Haskell? Are you 
all right?" Ruben sounds as if he is 
genuinely concerned. 

"Sony, Ruben. But I'm all right. 
«ту once in a long while one of those 
ams gets away from me before I c 
catch it. Tm sorry, but after all, i 
wasn't crazy 1 wouldn't be lodged per 
manently in the State Asylum for the 
Criminally Insane — or would 1?” 

“Wall, you'd better take а towel and 
wipe your face. Your head 
wet. 


ure. ГИ do that. 

“Would you like a hooker of paralde- 
hyde to go to sleep on? You're entitled 
to a two-ounce shot if you 

“No. No th ГЇЇ be all right. 

“Then take it easy, Haskell. I don't 
want old man Reddington to get started 
again.” 

He closed the door, and this time he 
locked it. Ruben is a nice guy. But ГЇЇ 
have to watch myself more closely. I 
can't afford the risk of being put or 
n shocks again, Despite the wide 
ps in my memory a continuity pattern 
is already discernible. And if I ever do 
regain my memory in its entirety, they 
won't bc able to bounce me out of here 
as long as I keep the information to 
myself. 1 doubt if they would ever con 
sider seriously the idea of trying me for 
the murder of Fellerman, but they would 
dearly love to throw me back into the 
outside rat-race a But to keep my 
low position on the bottom of the pile 
all I have to do is keep my big mouth 
shut. 

And I'm just the man who can do it, 
too. As Ruben so wisely remarked, I'm 
the only nut in his whole ward who's got 


any sense, 


109 


PLAYBOY 


110 


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COMICS 


(continued [rom page 78) 
enviable reputation im the book and 
magazine field, he moved into the comics, 
bringing with him an ability with pen 
and ink that has seldom been excelled 
to this day. He had the good sense not 
to try for funny animals or humorous 
grotesques. Instead, he created the first 
of the “realistic strips,” Little Nemo. 
The draftsmanship, with its unprece- 
dented use of perspective, and its Max 
field Pairish-Iike setti as a miracle 
of skill combined with imagination. The 
story itself was fantastic, following a 


typical seven- or eight-year-old hoy 
through the land of his dreams. No one 
with eyes in his head could resist the 


stip. And it is a mark of the ageless 
beauty of Little Nemo that when it was 
reprinted, forty years after its first ap- 
pearance, most people thought it was a 
new feature. 

According to Arthur Brisbane, Harry 
Hershfield's Abie the Agent was “the 
first of the adult comics іп Ameri 
Hershfield produced a gentle strip about 
a mild, sweet-tempered Jew and charmed 
the world, for a while. Abie spoke in an 
odd dialect, when he spoke at all, which 
was seldom, and probably accomplished 
much in the fight against prejudice. 

August 3, 1913, saw the first appcar- 
nce of Bringing Up Father and its pro- 
tagonist, the mighty Jiggs. To George 
McManus, who had already achieved 
fame with such pionecring efforts as 
Alma and Oliver, Snoozer, Let 
Do Ii and Panhandle Pete, it 
another comic strip. But Jiggs 
fast. People fell in love with the little 
Irishman and sympathized with him in 
m, which was that of a simple, 
п who likes the simple, honest 
things of life (viz. corned beef and cab- 
Баре, billiards, poker) but is forbidden to 
enjoy them. nd his termagant 
wife Maggie were nouveaux riches. After 
many ycars of happy penury, suddenly 
they had become millionaires. Jiggs did 


other ideas. Now that мете rich, she 
said, brandishing her rolling pin, we're 
oing to act the part. Whereupon Jiggs 
found himself a prisoner of his own am- 
bition, forced to brave the wrath of wife, 
daughter, servants amd business associ- 
order to partake of pleasures 
he'd previously taken for granted. The 
message was comforting, particularly 
during the Depression: don’t hanker 
after таге wealth — you might end. 
up like Jiggs. 

Of course, you might also end up like 
that other son of Fire, George MEM 5. 
who lived a rich, full life, apparently 
undisturbed by the fat bank account he 
ed to Jiggs— whom he 
gly resembled, by the way. 

Not so well remembered as Jiggs, but 


equally famous in his day, was Barney 
Google. Barney began life, in 1919. as a 
bug-eyed shrimp devoted, like Augustus 
Mutt, to the Sport of Kings. He made 
bets, lost them, and cringed at the in- 
vective of a shrewish and domincei 
wife, and it appeared that he would go 
the way of a hundred similar clichés. 
Then, on July 17, 1922, Barney met 
Spark Plug. No sadder horse existed, по 
heart was so easily broken nor so full 
of love for Google, The little fcllow's 
character changed almost overnight. 
Now that someone really cared for him. 
he dropped his wiseacre mannerisms and 
became, in time, the sweet soul Spark 
Plug had known him to be all along. 
Barney rode high for almost two dec- 
then his creator, Billy DeBeck, in- 
troduced him to the various members of 
an Ozark family named Smith, and that 
was the beginning of Barney's decline. 
No stint has ever been able to match a 
rascal in popularity. And no more ras- 
cally figure than Snufly Smith could be 
found on the comic scene. Snuffy, his 
long-suffering wile Lowizic, and his wild 
offspring Jughaid. thrust. Barney from 
the center of the stage and, with an 
gry “Balls o fire!" took over the strip. 
Together, these children of DeBeck's 
imagination contributed more valuable 
words and phrases to the public vocab- 
ulary than any group of real-life people 
had donc for twenty years. From them 


aides: 


we inherited "google-cycd," “heebie- 
jecbies.” “tetched in the haid,” the 
aforementioned "Balls o' fire" and 


many morc, DeBeck died in 1943, but 
there was in Barncy or 
Snufly. Fred refused. to. 

"bring them up to date.” 
Another example of a minor charac- 
ing over Irom the ostensibly more 


Van Buren's strip, which for 
some reason is still called Abbie 'n' Slats, 
although an unsanitary old curmudgeon 
known as Bathless Groggins long ago 
took the stage away from the title two- 
some. Van Buren, an able draftsman, 
usually finds some excuse to involve Bath- 
less in adventures with dusky harem 
beauties. They are decorou 
. but once 


wn bare-bosomed, complete with nip- 
. Sad to relate, the bras were back 
the very next episode. 

Now the question of art must 
its Janus hcad again, lor it is time to 
speak of Krazy Kat. George Herriman 


was an artist in the sense that he drew 
pictures; he was a great artist in the 
sense that the pictures he drew were 


examples of great comic art; whether or 
not he was an artist in the sense of our 
current interpretation of that ilkused 
word is a matter of personal opinion. 
Learned students of the field have 
ranked him with Chaplin, and his crc- 


ation, Krazy, with Don Quixote. Others 
think he was simply a good cartoonist 
who happened to have a screw or two 
loose in his head. Out of the debate one 
fact emerges healthy and unbruiscd: 
Herriman and Krazy were the most 
original fun-makers of their time. They 
were natural phenomena, without an- 
cestors and without heirs, absolutely 
unique in a world where nothing new 
is supposed to happen under the sun. 
‘There was nothing like them before. 
‘There has been nothing like them since. 
And that cannot be said of any other 
comic strip. Who can forget those mys- 
terious, everchangi pes (lo- 
cated somewhere in mythical Coconico 
County): that trinity of fools — Offissa 
Pup. Ignatz Mouse and Krazy— who 
existed for and by themselves; the in 
evitable brick (POW!) hurled with love; 
and the jail that appeared like magi 
out of the Coconico dust? From the 
chaos came order, and no one que: 
tioned the order, for like the genius he 
only at so humble a profession 


create а microcosm and make it work. 
A descr talent was that of Sidney 


Smith. Nevertheless, because of a shrewd 
bargaining sense and the popularity of 
The Gumps, Smith became the first 
millionaire in the business. Unfortunate- 
ly, he never got to enjoy his wealth, for 
on the day he signed his now famous 
million-dollar contract he was involved. 
in an automobile accident, suffering 
fatal injuries. The Gumps weren't par- 
ticularly funny, nor were they well 
drawn. Andy, the protagonist, managed 
to look like a circus freak — huge nose, 
cigarshaped gro- 
tesque hole 


iar triumph. Min, his wile, 


ply a witch. Yet they were ac- 
cepted by America, and soon the Family 
ion dominated the comics. Most of 
these strips were poor but they prepared 
the way for such genuinely worth-while 
ellorts as Qut Our Way, The Timid Soul 
nd Blondie. 
Neither Toonerville Trolley nor Har- 
old Teen were Family Situation strips, 
though both were about families. Fon- 

ine Fox gave us a stylized, economical, 
frequently sophisticated and always zany 
feature: the trolley began as his memory 
of an actual conveyance, but it 
ficult to believe that Fox ever knew 
vone remotely like The Terrible Ten 
pered Mister Bang or Powerful Katrinka 
or Mickey (Himself) McGuire, Carl Ed's 
Harold Teen started at the top and 
stayed there for generations. Harold 
nd his friend Shadow always managed 
» keep a jump ahead of the real-life 
teenagers, and so the characters never 
became dated. 

In an odd way, Smokey Stover was 
born dated. Yet Bill Holman's wacky 
fireman never has conformed to an 


actual period, perhaps because he has 
never lived in an actual world. Under- 
stand NOTARY sojac and roo and you 
understand the strip. 

By the time of World War I, the 
technique of the comic strip had reached 
its present form. There have been refine- 
ments since then, but no significant 
changes. ‘The acrossthe-page panels, the 
“speech balloons" the heavy outlines, 
the sound effects, even the punctuation 
(sentences are never said їп comicland; 
since the days when periods, being tiny, 
got lost in the crude printing processes, 
characters have always. exclaimed!!!) — 


all were standard operating procedure 
son, 


forty-five years ago. For some 
people picked up instantly on the 
toonists’ various codes and symbols, even 
ng 
the less arcane experiments of mode: 
rtists, poets and composers. If a ca 
toonist wished to get across the idea that 
his character was in the grip of anxiety 
or fear, he drew little droplets of per 
spiration about the characters head, 
nba ли was shown by a number 
of li cross the face, surprise by a 
general paralysis of the body, a bugging 
of the eyes and a straight-up flight of 
hat ir. No emotion, however sub- 
ed the swift invention of those 
rly comic artists. They were able, 
through a thousand and one stylized 
devices, to depict the whole complex 


while they were vociferously rejec 


issni 


es 


s n 


structure of m ture- 
consciousness, for example, was 
monplace in comics before most of us 
had heard of James Joyce. Surrealism and 
Dadaism outraged a world which had 
long befo cepted the fanciful flights 
of George Herriman. Even before the 
turn of the century. comic artists were 
making use of sound effects, too. At first 
they all relied upon the stock BANG 
POW! and SOCK!, then Dirks began to 
think up new words and the others fol- 
lowed suit. Soon each cartoonist had his 
own store of effects, some ideal, some 


outlandish. In fifty years, for example. 


guns have gone: BANG! BLAM! 
CRASH! CRACK! CHOW! and eve: 
BURP! (At Dell, publishers of the 


world’s largest line of comic maga 
there is a rule which forbids the depic- 
tion or mention of alcohol, or any 
establishment br 


pensing it, A puckish c ly 
satisfied a lifetime ambition by making 
his gun go: BAR-ROOM!) 


For a Jong time, the comics were 
meant to be comical. Frank King started 
Gasoline Alley (in 1919) as а humorous 
comment on America's love а Tow 
automobiles, for example, but the strip 
soon changed into a Family Situation 
and humor was traded for warmth. Walt. 
Wallet and his foundling son Skeczi 
exuded appeal, behaving 
which most people took to be norm 
Nothing startling here, nothing wild — 


п а manner 


“That, you might say, has been the story of Ralphs life.” 


11 


PLAYBOY 


112 


except the wildest and most startling 
innovation of all, begun by King. These 
comic characters, and these alone, obeyed 
the laws of time. While Mutt and Jeff 
and Skippy and Harold Teen remained 
the same age always, existing in one sus- 
pended moment of forever, the Wallet 
family grew older every day, just like 
people; we watched Skeczix turn into an 
adult, before our ey 

Harold Gray's Little Orphan Annie 
was also realistic, but Gray's methods 
were different. Annie is thirty-six years 
old now, but, apart from a slightly more 
attractive hairdo, she is still the same 
spavined, piteous, blank-eyed little waif 
the world first took to its heart in 1924. 
(Those famed blank eyes sprouted pu- 
pils, suddenly, for a short period i 
the Forties, but the heresy was soon 
squelched.) The strip has always been 
straight soap opera, Annie and her over- 
age dog, Sandy, have blundered in and 
out of situations that would tax the 
resources of Superman, but invariably 


piteou: ator, she is 
perhaps the most willful and stubborn 
female since Carrie Nation, and prob- 
ably more dangerous. In a strip that 
reaches millions of young readers, Annie 
has advocated capital punishment, aboli 
tion of unions, impeachment of a Presi 
dent (F.D.R.) and the establishment of 
aristocratic government — preferably 
headed by a munitions magnate along 
the lines of the story's beneficent hero, 
Daddy Warbucks. 

Science-fiction. would seem a natural 
theme for comics, but only three such 
strips managed to take hold. Buck 
Rogers was the first. Created by John F. 
Dille in 1929, and drawn by Lieutenant 
Dick Calkins, this strip — set five hun- 
dred years in the future — became 
immediate hit with the” pub 
ideas were far-out — space travel, p; 
ysis ray pistols (remember 
n a 1939 panel — the devastation of an 
atomic war, after which we were urged 
10 join the Buck Rogers Solar Scouts 
so that Earth might be defended agai 
such attack. Bucks cohorts were a 
shapely blonde female soldier named 
Lieutenant Wilma Decring and a bulb. 
headed scientific genius, Doctor (*Heh!") 
Huer. Buck's antagonists were snarling, 
mustachioed Killer Kane, the sinuous 
Ardala, and assorted. extra-terrestrials 
such as the Tiger Men of Mars. Flash 
Gordon, which came alter Buck, took 
place not in the future but on the 
fictional planet Mongo, ruled by the 
suangely Asian emperor, Ming the Mer- 
ciless, Flash was an athletic Apollo of 
arthman, and, like Buck Rogers, 
numbered among his cronies а beautiful 
chick (Dale Arden) and a Great Scien- 
tist (black-hearded Dr. Zarkov). Thanks 
to Alex Raymond's superb draftsma 
ship, the most outlandish other- 


an 


worldly 


creatures (hawkmen. lionmen, two- 
headed dragons) were lifelike, hence 
frightening. Also lifelike, but far from 
frightening, were Alex Raymond's fe- 
males — Princess Aura, the Witch Queen 
of Mongo, and Dale herself— most of 
whom in the strip's heyday went around 
in get-ups that were translucent, or 
low-cut, ог slit-skirt, or belly-baring, or 
1 four. Brick Bradford used a time- 
traveling machine (the Time Top) as 
gimmick. It was effective and allowed 
like hero with curly 

locks and a way with curvilinear, under- 
dressed females—to engage in many 
ild adventures in time and space: but 


w 
the strip was not distinctive enough to 
command a great following, and so, 
after a few years, Brick Bradford rode 
his Time Top into the past, where he 
remains. 

Alley Oop began in the past, but this 
ucly Popeye-shaped caveman soon 
established a record for restlessness un- 
matched by any other comic character, 
When his creator, V. T. Hamlin, tired 
of the distant Fictitious Fra (zillions of 
years ago, when men rode pet dinosaurs), 
he catapulted Oop through time to the 
‘Twentieth Century. For fifteen years the 
gruff, no-nonsense prehistoric man has 
been shuttling in and out of most of the 
great periods of history. 

Perhaps neither fantasy nor science- 
fiction — in light of today's discoveries 
in the field of hypnosis— Mandrake the 
Magician continucs, after almost two dec- 
les. to enchant Americans. With his 
tiny mustache, patent-leather hair, top 
hat and opera cape, Mandrake looks 
either like an old-time movie heavy or 
the guy who never found out that not 
all hair dressings are greasy. He is 
neither. He is the world’s greatest hyp- 
notist, numbering among his accomplish- 
ments the power to create individual 
and mass hallucinations at a moment's 
notice and to turn his head into a kind 
of motion picture projector (he faces a 
blank wall, twin beams of light stab 
out from his eyes, and we are treated 
to a Technicolor movie of his inmost 
thoughts). Needless to say, Mandrake 
wages unending war with the under- 
world. 

Prince Valiant must be included 
this general category, for despite artist 
Hal Fosters meticulous attention to 
historical detail, he is essentially a fan- 
tasy man. The strip is alive with legends 
and myths, and always has been. It 
shows us what a Viking ship looks like 
but it also shows us a sword that sings 
and a dark sorcerer named Merlin who 
can pluck daemons out of the air and 
put them to work for him. Because of 
these threads of fantasy interwoven into 
the bright tapestry of fact, and because 
of Foster's magnificent artwork, the 
Duke of Windsor has ied, unequivo- 
cally, that Prince Valiant is “the greatest 
contribution to English literature in the 


past hundred years.” 

Chick Young's Blondie was perhaps 
the first strip to appeal equally to young 
and old. In the beginning she was an 
inane little flapper, and Dagwood was 
a John Held, Jr, type: rich, spoiled, 
stupid. All that changed when Dag- 
wood's father disinherited him. He 
moved to the suburbs, went to work 
for Mr. Dithers, and settled in as an 
authentic piece of Americana. In him 
every housewife saw her bumbling but 
basically lovable husband; and in 
Blondie, cvery male saw the perfect wile. 

A national favorite, after thirty years, 
is Popeye. He first appeared in a daily 
panel called Thimble Theatre, created 
by а fair-to-middling cartoonist named 
Elzie Segar. Segar had been drawing for 
several years, without any particular dis- 
tinction, People sort of went for Olive 
Oyl and her addlepated brother Castor, 
but the feature could hardly have been 
termed a major success. Then came the 
onecyed old spinach-cating sailor, and 
Segar soared to the heights of public 
acclaim. His drawing improved. It took 
on a weird, almost mystical quality. And 
so did his writing. In those days, Popeye 
was a fantasy, and the strip was filled 
with wild and wonderful creatures— 
Alice the Goon, with her body growth 
of fur; Eugene the Jeep, who could 
survive only if fed a daily ration of 
orchids; the infamous Sea Hag; and no 
less wild and no less wonderful, J. 
Wellington. (“I'l gladly pay you to- 
morrow lor a hamburger today") Wimpy 
— who singlehandedly made the ham- 
burger America's number one dish. Se- 
gar's contributions to the language were 
innumerable. In addition to jeep and 
goon, he gave us Blow me down! and 
I yam what 1 yam ат tha's all 1 yam! 
—surely one of the clearest statements 
of personal philosophy ever uttered. 
Popeye was continued after Segar's 
death, but not even the combined talent 
of Tom Si nd Bela Zaboly could 
duplicate the master's vision. Some fans 
still wish that the syndicate had decided 
to bury the creation with the creator, 
as was done in the case of Krazy Kat. 
(А memorial statue of the old sailor 
stands today in Crystal City, as.) 
For Popeye is exclusively a kid's strip 
now, cute as a bunny and dull as virtue. 

No such description could ever apply 
to Li'l Abner. For twenty-five years this 
handsome, hulking hillbilly has been 
characterized as The Great American 
Boob, but Abner isn't a boob and 
neither is his author, Al Capp. Both 
are men of native, almost sinistcr iri 
telligence, and though it is true that 
they make people laugh, it is also true 
that this laughter is more often bitter 
than joyful. Capp's subjects have always 
been serious. At one time or another he 
has dealt with almost every major issue 
of our era. But, like Swift, he is a pro- 
found pessimist, having faith only in 


man’s sublime and transcendental stu- 
There is no stopping this stu- 
Capp seems to be saying, and 
there is no ignoring it. Therefore one 
must laugh. 

In the strict sense, Capp is not a 
humorist at all, but a harlequin, singing 
funny songs in the court of a corrupt 
King. Charles Chaplin has said, “For me 
personally. Al Capp. with his delightful 
characters, opens new vistas of broad 
buffoonery with inspirational satire, 
John Steinbeck goes a step further: “I 
think Capp may very possibly bc the 
best writer in the world today. I am 
sure that he is the best satirist since 
Laurence Sterne,’ 

Despite his pessimism, his savage sa- 
tire, and. his coterie status, Al Capp has 
produced. the most consistently amusing 
comic strip of them all. It may be that. 
we enjoy laughing at ourselves, or it 
may simply be that we like the sugar 
coating so well that we don't mind the 
. It is certainly tasty sugar, com 
pounded of great and distinctive draw- 
ing, succulent maidens, mad grotesques. 
unbridled imagination, and an argot so 
compelling that it has passed into the 
(ugh!) public vocabulary. 

An ad nal secret to Lil Abner's 
success is Capp's ability to keep in step 
with the times. His eyes and ears are 
open constantly, and they miss notl 
The same is true of Milton Canill. He 
slipped into the comic world slightly 
ahead of Capp with a strip called Dickie 
Dare. It was not terribly inventive, but 
it was superbly rendered and carefully 
researched, and because of these quali- 
ties gained prest Can 
Dickie alter a while and thought up 
something new. It was roughly the same 
sort of thing, only with gre: 
He called it Terry and the Pirate. 

For almost twenty years Сап stuck 
with Terry, refining and improving the 
strip to perfection. Then he turned it 
aver to George Wunder, who could copy 
his style but not duplicate it, and Canill 
went on to even greater fame with his 
current creation, Steve Canyon. A car- 
toonist can work all his life and count 
himself fortunate if he manages one real 
success. Caniff has managed three. If he 
cventually tires of Canyon, the figure 
might very well become four. 

We're in a slack period now. There 
haven't been many grand creations in 
the field, although we can point — with 
considerable pride— to Pogo and Pea- 
nuts. As such things are reckoned, those 
two are destined for immortality. And. 
who knows? Perhaps they indicate the 
end of a cycle and a return to the time 
when comics were all fun and warmth 
and love and mysteriousness, when we 
laughed without wondering why, and 
thrilled and shuddered, and were gen- 
erally glad to be around. 

О (sob) happy day! 


113 


PLAYBOY 


114 


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GOOD EGG 


(continued from page 54) 
blender at high speed for 15 to 20 sec 
onds. Pour into saucepan and cook, stir- 
ring frequently, until thick. 


SHIRRED EGGS WITH SHAD ROE 
(Serves four) 


1 pair fresh or canned shad roe 

Salad oil 

Salt, white pepper 

Juice of 14 lemon 

8 eggs 

4 tablespoons melted butter 

4 tablespoons butter (not melted) 

2 tablespoons vinegar 

1% cup drained capers 

2 tablespoons minced. parsley 

Preheat broiler 10 minutes. Place roe 
in broiler pan, brush them lightly with 
salad oil, and sprinkle with salt and 
pepper. If fresh, broil them 8 to 10 m 
utes, turning once: if canned, only un- 
til light brown. Then sprinkle roc with 
е, cut them diagonally into 
4 in. thick, and divide into 
Pour 1 tablespoon melted 
butter into cach shirred-egg dish, add 2 
eggs, duly salted and peppered, and 
place roe slices on top of the eggs. Bake 
in 350° oven for 10 to 12 minutes or un- 
til whites of eggs are set; avoid overcook. 


4 portions. 


ing. Meanwhile, brown the unmelted 
butter in a small frying pan, and add 
vinegar and capers. Then remove from 


fire. When the eggs are cooked, pour 
the buttered capers over them. Garnish 
with parsley and serve at once. 


SCRAMBLED EGGS WITH CHILT AND 
TOMATOES 
(Serves four) 


В slices fresh tomato, %4 
Salt, pepper, papr 

m 
Salad oil 
8 cogs 
6 tablespoons sweet butter 

4 cup canned green chili peppers cut 
to small dice 

Sprinkle tomato slices with salt, 
per and paprika. Dip in flour, patting 
off excess. Heat oil to a depth of 14 in. 
in a skillet, and as soon as it sends up 
the first wisp of smoke, sauté the tomato 
until lightly browned on both 
sides, and set aside in а warm place. 
Beat eggs until whites are no longer 
visible, and sprinkle generously with 
salt. Melt 4 tablespoons butter in a 
large skillet, or electric griddle set at 
300°. Add cggs, chili peppers, and 
cook, stirring constantly and scraping 
pan bottom frequently, until half done. 
Add balance of butter and continue 
cooking and stirring until eggs are 
neither dry nor soupy, Spoon into serv- 
ing dishes or platter and surround with 
єз of fried tomato. 


pep- 


ices 


SCRAMBLED EGGS WITH ROQUE 
(Serves four) 


Y4 Ib. roquefort cheese 

8 eggs 

Salt, pepper, paprika 

14 teaspoon Tabasco sauce 

6 tablespoons sweet butter 

Crumble the roquefort by hand or 
fork into small pieces and set aside. 
Beat eggs until whites are no longer 
visible and sprinkle lightly with salt, 
adding Tabasco sauce and mixing well. 
Melt 4 tablespoons butter im a skillet 
over a slow flame or in an electric grid- 
dle set at 300°, Add eggs and cook, stir- 
ring constantly and scraping pan bot- 
tom frequently, until half done. Add 
roquefort, balance of butter, and con- 
tinue cooking and stirring until eggs 
are neither dry nor soupy. Spoon onto 
serving dishes or platter and serve with 
buttered toast triangles. 


SCRAMBLED EGGS WITH SMOKED OYSTERS 
(Serves four) 

Follow above recipe, but instead of 
roquefort, add one 5547. can cocktail 
окей oysters, drained of oil. Cook un- 
re done and serve with buttered 
ngles. 


toast 


SPINACH OMELET PARMESAN 
(Serves two) 


10-02. pkg. frozen chopped spinach 

4 tablespoons butter 

1 Spanish onion, cut 

possible strips 

4 tablespoons grated parm 

Salt, pepper, monosodium glutamate 

6 eggs 

2 tablespoons cold water 

Cook spinach, following directions on 
package, and drain very well— иссл 
ing out excess juice by hand if necessary. 
Melt 2 tablespoons butter in a saucep 
or skillet and sauté onions until 1 
yellow, not brown. In a bowl combine 
spinach, onion and parmesan, season 
with salt and pepper to taste, and ser 
side. For each omelet beat 3 eggs, then 
add I tablespoon cold water, М u 
spoon salt, a dash of monosodium glu- 
tamate and pepper. Melt | tablespoon 
butter in a pan; as soon it sputters, 
pour in the eggs and half the spinach 
mixture, stirring at once. Wait a 
seconds unti] the omelet begins to set 
on the bottom, then lift it with a spa 
and tilt pan to permit uncooked egg to 
flow to the pan bottom, repeating sev- 
eral times if necessary. Keep flame low 
to permit omelet to cook through but 
not burn. When it has become soft yet 
cohesive on top, slide the omelet to the 
far edge of the pan, fold it in two or 
three, and turn onto serving dish. 


into thinnest 


an cheese 


few 


MANDARIN OMELET WITH CURAGAO 
(Serves two) 


6 eggs 
V, cup granulated sugar 


% teaspoon vanilla 

Salt 

2 tablespoons cold water 

2 tablespoons butter 

1007. jar mandarin orange segments 

1 cup curacao 

Confectioners’ sugar 

For each omelet beat 8 eggs well, add 
2 tablespoons granulated sugar, и tea 
spoon vanilla, dash of salt, 1 tablespoon 
cold water, and pour onto 1 tablespoon 
sputtering butter in the omelet pan. 
Immediately add half the orange seg- 
ments — well drained — and stir well. 
Wait a few seconds until the omelet 
begins to set on the bottom, then lift 
with spatula and tilt pan to permit un- 
cooked egg to flow to the bottom, n 
peating several times if necessary. Keep 
flame low to permit omelet to cook 
through but not burn, When it has be- 
come soft yet cohesive on top, slide the 
omelet to the far edge of the pan, fold 
it in two or three, and turn onto warm 
serving dish or platter. Repeat procc- 
dure for second omelet. Heat the 
curacao in a small pan almost up to the 
boiling point, light it, and spoon over 
the omelets, letting it blaze until the 
flames die out. Sprinkle with confec- 
tioners’ sugar and serve at once. 


SALZBURGER NOCKERLN 


(Serves six) 


1 pkg. instant vanilla puddi 

21, cups milk 

14 cup brandy 

3 egg white: 

14 teaspoon salt 

14 cup granulated sugar 

14 teaspoon vanilla 

3 egg yolks 

2 tablespoons butter 

Confectioners’ suga 

(To make insta 
milk are normally 
ing the milk 
the mi: become: 
sauce.) In a bowl combi 
ding, milk and brandy; bea 
ute, and place mixture in the refrig 
ator to chill until serving time. Pour 
separated egg whites into a deep bowl, 
ld salt, and beat electrically until stiff. 
Very slowly, add the granulated sugar 
while continuing to beat until meringue 
is firm. Then add vanilla. Gradually 
fold the egg yolks— well beaten — into 
the wl . Melt the butter in a skillet 
preheated to 825°, and spoon in the egg 
mixture, Brown carefully on one side, 
then the other; it must be moist and 
foamy inside. Pour chilled sauce into 
serving dishes and spoon поскейп on 
top, sprinkle with confectioners’ or va- 
nilla sugar. Serve at once, and you'll 
agree that no creature great or small 
lays down her ova in so fine a cause as 
the noble pullus gallinaccus. 


or vanilla sugar 
nt pudding, 134 cups 
ed. By incre 
the brandy 
thick light 
е the pud- 
t for 1 min- 


ture 


spirit of the stairs 


(continued from page 83) 
a chance to tell him he is “A stranger 
and afraid in a girl he never made." 

1 am, for the sake of another mot, ап 
art dealer. A well-fixed customer enters 
my well-stocked shop and asks if I can. 
show him some examples of fine old 
Italian originals. I bow submissively, rub. 
my hands in an oily manner, and lead 
a to a quiet little gallery. “Here you 
are, sir," 1 sav. “Tintoretto, Botticelli, 
Leonardo, Fra Angelico, Titian . . . 
Disarmed by 


name your рабап, 
pun, he buys them all 

My final situation requires, merel 
that 1 have a close friend who descril 
in detail the current object of his atten- 
tions, a lady of eye-smiting beauty. He 
ims her ingenuity 
partner is unsurpassed in his experience. 
I gently suggest his experience may be 
imited; he bristles, snorts, finally snarls, 
All right, then, here—" (he scribbles 
her phone number on a scrap of paper) 
— here, take it. Use it. Call her. Date 
her. Look at her. Sce if she isn't the most. 
gorgeous creature you ever laid eyes on: 
see if she isn't the most gifted, the most 


a lovc- 


, the most inventive woman 
you ever — yes, see if she isn't!" And he 
adds, with a sour chuckle: “Jf you can 
get to first base with her. Which I 
strongly doubt.” We part, he hurling 
epithets and casting aspersions; I ex- 
pertly dodging both and letting them 
splatter against the wall. A few 
later, we meet again. 
nastily. I say nothing. “Did you see her?" 
Still I say nothing. “My description of 
her, and my claims about her talents — 
did you concur with them?" Calmly re 
moving my gloves, I say: "I came, I 
1 concurred.” 

you can see, I shall not be caught 
napping when these situations finally 
present themselves. Which reminds me: 
does anybody know an amiable girl, pref- 
erably under thirty, who makes candy? 
Or who is afflicted with a delicate 


coopcrati 


day 
Ме” he chirps 


aw, 


tummy? Or whose name happens to bc 


Morris? You sec, Гус done а pretty good 
job of Shattering To Bits This Sorry 
Scheme OF Things Entire, but I'm hav- 
ing a hell of a time Remolding It Nearer 
То My Heart's Desire. And it's get 
damned lonely out here on the stairs. 


“Pop, can I have the Diners’ Club card tonight?” 


115 


PLAYBOY 


ne 


PLAYBOY PANEL 


that. But I do make a great many sex 
jokes. ! don't talk about bodily func- 
ns, but about mental malfunctions as 
a result of sex opposition. Like the guy 
g a sports car saying it's great be- 
cause how che are you going to get real 
atisfaction? Or the girl who 
her time between complaining 
that there's no virility and running away 
from it when she encounters it. So I 
don't think my work is asex 
Just go to my LPs. 

PLAYBOY: Lenny, you've heen accused of 
bad taste in your act, criticized for using 
four-letter words on a nightclub stage. 
Do you feel this is valid? 

вкосе: Well, as far as working dirty is 
concerned, I had an influence there — 
Harry ‘Truman. You know — Harry's 
working a lot of stags now. He tells the 
jokes and Margaret plays the piano. 


They do all the Ruth Wallis numbers — 
(singing) — “Johnny's got his yo-yo” — all 
the greats. 


WINTERS: To my way of thinking, Lenny 
is such а bundle of talent that he doesn't 
need the swear words. He uses them more 
ог less as shock treatment, but I think 
he does a lot of funny things. Maybe 
he's just going through a phase. It's like 
a lot of guys we knew in the service who 
might have been great servicemen, but 
they leaned on this language because 
they didn't know how to express them- 
selves — and Lenny certainly knows how 
to express himself. I think he ought to 
just throw this four-letter jazz out. 
кисе: I don’t know any more what is 
risqué. Variety, the show business bible, 
has th orial policy to “keep the in- 
dustry clean.” Well, there's a thing 
called brown-nosing, fear of the mighty, 
that “Well, if it’s accepted, it must 
be good.” If its Martha Raye or Sophie 
Tucker, the reviewer rationalizes: “She 
was raucous and bold and racy, but 
then, this is no kindergarten." You 
should see how they destroy an unknown 
comic for the same tl 
ALLEN: The scatological vein has been 
running through humor as far back as 
п trace comedy. If you go back far 
enough —to times considered by mod- 
ern men as epochs of great wisdom and 
peace and wit and spirituality and stuff 
— you find a lot that was so salacious 
that there's just 1 rket for it today 
t all. Even the respected Mark Twain 
wrote a book — 1607 — that 1 personally 
found disgusting. It must have been 
marked down from 7695. 

PLAYBOY: Jonathan, you were saying that 
Lennys swearing is a kind of “crutch.” 
Couldn't the same thing be said about 
your sound effects? 

winters: Гуе been doing noises since I 
was a kid, and 1 still feel it's entert: 
ing. But 1 don't think it's any more of 
a crutch for me than sound effects are 


e 


we ca 


(continued from page 42) 


for the movies. When you go to a movie 
and see a guy shoot a gun. you expect to 
hear a shot. This is what I do with my 
so-called verbal pictures, I used to feel 
that the more sound 1 could put into 
them the closer I'd get to actually being 
in the movies. A lot of people who've 
seen me do a couple of dramatic things 
come up to me and say, “I didn't know 
you could act — 1 thought you only made 
noises.” "They forget that all of us can 
act; what else are we doing up there? If 
we can’t get a Broadway play or a good 
movie part, we turn to these little verbal 
vignettes. | put the sounds in mine just 
to enhance the mood. 

pLayboy: Who are the people you feel 
have influenced your work? 

winters: Of course, I lean heavily on 
the new school —all of these guys. But 
when you ask which direction I really 
came from, I've got to say Bob and Ray 
— now they're older guys, but they are 
two of the brightest talents in the busi- 
ness for my money. Others — Benchley, 
Thurber, Paul Lynd — a great come: 
nd Newhart, I think, is excellent. I 
like Mort, I like Lenny, and— it's a 
combination — all these guys. 

PLAYBOY: Mike? 

nicuots: I am influenced by the art 
forms I embrace and the ones I reject. 
BRUCE: All you can say is that you're in- 
fluenced by everything you've ever read 
and done, If it's good it becomes part of 
your experience. You're in touch with 
people, and the nature of that connec- 
tion is to change what you are. 

DANA: Fm sure that my college back- 
ground was an influence, As a matter of 
fact, when I first got into show business, 
I used to have to watch myself to keep 
from going on a polysyllabic jag. And 
here I am today, butchering English as 
José Jimenez — and. I got my degree in 
speech. Certainly Steve Allen was а tre- 
mendous influence too. For five or six 
weeks, I remember, I had the whole 
Tonight show to write by myself—a 
sketch a day. 

FEWrER: It’s very hard to trace back to 
the first influence I had as a cartoonist, 
but I think the most important in the 
early years — for me and a number of 
other cartoonists — was a guy named Will 
sner, who did a strip called The Spirit. 
1 dare say Harvey Kurtzman would not 
have come up with Mad magazine if 
Fisner hadn't preceded with The Spirit. 
The way my thinking developed, and 
where it finally went, in the beginning, 
was very largely because of Eisner. Walt 
Kelly for a long time was also a strong 
influence. In style, Robert Osborn has 
been an influence, and André Frangois, 
and Wi m St And writers like 
Benchley and Samuel Beckett and Dos- 
toicvski, and a whole line of novelists. 
More and more I try to give the char- 


acters in my strips the depth that a 
novelist might try for, except that 1 try 
to add an edge of humor to the: 
sant: In the beginning, the co: 
who really impressed me was Henry Mor- 
gan. It was a great blow for freedom that 
this guy could get it across—it was a 
rallying point. You know, today, the 
negativists say, “Well, the authoritarians 
really got to him.” and I tell them it 
his choice; he could still be swinging if 
he wanted to. Herb Shriner in the be- 
ginning was another guy, except that he 
couldn't bring off the rural thing. But 1 
always thought he was an extremely 
thoughtful comedian in the beginning 
— you know, you had to work a little to 
find out what he ing. 

ALLEN: Shriner's jokes were classics. He 
should have done better than he did. I 
guess his problem was that he was doing 
modern jokes with Will Rogers manner- 
isms. The square, Cleveland-type audi- 
ence probably wasn’t good enough for 
his material, and yet, you couldn't put a 
guy who scratches his head and kicks the 
rug into the hungry i either. 

PLAYBOY: Who do you think will come 
after you, Mort? 

sank: The sheri! 
bly. 

nRUCE: There'll be somebody new out 
there. It's like the coffeehouse is today's 
version of Lindy's and soon some new 
comic will be saying “Those shmucks 
their coffechouses” just like we said, 
“Those shmucks in their Lindy's." He'll 
be spiritual— in relating to his fellow 
man — he'll be better to his friends, he'll 
be less mate: ic. So I think there 
will be still another new school of hu- 
mor. There'll always be а new look, be- 
cause that’s the word. 

PLAYBOY: Ме} Brooks— who used to 
write for the Sid Caesar show and has 
now turned to performing himself —once 
at the problem of the angry young 
comedians is that they can poke fun 
at success-values before they make it 
themselves, but that they can no longer 
do this once they become part of the tur- 
get. How do you gentlemen feel about 
that? 

NICHOLS: What does "success-values" 
mean? Making fun of people with 
money? Making fun of people successful 
in their work? I really don't know what 
that half-hip, half-sociological jargon 
means. 

FEIFFER: If people are changed by their 
success, then of course they can't. poke 
fun any longer, except as a bit. When 
anything becomes a bit, some of the life 
gocs out of it, and the same routines 
will begin to sound slick rather than 
heartfelt. But, if you really feel certain 
attitudes very strongly, not just because 
you are a have-not against the haves, but 
because they are a part of your general 
attitude toward life — then there's no rea 
son why your approach should we 
when you become successful. 


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DA! I guess it's kind of hard for Mort. 
or any of these guys to make fun of 
someone who's affluent, because certainly 
everybody in the business is picking up a 
lot of bread. 

SAHL: I think comedians are more sensi- 
tive to the material success of other 
comedians than the audience is to theirs. 
The audience isn't ever going to say to 
me, “You had dinner with Henry Cabot 
Lodge, so what kind of a rebel are you?” 
Its the other performers who do. Any- 
, I think your financial position 
state of mind. Look what Goodman Асе 
said about Lucille Ball. He said she 
got an eightmillion-dollar contract from 
Philip Morris to go on the air and fight 
with her husband about buying a dress 
for $5.98. Did anybody take her to task 
for this? 

ALLEN: I think there may be something to 
what Mel Brooks says, but only a little. 
It's true that you're a little nuttier when 
you're starting out — at least I know J 
was. When I read a transcript of some 
of the things 1 said years ago, it often 


seems pretty wild to me. But, in general, 
you don’t change that much. You are 


what you are, for better or worse. You 
may get a little more conservative or a 
little more sparing of other people's feel- 
ings as you get older, but I don't think 
there's any more to it than that 

winters: It all depends on what kind of 
an ax you have to grind. Ten years аро. 
I was doing pretty much what I'm doing 
now. Sure, I'm on television a little bit 
more and I've gone through nightclubs, 
but I feel I haven't changed a lot. My 
chart has run pri much like a lot of 
other people's—it's been up and its 
never been really completely down. 
rrAYbOY: Steve has suggested that come- 
ans are liberal rather than conserva- 
tive. How would you yourselves classify 
your political orientation and its rcl 
tion to your work? Mike? 

NICHOLS: I would say that its relation to 
our work is not very great. What we do 
just isn’t political. 

Dana: I'm certainly not an extreme left 
wing, but I would feel very good beii 
classified. as a liberal. On the other ha En 
somebody overheard a conversation on 
the subway where this says, 
"Well, I used to be an egghead, but I 
got smart." So I guess I'd rather not get 
too smart either. 

winters: Occasionally I've gotten into 
politics, only to find that 1 don't know a 
great deal about it. It’s like the guy at 
the bullfight who leaps over the barricr, 
takes off his coat and says, "Hey, Toro! 
Aqui! Aqui!" The crowd is with him for 
a moment, but then they find out that 
this guy has not only never been a mata- 
dor, but he's never even eaten a steak. 
I suppose I do lean to the liberal side, 
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open, or let my hair grow down over 
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parties. People call the Republicans the 
party of the rich, and the Democrats the 
ty of the poor, and yet you see rich 
both parties, and poor in both partie 
I don't think Im really begging the 
question, but you can understand why I 
don't want to sever relations with half 
the nation. if I make a stand here or 
there. So I save my politics for the booth 
with the little curtain. 

n: I'm independent left, certainly, 
but with no party affiliations. The role 
of an observer, I think, denies you the 
lcge of committing yourself com- 
pletely to any single point of view. 
Otherwise, at one time or another, you'll 
have to take after many of the people 
you admire and say, “I think you're 
wrong here" The trouble with any or- 
ganization is that it takes on the worst 
aspects of the group — bickering. jeal- 
grade stu- 
pidity on all levels. I've always been a 
congenital non-joi id I doubt if ГИ 
ever be able to belong to anything with 
out feeling a little guilty that my name 
ison the membership roll. 

sant: Ive always felt that one of the 
funniest phrases in the world is “The 
liberal tradition." Tradition, after all, is. 
the very antithesis of liberalis I think 
you have to develop an evolving liberal- 
ism. Just about the time you're begin- 
ning to live with an idea, you've got to 
change it. You hear Democrats accusing 
the people who won't accept Kennedy of 
inflexibility.” They say, "Well. you're 
still living in 56." I know a lot of Mid- 
west conservatives who are philosoph 
cally anarchistic, whereas tern radi- 
cals — these are all oversimplifications, of 
course — will often be politically radical 
but very conservative in a sociological 
sense, I think the healthiest thing would 
be if we didn't argue politics and dissi- 
pate our energy, but direct it into о 
work. I don't know if I've been able to 
do it myself, but I try. The trouble with 
liberals is that they're often just a step 
ahead of the conservative. They look 
back and sa ‘Well, he's dumber than 
Tam.” But that’s not enough. You haye 
to go on, but not to the point of sell- 
cancellation. You can kid liberals to lib- 
crals, but if you kid liberals to conserva- 
es, you're m fodder. 
BRUCE: I'm very subjective about it. 
Something is liberal to me if it's to my 
taste. 1 relate on the floor the things 
that please me, Like I never was а par- 
ticular fin of George Gobel, Red Skel- 
ton, Eddie Cantor, Georgie Jessel, but 
that doesn’t say that all the people who 
dig them are idiots. As I get older — and. 
I think I'm getting a litle hipper, a 
little more liberal, if you want to call it 
that — I say, well, it's not that I dislike 
those cats. It's just that they don't make 
me laugh, Or take the group who dig Art 
Blakey, Thelonious Monk, Philly Joe 
Jones — you know — they say, “That rock 
?n' roll is a lot of crap. Stamp it out!” But 


there are millions of kids with ‘heir new 
school — Paul Anka, Elvis, Bobby Rydell 
— saying the same thing about cool jazz. 
And then there's the guy who digs Shos 
takovich who says they're both crap and 
that they both have terrible taste. So 
what the hell is good taste? It's indi- 
vidual. The fact that I don't dig Pinky 
Lee makes the hippies feel secure — "We 
don't dig him either." But I say 1 don't 
dig atra either, so they go, “Uh-oh, 
you don't like Sinatra." It's not t І 
don't like him — he just doesn't excite 
me as а performer. Johnny Mathis does. 
Does that make me square, conservati 
Heres a paradox: 1 love Bobby Short 
and I love Mel Tormé — opposite ends 
of the stick. People can argue, "This 
guys crap, this guy's good," but it all 
comes down to your own taste. 

ALLEN: But comedians in general do rend 
toward the liberal Even the comedi- 
s whose work has no burden of social 
comment at all — people like Jack Benny 
or Jackie Gleason — when they were kids, 
they would probably have been the boat- 
rockers in their schoolrooms. By his very 
ature, the comic is essentially a distur- 
ber of the peace. He does it in a way 
that society not only accepts but enjoys 
— if it doesn't go too far. And that's the 
point we've arrived at now. Some people 
are saying Lenny and Mort and a few 
others have gone too far. They haven't 
gone too far lor me, but I think that's 
the point that their critics are making. 
PLAYBOY: Steve, your TV show afforded 
a place where some of the best of the 
new humorists haye been seen. The skits 
that were a regular part of your show 
have been among the most delightfully 
cutting and sati ре. 
spite this, you're now off the air. Is there 
no real place for adult satire on TV 
today? 

sAHL: Before Steve answers, I'd like to 
say that I think he had the funniest stock 
company of all time. 

ALLEN: Thanks, Mort As far as the 
quality of the show was concerned, 
could have continued for forty years. 
Ihe program was generally considered 
the best comedy show left — which wasn't 
such high praise, because there wasn't 
much comedy lelt anyway. But I don't 
mean that I was the funniest comedian 
left — just that the show was funny. And 
contrary to popular reports, it had good 
't in 


al seen anywher 


— not astronomical — it мах 


rating 
the top ten — but it had good 
was a good show, and I think I had the 
best comedy writing staff in TV, and 
the funniest cast of characters ever as 
sembled. The show really went olf be- 
cause of my extracurricular activities. 

pana: Tt was because Steve doesn’t have 
one ounce of sycophant in him. He 
wouldn't compromise himself at all— 
which is necessary, to some degree, with 
networks and sponsors. They have com- 
plete and utter control, and there's noth- 


ings. It 


ng you can do about it. When they said. 
Look, Steve, please don't get so in- 
volved in controversial matters," Steve, 
in essence, said, "Drop dead," and they 
said, "OK, Charlie, we'll take care of 
you." And they did. 
рілувоу: Did they put the screws to the 
show itself? 
ALLEN: The network really never gave us 
great deal of trouble with the comedy 
content of the show. I assumed this was 
ause they just didn't know what we 
were doing and, therefore, had no par- 
ticular suggestions to make. Where they 
trouble was on that “Mecting of 
nds” thing, and once in a wi 
а be some objection to a particu- 
ar joke. But I don't think that anything 
п the show itself had any connection 
with our going off. The network got a 
litle punchy about the plug routine, 
but that was а very minor point and had 
absolutely nothing to do with it In the 
old days, they might call about once 
сусту four months and say, "Listen, is 
Smith Brothers Gough Drops a. plug?" 
‘Toward the end they were calling like 
three times a week. But all that was just. 
а minor annoyance for the write 
PLAYBOY: Bill, as а writer, did you find 
it possible to present controversial com- 
edy on Steve's shows? 
pana: Well, we sneaked quite a bit 
across. Even in things as seemingly in- 
nocent as “The Question Man,” we put 
in things like this: the answer was “Miss 
America” and the question was “When 
they drop the hydrogen bomb, what do 
we hope it will do?” In the writing 
process, there's a lot of subconscious 
commentary — you may be 
without realizing it. It’s rea 
five percent. subconsciou 
five percent 
ing. "Let's see, is there anything we 
сап say that will help get the message 
across?” Usually, the main problem 
no more thoughtful than, “How the hell 
are we going to get a couple of laughs 
out of this thing?” 
лупоү: Have you other performers 
found that your material has changed 
when you've gone from clubs to tele- 
vision? 
saur: Not at all. I can say this in good 
conscience. 1 ven't gone on if I felt 
they were going to change anything. I've 
gotten pretty much everything on, my- 
self, but 1 must say that the audience 
often collaborates with the performer in 
selling out. They're the first ones to say 
to you, "You weren't very good on TV, 
but boy, І know what those pressures 
are like" After Oscar Levant did the 
Steve Allen show, he went back to his 
own show and said, "Boy, when NBC 
got through with me, I couldn't talk 
about anything but the weather.” The 
audience didn't turn to him and say, “So 
you copped out for a price.” Instead, 
they laughed with him, because he was 


fighting authority. They didn’t seem to 
care that he was also losing. I think the 
audience should be extremely unforgiv 
ing if you sell out, I rcalizc that when 
I go on and J hold out for something, I 
am merely satisfying myself, because I've 
yet to see a member of the audience 
come up to me and say, "Boy, that was 
а pretty suong routine for television — 
you must have really swung.” I have to 
keep reminding people of how Ed Sulli- 
van stuck his neck out for me. Our only 
reward was that the audience laughed 
stead of freezing. I've done some wild 
things on tclevision, but people don't 
see it. So essentially an artist must wi 
for himself. The mass audience is a by- 
product. If they won't listen to you, 
then you go out and you marshal а hip- 
per audience in the clubs, and then you 
go back with enough prestige — and, we 
hope. enough discipline — to get on what 
you want to. 

PLAvRoY: Has there ever been any pres- 
sure exerted on you ightclubs? 
sanı; Practically none. That’s why 1 took 
to the clubs initially, because they're 
dollars-and-cents places, and the owners 
don’t fancy themselves artistic, wher 
in television and theatre you 
self-styled producers and directors who 
are suspicious of the 
gence and start aborting what you're 
doing before it ever gets anywhere. Years 
ago, club-owners would sometimes say, 
Don't mention the Un-American Activ- 
ities Commiucc" or “We have a cus- 
tomer who is a Republ = (dn. 
in the beginning, there was some heat 
on me, but then as I began to swing, 
this all changed. Even now, though, 


there are times — like I worked recently. 
for а guy who is an extreme conser 
tive. This guy was really in conflict b 
cause he made a lot of money olf m 
not being a conservative, But he kept 
g things to me, like when I cam 
from Russia, "Maybe you'll like 
our country better now.” As a result he 
will never sec me again, nor my cus- 
tomers, nor that money. 

PLAYBOY: Lenny, has there ever been 
any pressure on you in nightclubs? 
nkucE: I've had this terrible pressure on 
the frontal lobe. Yeah, I've had guys 
telling me what to do— you know, civic 
pressure, church groups. synagogues. 1 
get letters from rabbis, protests from 
church laymen, from Protestant and 
Catholic people who come up to me and 
verbalize. Members of the police depart- 
ment have told me just before a show. 
“We don’t want you to talk about re- 
ligion, religion has по place on the 
stage, we don't want you to talk about 
politics, and we don't want you to talk 
about sex." Then I What do you 
want me to talk about, cement? A lot of 
people are persecuting it by walking on 
it. What else? 
PLAYBOY: Have you changed your mate- 
rial for TV? 

BRUCE: When I go on television, like on 
Playboy's Penthouse, I do it with the 
same point of view. I speak in a differ- 
ent language from the clubs, but I'm 
just changing the words. 

ALLEN: I think the material itself ch 
It's just that there is certain material 
they don't feel at liberty to do, and they 
are usually correct in so feeling. Almost 
anything that has to do with religion, 


“Well, one thing is certain — if there are flying 
Saucers, they don't originate here.” 


119 


PLAYBOY 


120 


for example — they just censor them- 
selves on that. As you know, Lenny has 
now made a little routine out of telling 
ıt happened when he went on our 
show. 

PLAYsOY: He wanted to do a bit on the 
program about his grandmother telling 
him that he couldn't be buried in a 
Jewish cemetery because of his tattoo — 
that Jews are supposed to go out the 
way thcy came in. 

BRUCE: Well, I really made a little more 
of that than there was, just for humor. 
I always blow things up tremendously. 
All humor is magnification to the point 
where it becomes satirical, ludicrous. If 
the audience takes it as literal truth, 
well, then, they will also believe that 
Hitler was handled by MCA, which is 
another bit t I do. 

rLAYROY: Mike, has your material 
at all when you've gone on 
television? 

Nicos: Only so а 
sponsor. 

rLAYpoY: Like the Lilt incident? 
xicuots; It’s nonsense to bitch about re- 
strictions on television, because those 
arc the conditions under which you take 
the job. With the Lilt thing, what we 
were angry about was that we had 
checked it with them ahead of time. We 
called them and said we'd like to do a 
kind of parody on the Emmy Awards in 
which I was to give Elaine an award for 
contributing to the dignity of television. 
And she was going to accept the award 
and вау thank you and make a little 
speech about how she felt vindicated, 
and that she hoped to continue to de- 
serve this award. And I was going to say 
that she was as articulate as she was 
beautiful. And she was going to say, 
“Thank you, Mike. You know, lool 
very important to an actress, especially 
her hair. That's why I always usc Black 
in Home Permanent.” As a matter of 
fact, even as she is accepting this award, 
she is giving herself a home permanent. 
And when we checked it with them, they 
said would we mind making it Lilt in- 
stead of Black Rain, and we said we'd 
be delighted. When we got to the show, 
of course, they had changed their minds. 
And the way it comes about is simple 
fear—the producer is afraid of the 
agency man, and the agency man is 
afraid of the sponsor, so they had never 
really checked it out. So they thought 
that if they told us at the last minute, 
there would be nothing we could do but 
change the whole sketch. They were 
wrong. 


w 


not to insult the 


Jonathan, how about you and 
ny pressures? 

winters: My work doesn’t change much. 
I don't use any blue material—a few 
suggestive things, maybe, but not out- 
and-out filth. I contend that you can be 
funny without it. Гус never scen Mort 


or Shelley do anything blue. In defense 
of Lenny, there are great hunks of his 
material where he doesn’t swear at all, 
even in clubs. 

PLAYBOY: Didn't you have some censor- 
ship problem on TV with your prison- 
break routine? 

winters: Yeah, that wa g I put in 
my album that I couldn't use on ТУ. 
The television code rules, it seems to 
me, are still pretty ridiculous. You can’t 
even mention a product, let alone kid 
onc — which is understandable up to a 
point because of the payola situation. 
Bur there are so few other things you 
can kid either. I found a script recently 
where we couldn't even say "living 
color.” Figure that out. And yet you'll 
hear а guy say, "Look at that crazy 
broad — man, she's got a built like , . .” 
Just because this guy's a big star or has 
control. But about the prison sketch: I 
did a scene about a priest and a prisoner. 
‘The prisoner was Tiger Elliot, and the 
prison priest was Father Duffy. We've 
all seen these prison pictures, but here 
was the twist — Father Dufly says, “Well, 
now, Tiger, sure an’ I'm glad you're 
givin’ yourself up, and will you give me 
the gun?” And he takes the gun. Then 
he says, “By the way, you are a Catholic, 
aren't you?" And Tiger says, "No, Father, 
I'm a Lutheran." So Father Duffy blasts 
him. Now I told this story to Pat 
O'Brien, and I've told front of 
priests, and they all thought it was hilar- 
ious. But on ТУ, I had to change it to 
a little glass gun with candy in the 
handle. And Tiger sa "AM right, 
Father, I'll give you the gun, but wil 
you give me the candy back?" It was a 
switch, but it wasn't downing the Prote: 
tant or the Lutheran or taking a crack 
at Catholicism. 

rLAYBoY: Didn't they let you do the 
1 оп Canadian TV? 

winters: Yes. They are a little more 
lenient up there, as I find the English 
ew I was gambling with a hot 
thing when I did it, but then, you're 
always going to get letters anyway. But 
when I had my own show on NBC—a 
little fifteen-minute thing — 1 had just 
two bad letters in thirty-nine weeks. And. 
they were from two kooks. One was be 
cause of an irreverent thing I did about 
General Custer. This woman wrote in 
and called me a traitor, and said, “You 
probably wasn't even in the war, you 
Communist,” сіс. I answered her, and 
said that I hoped she would discontinue 
watching television long enough to read 
a little history. She would find tha 
General Custer must have been pretty 
much of a clown to take two hundred 
and twelve men against three thousand 
Sioux. If I wanted to portray John Dil- 
linger as a sissy — you know: “Mercy, I 
don't want to Kill anyone. I just want to 
have a fun time sticking up candy mer- 


chants" — you'd have all the fags down 
on you too. Where does it end? Who can 
you kid? 

PLAYBOY: Jules, has your work changed 
as you've expanded your markets? 
FEIFFER: Well, the Voice strip is now be 
ing syndicated around the country — it's 
in about forty papers, and if anything, 
its gotten stronger. It may be because 
I have a marvelous agreement with the 
papers: my strip is considered editorial 
matter and not a cartoon. Also, they 
have the privilege of not running any- 
thing they don't like, and they've got 
enough of a backlog to replace it with 
something they find more innocent. 
When I did a Nixon strip in the Voice, 
I knew there would be a lot of trouble 
with it around the country, that it might 
not be run. And it wasn’t. The syndicate 
never mailed it out because they were 
afraid the papers might take strong 
ception, and even drop the feature. 
That's their privilege. They didn't send 
out my Kennedy strip for the same ri 
son. But I've had hardly any trouble at 
all. My security is that if the strip doesn't 
run nationally, and it's one 1 like very, 
very much, I can include it in the hooks 
I put out, where there is no censorship 
at all. So one way or the other, I get into 
print whatever I want, and have a chance 
to be seen nationally. Only once, in the 
early days, did I have any censorship dil- 
ficulties. It was shortly after anti-Castro 
sentiment had started. going around the 
country, and so I did a pro-Castro strip. 
A Cleveland newspaper dropped me, 
saying they didn't realize when they 
bought the feature that it was going to 
be political. 

PLAYBOY: It's odd that the syndicate 
would withhold Nixon and Kennedy, 
and yet send out a strip on Castro . . . 
FEIFFER; "That's what's marvelous about 
it — there is simply no logic to it. Every- 
‘one ascribes more logic to censorship 
than it really has. It's amazing what you 
сап get through sometimes. If you're do- 
ing something strong, there will always 
be opposition — if there weren't any, 
you wouldn't be saying much. And you 
should never be concerned about how 
the syndicate is going to take this or 
that, or how they're going to stifle you, 
or how they're going to stop it. If you 
think continually in terms of how to 
hedge and get around them, rather than 
g to through, then you are do- 
ing the censorship job for them much 
better than they could do it. 
PLAYBOY: Steve, whose fault is it tha 
doesn’t have more and better comedy 
and satire? The success of Jules on paper 
and of these new nightclub comedians 
would scem to suggest that there is a 
big audience for this kind of humor. 

As I see it, humor on television 
— Гуе been writing it now for several 
years—has been going downhill for 
some time, and I personally see no hope 


TV 


“Too bad —the kid had talent.” 


121 


PLAYBOY 


122 


whatever that the trend can ever be re- 
versed. I think it’s partly because of the 
economic system. In other wards, it's ob- 
vious that TV is an advertising medium. 
Therefore, an advertiser has every right, 
I suppose, to insist that his program 
appeal to the largest possible number of 
people. Let's face it — you're not going. 
to do that with topical, critical humor, 
or with great drama and music. 1 Ч 
that Pay-TV could possibly be а solu- 
tion. Of course, you would face the sam 
economic problem there that you [ace 
now, but I suppose then the performers 
won't care, as long as they make their 
four million dollars, Maybe they will 
care, 1 don't know. The human capacity 
for greed has never really been tested on 
that scale. Although we're trying pretty 
hard now. 

pLavoy: It would seem, then, that night 
clubs continue to be the n of hip 
humor. But why has Bob Newhart de- 
cided to forego them for concert tours — 
because of the drunks and hecklers? 
ALLEN: Right, and I don’t blame him. 1 
think nightclub audiences are the jerk 
iest I think I may buy a club just to 
put up big signs on the wall saying 
sur vp and JERK and you, ovr. Just 
the other night 1 was watching Newhart, 
and I had to tum around and give а few 
people the stare routine. 1 don’t know 
what the hell it is that makes people talk 
louder during a club routine. Maybe it's 
just the booze. 

The drunks you meet in clut 
drunk before they get there, It's hard to 
get drunk in a nightclub — I know, I've 
talked to many who've tried; you know, 
weak drinks and slow service. 

PLAYBOY: Isn't it possible that the make- 
up of nightclub. audiences has changed 
somewhat since the old days? Certainly 
it isn't the same audience that went to 
see а Joe E. Lewi 
sanl: Yes, dubs have really improved 
from the old days. And we have a lot of 
people to thank for uat — people like 
Brubeck. 

ALLEN: The audiences are different be- 
cause new comedians are different. But 
occasionally, one of the new guys like 
Newhart will get so hot — it doesn’t mat- 
ter whether he married Jayne Mansfield 
or flew the Spirit of St. L 
will attract the crowds who go to see 


are 


-ouis — that he 


у 0 because they 
can't wait to laugh, but because he's the 
hot thing to see, These are the guys who 
get plastered and they're the ones you 
he from on the floor. 

DANA: Once in a great while, somebody 
will heckle me. I don't mind. I learned 
a long time you're in а 
Чир you can’t do a set act without being 
imperiled, But 1 can understand why 
guy like Newhart has trouble. He gets 
into a character, and if somebody inter- 
rupts, then it really hurts. 


wixTERS: It’s like interrupting a play or 
a movie. If you to take time out to 
dissolve some heckler, then you've de- 
stroyed the whole thing you've created. 
This is one of the reasons I turned to 
playing colleges. At least there you 
haven't got everybody juiced. I faced 
drunks for seven years. That's enough. 
In a concert, there's as much money їп 
one night as there used to be in seven at 


children, and I wanted to come home. 
1y boy is eleven and my little girl is 
four, І realized I couldn't hold onto ту 
а, if I was going to 
on the road for ninc or ten months out 
of the year. By the time you fall back 
from the front lines, there's. no rear 
echelon there, no tents, no medic, no hat 
coffee, no nothing. I'm not s this 
for p: fourteen of Reader's Digest, but 
a man has to make a decision sooner or 
ant to wind up like the 
ican Businessman, who gets 
so wrapped up in himself and his little 
cans and boxes that he just sort of says 
goodbye to the family. When he finally 
comes back in a pretty good financial 
bracket, he finds them saying, “Who 
you?" You don't embrace a kid at twenty 
and say, "Well, I've got time to love you 
now." You've got to decide. I had 10. I 
had to figure out how 1 could combine 
my career and my marriage. Finally I 
did it by quitting the road. It was that 
simple. When I go away now, when I 
go out to do a television show, I take 
my wife and sometimes the kids, if m 
boy's out of school, or we take a vac 
tion. Perhaps I take more vacations than 
I should, but I'm not in that big a hurry. 
I'm not after the gold medal any more. 
I see it up there, and Га like to e it, 
but there isn't that big, gnawing craving 
inside— "Oh, my God, if I don't get 
that gold medal, whatll I do?" I ve 
only one medal — it's just made of marsh- 
mallow — but 1 like it. You have to de- 
cide what it takes to make you happy — 
twin-heart pools, tigers on the lawn, fur 
hats, à Sergeant Preston uniform to per- 
form in for the kids c Christmas? 
Not for me. 1 would like to do a picture. 
Em not saying, "Oh, 1l throw myself 
on the rug if I don't get one.” but this is 
one thing I'd like to do. If it fits in, fine. 
If it doesn't, I'll just go on doing the 
things I'm doing. 

PLAYBOY: Shelley Berman has said that 
Bob Newhart is making a mistake by 
giving up nightclubs, where you can at 
least try out new pieces of material — 
hecklers notwithstanding . . . 

SAHL: Well, those guys have got a differ- 
ent problem than ] have. When Bob 
and Shelley start something, it’s cumu- 
lative, and if some idiot steps on a line, 
he destroys everything. Whereas I've got 
a free-form thing going where I can be 


yin; 


interrupted by a raid from the Russians 
and I could work it into the monolog. 
I'm fortunate there—even though the 
nation might not be. 
DANA: I do the same. If something h: 
pens, then ГШ just go off on that new 
theme. At the end of my act, I throw 
the whole thing up to questions anyway. 
SAML; Any guy who's going to work 
clubs must learn to handle hecklers. But 
Т don't think that they should be fed 
stock lines. I believe you should expose 
them for what they are. When I used to 
Ik about McCarthy and а guy would 
yell out "Communist!" I knew that this 
was very thinly-veiled anti Semi; And 
1 want him out in the open. If three 
hundred people are laughing, and he 
"Get olf the stage,” that means ће" 


s 
made in the image of his idol, Senator 
M«Carthy, and he should be drawn out 
so that the audience can ostracize him. 
That's what I want to go alter. But none 
of this wiseguy stuff, "If you smoke that 
cigar down any farther, it'll be a filling.” 
PLAYBOY: How do you handle your heck- 
Lenny? 
вирее: Well, each one is different. What 
1 do is, I usually have a cross I put in 
their face. A silver bullet. A wooden 


stake, sometimes. 
rLAYBOY: Shelley Berman has bee 
known to stop in the middle of 1 


nightclub. performance to tell a heckler 
that his job is not only to entertain but 
also to maintain order . . . 

winters: I don't buy that. If people are 
paying, 1 don't th ave the right. 
to stop and say, out those ci; 
rettes. Stop that boozing. I don't like i 
Who are you to tell six hundred people 
in a room to do this and do that? Either 
you've got to put up with it, meet them 
halfway. or just get out. If it gets imo 
fight, later on you sit there in your hotel 
room all bound up inside looking at 
two thick telephone books and a phony 
Renoir and а pull-out bed and a couple 
of the daily newspapers, and you say. 
“I's three o'clock in the morning." And 
you go down and have your chili at the 
local shop in a booth with a pathetic 
ntertainers, I've had 
I think Bob Newhart smart 
to get out of the clubs and into the con- 
cert field. The easiest place in the world 
to get a laugh is in a theatre. There's 
undivided attention, no booze, nobody 
walking around. it’s quiet, and the lights 
are out. The audience pays good money 


to come and do nothing else but make 


this scene. Bob will be 
concerts. 

I suppose that part of the reason 
for Bob's switch was because of Mike 
and Elaine's success with their theatrical 
thing. 
NICHOL 


ery happy doing 


SAL 


Actually, we didn't get heckled 


i guy 


nightclubs. I think or 


uch. One person has to re- 
ate oul to the audience, and the audi 


ence will sometimes answer back. But 
we turn and talk to cach other. so most 
of the time they leave us a 
find, 
work touches so closely on social inter- 
course, that some people act a little self- 
conscious in ordinary conversation with 
you? 


ne. 


reaynoy: Do you because your 


aicuots: Well, people are always saying, 
"Em afraid to 
it in a routine." 


y anything, you'll use 
Or sometimes Elaine 
will just say, "Pass the sugar,” and some- 
body'll say, “There they go." It’s irritat- 
ing. We don't sit there observing people. 
І think the only people who observe 
other people are those who do it as a 
defensc — vou know, like the kid at the 
end of the bar who pretends he's making 
notes because he's scared to talk to the 
girl. But people in the middle of their 
lives don't consciously gather material. 
It just happens to you. So nobody is in 
y danger, because we're just not look- 
ing with that in mind. 

PLAyoy: Incidentally, Mike, one of the 
reviews of your Br 


lway show called 


you “bitter and vitriolic.” Do you agree? 
xıcHors: Do you mean at work or per- 
sonally? I find it very hard to describe 
what we do, but I don't feel bitter when 
I'm on stage, and I don't. feel vitriolic, 
unless somebody light cue. 
are simply certain things I'm dis 
sed about, so 1 make fun of them. 
But I don't think that you can make fun 
of anything that you don't partake of 
10 some extent 


misses а 


By which I mean, very 
often humor comes out of the tension be. 
tween wanting something and not want 
ing it. One of your new comedians са 
do fifteen: minutes, funny and vicious, 
on Time, Inc, and then sort of quietly 
mention that Life is doing a story on 
e about 


him. Or do a whole sag то 
the sports car mania, but ma 
to his own 300 SL. This sort of thing is 
funny, but I don't think it's bitter and 
vitriolic. But speaking of vitriol, a nutty 
thing has happened lately; Time now 
enjoys being put down, because it likes 
to think it's irreverent, So, it no longer 
takes courage to put things down. Con 
sequently, it may not really be "in" to 
put things down any more. 

PLAYBOY: Mort, haven't vou stated in 
the past that things shouldn't be divided. 
into in and out, hip and squa 


элш: 1 just don't like to see anybody or 
anything addressed collectively. I don't 
like things like “Youre a good audi- 
ence,” There must be a higher calling in 
life than to be an audit 


nce. 1 do believe 
in hip and square. only within а person, 
and I believe you can appeal to the one 
or the other. Advertising men rate peo- 
ple way too low, and | probably rate 
them way too high. But if you're going 
to rate at all, you should overrate. While 
I might say that one group or another 
is not too hip. I would never say it to 
people who can use it as fuel, like to ad 
men, who are just looking for documen- 


~ 


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124 


tation, Anyway, I've found that people 
are sometimes more liberal as a group 
than they are individually. If I say 
something to somebody about Fidel, or 
Stevenson, or Kennedy, they usually give 
me an argument, whereas in the audi- 
ence they accept it without question. 
BRUCE: "That's because the theatre is fan- 
sy. They're not becoming more liberal. 
Mort can only assume what they're laugh- 
ing at. I think they're just more com- 
fortable laughing together than singly. 
When you've got only one guy in the 
udience, he feels a little self-conscious 
hing out loud. In a big group, the 
ughter is infectious. 
sani: In laughing, I t 
exercises its right of editorial accept- 
ance or rejection. You must touch a 
nerve, or they won't react. Ihe audi 
ence has never let me down — 
other people have, but never the audi- 
ence. What I'm trying to say is they're 
often less tolerant individually than they 
are as members of the audience. 

prece: I sce what you mean. Its like I 
do a picce on integration — getting my 
point of view across and really socking 
it in, but with humor so I can get away 
with it They laugh, and 1 sav, “Boy, 
they all agree with me," 
down at a table with them and they 
really throw in some beautiful bigoted 
They weren't agreeing with me 
. They seemed to be laughing at 
something entirely different from what. 
1 was talking about. 

: It has to do with commu 
y be my own problem of commun 
ting to individuals. The people who 
admire you most, who know you best, 
are going to give you the hardest time. 
Those readers who are married will un- 
derstand this. 

ALLEN: I think this whole business of 
hip and square is a division, to a very 
extent, between young and old. I 
would think that people over fifty must 
have a very difficult time understanding 
these guys, or even laughing at them. 
Not many people over fifty seem to keep 
their minds open, even though they 
think they do. By that time, the natural 
processes have set in. We all know some 
hip old people and some square young 
people, but I feel there are certain 
h lines of demarcation. 
praysoy: Wouldn't this wearin, 
hipness happen to the com 
selves when they pass fifty? 
ALLEN: I don't think much will wear off, 
but I don't think anything new will be 
added after they get to be forty-five or so 
either. I know that Voltaire we on 
writing to a ripe old age, and maybe so 
will they, as new subjects come along — 
as we land on the moon or something 
= and. they'll be able to do moon jokes. 
But I think they'll be of the same kind 
that they were creating when they were 
twenty or thirty. 

PrLAYnOy: It would seem, then, that all 


nd then I sit 


off of 
ns them- 


of the comedians of the new hip school 
have several things in common: they arc 
satirical in their approach, they deal in 
controversy, and. they all write most of 
their own material. In thc last analysis, 
gentlemen, would you say that you are 
just entertainers functioning before an 
audience which already 
or do you think you arc commen 
with the power to shake up the status 
quo, to make people more aware of 
themselves and of the world? 
NICHOLS: We're entertainers. If we 
wanted or were able to change the struc 
ture of society, I wouldn't choose to do 
it by joining a comedy tcam. 
FEIFFFR: I don't do what I do as а 
preacher, a crusader or as an entertainer. 
I'm doing it because, in a sense, I have 
to do it. I'm doing something that's part 
of me and that I love to do. If I thought 
of converting anyone F'd have to give it 
up immediately because I've always dis- 
trusted publicity about cartoonists’ af- 
fecting their times in a direct and strong 
homas Nast was said to have been 
ing the Tweed 
hine. Now it's quite possible that 
Nast helped buoy up public reaction 
that was already beginning to go against 
Tweed. But if he had appeared ten or 
fifteen years earlier, nobody would have 
paid any attention to him. To have any 
effect, a commentator has to be there at 
the right moment. If ] found myself 
being concerned with getting a message 
across, then I would have to either bas- 
tardize my werk or do something else 
for a living. If I started preaching, I'd be 
talking down to the audience. I would 
have to make my characters talk dis- 
honestly, have to put words in their 
mouths that they wouldn't use, to put 
up labels directing the audience to the 
point. It may be that my popularity has 
something to do with people's not know- 
ng what I'm saying, so they like it. This 
happens most often in my sex strips. 
Men who are hostile toward women will 
think I've really shut up this bitch, and 
the women who are hostile toward men 
will be delighted that I've exposed what 
they think is the male point of view. 
Actually, what I feel I've been exposing 
all along— maybe I'm wrong—is the 
lack of involvement between two people 
in a very close situation. 
pana: [ don't lose much sleep over the 
philosophy of comedy, but if you press 
me, ГЇЇ say that the only real value of 
comedy today is that it relieves, enter- 
ns and diverts, There's enough tsurus 
‘ound today that if people can simply 
be diverted, that's where my real kicks 
are. If somewhere along the line people 
€ moved to think in а more eral” 
direction, then I'm delighted. 
winters: I don't really have 
1 enjoy doing pathos; [ always have, a 
1 think most people enjoy watching it. 
А lot of people say, "Gee, Jonathan, 


ible for overthrow 


messa 


that's too macabre." But I try to paint 
a balanced picture of the world — not 
too grim, but not too bright either. If 
you want to buy what Mort and Lenny 
do, if you agrec with what they have to 
say, I say fine. 1 have my own kick, but I 
agree with much of what they say and 
do. I disagree with them too, but they 
understand. I can certainly respect their 
dedication. 

pruce: My humor is made up of things 
I like and don't like. My following is 
made up of people who love me and 
hate me. Yeah, people who come in 
hating me in the parking lot. They'll 
come in in a group, say four people, 
with this hostility — before you come on 
stage they're rumbling, you know, and 
then one of the group will like me and 
start laughing, and that'll really bug the 
other ones. “You think that’s funny? 
You're sicker than he is.” Oh, sure, I 
have an effect. But how lasting is it? 
How lasting is the effect of anything? 
I know 1 whip them up, I know I can 
get them really cooking and thinking 
my way exactly, But when they leave the 
club, then other influences work on 
them. Nothing lasts. Like you go see a 
picture and you identify with the poor 
shmuck on the screen, but you're very 
subjective and hung up on yourself, so 
pretty soon you're back c yourself. 
sant: When I started, I did a lot of 
evangelism, you may remember. I've 
really stuck my neck out. I'm the guy 
who went to Miami, to Vegas, to the 
Chez Paree, to the Copacabana — to 
prove the point. Because I always wanted 
to challenge the people in the business 
on their own ground. Not just hide in 
the little clubs. I've played it with a sense 
of abandonment. As far as making my- 
self felt and changing the world, I've 
kidded about that. Stand outside and 
look at the people coming out of the 
show — do any of them look changed? I 
don’t know. It would be presumptuous 
of me to decide what they're left with. 
If that’s one of the few areas in which 
I'm humble — treasure it. 

PLAYBOY: Final comment, Steve? 

ALLEN: I personally don't sec the two 
possibilities you mentioned as alterna- 
tives. These guys do have this ready- 
made, youthful audience that agrees with 
them before they open their mouths. 
But I think that they may eventually 
also affect society and perhaps society's 
view of itself by the simple fact u the 
older people — the squares — will die off 
sooner or later. In other words, when 
Mort and Lenny and the rest of them 
get to be forty and then fifty, they will 
have brought their own generation along 
with them —or perhaps vice versa, In any 
case, they will still be speaking to agree- 
able contemporaries. At last they will be 
unbugged. They will have the world to 
themselves . . . maybe, 


URBANITY AFOOT 


must have enough pairs to support — 
not sabot footing 
For afternoon conferences at the of- 
fice or low-key, hi-fi evenings on the 
hearth rug, the correct look in clothes — 
u 
and u 
shoes for 


де — his soc 


silhouetted Continental slimne 
new look in 
tapered. toes, 
smoother leathers, closeedyed soles and 
uppers. lightweight and restrained de- 
tailing. Whether you dig the classic Ivy 
League loafer with dark tweeds, the 
mumaculate patent leather oxford with 
formal or the rakish blackand- 
wh with an Е. Scott Fiv- 
crald uniform of blazer and white 
flannels, the elegant look is the shoc-in 
favorite of the season 

As а timely complement to this happy 
trend, the slip-on has slipped onto the 
style scene. Sleck and snugly fitted with 
eat leather-covered elastic tops that 
run from heel to instep, this popular 
shoe is casy on feet and eyes alike — 
combining comfort and sophistication. 
in proportions that make it appealin 
and appropriate for either dress or cas- 
ual wear. The stock 
slipon adaptations of every conven- 
tional style —in leathers, shades 
and finishes for park and penthouse, 
cotillion and constitutional. 

Slip-on or lace-tied, the compleat shoe 
wardrobe 


Aness — пи 


every occasion 


wear, 


е two-tone 


better stores. now 


shoe 


should include a varicty of 


(continued from page 76) 


smooth leathers for worsted, gabardine 
and mohair business suits; a sampling of 
soft grains for tweedy fabrics; and a 
couple of shaggy, brushed textures for 
weekend spectator sports The 
dominant color for both dress and ope 
will of course be black, 
with dark brown a respectable second — 
coordinated according to sartorial trad 
tion: brown with browns: black with 
blacks, blues апа grays, With these clis- 
sic tones as an impeccable foundation, 
the ensemble can be enlivened with a 
pair of w Dlack-andavhites, the 
latter on the verge of making a strong 
comeback. Either would handsomely ac- 
cent appearances at roof-garden recep- 
tions or Sunday-afternoon. brunch dates 
this spring. But the newest news i 

olive green, olive black, olive gray, 
olive brown — subdued but stimulating, 
subtly keyed to the olive hues so promi. 
nent in spring suitings. They can be 
teamed harmoniously with the rest of 
the wardrobe: olive black and olive gray 
with blue. black and gi 
olive brown with the whole 
trum of brown-based fabrics 

Whatever his route and however he 
uavels it, the urban male will never be 
slipshod if he observes one or two ele- 
mentary pointers. Setting aside such in- 
tangibles as tiste and propriety, the best 


wear 


collar affairs 


olive 


y materials; and 


arthy spec- 


argument for an extensive wardrobe of 


shoes is a purely practical onc. For the 
same reason he has the tires on his cur 
arly rotated, he should regularly 
switch off among several pairs of shoes, 

ing twice a day. А period of rest 
wearings will greatly extend 
the longevity of his leathers. The shoe 
should be duly а clothes 
closet shoe rack, and wooden shoe 
should be used at all times. Shochoms 
are recommended: they keep the backs 
of your shoes from getting crimpled and 
are a great convenience, They come in 
wide variety of materials — bone, 
chrome, polished woods, canes and leath 
ers— and some of them are combi 
with a clothes brush at the other end. 
Anent polishing: keep a rich 
your shoes at all times. We don't care 
how you do it (few gentlemen prefer to 
polish their own shoes), but it's a good 
idea to keep one of those automatic 
Dullers in your digs so that you ca 
that final sheen before you step out for 
office or date. 

One of the Consist 
encies of womankind is its inordinate 
respect for a man who can keep both 
feet on the ground, put his best foot 
forward, stay on his toes, and kick up 
the same We 
can't tell you exactly how to go about it, 
but we do know its a lot casier in the 


right p 
a 


mounted on 


add 


more charm 


of shoe: 


MADIG ORM 


12: 


PLAYBOY 


126 


MARLON BRANDO (continuce from page 60) 


the stage. I will be kind enough not 
even to mention the American stage.” 

Now the director stopped to stare 
blcaklv into his coffee. “Grandiosity,” 
he said. “It's as if he were permitting 
nothing but his grandiosity to really 
move him. You seen his latest mishi- 
s, Orpheus Descending?" (He meant 

movie version. of the Wil 
retitled by Hollywood 
е something that 
ast is absolutely entirely frozen, like 
a huge giant frozen custard of self-indul- 
gence. The face! the lips! the walk! the 
pose! the slow gargle that has nothing 
to do with New Orleans or the South or 
fugitives or rebels or anything else in 
reality or otherwise. The absolute en- 
forced subservience of the camera, and 
the dram id Magnani, and Lumet 
[director Sidney Lumet] and even the 
props and lights and music. Everything 
subservient to this one enormous baroque 
self-image. If it were only that, an ac 
tual sel-image. But it isn't even that. 
lis an image of an image of an image. It 
nothing laid on nothing laid on noth- 
ng, and the outright murder of a play 
t wasn’t the best in the world to 


the 
drama, 
Fugitive Kind.) “Ws 1 


at 


gic," he said again, “it’s very 
sad." He did not say these last three 
words with the quotation marks of irony 
that many of us now so often put 
around them. “What greater tragedy is 
there in life than to stop growing? And 
Brando hasn't grown an inch in almost 
te he ever grew as 
in actor, after the first few successes. If 
he'd only been pushed, had pushed him- 
self, into things where he'd have had to 


years. I don't thini 


reach, to strain. Well, he wasn't. He 
didn't. And it’s our loss, believe me, 
more than because he was the 


beacon and the standard. I don't have 
to tell you all the crappiness that’s come 
down on us merely in imitation of 
Marlon Brando. Or in imita 
empty set of mirror images, one faci 
the other into eternity. But just think 
what might have been, for him, for 
every other actor, had he chosen to go 
right on breaking boxes.” 


The decline and fall of the artistry of 
Marlon Brando is a classic case straight 
out of what is by now almost the cliché 
American myth on the fate of the cre- 
ative personality in our society. One 
thinks immediately of Nathanael West's 
The Day of the Locust, of The Big Knife 
nd Clifford Odets himself, of The Last 
Tycoon and Scott Fitzgerald himself, of 
Budd Schulberg's several cotton-pickin’ 
inquests into the Fitzgerald corpus, and 
of a whole minor tide of variations on 
the theme which each season floods onto 
our national bookshelves, ne 
stands, movie screens, 2Linch picture 


tubes. The myth runs as follows: As the 
carcer goes up, and the fame, the maz 
and his integrity must go down. 

Olten enough it is true encugh — so 
sickeningly often that some not only 
buy the myth but start to live up to it, 
to conform to it, even before their 
carcers stagger aloft on anything firmer 


than the bamboo stilts of pressagentry. 
Where it is always truest of all is when 
some young talent manifests itself among 


€ a sunburst a few years too soon 
gocd — not that it knows its 
can properly be blamed for 
ad this is 
lon Brando. 


own good o 
its God-granted abilities — 


what happened with M 


I have seen virtually everything 
Brando ever acted in. I did not sce his 


very early Broadway effort as March- 
banks, the demanding lile poct of 
Bernard Shaw's Candida; only a handful 
of in-group theatre professionals. still 
remember it, and these rather strongly 
disagree as to its merits, but all reperts 
concur that in any event it was of a 
fragility and fineness at startling remove 
from what he would soon (with the 
myth not yet upon him, the growth still 
ther ide him) display to the world 
in Streetcar. I did not see his yet earlier 
walk-on im Truckline Café, where, un 
der Stella Adler's tutelage, he а to 
have accomplished the next-to-impo 
ble feat (even for the most experienced 
of actors) of making a first, “cold” en- 
tance on stage in the midst of tears. 1 
did not sce him in one of his latest epics, 
Sayonara, because I could mot bring 
myself to. And of course I have not yet 
seen what at this writing has not yet 
been finished (edited down, that is, from 
si n trillion minutes of — self-indul- 
gence — excess footage): the film One- 
yed Jacks in which for the first time he 
serves as his own director. (The disci 
plines of time and cash are subs 
to none, beneath no one's contempt, in 
the collaborative arts; ask any architect.) 

But between these extremes I think I 
have seen everything: Streetcar, four 
times (twice, flabbergasted, in a movie 

nd The Men and The Wild 
nd On the Waterfront (three 
times) and Desirée and Julius Gaesar 
and Viva Zapata! and Teahouse of the 
August Moon and Guys and Dolls and 
The Young Lions and The Fugitive 
Kind and . . . were there any others? 

ГП tell you where I first became 


aware that the paralysis had set in (I 
learn slow). It was about a third of the 


. stolen Í 
agery of enstein, And 
many others) when it gradually be 

dawn on me that Zapata was none other 
than the motorcycle boy of The Wild 
One with а Leo Carrillo accent and a 
whole country on his hands. What he had 
most essentially was the same wounded 


psyche, the same morbid grudge 
one-tc-one human intercourse, with the 
last word taken any way you wish. Then 
1 realized he was also the even blacker- 
brewed paraplegic brooder of The Men 
(whose blackness had at the time seemed 
only appropriate for the role) and that 
the cinema (or belly-button and beer- 
foam) version of Stanley Kowalski had 
also now transferred operations to the 
Rio Grande. The movie version of 
Streetcar had bothered me so much. with 
its Stanley so constantly thrust down 
your craw in huge and violent close-up, 
its poetic intentions so ruthlessly disin- 
tegrated, that I had simply entered that 
state of shock which for some years may 
cause the suspension of all coherent 
counter-intelligence. If I had viewed the 
Broadway play and the printed text 
rough some sort of private distorting 
ss, the motion picture had taken it 
and turned it around and magnified 
ley into a ghoulish cross between 
tua, Bluebeard and Huey Long. 
price Johnny Wodarski now? 
What price Eddie Szemplenski, or any 
other such Ame 1 had ever с 
countered outside of the sorriest brands 
of whodunits and comic books? But 
Kazan had also staged the play. It was 
what they call confusing. 

And then we began to get all those 
other films, one following the next, and 
then at Jast, as I say, it finally pene- 
trated: what we were watching on our 
screens was no longer an actor but a 
Hollywood Star. 

‘Then things became still further con- 
fused, because it was a little difficult to 
fit into that new cosmology the nutty 
private kicks which Brando seemed 
bent on savoring, whatever the cost, as 
the cryptic, whispering, certainly ui 
stellar Napoleon that was next unfurled 
to us Desirée — until I lea m 
disreputable and public sources 


ned fr 


10 the picture and had done his excel- 


lent best to foul it up. It was yet more 
difficult to comprehend his oddball, pre- 
beatnik Mark Antony in Julius Caesar, 
all fits and starts and unique irrational 
inflections, until I presently caught up 
with other examples of the incapacities 
of director John Houseman to steer an 
мог beyond his ego. And it was alto- 
gether impossible to fit in, and still is, an 
intervening performance so superb that 
it may well constitute one of the two or 
three high points of all movie acting 
since the invention of the talkies. 

I suppose it is casier, especially [or 
Method actors, to study up on 1 
American longshoremen than on d 
Mexican revolutionaries or French 
perors or Roman avengers of assassi- 
nated colossi. Nevertheless there is 
ch endures even for 
als if they are of the 
calibre of those introduced into the 


American commercial film by Marlon 
Brando and his colleagues (Kazan, Rod 
Steiger, Lee Cobb, Karl Malden, Eva 
Marie Saint) of On the Waterfront. 

What they pumped into Hollywood 
movies was the priceless, the unbeliev 
ble fresh air of spontaneity, Everything 
else grew from this spontaneity as love 
ht grow in a summer garden. The 
story outline (by Schulberg) was, at best, 
an expedient gup of a heap of 
dockside crud so mountainous that 
every schoolboy from the Bronx to 
Wal Walla, Washington, knew it 
could never even be dented by either a 
Coi ional investigating committee 
(as in the film) or (as in the film) a quick 
spot of happy-ending Pier 6 brawl. This 
mattered not to Brando's betrayed, cor- 
rupted, cauliflower-cortexed young pro- 
tagonist: he gave birth to himself with- 
in these multiple rings of betrayal (not 

st the scenario’s) as if something new 
d clean and questing had just set foot 
into the world. It gave him those rarest 
of all qualities in the flat kingdom of 
celluloid: tenderness, vulnerability, pos- 
sibility. Once again I knew his proto- 
type: an Irish boy from a longshore 
family who lived. two doors from where 
I lived for ten recent years, and the 
prospective lightweight champion of the 
world until the mob started to make him 
take his dives. To this day he is a hero 
to all the Kids on those blocks; to this 
day, as you pass him on the sidewalk, 
you can see on his clobbered features 
the vulnerable and desolatin; ance of 
a man looking for something he knows 
not how he lost. The tenderness I can't. 
testify to; or against. Brando imparted 
that to him on his own; nor can ] ever 
recall seeing toughness and tenderness 
so organically fused in American 
film, though a certain kind of Hollywood 
picture (Gable, Tracy, Cagney, et al.) has 
been trying to do it for as long as pictures 
have been made. 

Tt is what in turn imparted to the 
between Brando and Eva 
t the truest sense of reality 
that we may know outside reality itself, 
id not often there. Do you remember 
where Brando. on the walk from the 
church, picks up the girl's glove and 
idly shoves às much of it as he can onto 
his own big fingers and hand? Do vou 
remember how the beginning of love 
aches through, and how ten seconds 
later, by the fence, momentarily re- 
buffed, he conveys with a single negli 
gent grinning shrug at least fifty-seven 
varieties of C’mon, what's to be scared 
of? Somebody once told me, or I once 
read, that this happened by accident: 
the actress dropped her glove by acci 
dent, and Brando picked it up as a 
fellow, that fellow in the movie (and 
he, Brando himself) would do, and put 
it on his hand that way, and kept on 
alking and talking the girl along, and 
she talking him along, until they crossed 


any 


“ГИ get you to the track on time, 
but watch that whip.” 


over to the fence and the river and the 
shrug; and Kazan kept it in, Things like 
that occur fairly frequently amid the 
enata of the legitimate stage, but you 
will just have to believe it when I tell 
you that they never happen in the ordi- 
nary prefabricated American film. More 
power to the Brando, the Kazin, of this 
bold pure isolated venture of nearly a 
decade ago, a venture which neither was 
ever 10 repeat. Since then, lor Brando, 
Brando the serious actor, everything has 
been downhill. The machine rolls only 
in reverse. Brando had become a com- 
modity, even to himself. 

It rolls through the comedy phase, 
when he tries (Teahouse) to turn himself 
to a David Wayne: an elephant sent 
to mime the flea, and an elephant who 
with his every particle should have 
known better than to make the effort. 
It rolls through the musical phase, when 
he tries (Guys and Dolls) to turn him- 
self into a breezy Robert Alda: the cle- 
phant doing the racetrack tout. Versa- 
tility is an admirable acquisition for the 
actor, but the goal here was not versa- 
tility; it was Box Office. And that goal, 
one admits, attained. The only 
thing somehow misplaced was Brando. 

It rolls then through his famous die- 
hard insistence in making a sympathetic 
character of the Nazi in The Young 
Lions . .. for when a person becomes а 
Movie Star how can he afford to grant 
the masses any opportunity not to love 
him? (Some movie stars fortunately 


was 


know better.) If the final product we 
v on screen was not merely not sym- 
pathetic but completely numb and in- 
explicable, a golden boy from oute 
space — well, so much for the masses, 
and for us and for the human brain, 
and even, if anyone cares, for Irwin 
Shaw. For who does care? The masses 
are dimwits and they'll forget. Who cares 
if the Orpheus Descending of Tennes- 
sce Williams exudes from the screen as 
nothing more than a heavily shadowed 
camera study of the hips, nipples, check- 
planes, firebrand eyes of the inarticulate 
monolith (shot always upward from the 
floor) that is its ostensible protagonist 
and spokesman for freedom, grace and 
understanding? 

It rolls on through One-Eyed Jacks 
(should it turn out a masterpiece then 
come and shoot me). It will probably 
roll on through all eternity, unimpeded 
by yours truly. There will be movie after 
movie, epic after epic, and then one 
fine day somebody will dare to inquire: 
"When is Marlon Brando going to do 
nother play?" and the myth will be 
complete. Just like poor Charlie Castle 
of The Big Knife, who was always talk- 
ing about the return to Broadway and 
never quite pulling it off, just like all 
the dozens and dozens of others in fact 
or fiction who have sought out the Great 
American Myth and hurled themselves 
ardently into its maw, Marlon Brando 
is not going to come back. It is too late. 
La commédia ё finita. 


PLAYBOY 


128 


smooth and quiet: the engine, until 


FERRARI (continued from page 52) 
contributes pleasantly to your sense of 
security even if you don't wear it in 


vour hatband. 

And this kind of traveling can be 
done in easy comfort, in an esthetically 
lovely c е, the best of Italian body- 
work covering a chassis so toush and 
d a night of flat-out 
whipand-spur running will not begin to 
overstress i 

А 1961 250 GT engine has no choke. 
To start it from cold you switch on 
ап electric fuel pump to fill up the 
three big carburetors. (The pump is also 
an insurance à hot 


ainst vapa 
ather.) When the clicki 
you can shut it off, twist the key and the 
engine will start with its characteristic 
metallic rasping. Once the 12 cylinders. 
have begun to fire, a discreet nudge on 
the accelerator pedal now and again for 
the first thirty seconds will keep every. 
thing turning at a decent 1500 revolu- 
tions per minute or so and thereafter 
the engine will run steadily until it's 
m. You can hurry the warnrup by 
winding up a shutter in front of the 
radiator. The engine will idle around. 
700 and you can put the transmission 
into first gear and let out the clutch a 
that rate and the car will move olt I 
а Cadillac. 

The GT Fen 5 so soft that it is 
possible to motor an elderly innocent 
around town on a shopping tour all 
afternoon without the car's once demon- 
strating any esential dissimilarity with 
a Cadillac. (All Ferraris now have four- 
or five-speed  stickeshift transmissions. 
h it is absolutely necessary for 


LT 


will eventually be obsolete. 
Tl be stoned for saying this, but 1 look 
forward to the inevitable automatic 
transmission Ferrari. That, 1 think, will 
be the ultimate piston-engine automo- 
bile.) It is this characteristic, perhaps 
1 other, that is astonishing 
in а car capable of out-performing 
thing else in the world. One is reminded 
of Dan Mannix’ descriptions of the feats 
possible to virtuosi among Roman ani- 
mal-trainers 


sio 


orc th 


who could school a lion to 
shot hare, accept a pat in 
reward, then kill a bear or a man and 
back to be patted again. The 250 
rrari is a trained and tamed lion. 

However, it is certainly not every 
body's lion. A driver coming to a Ferrari 
from a schooling only on high-powered 
domestic passenger cars, Corvettes and 
Chrysler 300s excluded, should proceed 
with care, He will find that speedometer 
readings of 70 and 80 come up fre- 
quently on roads over which hc has 
previously held himself to 
100 is likely to appear to be merely 
quick, not. really adventuresome. Why's 
this? Because everything about tlie cz 


0 mph, and 


gets up around 5000 and begins to rave, 
the stee the Porsche synchromesh 
transm and ihe ride — smoother. 
the faster the car moves. 

Extremely deceiving to the driver 
newly acquainted with such things is 
the Ferrari's flat ride, There is minimal 
roll in comers and curves, and -some- 
times there seems almost to have been a 
repeal of the law of gravity, because one’s 
tendenty is to stay put while the car 
corners, instead of bobbing from 
side, Up to rates of speed illegal 
county in Ше land, there are no 
road curves in а Ferrari's path. The car 
irons them all out straight. The driver 
used to gauging speed by scatof-the- 
pants reaction in curves will be deceived 
to the point of wondering if the speed- 
ometer is wild. 

The Ferrari's brakes contribute to the 
deception. They are servo-assisted Dun- 
lop disks, and they will, under severe 
usage, produce the sensation that the 
car has run into a wall of dough. In 
ordinary practice they'll. pull the speed 
down precipitately and unobtrusively. 

All of these things that I have talked. 
about as deceptive for a new driver are 

nchantments for onc used to the ca 
A trip I make frequently, and count 
quickly done in seventy minutes, I did 

n fifty-five in a GT Ferrari, unde: 
sluicing rain. and without anything 
spectacular to call attention to mysell. 
Only in a car like this is it possible 
safely to go quickly from point to point 
without prodigious 
braking.power and impec 
holding it is dangerous and si 
to hurry. 

You can hurry in the 250 GT Ferrari, 
а notyery-big car at 8 feet 6 inches of 
wheelbase nchromed and unfinned. а 
model of taste, two big form-fitting 
leather seats, a little odd space behind, 
adio, heater, every amenity, а large 
runk im the т nd that 180-mph 
speedometer glowing in a dim blue 
light. Among all the automobiles ауд 
ble today there is noth 
this, and only once in the si 
the automobile has there bee the 
Bugatti of the 1920s and 1930s, another 
ory-and-steel passenger car that could 
0 out and set records. 

170 Ferrari, who puts his name on 
these cars, and on the sports and Grand 
р rs that have won so v aces 
in the past dozen years, w sixt 
three soon. He is a tall, sp n. He 
does not smile frequently. He lives 
quietly in Modena, ten miles hom his 
factory in Maranello. Не is conserv 
tive, moderate, unspectacular if опе ex- 
cepts the fact that his concern with his 
work amounts almost to obsession. Hc is 
distant, austere. He is apparently un- 


10ad- 
y really 


пу 
I he 
rc ni 


ieu 


happy. like most creative people. He 
has said. “I [eel lost in the cruelty of 
destiny." The death of his son. Alfredo 
1056 profoundly depressed Ferrari. 
cL intended his son to carry on the 
a and when he died in his twenties. 
s much point 
and purpose go out of his own lifc. 
(The subsequent series of racecars was 
called "Dino" alter the affectionate d 
minutive of Alfredo.) Ferrari's temperi- 
ment is sombre. He has а strong sense 
of dignity and his own worth, and if his 
ego is a sturdy, well-nourished plant. it 
should be: in a very short time as such 
things go he has cut his name into the 
record beside Royce, beside Ford and 
nd Bugau nd Porsche and 
me has come to some auto- 
mobiles with time's aid, like ivy growing 
thicker on a wall, but à child born when 
Ferrari made his first car isn't out. of 


high school yet. 

Ferrari knows automobiles and he 
knows his business and he knows that it 
isa rough business. “If 


culated the risks he would never 
a racing car," he has said. 
would never build one” He was an old- 
time racing driver and before that he 
was а mechanic, early in the service of 
a good house, Alla-Romco. He drove 
first for Alfa-Romeo. Ascari the elder 
and Campari were on the same team. 
On June 17, 1925, Ferrari won the Ci 

cuit of Savio race at Ravenna, setti 
new lap record in the process, The prize 
that meant most to him that day was 
nothing the race organizers had to offer; 
it was a heraldic device, a black horse 
rampant on a yellow field, given him by 


the parents of Major Francesco Baracca, 
the leading Malian pursuit pilot ol 
І. victor over 


World V 
thirty-six 
down on June 
won his first r: 
anniversary. of I 


enemy [ 1 been shot 
18, 1918, so Ferrari had 
е almost on the fifth 
death, He was much 
moved by the gift, part of the Barace: 
oLarms, and has used it as а per 
sonal emblem ever since. The only other 
award that has meant as much to Fer- 
rari came a few months ago when he was 
given an honorary degree in engi " 
by the University of Bologna, one of the 
oldest universities in the world. A 
holder of the same degree was Guglielmo 
rconi, who invented the radio. 

ari was not a driver of the 
у ı but now and then he was 
good enough to beat some who were — 
hc beat Tazio Nuvolari on three occi- 
sions, and Nuvolari was the greatest of 
his day and perhaps the greatest of 
time. When, in December . the 
Alfa-Romeo factory withdrew from 
ing, the team cars and equipment were 
turned over to Ferrar gement, 
аз the 


ис 


h was a successful 
m. Ferrari recruited the best drivers: 


Europe, and, until the Germans ap- 


“Will you please stop taking down what I'm saying?!” 


129 


PLAYBOY 


130 


peared with the monster Mercedes Benz 
and Auto-Union cars, Ferrari had nota- 
ble successes. Nuvolari won the 1930 
Mille Miglia driving for the Scuderia, 
and his legendary victory at the Nür- 
burgring in 1985. when he beat full 
ms of Mercedes-Benz and Auto-Union 
cars, was in a Ferrari Alfa-Romeo. 

errari put together а car in 1939, the 
engine built up out of two Fiats, and 
when the war put a stop to racing he 
made machine tools. His Maranello fac- 


tory was hit by eight American bombs in 
а 1918 daylight raid, and shortly after- 


ward the Germans came along and 
picked up what equipment was worth 
taking. Four years passed before Ferrari 
could get back on his feet and produce 
the first car wholly of his design and 
ulacture, IZ-cylinder, — 1.5-liter 
supercharged racing model. 

Ferrari is unique in that his passenger- 
car operation is secondary to 1 ng. 
and not the other way around, Mer- 
most successful 
zations, taken by and. 
past half century, bases 
operation, which is intermit- 

huge commercial business, 
and this is the usual rule, Factories pro- 
ducing both racing and passenger cars 
usually expect to lose money in competi- 
n, and to write it off as publicity and 

divertising and research. Ferrari needs 
540,000 or $50,000 a vear in prize money 
to stay in business. He races for keeps. 

The intensity with which Ferrari ap- 
proaches racing has contributed. 
deal to the prevailing image of the man. 
He never sees а race, or almost never. 
He stays in Modena and waits by the 
telephone. His tendency to personalize 
his automobiles and to become emotion- 
ally involved with his drivers would 
create, he feels, an undesirable level of 
excitement which would communicate 
itself to the team. He has been severely 
criticized in recent years because of the 
deaths of so many ranking drivers at che 


ing organi 


tent, on 


mpressive, 

drivers Ita 
Musso — plu: 
Wharton and the Sp: 
Portago, to mention only the leading 
lights. Alter go's Mille Migh 
crash, which took fifteen lives, the out- 
cry was particularly vehement. There 
was nothing wrong with the automo- 
les. Fheir list o[ successes indicated 
the correctness of their design, and 


‚ Castelotti, 
llins and 
quis de 


for materi; Ferrari is almost fanatic 
on the subject of metal fatigue, and 


maintains the most rigid quality con- 
trols. Most of the Ferrari accidents can 
be traced to human error in опе form. 
or another sed shift, à tire that 
should ha changed, a bend en 
tered 3 miles an hour too fast, and so 
on. If there is an over-all explanation 
it is that Ferrari cars are very fast, 


and Ferrari drivers, being picked from 
among the world's best, are likely to be 
men who try very hard. 

There are those who think they try 
too hard, and do so because the Com- 
mendatore is capable of imposing ire- 
mendous competitive pressures on them. 
Some critics have found this brutal, but 
to anyone who has ever watched, up 
dose, a college football coach at work, 
Ferrari's methods do not seem so rough. 

They have, in any case, served his 
purpose. No racing team in history has 
won so much prize money. The drivers’ 
world championship has been won in 
cars, the constructors’ world cham- 
nship, the championship of sports 


cars and of touring cars, in and 
again. This year two Americans are 
driving for h. Phil Hill and Richie 


Calilon h the 
an driver, Wolfgang von 
is reserve driver (Ferrari 
will usually run two cars) and Hill is 
the No. 1. He is an intense, taut, fluent 
and intelligent man, a theoretician who 
derstanding of 


Ginther, both 
ranking Gern 
Ti the 


possesses а profound u 
the behavior of racc-c 

Ferrari is conservative, not quick to 
un ma 


and the recent 
trend to ultra-light rearengine Grand 
Prix cars found him lagging. The British 
dominated 1960 with Cooper and Lotus 
and BRM rearengine cars. Ferrari did 
put out a rearengine car, but its pro- 
duction was hurried and it was no grea 
at to the English builders. This ycar 
ional formula, spec 
5-liter engines to replace the old 
2.55, and a new team of blood-red Fer- 
rari monoposto cars will come out of the 
shiny-clean shops at М: ello, through 
the green gate across from the tree- 
shaded courtyard of the inn, to cam- 
ign around the world again. They 
inly be very fast, reflective of 
s intense pride and patriotism. 
purpose, he has said, is "to build 
n champion- 
He has won every race of 
quence except onc, Indi, 
tily set up Fe cars h 
t Indianapolis, but they h 
not run successfully. For an Italian team 
10 mount an Indianapolis 
quires major effort, i 
from perhaps three potentially luc 
European races. Ferrari will eventu 
make the effort. Someone who 
him well has said, "Lo Ferrari, 
hasn't won is a thrown gauntlet. 
Meanwhile the lithe and lovely gran 
turismo machines will come from Mara- 
nello in ones and twos and threes, cach 
of them an example of the purest ex- 
pression man hay yet been able to 
to the ageold wish to move privately, 
speedily and elegantly over the face of 
the саг 


cars for champions to w 
ships in." 


TAHITI 


(continued from page 91) 
it Emerson?) said that the happicst man 
is thc one who can do without the most. 
things. You don't have much of a choice 
down there — you're forced to do with- 
out things you take for granted ів 
America. The guys who find a vahine 
and a little thatched cottage on the 
lagoon and "scttle down to do some 
stocktaking and Пу live" don't seem 
to stick it out very long, unless they have 
а lot of inner resources. Thev generally 
take to the booze pretty hard, and then 
one day after а few weeks they quietly 
leave for the familiar frantic pace again 
there to dine out on tales of Tahiti, 
“where they really know how to live.” 

In the transition period from rat-race 
to man to confirmed Tahiti lover, the 
worst time is about the third week. The 
ionishment over the physical beauty 
has begun to wear oll, you've done all 
the obvious things to do, met all the 
15. and you begin to get itchy for a 
play or a newspaper or a bookstore о! 
nice new Hollywood movie. That's when 
the longtime residents of the island look 
wise and say: "Three weeks in Tahiti is 
too long — and three months is too short. 

How does an average day go by in 
Tahiti? Well, when I'm there I uy to 
get up fairly early and do a little writ- 
ing or painting. 1 sav trv, because too 
often I just say to hell with it (and the 
longer you live there the morc often you 
find that litle phrase coming to your 
lips about anything that involves any 
chort whatsoever). After breakfast 
served in the big thatched house by two 
handsome girls in bright pareus, I slide 
the big outrigger down the beach to the 
water— (or rather, I wait for the gar- 
dener to do it!)—and spend the mor 
ing out on the lagoon goggle fishing. 
‘The water and the fish are beautiful, but 
it's tough fishi since the native spear 
fishermen have made them pretty wary. 
Incidentally, there are no sharks in the 
igoon but there are plenty of moray 
cels, some four to five feet long with 
heads and jaws on them like fox terriers. 

Then comes lunch, and what a lunch 
it can be: marinated t or parrot fish, 
the freshest lobsters, giant grapefruit and 
avocados, bread fruit, yams, fried ban; » 
nd best of all, poe, the arrowroot des- 
sert (which has nothing whatsoever to 
do with that mu nous Haw n 
paste called poi). The food all over the 
island is generally surprisi d. 

Alter lunch you read or take a nap or 
drive into town to check the biweekly 
ail arrival and see who's new in town. 
Usually ther fellow writer v 
the most recent being Gr 
(doesn't like Tahiti much), Eugene Bur- 
d James Ramsey UI 
ivs hard 
ity who 


ig; 


(loves 
to miss meeting any person 
comes through, though the 
themselves are completely 


with success and successful people: some 
one remarked that the only two people 
in the whole world who could cau: 
sir in Tahiti would be General de 


Gaulle and Tino Ross. a longtime pop- 
ular Italian crooner whose records the 
Tahitians love. 


So anyway, after you've cased the town 
and shot the breeze at a sidewalk caté, 
if you have the energy, you can grab а 
girl and drive out through the 
counuyside, so lush and fertile that eve 
the fence posts sprout and turn into 
trees. Then you stop at a fresh stream in 
the greenest valley you ever saw. And if 
you've chosen right, how you spend the 
тем of the afternoon is up to you. To 
wind the day up you can, if you've a 
mind and the mosquitoes don't get too 
bad. cut a bamboo rod, use your pareu 
as a net to catch some shrimp for bait, 
and then snag a few nalo, a scrappy and 
delicious touvlike fish. Pull down a 
breadfruit from а wee, build a fire, and 
broil your fish at the same time you 
roast the breadfruit in the coals. There 
re bananas and oranges for the grab- 
bing and the girl will show you how to 
husk and open a coconut. 

Or if you feel fancier, you can go 
back out of the wilds, clean up and go 
to а cocktail party, if thats the kick 
you want, It seems as if there’s one a 
night. Then there are a couple of good 
little modest restaurants town, 
after dinner its off to the 
nightclub for some of tha 
Or if you're hardy, you can take in a 
movie at one of Papecte’s two theatres, 
where the film vintage is usually twenty 
y (last season's big 
event was the first show of Gone with 
the Wind there). Rats run under the 
seats, and the Tahitians get terribly ex 
ed and yell obscenities at the villain, 
since nothing сап persuade them that 
the happenings on the didn't 
actually occur. (The Tal 7 favorite 
actor is Roy Rogers, wl 
nounce "Rowah Roshir 


I you make it ul 
periods, little by 
of the place wi 
you will forget the inconveniences, you 
will lose interest in the outside world, 

1 who tries to describe a Tah 
а fool, so let me just say that 
once you've seen one, you won't forget 
it as long as you live — the stars in this 
dustless, smogless, cloudless atmosphere 
large and well defined as in. 


But most of all there is in the air a 
strange pervading peace of mind, an 
absence of urgency, the removal of the 
weight of our tomonows. This is the 
allure of Tahiti — the past, the present, 
the eternal allure—this is what the 
us of the “civil: 


island has to teach и 
i 


d” world. 


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JACKPOT OF CORPSES 


(continued from page 51) 
which is also called the Root River. 
You can consider it on the North Side, 
which is why I consulted Deanie 
O'Banion before comin’ to you. 

You done the right thing." said Big 


Jim, "thats Deanie's territory. And I 
don't want to mix in. 
"Deanie said it was OK to go to 


our visitor said quickly. “He w 
t, unsympathetic to the whole 
problem. All I could get out of him 
was the statement, ‘I ain't interested in 
corpses. They're small potatoes.’ That's 
all he'd say. Of course, I realize I come 
to him at the wrong time. 

“What corpses are thosc?" 
asked, lowering his voice. 

"Ill give you the full pictur 
the skinny man. He pushed a wine 
glass away, adding, “Pardon me, I never 
touch it. I been on the wagon for fif- 
teen years, ever since the Hotel Hay- 
market fire. I was blind drunk in bed 
on that occasion and they 
me out of the fifth-floor window into a 
net. I've never touched a drop since. 

Big Jim started to leave, and I re- 
minded the teetotaler, "You were going 
to tell us about some corpse: 

“Yes, indeed," Milt Feasely said, “I’ve 
been operatin’ for thirteen years 
catchin' corpses in the Chicago River 
and turnin’ them over to the coroner's 
office at fifty dollars a head. That's the 
salvage price per floater hauled out of 
the river, It used to be only twenty-five 
but I got a friend on the city council, 
maybe you know him, Alderman 
Willoughby." 

“A good pal,” said Colosimo, sitting 
down again. "How much action do you 
get on them corpses? 

"It depends on the season." Milt an- 
swered. "August to November is the 
best months. I'd say when they're run- 
nin' good, there's a average of two a 
week for my net.” 

You catch 'em in a net?" Colosimo. 
asked. He seemed. surprised. 
“I got a net stretched across the river 
Aberdeen Street," said Milt. "As a 
matter of straight facts, I got two nets. 
Опе I got sunk thirty feet down, prac 
ticly touchin’ bottom. Because there is 
a type of corpse which don't float at all. 
My main net is close to the surface, so 
I have to pull it in every time there's a 
boat passin’, And 1 tell you, it 
keeps me hoppin’. I do about five hours 
оГ rowin' every day in my dinghy.” 

It's a funny business for a fella to 
get into," said Colosimo. 
Чп 


to throw 


can 


т for the Bis. 
id Milt, "so it 
come natural. V heard of the 
runaway hearse?” he looked hopefully at 
our host, “I was involved in that.” 


“I dont remember 
hearse,” said Big Jim. 

“It was before Î went on the wagon.” 
Milt explained. 

So you now have two nets on Aber- 
deen Street,” 1 said, making a note on a 
piece of copy paper. 

“I picked Aberdeen Street," Milt 
sely said, "because it's only a mile 
and a half away from the mouth of the 
river. Most people t aware of this, 
but the Chicago River is one of the few 
rivers that flows both ways, up and 
down, From four р.м. to midnight, the 
river runs in from the lake. Then it 


no runaway 


turns around after midnight and runs 
ack into the lake. So you sec, I get “em 


comin’ and goin’, What I me: 

" know what you mean," Colosimo 
interrupted. “So that’s where you got 
the name Jackpot?” 

“Yes, Alderman Willoughby gave me 
that title," said Milt Feascly, “and 1 
guess it just stuck." 

"What kind of corpses do you get 
I asked, making a few more notes. 
‘The usual," said Milt. “Suicides, ac- 
cidents, murders and so forth. And from 
every walk of life. Maybe you remember 
the society girl who was concealed in the 
burlap bag full o’ bricks? She couldn't 
get by my low net.” 

“What's your problem?" Big Jim asked 
suddenly. “I don't sec no problem,” he 
grinned. “Except for all that rowin’ you 
got a pretty easy setup.” 

Ever hear of a fella named Fats 
Dorfman?” our visitor asked. 

"No," said Big Jim. I also shook my 
d. 
He's a big, fat, nogood dirty — 
Milt began. 

Please, no sweari 
terrupted. 

cuse me,” said Milt. He resumed 
after a few deep breaths. “This fella Fats 
Dorfman has stretched a net across the 
river at Blue Island Avenue. Which is 
a mile farther inland from . How I 
get aware of it was I run into Doc 
Springer in the coroner's office last weck 
and he says to me, ‘I sec you got a part- 
ner, Jackpot 1 ask him, a partner in 
what? And I learn the news. This fella 
Fats Dorfman has brought in two float- 
ers inside of three weeks. And collected 
fifty per head. So 1 go huntin’ for this 
fella, Fats Dorfman. I start rowin’ the 
dinghy from the lake harbor right up 
the river, inspectin’ every foot. And 1 
finally get to Blue Island Avenue on the 
third day. And I catch him red-handed, 
liftin' his net, With an old lady > 
who was my property. I ordered him to 
give her up but all he did was laugh. 
ТАП right,’ I tell him, ‘I'm warning you. 
l been workin’ this river for thirteen 
years. And I ain't goin’ to stand for no 
poachers.’ 

s only response was there was 
enough for everybody. And we should 
divvy up the corpses. I should get ‘em 


hi 


Colosimo in- 


* up from the Таке and he'll take 
i о the Tak 

looked moody. Three “poach- 

had held up one of his brothels 

while back, and made off with the 

wecks profits plus several suitcases 

mmed with ball gowns and expensive 


ers” 


in,” 


«аһ, people are always cuttin’ 
m said. "I guess it's hum 


ight! I been ope thirteen 
years. And [ bought the dinghy from the 
fella who was operatin' ahead of me, à 
amed Moose 1 who w 


nd who invented the op- 


eration. I imagine vou heard o’ him.” 
Big Jim shook his head, a moodiness 


still in his eyes. 
he reason I asked," said М 
Fcasel as that shortly after sellin’ 
ош to me, Moose was a victim of drunk- 
ennes and fell off the Kedzie Street 
bridge. He was one of the first corpses 
1 got in the net.” 

“Quite a break,” said Big Jim, vaguely. 

"Yeah, 1 had all the breaks ti 
bum Dorfman shows up." said Milt, 
Now the reason 1 come to sce vou is 
that if a man in your position would 
take over the river so far as my work is 
concerned, 1 would be glad to kick in 
twenty-five percent per floater for pro- 
tecti 


“Ic ain't much of a take,” said Colo- 
simo. "You say it runs about filty to a 
hundred bucks а wee! 

“In that vicin 
Are there 
Big Jim brightened. 

"No, not for said. Mile. 
“L checked on that couple years ago. 
MI you got outside my river is the Di 
we Canal, which is good only for sui- 
cides, because nobody is usin’ the Drain- 
or high d 


Milt 


les,’ 


forty 


Big Jim Colosimo si 
‘Sorry, Jackpot," 


All you gotta do,” said Milt F 
"is chase this Fats Dorfman 
I don’t care how you do it” 
"Ain't my kind of a deal,” said Big 
Jim. He smiled at Jackpot, "Order 
thing you want. It’s on the house.” 
My visitor sat scowling and silent. 
finally spoke: 
“If nobody's goin’ to help me get 
istice, TH get it myself. Nobody's goi 
to stick a net across that river after I 
been operatin' thirteen years. By God, 


He 


my nets goin’ to catch "em comin’ and 
ain’. And you put that in your 


p 


per if you w 


ive you.” 


nt to write up the facts 


And 1 did. 1 “wrote it up” a month 


later. It was a grisly news item, but it 
amused my city editor, w ng 
over the amount of val е space 
being taken up by the Greco-Bul 
war. He put it on the front p: 
der a feature headline, a jackror oF 
CORPSES. 

he story гап: 
“Jackpot Milt Fi 


ely won a victory 
over his rival, Fats Dorfman, carly this 
morning. For thirteen years, Milt had a 
monopoly on salvaging drowned bodies 
out of the Chicago River with the aid 
of two nets stretched across the water- 
way. 

“Last month, Fats Dorfman invaded 
5 territory. with a rival net с 
‘ther up the river. Argument failing 
to oust the po Jackpot 
Milt rowed out in the m wn today 


and started to hack his rival's net to 
pieces with a knife He had reduced the 
net to shreds when Fats Dorfman came 
punting out in his own dinghy to check 
on what was going on in the loggy dawn. 
A battle between Milt and Fats ensued. 
Witnesses, attracted by their roa 
saw both body salvagers whacking а 
cach other with oars until they toppled 
into the river together. Neither М 
ats could swim. 
“A few hours later both bodies w 
recovered from the river at Aberdec 
Street. Jackpot Milt Feasely had won 
his point. He had vowed that his sal- 
ing net would be the only one to 
tch corpses in Chicago's historic 
stream. And it was. 


133 


PLAYBOY 


134 


ILLUSTRATED WOMAN 


veritable hearth-fire stoked by a blush 
of all-encompassing and cveramoving 
color that surged and resurged up and 
down my body in tints of pink and rose 
nd then pink again. 

“My God! cried Willy, ‘you're the 
loveliest grand camellia that ever did 
unfurl!’ Whereupon new tides of blush 
moved in hidden avalanches within, 
showing only to color thc tent of my 
body, the outermost and, to Willy any- 
ау, most precious skin. 

“What did Willy do then? Guess.” 
7I daren't,” said the doctor, flustered 
himself. 

“He walked around and around me.” 

“Cireled vou?" 

“Around and around, like a sculptor 
at a huge block of snow-white 
He said so, himself. Granite 
or marble from which he might shape 

yet 


of beauty as uessed. 
Around and around he walked, sighing 
and shakin his for- 
tune, his little hands clasped, his little 
eyes bright. Where to begin, he seemed 
to be thin where, where to begin!? 
“He spoke at last, "Emma. he asked, 
‘why, why do you think I've worked for 
years as Ше GUESS YOUR WEIGHT man at 
the carnival? Why? Because 1 have been 
searching my lifetime through for such 
as you. Night after night, summer after 
summer, I've watched those scales jump 
and twitter! And now at last I've the 
means, the way, the wall, the canvas, 
whereby to express my genius!” 
Me stopped walking and looked at 
me, his eyes brimming over. 
һе said, softly, ‘may 1 have 
permission to do anything absolutely 
whatsoever at all with you? 
"Oh, Willy, Willy,’ 1 cried. "Any- 


thir 


nma t paused. 

The doctor found himself out at the 
edge of his chair. 

“Yes, yes. And then?” 

“And then,” said Emma Flect, “he 
brought out all his boxes and bottles of 
inks and stencils and his bright silver 
tattoo needles.” 

“Tattoo needles?” 

The doctor fell back 

“He .. . tattooed youi 

“He tattooed me." 

“He was а tattoo artist?” 

“He was, he is, an artist. It only hap- 
pens that the form his art takes happens 
to be the tattoo.” 

And you,” 
“were the 


id the doctor, slowly, 
h he had been 
rching much of his adult lif 

"E was the canvas for which he had 
searched all of his adult life.” 

She let it sink, and it did sink, and 
kept on sinking, into the doctor. Then 
when she saw it had struck bottom and 
stimed up vast quantities of mud, she 


canvas for whi 


(continued [rom page 61) 


nt serenely on. 

So our grand life began! I loved 
Willy and. Willy loved me and we both. 
loved this thing that was larger than 
ourselves that wc were doing together. 
Nothing less than. creating the greatest 
picture the world has ever seen! "Noth- 
ing less than perfection" cried Willy 
"Nothing less than  perlection!" 
myself, in response. 

“Oh, it was a happy time. "Ten thou- 
sand cozy busy hours we spent together. 
You can't imagine how proud it made 
me to be the vast shore along which the 
genius of Willy Flect ebbed and flowed 
in a tide of colors. 

“Опе year alone we spent on 
right arm and ту lelt, half а year on 
my right leg, eight months on my left, 
and explosion 
which erupted out along 


my 


my collarbones а shoulderblades, 
which fountained upward from my hips 
to meet in a glorious July celebration of 


pinwheels, Titian nudes, Giorgione 


landscapes, and El Greco cross-indexes 
of lightning on my facade, prickling 
ith vast. electric fires up and down my 


spine. 
“Dear me, there never has been, there 
never will be, a love like ours again, a 
love where two people so sincerely dedi- 
cated themselves to one task, of giving 
beauty to the world in equal portions. 
We flew to cach other day alter d. 
id if I ate more, grew larger, with the 
s, Willy approved, Willy applauded, 
Just that much mote room, more space 
Tor his configurations to Помет in. We 
could not bear to be apart, for we both 
felt, were certain, that once the Master- 
piece was finished we could leave circus, 
l or vaudeville forever. It was 
ndiose, yes, but we ew that once 
finished, I could be toured through the 
Art Institute in Chicago, the Kress Col- 
lection m Washington, the Tate Gallery 
in London, the Louv the Uffizi, the 
Мансап Museum! For t rest of our 
lives we would travel with the sun! 
“So it went, year on усаг. We didn’t 
need the word or the people of the 
world, we had cach other. We worked 
ar our ordinary jobs by day, and then 
ht, there was Willy at 
iny ankle, there was Willy at my elbow, 
there was Willy exploi up the in- 
credible slope of my back toward the 
alcumed crest. Wi wouldn't 
let me see, most of the time. He didn't 
like me looking over his shoulder, he 
didn't like me looking over my shoulder, 
for that matter. Months passed before, 
curious beyond madness, I would be 
llowed to see his progress, slow inch by 
nch, as the brilliant inks inundated me 
and I drowned the rainbow of his in- 
spiration: ght years, eight glorious 
wondrous years. And then at last, it 
was done, it was finished. And Willy 


threw himself down and slept for forty- 
cight hours straight. And Т slept nca 
the 


him. the mammoth bedded with 
black lamb. That was just four we 
ago. Four short weeks back, our happi 
ness came to an end." 

“Ah, yos" said the doctor. “You and 
your husband suffering from the 
creative equivalent of the ‘baby blue: 
the depression а mother feels after her 
child is born. Your work is finished. A 
d somewhat sad period in- 
follows. But, consider, 
p the rewards of you 
the world? 
ad a te 
mom 


now, 
long 


labor, surely? You will tou 
"No," cried Emma Fleet, 
sprang to her eye. "At any 


nt, 
Willy will run off and never return, He 


has begun to wander about the ci 
Yesterday I caught him brushing off the 
carnival y I found him 
working, for the first time in eight years, 
back at his GUESS your Wr т booth!” 

“De the psychiatrist. 
"He 

“Weighing new women. ves! Shopping 
for new canvas! He hasn't said. but 1 
know. I know! This time he'll find a 
heavier woman yet, five hundred, six 
hundred pounds! ] guessed this would 
ppen, a month ago, when we finished 
the Masterpiece. So І ate still more, and 
stretched my skin still more, so that 
little places appeared here and there, 
little open stretches that Willy had to re- 
fill in with fresh dei But now 
m done, exhausted, I've stuffed to dis- 
traction, the last fill-in work is done. 
There's not a millionth of an inch of 
space left between my ankles and my 
Adam's apple where he can squ 


said 


ze 


one lax demon, dervish, or baroque 
angel. I am, to Willy, work over and 
done. Now he w s to move on. He 

more times in 


his life, 
a greater extension for 
nd the grand finale of h 
too, in the last week, he h 
critical." 

“Of the Masterpiece with a сар 
asked the docto 

“Like all artists, he is а perfectio 
Now he finds little flaws, a face her 
done slightly in the wrong tint or tex 
ture, a hand there twisted slightly askew 
by my hurried dict to gain more weight 
him new space and renew 
his attentions. To him, above all, I w 
a beginning. Now he must move on 
from his apprenticeship to his tue 
masterworks. Oh, doctor, 1 am about 10 
be abandoned. Where is there lor a 
woman who weighs four hundred pounds 
and is laved with illustrations? If h 
leaves, what shall I do, where go, w 
would want me now? Will I be lost 
again in the world as 1 was lost before 
my wild happiness?” 

А psychiatrist," said the psycl 

is not supposed to give advice. И 


to a larger woman, 
eater mural, 
nt. Then, 
become 


M 


and thus gi 


“But, but, but?" she cried, eagerly. 

“A psychiatrist is supposed to let the 
patient discover and cure himself. Yet, 
in this case — 

“This c 

“It se 
husband's love — 

"To keep his love, yes? 

The doctor smiled. "You must destroy 
© Masterpiece," 
“Wate” 

“Erase it. get rid of it. Those tattoos 
will come off, won't they? I read. some- 
where once that — 

“Oh, doctor!" Emma Fleet leapt up. 
“Thats j! Pt can be done! And best 
of all, Willy can do it! I1 will take three 
months alone to wash me clean, rid me 
of the very Masterpiece that irks him 
now. Then, virgin-white again. we can 
start another eight. years, after that 
other eight and another and anothe 
Oh. doctor now he'll do it! Perha 
he was only waiting 
and I too stupid to 
doctor!" 

And she crushed him in her arms. 

When the doctor broke happily free, 
she stood off, turning in a circle. 

"How strange," she said. "In half an 
hour, you solve the next three thou- 
and days and beyond, of my life. You're 
very wise. ГИ pay you anything 
fy usual modest fee is sufficient.” 
said the doctor. 

"E can hardly wait to tell Willy! But 
Wt.” she said, “since you've been so 
wise, you deserve to see the Masterpiece 
befo: destroyed. 

hat's hardly necessary, Mr: 
"You must discover for yourself the 
rare mind, eye and artistic hand of Willy 
Fleet, before it is gone forever, and we 
start anew!” she cried 


єз, go оп!" 
To keep your 


e, 
ms so simple 


P 
for me to suggest — 
wess! Oh, doctor, 


unbuttoning her 


voluminous frock-coat. 

“Tt isn't really — " 

“There id, and flung her coat 
wide. 

The doctor was somehow not sur- 


prised to see that she was stark naked 
beneath her coat. 

He gasped. His eyes grew Tare. His 
mouth fell open. He sat down slowly, 
though in reality he somehow wished to 


stand, as he had in the fifth grade 
boy, during the salute to the f 


g which three dozen voices broke into 
an awed and tremulous song: 
“Oh Beautiful for spacious sk 
O'er amber waves of grain. 
They purple mountain majesties, 
Thove the fruited plain...” 
But, still seated. overwhelmed, he 
gazed at the continental vastness of the 
woman 


Upon which nothing whatsoever was 


stitched, painted. water-colored or 
any way tattooed. 
Naked. unadorned, untouched, u 


lined, unillustrated. 
He gasped agai 
Now she had whipped her coat back 


about her with a winsome acrobat's 
smile, as if she had just performed a 
towering feat. Now she was sailing to- 
ward the door. 

“Wait said the doctor, 

But she was out the door, in the re- 
ception room. babbling, whispering. 
“Willy. Willy!” and bending to her hus- 
band, hissing in his tiny ear until his 
eves flexed wide. and his firm and passion- 
ate mouth dropped open and he cried 


1 


aloud and clapped his hands with 
ation 
"Doctor, doctor, thank you, thank 
you!” 


He darted forward and seized the doc- 
tor's hand and shook it, hard. The doc- 
tor was surprised at the fire and rock 
hardness of that grip. It was the hand of 
a dedicated artist, as were the eves burn- 
ing up at him darkly from the wildly 
illuminated face, 

Everything's going to be fine! 
Willy. 

The doctor hesitated, glancing from 
Willy to the great shadowing balloon 
that tugged at him wanting to fly off 
away 

We won't have to come back again, 
ever? 
sood Lord, the doctor thought, docs 
he think that he has illustrated her from 
stem to stern. and docs she humor him 
about it? Is he mad? 

Or does she imagine that he has tat- 
tooed her from neck to toc-bone, and 
does he humor her? Is she mad? 

Or, most suange of all. do they both 
believe that he has swarmed. as across 
the Sistine Chapel ceiling, covering her 
with rare and significant beauties? Do 
both believe, know, humor each other 
in their specially dimensioned world? 

“Will we back 


cried 


€ to come 


asked Willy Fleet a second time, 

“No.” The doctor breathed a prayer. 
“1 think not.” 

Why? Because, by some id 
he had done the right thing, hadn't he? 
g for an invisible cause he 
full cure, yes? Regardless il 
she believed or he believed or both be 
lieved in the Masterpiece, by suggesting 
the pictures be erased, destroyed. the 
doctor had made her a clean, lovely and 
inviting canvas 
be. And if he, on 


n. if she needed to 
hand. 


the other 


wished a new woman to scribble, 
and pretend to tattoo on, well. 
worked, too. For new and untouched 


she would be. 

“Thank vou, doctor, oh thank vou. 

thank you! 
“Don't thank me,” said the doctor. 
Гуе done nothing.” He almost said. 
it was all a fluke, a joke, a surprise! I 
fell downstairs and landed on my feet! 

“Goodbye, goodbye 

And the elevator slid down 
woman and the lite man sinki 
ht into the suddenly nort 
solid earth, where the atoms opened to 
let them pass. 

“Goodbye, thanks . thanks . . - 
Their voices faded calling his name 
nd praising his intellect long after they 
1 passed the fourth floor. 

The doctor looked around and moved 
unsteadily back into his office. He shut 
the door and leaned against it. 

“Doctor,” he murmured, "Heal thy- 
self." 

He stepped forward. He did not feel 
real. He must lie dewn, if but for a 
moment. 

Where? 

On the couch, of course, 


si, now 


n the couch. 


“My compliments to the chef.” 


135 


PLAYBOY 


136 


PLAYBOY 
READER SERVICE 


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answers to your shopping 
questions. She will provide you 
with the name of a retail store 
jn or near your city where you 
can buy any of the specialized 
items advertised or editorialiy 
featured in vLAYBOY. For 
example, where-to-buy 
information is available for the 
merchandise of the advertisers 
in this issue listed below. 


Stanley Blacke 
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Carlson Components.29 
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page number and issue of the 
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PLAYBOY’S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK 


BY PATRICK CHASE 


time. 


MAYTIE is perfect get The 
variety of places that are at their peak 
is at its peak. For those with a yen to 
make а new scene we oller the following 
outof.the-ordinary avenues of 

Scoot off to Germany to try your hand 
at glider flying, matched for pure exhit 
aration only by skindivin: 
Lessons are available at Gersteld, Ebe 
mannstadt, Nordscebad 
woessen and Obi 
and also near Bi 
Gmuend 

For skindiving, of course, the Carib- 
bean is matchless— $112 round wip is 
all it costs by air from New York to 
the Virgin Islands, Cane 
tion on St. John (at 
plan, for two) is one of the best, just a 
short walk or jeep ride to some dozen 
idyllic tropical bays where even at the 
height of the season you're not likely to. 
find more than a couple of other guests 


escape. 


efeld and Schwaebisch 


per halfmile stretch. On St Thomas. 
you'll have free-port shopping and night 
life zt good small spots with native 
entertainers — places like Bamboushay, 
Seven Queens, Sebastian's on the Wa 

front. There are other Virgin resorts 
that cultivate the ultimate in sophistica- 
tion by eschewing phony glitter, from 


le Maho on 
ached only 
ate Carle- 
ud 


little hideaway plices like 
St. John (which can be 
by bout) t bigger spots like 
ton on St. Croix, set among tama 


trees on an Eighteenth Century sugar 
plantation with the old buildin 
ly converted. into modern co 
a clubhouse 

Set aside a [ew days for Puerto Rico 
On your way home. Newest way t0 get 
there from St. Thomas is by Preside: 
yacht, no less the l65-foot Potomac. 
whose former owner was FDR. I's a 
six-«and-ahal-hour run every Wednes- 
у. Friday and Sunday at 512.50. From 
helicopter to 
anquitas up in the moun- 
Or if the stylish hubbub of San 
plush resorts рай. hop to Ponce 
оп the south coast to enjoy the newish, 
hill-topping — Ponce — Intercontinental 
Hotel 

Latest dispatch from Playboy 
tells of seve 


Tours 
1 full-throttle romps around. 
the racing circuits of Europe. Included 
on the itineraries are such zippy motor 
racing events as the Monte Garlo Grand 
Prix: Le Mans 24-Hour Grand Prix of 
Endurance; the Italian Grand Prix at 
Monza (the world's fastest. automobile 
race); Italy's Mille Miglia, as well as the 
ternational automobile shows in. Paris 
and London, both to be covered in [all 
Playboy Tours. 

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


NEXT MONTH: 


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“PLAYBOY'S SPRING AND SUMMER FASHION FORECAST" —A PRE- 
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BY ROBERT L. GREEN 


“BUSINESS BLUNDERS AND BOOBY TRAPS"—HOW TO RECOGNIZE 
HIDDEN PITFALLS IN THE PATH OF THE YOUNG EXEC BY J. PAUL GETTY 


“LES GIRLS FROM LA VIE PARISIENNE’ —A PICTORIAL TRIBUTE TO 
THE BOULEVARDIER'S BIBLE OF GALLIC GAIETY 


PLUS NEW FICTION, ARTICLES AND SATIRE BY JOHN WALLACE, 
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JULES FEIFFER, SHEL SILVERSTEIN AND MORE “WORD PLAY" 


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