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ment or diversion; amusement; sport; frolic. 


PLAYBOY. 


(pla’boi’). 1. A sporty fellow bent upon & = 
pleasure seeking; a man-about-town; ga 
a lover of life; a bon vivant. 2. The хк ео 
magazine edited for the edification and enter- 
‘tainment of urban men; i.e., in Ше June issue: 
"You Can Make a Million Today" by J. Paul 
Getty; a psychological portrait of Reno by 
Herbert Gold; five pages of color photography 
on the Grand Prix in Monaco with description 
by Charles Beaumont; cartoonist Shel Silver- 
stein visits Hawaii .-played out (plad out), 
pp. Performed to the end; also, exhausted; used 
up.—player (pla'ér), n. One who plays; an ac- 
tor; a musician.—playful (pla'fool; -Р1), adj. 
Full of play; sportive; also, humorous.—play- 
mate (pla’mat’), n. A companion 
in play Playmate (Pla’mat’), 
n. A popular pictorial feature in 
PLAYBOY magazine depicting 
beautiful girl in pin-up pose; shor- 
tening of "Playmate of the 
Month"; ie. Austrian beauty 
Heidi Becker in June issue; 
hence, without cap., any very 
attractive female companion to a 
playboy.—playock (pla'ük), n. " 
[Prob. dim. of play, n.] Plaything. <= eraymare 
Scot.—playoff (pla'óf)), n. Sports. A final con- 


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DISCOVER NEW THRILLS IN THE EXCITING WORLD OF 
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Sing (with a swing); 
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Ап Adventure 
in Sound-BRASS 


"POL үт 


162. All the Things 
You Are, Temptation, 
Brass at Work, etc. 


RAY CONNIF 4 
e xert 


SAY IT 
WH 


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Е 


168. Also: Stranger 
in Paradise, Besame 
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42. Also: Hawaiian 166. Caravan, Shish- 
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EEE EEE SPECTACULAR 


LI 
er | А ; 
2. Also: Sheik of Ara- 165. "Has neverbeen 164. Actual inter- 12. This brilliant 
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TIL. 


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ZIPPER BY TALON 


OUR JUNE cover borrows а page from а 
dictionary for its design and includes, 
therein, several brief definitions of the 
word playboy — the man, not the n 
zine that are partly Websters and 
partly our own. When we first began 
publishing riavnoy — the magazine, not 
the man — the word had lost much of its 
earlier popularity (garnered during the 
Twenties) and was actually a term of 
(олш We attempted, therefore, in 
pitch published in April 
in just what we meant by 
playboy, and that definition may be 
worth repeating for our readers now 
"What is à playboy? Is he simply a 
а ne'erdowell, a fashionable 


from it: he can be a sharp- 


young business executive, а 
worker in the arts, a university professor, 
an architect or engineer. He can һе 
many things, provided he possesses a cer- 
point of view. He must sce life not 
as a vale of tears, but happy tim 
he must take joy in his work, without 
garding it as the end and all of liv 
he must be an alert man, an aware man, 
a man of taste, а man sensitive to pl 
aa man who — without acquiring the 
of the voluptuary or dilettante — 
can live life to the hilt, This is the sort 
of man we mean when we use the word 
playboy." This is the man for whom 
this publication has always been edited, 
d a sampling of this exemplary June 
issue will show you what we mean. 
Leslie A. Fiedler — distinguished critic, 
lecturer, teacher and author of the con- 
troversial tome Love and Death in the 
American Novel —tears into prominent 
Twentieth Century fictioncers Гог us in 
The Literati of the Four-Lelter. Word. 
Analyzing the concupiscent bents of 
Faulkner. i зусе, Durrell, 
Lawrence, contempo 
ies, Fiedler deftly tes their ap- 
proaches, clini romantic, to the 
rumpled-bedsheet syndrome. Currently 


heading the Ниш: Deparunent at 
Montana State University, 


пэс 


“I have felt obliged to work out some 
quite explicit sex scenes and have tried 
10 do this without falling into any of the 
dichés 1 have been studying." 
rravsov-regular Herb Gold plants a 
ton of TNT in The Great American 
Divide, a penetratingly incisive probe of 
Reno, Nevada, the biggest little pity in 
the world, with its betoreadored and 
tormented women, yearning for — yet 
fearful of — their freedom. Charles Beau- 


zz 


PLAYBILL 


mont takes us to the most glamorous 
acing scene in the world — The Grand 
Prix de Monaco — via a photo and text 
tribute to the famed carnival of roses 
nd roaring engines. Financi al 
Getty contributes another knowledgea able 
depost on the road to succes, You 
Can Make a Million Today, thiid in his 
exclusive series for Avnoy. The Hell- 
Fire Club. Sighteenth Century Brit- 
ish clique dedicated to bigger and better 

the subject of a new English 
movie and of Gerald Walkers retro- 
repo! 
month's s fiction 
Marcianna and the Natural Garpaine in 
Papaya, a tantalizing title for Bernard 
Wolfe's tantalizing tale of a beautiful in- 
ternational courtesan who, lor just а 
little while, belongs to screenwriter 
don Rengs. the hero of Wolfe's Come On 
Out, Daddy, which appeared in our Feb- 
ruary issue. Frederik Pohl introduces us 
to Punch, a trighteningly pally extra- 
terrestrial who alters the lives of all he 
ineets. Contributing Editor Walter Good- 


man, who came to rLAYEOY hom the 
senior editorship of Redbook. contrib- 
utes a lightsomely moving yarn: Ha 


Affair, а war 


hearted romp in 


Ann, Man! brings to the front Miss 
Ann Richards, one of the best of the 
young jazzinfluenced s 1 — all 
eyes will immediately note — is also one 
of the bestlooki s до be seen, 
as you will discover by turning to our 
four-page pictoria Miss Rich- 
Is was lensed Пу for us by 

millo a thirty- 

rold Californian who has hı 
specialized in snapping Playm: 
Becker, this month's beauty. is a 
discovery, as were Susie Scott. (February 
1960), Linda G 0 and 
Playmate of the Year Kathy Douglas 
(October 1960), Barbara Ann Lawlord 
"February 1061) and Tonya Crews (March 
1961). Casilli’s unerring сус for beauty 
has done much to aid us in our search 
for new Playmate prospects, whom we 
find more often behind an office desk 
or a store counter than in the ranks of 
modeldom. Not incidentally, we welcome 
nominations for Playmate of the Month 
from readers: the best way to submit a 
prospect is to send along а snapshot, 
plus the girl's address and phone number 
(with her OK, of course). There's a Find- 
Fee of $250 for the fellow whose play- 


а 
photographer M. 


mate becomes our Playmate. But. pause 
оп your hunt for pul- 


before proceedi 
chritude to peruse this June issuc. We 
think you'll enjoy it mightily. 


FIEDLER 


уо]. 8, no. 6 — june, 1961 


РЬАҮВОҮ. 


Ann P. 86 


Dads end Grads Р. 73 


онго STREET. CHICAGC VI. ILLINOIS. RETURN POST 
AGE MUST ACCOMPANY ALL MANUSCRIPTS, DRAWINGS 
AND PHOTOGRAPHS SUBMITTED IF THEY ARE TO BE 
RETURNED AND NO RESPONSIBILITY CAN BE ASSUMED 
FoR UNSOLICITED MATERIALS. CONTENTS COPY 
монтер @ ise вт нин PUBLISHING CO., INC 
NOTHING MAY BE REPRINTED IN WHOLE OR IN PART 
WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM THE pun: 
Чемен, ANY SIMILARITY BETWEEN THE PEOPLE ано 
PLACES 1н тик FICTION AND SEMI-FICTION IR THIS 
PURELY COINCIDENTAL. CREDITS: COVER DESIGN 


сазїци; P- 3 PHOTOS BY JERRY YULSMAN, LEE NYE. 
MELCHER. CHRIS KENDALL/DALMAS: P. $7.99 
73-75 PHOTOS BY PLAYBOY STUDIO. Р. 78 FOTOS 
BY LARRY MOYER. Р. таз PHOTO BY PLAYBOY 
STUDIO, F ве зун PHOTO BY REN ушн: т. 93 
PHOTO ev DOM BRONSTEIN) P. se PHOTO BY man 
VIN RICHMOND; Р. 97 PHOTO EY POMPEO POSAR 


CONTENTS FOR THE MEN’S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE 


PLAYBILL. 3 
DEAR PLAYBOY... Жас E 
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS. — ais 21 
THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR. a 


MARCIANNA & THE NATURAL CARPAINE IN PAPAYA—fiction BERNARD WOLFE 42 
THE FREEDOM FIGHTER—s. 


re. 


JULES FHFFER 46 


YOU CAN MAKE A MILLION TODAY—ericlo 1 PAUL GETTY 47 
THE GRAND PRIX DE MONACO—article /pictorial CHARLES BEAUMONT 49 
FREDERIK POHL 54 


GERALD WALKER 57 


PUNCH—fiction ooo 


THE HELL-FIRE CLUB—erti 


THE S.5. UNITED STATES—man at his leisure 
EQUAL TIME FOR JOHNNY REB—s: 


~- LARRY SIEGEL 62 


GIRL IN A WHIRL—playboy's playmate of the month... 64 
PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor Suche 70 
PLAYBOY'S GIFTS FOR DADS AND GRADS—sifts z суслы E] 


HAROLD'S AFFAIR—ficion. Әла aS 
SILVERSTEIN IN HAWAII—humer.. 
LET ЕМ EAT РАМСАКЕЗ—оод.................... 


WALTER GOODMAN 77 
..SHEL SILVERSTEIN 78 


cess THOMAS MARIO 62 


THE LITERATI OF THE FOUR-LETTER WORD-—opinion.. LESLIE А. FIEDLER 85 


ANN, MAN!—pictorial яг E: 86 
THE GREAT AMERICAN DIVIDE—erticte_ 91 
FORMAL APPROACH—ottire Е 5 9з 
THE ROBBER'S GIFT—ribold classic... 2 JACQUES DE VITRY 95 
ON THE SCENE—personvlities....... E == z 96 


PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK—travel. TRICK CHASE 136 


HUGH м. HEENER editor and publisher 
А. C. SPECTORSKY associate publisher and editorial director 
ARTHUR PAUL art director 
JACK J. KESSIE managing editor VINCENT T. TAJIRI picture editor 
DON GOLD associate editor REID AUSTIN associate arl director 
SHELDON WAX associate editor Jonn mastro production manager 
MURRAY FISHER associate edilor HOWARD W. LEDERER advertising director 
VICTOR LOWNEs ш promotion director ELDON SELLERS special projects 


ROBERT s. PRELSS business manager and circulation director 


RIN такву. WALTER GOODMAN contributing editors; ROBERT 1. GREEN fashion direc- 
tor; MARE RUTHERFORD fashion editor; DAVID TAYLOR assistant fashion editor; 
Tuomas макт food ё drink editor; PATRICK CHASE travel editor; ARLENE POURAS 
Copy editor; Joseu n. paczek assistant art director; YLLEX. PACZEK art assistant; 
BEV CHAMBERLAIN assistant picture editor; DON BRONSTEIN, POMPEO POSAR staf] photo; 
raphers: FERN никли, assistant production manager; ANSON MOUNT college burea 
HENNY DUNN public relations manager; THEO FREDERICK personnel direclor; JANET 
Lek reader service; WALTER J. nowaktn subscription fulfillment manager 


Very likely — if you've taken it into 
your head to use ‘Vaseline’ Hair Tonic! 
Downright heady stuff, this — made 
especially for men who use water with 
their hair tonic (and most men do). 
Water tends to dry out your hair, you 
know. Alcohol and cream tonics evapo- 
rate, too — and leave a sticky residue 


it’s clear... ^ % 
it's clean...it’s 


VASELINE HAIR TONIC | 


do girls rush to your head? 


besides. But not ‘Vaseline’ Hair Tonic. 
It's 100% pure light grooming oil — 
replaces oil that water removes. 
‘Vaseline’ Hair Tonic will not evapo- 
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HAIR 
TONIC 


‘ropes ad ииз 
Na Da saturi way 


[UE 
pore 


I j 
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takes bis chances by slamming over the 
ramp at a fiying forty miles per bour. 


Eal 


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


Walker’s DeLuxe is aged twice as long 
as many other bourbons. Its extra years 
make it extra mellow. 


‘STRAGHT BOURBON WHISKEY  B6.6 PROOF 


Walker’s De Luxe is 8 years Old виконта 


DEAR PLAYBOY 


E] aooress PLAYBOY MAGAZINE . 232 E, ОНО ST., CHICAGO 11, ILLINOIS 


ANGLING FOR MARLON 
Cheers for Tallmers take-out on 
ando: perceptive, compassionate, ac- 
te, But I wish he'd put his observa- 
hin the framework where they 
belong, i.c., a critique of Hollywood 
the commercial theatre (Broadway — 
its lethal killing of talent, mei 
ameliorated by Off-Broadway these days). 
Brando would then be seen as victim of 
the star system and an archetype of the 
actor frozen into the postures demanded 
of him by an industry dominated by 
noncreative money men. To demand of 
him that he fight a lone fight against 
these pressures is to ask too much of a 
man who is, after all, primarily an actor 
not a crusader. It may well be that his 
recent dismissal of acting as kid stuff 
stemmed from his frustrations, not from 
mature thought. Aside from this reserva- 
tion, however, the article struck me as 
onc of the most penetrating to appear 
in a national magazine in many years. 

Allan Spears 

New York, New York 


tions wi 


Your March article Marlon Brando: 
The Gilded Image is lly 
and, І may add, secondh First of 
all, the only people who know what 
Marlon is doing are other actors. This 
is not to say that they are the only ones 
who can dig him or even put him down, 
but they are the only ones who really 
know what he’s doing or trying to do. 
We are told that Brando has stopped 
g, that he hasn't grown an inch 
n years. АП he i 
spell it out for you, 
ply and with deceptive ease, economy 
tone, which is being mistaken by some 
people who are less informed as 
being sloppy and self-indulgent. Marlon 
Brando is a new breed of actor who may 
not even dig being an actor. He would 
like to be j Marlon Brando, so why 
the hell don't you people lea 
alone and put some heat on the puny, 
second-string "Hollywood" stars who 
dominate American thi 

Benito Carruthers 
New York, New York 

Ben Carruthers is the young star of 
ohn Cassavetes’ shot-from-the-hip film 
Shadows" ("Playboy After Hours,” May). 


Orchids to you guys for the piece on 
Brando. I don't agree with all of it by 
far; what pleases me no end is to sce a 
revival of personal journalism, a. vastly 
needed relief from the honymous. 
pontificating and issuing of supposedly 
objective obiter dicta which have made 
magazine criticism so dull and ineffec- 
tual. I'm old enough to remember such 
crusty and doctrinaire men as Burton 
Rascoe, who stirred fe nd 
resentment, or excited agreement, but 
always spoke out with feeling and per- 
sonal involvement. He had a staunch 
following of readers who, agreeing with 
him or not, knew he would make them 
think and car а far ay from the 
ntiseptic pablum of today's predigested 
value judgments served up as the last 
word in wisdom. Tallmer is in the re- 
freshing wadition of byl indi 
ualists. PLAYBOY will have the courage, 
I'm sure, to give us more of the same. 

Darrell Finn 
Hollywood, Califor 


ngs of rage 


ido stands con- 
Iso criticized. 


Curiously, while Br 
victed of not ng, he's 
for try 
cal, and va 
melodra 
condemned for daring to attempt to 
direct a film. The indictment 
Brando sought versatility rather 
trying "to reach, to strain 
mer's semantics may elude т 

Jerry Ludw 
Hollywood, 


na. And now, si 


than 
т. Tall- 


any. 


Califor 


1 have just finished reading Marlon 
Brando: The Gilded Image, and have to 
let you know what an excellent article 
it is. What happened to Brando is truly 
tragic and а great loss to the theatre. 

In Arthur 
Sarasota, Florida 


Jerry Tallmer’s offering is, to borrow a 
phrase right out of his pontifical drivel, 
nothing laid on nothing laid on noth- 
ing." To keep the record suaight, I 
have known and admired Mr. Brando for 
a great many years and had the privilege 


of producing one of his films. This, of 


ng 


PLAYBOY, JUNE, 1961, VOL. б. NO. 6. PUBLISHED MONTHLY BY нин PUBLISHING CO,. INC., FL 
IFS POSSESSIONS, THE PAN AMERICAN UNION AND CANADA, S14 FOR THREE 


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course, makes me prejudiced, but does 

not explain Mr. Tallmer’s problem 
Richard Shepherd 
Jurow-Shepherd Productions 
Hollywood, California 

For a divergent opinion on Shepherd's 
production of “The Fugitive Kind,” see 
the following letter. 


For those of us who got off the Street 
car a long time ago, Brando's reported 
treatment. of the magnificent. Magnani 
during the shooting (and killing) of The 
Fugitive Kind provides a dismal footnote 
to Mr. Talhner's article. An intuitive 
actress, Magnani would reach an emo- 
tional peak on her first take only to have 
Brando repeatedly fluff his lines until 
there were enough. retakes to drain the 
ife out of his costar's performance even 
п those rare moments when director 
Sidney Lumet wasn't being pressured to 
cut to the back of her head. The deadly 
results on the screen. confirm the tr 
umph of power over greatness, but this 
Kind of uninspired self-indulgence was 
practiced long before there was а Method 
to Hollywood's m 


апе, 
Andrew Sarris 
New York, New York 


TAHITI 
Three cheers for Barnaby Conrad. I 
felt as if the good Mr id my 
mind when he wrote the piece 
п your March issue. Three years ago I 
also set out for the Last Paradise, but 
somehow I ended up in Fiji. After two 
weeks, I suffered the ailment Mr. Conrad. 
describes and developed a yearning for 
civilization. Little did I know then that 
if I had waited a week or two, 1 would 
not have wanted to leave the place. 
Joe Volz 
Maplewood, New Je 


this island. I agree with 
Barnaby Conrad says, and I'm sure if I 
t there I would not be disappointed. 
A. Clouét des Pesruches 
Paris, France 


Congratulations 10 Barnaby Conrad 
on another fine article: it was very well 
written. But I have one question: was it 
deliberate or coincidental that Demp- 
scys graphic and appropriate cartoon 
appears opposite Conrad's text? It fits. 

Ken McClure 

Corte Madera, California 


Deliberate. 


FURTHER ON FATHER BROTHER 

It almost seems too pat: within a we 
of one another, Time preaches its fu 
oration for the Beats, and you publish a 
letter (Dear Playboy, March 1961) show. 
ing that the would-be white hope of 
American fiction, Jack Kerouac, com- 
pletely mised the point of the best 


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story you have ever published. Father 
Brother (December 1960) was the most 
alid comment I have 
preach oversimplified solutions to racial 
problems. 


n on those who 


Jim Anderson 
Chatham, Ont 


HIP WITS KIBITZED 
PLAYBOY'S panel on hip humor in the 
March issue was interesting. 1 know most 
of the people who participated in this 
discussion and they are all extremely 
clever and talented (assuming that there 
is a difference). There is very little 
comedy lelt in the world and we elder 
statesmen of the comic fraternity can 
use all the help we can get. As for TV, it 
has proven itself a graveyard for the co 
median. Because of the restrictions im- 
posed by the medium, most of the great 
ones have disappeared into silence. All 
that is left are assorted. family-situation 
comedies, Westerns, murder and may- 
hem of varying degrees. I don’t blame 
the sponsors, nor do I blame the ad 
ncies. They Il businessmen uy: 
ing to make а buck, I don't blame any- 
опе. TV is what it is. You either accept 
its entertainment or you sit under a 
lamp and read а book. 
Groucho Marx 
Beverly Hills, California 


I read the Playboy Panel on hip com- 
ics with much interest; the only thing 
the article lacked was a punch ending. 
Instead of asserting themselves as com- 
mentators and statusquo shakers, they 
did a lot of 
ics are playing a definite role in estab- 
lishing a mood of thoughtful dissatistac 
tion and restlessness today n the 
light of world events is essential to our 
political sur They shouldn't be 
ashamed of this. 

Harvey Kurtzman, 

Help! 

New York, New York 


ditor 


Allen, Sahl, Nichols, et al, reveal 
that the public has again endorsed the 
Shakespearean concept of comedy: that 
the best jester must be among the wis 
of men. 


Jean Boorman 
Santa Barbara, California 


I was sorely disappointed in your 
Playboy Panel. It was, in fact, the shat- 
tering of an illusion. 


or some mysteri 
ason, I had considered the ar 
of the current funnymen to be the 
product of original and individualistic 
personalities. I had even harbored the 
quaint notion that in an ocean of dull 
sameness these diverting perlormers rep- 
resented an island of eccentric and 
productive nonconformity. Imagine my 
shocked surprise when I discovered they 
were merely members of a committee — 


ous т 


Bobby Darin & 
Johnny Mercer 


Here is a treat...a truly 
inspired idea! Bobby Darin 
joins Johnny Mercer on a 
ramble around some of the 
neglected corners cf Tin 
Pan Alley. 


Most of the songs are 
vintage oldies, but done 


with a finger-snapping 
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Bobby Darin and Johnny. 
Mercer, two greet ertists 
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-l| 


stockholders, so to speak, in the 


me 
corporation. І was hopeful that someone 
— perhaps Jonathan — would admit to 
bei: 


g a Fascist, or an arch-conservative, 
or even a monarchist. But no, it appears 
they would not even admit to being 
sick” comedians, There seemed to be a 
little doubt about Lenny Bruce, but 
good old Johnny brought him safely 
back into the club. 

Gordon Gate 
Baltimore, Maryland 


Thanks for your fine feature, The 
Playboy Panel. Aside from the obvious 
ad entertaining aspects of the series 
skillfully and tactfully casting of light 
onto some of the important and con- 
troversial subjects of our time, it is the 
only widely available source of intelli- 
gent considerations of knotty issues which 
1 can use as model discussions to be 
emulated in my course, Group Thinking 
and Discussion. 
Charles К. Gruner 
Assistant Professor 
St. Lawrence University 
Canton, New York 


It is indisputably discernible to the 
naked eye, after reading the Playboy 
Panel, that the one outstanding panclist 
who contributed the most provocative 
answers to the questions raised was 
Lenny Bruce. 


Vernon Hoff 
La Puente, California 
In your discussion on and by the hip. 
comics, vou say that 4 Modest Proposal 
was written by Dean Swift. 1 believe you 
will find it was written by Jonathan 
Swift, probably the greatest satirist of 
all time. 
Edward Claire 
Stanford, California 
Jonathan Swift was Dean of Dublin's 
St. Patrick's. Cathedral in 1713, thus is 
frequently referred to as Dean Swift 


HIGH GEAR 
With no desire to stone Ken Purdy, 1 
ot help but йг 


са e with his belief 
that 
would be the ultimate piston-engine 


tomobile. For the enthusiast, the 


the automatic-transmission Ferrari 


ulti- 
mate in touring pleasure comes from a 
sense of control over and responsiveness 


from his machine. The Ferrari is the 

ultimate now; let's keep it that way. 
Robert S. Critchell 
Williamstown, Massachusetts 


Mr. Purdy 
fine 


in his otherwise 
Ferrari, that an 
matic-transmission Ferrari would be the 
te piston-engine automobile." He 
that half the fun of a 
sports car is in the shifting. 

Ted Claire 
Glencoe, Illinois 


suggests, 
article on auto- 
"ultim 
should 


realize 


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EGG ON OUR FACE 
The only good egg of 4 Good Egg in 
March issue is the one you laid by 
ing that Pericles, the all-time hero 
nt Athens, gave his name to а 
Roman ета. You shouldn't take your 
editing so once-over-Hightly 
Vince Trippy 
Cliffside Park. New Jersey 
We were thinking of Ezgrippa. 


COMIC VALENTINES 

The piece by Charles Beaumont in 
the March issue of рілувоу entitled 
Comics was, to my old eyes, the best 
piece in the book. Thi truc in spite 
of some heavy competition. It was f 
d Pogo and me in such coi 

nd to be so h 

have my own s 
cial commi all around me wi 
so many other noteworthy. pra 


опет 


of the me glad to be the oldest 
boy cartoonist in the game. My congrat- 
ulations to. Mr mont. His sun 

w ful job- 


Walt Kelly 
New York, New York 


Just caught up with your piece on 
comics. I am grateful for the kind things 
bout Sieve Canyon and me. 

Milton Canill 
New York, New York 


ht correction. J quote from your 
Ter a few уса, Brick 
Bradford rode his Time Top into the 
past where he remains." H Brick Brad: 
ford is in the past, so am Т. he strip 


Comics article: 


shout the country. 

Robert Jones 
, New York 
Robert, you do author Beaumont an 
ice. He merely meant that Brad. 
ford's adventures now take place in the 
past, not the future. He had no inten- 
tion of killing off your hero. 


ATONAL HORNE 

Re Playboy Jazz Poll: Ooo. Blahdic 
blah. Ооо. ВІ. Ihhhtododit DIA Най. 
Dit. Diütitititititit-Blahtododit biahtodo- 
dit blahdit. Blahdodit blahdodit blah dit 
blah BLAHHHHHhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh 
blahdit, Do ooooo Do aH. Do ooooo Do 
AH. Do ahblahdoooooo0 Do AH! Do 
0000 Do оо Do ah doahblahdoooododit. 
Bah! So, Howcomc how- 
-howcome, Howcome voudontdo- 
me! Blah? Blahdoboo Blahdoboo doo- 
blahhhh. Ditdit doblahDom! 
lliot Ноте 
ТА Victor 
New York, New York 


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PLAYBOY 


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PLAYBOY 


20 


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PLAYBOY 


AFTER HOURS 


ur Research Department, dusty and 

flushed fom floundering 
amongst books, clippings and scientific 
journals, has collected 4 mass of obscure 
data relating to the animal kingdom (a 
monarchy which, for 
includes fish and insects) 
stance, according to a 
Washington psychologist, 
many human beings in that they can tell 
the difference between red and green 
lights. They can also get seasick and they 
seem to enjoy being tickled. Just about 
half of all Portuguese jellyfish are south 
paws. The first complete report on the 
sex life of the pike was written by one 
Eugene V. Gudger, It is possible for fies 
and frogs to contact athlete's foot, Paris? 
Museum of Natural History reports that 
snails usually have destinations but are 
so року they often forget, en route, 
where the hell they're going. Elephants 
prefer to pursue their romantic lives 
under water. 17 the male beaver doesn’t 
make out with the female beaver he par- 
ticularly digs. he can literally dic of un- 
requited love. Zoologists still. haven't 
found any sure way of determining the 
sex of the panda until after death or 
until one of them has cubs. (The pandas 
apparently don't have any dilhculty.) 
The bloodhound, avers an English au- 
thority, wacks down its prey out of love 
ants to make friends. Ento- 
claim that alfalfa 


again 


present purposes, 

Fish, for in- 
University of 
are superior to 


he just w 
mologists at Purdue 
blossoms, when set upou by bees, fight 
back and often clobbe with 
konks on the head. It takes four hours 
to hard-boil am ostrich egg. “Halibut” 
means “holy butt" because it first became 
popular in medieval times as а main 
dish on meatless religious holidays: the 
female halibut, by the way. is ten times 
heavier than the male. OF pigs tails, 50 
percent cur] clockwise, 1824 percent curl 


the bees 


counterclockwise, 3114 percent curl both 
ways; but whichever way their tails curl, 
one us has ich 
ulcers. and they always sleep on their 
right sides whether they have ulcers or 
not. Cows don't actually sleep at all 
they just sort of drift into comas. А spi- 
ders blood pressure is just about the 
ame аз yours or ours 


out of twenty ү ston 


Sign in the window of a New Haven, 
Connecticut, 
COMBINATION BUSHOY AND WAITRESS. 


restaurant: — WANTED— 


An Associated 
Little Rock, Arkansas, 
where there's a wall there’ 
newlyweds kissed 
то their separate cells in the Pulaski 
County Ja the thirty-eight-year 
Long said. "We courted through а small 
hole in the wall between the men’s and 
women’s quarters.” Miss Arendt, who is 
six months pregnant, was attired in a 
blue maternity outfit." 


Press dispatch from 
that 


indicates 
1 way 
nd then were retu 


Notice on a government office bulle- 
tin board: "Executives who have no 
secretary of their own тилу take advan- 
tage of the girls in the stenographic 
pool.” 


Who remembers: Operators who asked, 
“Number plee-uz"? . . . Crosley cars? 
Open Road for Boys? . . . Frank Dailev's 
Meadowbrook on the Pompton Turn- 
pike? Butterfly McQue 
English bulldogs in turtleneck sweat- 


єт... When motels were called tour- 
ist cabins? The March of Time? 
<. “A slip of the lip may sink a ship"? 
‚2. Snoodsz Snooky Lanson? .. . 
Cuban heels? "New red rubber 


Lindbergh helmets 
The Boston Bees? ... 


buggy bumpers? . 
with goggles? . . 


Ten-cent airplane model kits... Harry 
Babbitt ... Vic and Sade, Billy and 
Betty, Myrt and Marge. Brenda and 
Cobina? .. . 79 Wisal Vistaz . . . 
tening pennies on trolley tracks and 
using them in nickel slot machines? . 
Actor Hugh Herbert and “woo-woo' 


-.. Public scales, where for a penny you 
got your weight on one side of the card 
and а picture and short bio of Ka 
Francis on the other? 

Headline from the Binghamton (N.Y.) 
Sunday Pre SENSMITH DIES AT 60 IN 
FLORIDA. 


If New York's Mayor W; 
hes got with 
ought to chat with Pierre Echallon, the 
mayor of Aroma, F Monsieur 
Echallon has complained to provincial 
officials that he can't govern the village 
properly. He stated that the village pop: 
ulation comprises H8 sane residents and 
161 patients at the local funny farm. 
What bugs the mayor is the fact that the 
mts [ull you 


ner thinks 
Tammany, he 


trouble 


ance. 


ts 


law gives the mental pa 
privileges. 

On the Alfred 
Hitchcock's Psycho, a competing pro- 
ducer rushed to film a tale titled Schizo. 
To other oller 
Pepto, the story of a man driven mad һу 
hyperacidity: Hypo, the story of a man 
who needles people: and Tonto. the 
story of an Indian whose compulsion is 
to call everyone Kimosabe. 


heels of the success of 


filmland st 


FVSCOULS, we 


Weve received a subscription plea 
from Soviet Review. a New York-pub- 
lished digest of articles from U.S.S.R. 
magazines, in English wanslaton. and 
we're sorely tempted to sign up for the 
Special Introductory Olfer because 


21 


1. “Round, Round World" (Columbus Discovers 
America) 2. “Тор Hat, White Feather, and Talls" (Sale 
of Manhattan) 3. "Take An Indian to Lunch This Week" 
(Pilgrim's Progress) 4. "Boston Tea Party” 5. "А Моп 
Can't Be Too Careful What He Signs These Days" 
(Declaration of Independence) 6. “Everybody Wants to 
be an Art Director" (Betsy Ross and the Flag) 7. “Come 
mand Decision" (Washington Crossing the Delaware) 
В. "Yankee Doodle Go Home" (Spirit of '76). 


УХ STAN FREBERG PRESENTS X 
THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA 
Vol. 1 * The Early Years 
A satirical history of America in the most 
unique recording of our time, the first 
musical revue on a disc! You’ll laugh, 
you'll cry, you'll wave the flag! When you 
hear numbers like “Take An Indian to 
Lunch This Week,” you may even cheer. 
For now, the young satirist who put 
humor on record, has outdone himself with 
the biggest production ever put on vinyl. 
With Billy May and his Orchestra... The 
Jud Conlon Singers...a tremendous cast 
-..even TAP DANCING! How's that for 
revolutionary? Well, don't just sit there 

rush out and get the album! It's your 
patriotic duty! (More or less.) (S) W-1573 


newest hit from... 


RECORDS 


“some articles to appear in the next few 
months” include such irresistible come- 
ons as Two Critical Articles on Freudian- 
ism by Е. V. Bassin, A Criticism of the 
Bassin Articles by C. L. Muzatti, and 4 


Rejoinder to Muzatti by (that’s right) 
Е. V. Bassin. Like the man said, "You 
won't want to miss a single issue of this 
provocative, informative publication.” 


Some husbands may have objected to 
one claim in a recent UPI story on TV 
actor Cal Bolder. It read: “Cal, who is 
appearing in a segment of NBC-TV's 
Bonanza, stands tall and husky, resem- 
bling Charlton Heston. He is 29 years 
old and the father of your youngster 


An ad for women's rayon briefs in the 
Marshalltown, Iowa, Times-Republican 
advised: "Wear Them Up or Down." 


Taking a curve on a twisty bit of high 
way in Beverly Glen, Californ 
ripped our eyes off the road long, 
to appreciate the legend. painstakingly 
whitewashed in big block letters on the 
adjacent bluff by some foe of neo 
Romanticism: HELP STAMP OUT RAC 
MANINOFF. Another, later, hand had 
added: AND vestar vi 


RECORDINGS 


‘Two important additions to the grow- 
ing galaxy of MJQ recordings, The Modern 
Jozz Quartet end Orchestro (Atlantic) and 
The Modern Jazz Quartet: European Concert 
(Atlantic), rate almost unqualified ra 
from this deparunent. The pair dramat- 
ically display the split jazz-classic person- 
of the group —a schizophrenia not 
as disparate as one might believe after 
only one listen. The concert, recorded in 
Scandinavia and the first "live" pertorm- 
ance by the group to be 
its entirety to vinyl, is a mellifluous mix 
ture of several jazz and pop stand 
interspersed with a number ol pianist- 
leader John Lewis and vibraharpist 
Milt Jackson’ compositions; all 
axe handled in the taut, tersely under- 
ated yet triumphantly inventive style 
ade the MJQ the glass of Fash- 
ion in which so many of today's delin 
tors of well-disciplined jazz s 
i kson, a generally 


es 


transcribed in 


ds 


ori 


swch for 
пресс 


ple 
icularly splendid fet 
two-LP album. The 
second title, a fresh outpouring from The 


Third Stream, represents a closer ap- 
proach to the predicted fusion of jazz 
with the classics. The first side, made up 
of three short pieces by Frenchman 
André Hodeir, German Werner Heider, 
and Lewis, is a prelude to Gunther 
Schuller’s (On the Scene, April 1961) 


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23 


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pressive Concertino, a full-scale 
tack, batonned by Schuller, on the prob- 
lems intrinsic to the merger of the sepa 
rates into the whole. It is, we believ 
the most successlul attempt of 
to dal 


The variegated yet kindred 

songs of a pastel-plumed and si 
throated brace of thrushes have passed 
pleasantly through our sterco rig this 
month. Anita O'Day, who has come 
within earshot on a number of previous 
occasions, feathers our nest this trip 
with Waiter, Make Mine the Blues (Ver 
an indigo assortment of vocal Weli- 
schmerz designed to prove that every 
cloud doesn’t necessa Iver 


lining. Anita, with on 
and Bud shi ey Kes- 
demen, tells ful num- 


s—such as Matt Dennis 
Henderson-Brown's The Thrill Is Gone 
and Gordon Jenkins’ Goodbye — of love's 
bor lost, Never was so much sorrow 
so ngly dispensed. Another oriole 
on our perch takes a 
somber view of amour and i nt 
tribulations. Bev Kelly in Person (River- 
side), recorded in The Coffee Gallery, 
one of $ ncisco’s better-known cs- 
а tomorrow-will-be- 


ing in Love with Love and Long Ag 
and Far Away — tempi much 
in excess of the normal speed limit; this 
could be dangerous, but Bev is in com- 
plete control at all times. 


go 


The time: 1938 
the performer: Fats Waller; the results: 
a fabulous Fats Waller in London (Capitol), 
featuring the roly-poly nonpareil some- 
times accompanying himself on a mon- 
мег НМУ pipe organ, sometimes on 

i with orchestr: 
nes solo, but 


the place: London: 


that was so wonderfully Waller's. Among 
the items etched in Blighty are the irre- 
pressible A-Tisket A-Tasket, Ain't Mis- 
behavin’ and Flat Foot Floogie. We go 
along with Waller's well-known rhetor- 
riposte, "One never 
xcept when it concerns the talents of 
Mr. W. 


nows, do опе?” 


Buddy Greco, who shone as pianist, 
arranger and singer with Benny Good- 


man's band fro lost 
in the show business shuffle [or several 
years while a host of less talented croon- 
ers and screechers reigned. Now, at the 
ge of thirty-four, Buddy's rapidly top- 
ping the popularity he once enjoyed and 
is moving toward a substantial niche of 
his own. On Songs 
(Epic, Buddy's trio is surrounded. by 


for Swinging Losers 


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a studio ensemble. "The refrains, in- 
duding That Old Feeling, Don't Worry 
"Bout Me, Blame It on My Youth and 
Something 1 Dreamed Last Night, ave 
faultlessly selected and sung by Buddy 
More of the same charm is available on 
Buddy's Back in Town (Epic), thoroughly 
ebullient set cut on location — The 
Roundtable, New York: Le Bistro, Chi 
cago; The Flamingo, Las Vegas; and 
The Cloister, Los Angeles — by Buddy 
and anonymous aides, А; the melo 
dies are memorable: You're the Top. 
Day by Day, I Could Write a Book. 
Time After Time, They AU Laughed 
and six others. Concerning the Greco 
style, we endorse Sammy Davis’ comment, 
"No matter. what the mood, no matter 
what the tone or the picture tha 
is supposed to create, Buddy achieves it.” 


a son 


We'd like to accord more than passin 
notice to a pair of unus 
themed projects, both. instrumental 
both several cuts above the general show- 
tuncs.with-strings albums that crowd the 
Schwann catalog. West Side Story (Fantasy) 
has vibraphonist Gal Tjader leading a 
formidable (both in quantity and q 

array of musicians in classico-jazz 
re Fischer that add 
new depth to the multidimensioned 
Bernstein score. Abetting the proceedings 
considerably are jazz worthies Shelly 
Manne, Red Mitchell, Paul Horn and 
Red Callender, who turns in a thump 
i od performance on the usually 
acable tuba. "The Fischer arrang 
ments, set up for string ensemble, а horn 
group. and ‘Tjader’s regular quartet 
and quintet, are ochre-and-umber-tinged 
tonal portraits that unfold the Romeo: 
Juliet uagedy with warmth, compassion 
and а complete awareness of the com: 
posers purpose. A shade farther out is 
the original music for A Teste of Honey 
(Adantic), played by composer Bobby 
Scott, David. Merrick's production of the 
play by Shelagh Delaney (who, inexpli 
cably, is mentioned not at all on album ° rí 
cover or liner notes) has been delineated lightest olitest 
by pianist Scott in intriguing. fashion. he 7 p 
with strong jazz undercurrents bubbling J 
to the surface throughout. Scott, in the all СІ а еѓ H 
company of teed man Frankie Socolow sm rs ey 
a rhythm section and several strings or 
occasion, constructs an absorbing musi 
cal tapestry Irom Miss Delaney's narra 
tive thread that remains highly attractive 
even out of context. 

Ornette Coleman's latest disc, This Is 
Our Music (Atlantic), is less antic than his 
previous LPs, but it isn't what you'd be 
apt to call mood music. Joining Coleman 
are Don Cherry, on pocket-size trumpet 
Charlie Haden, bass; and Ed Blackwell. 
drums. Six of the seven tunes are Cole- PACK OF FIVE PACK OF FIVE | 
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PLAYBOY 


A casual affair...this handsome pair of fashionable news-making knits. | Humpty Dumpty and a compelling Blues 
Go-getter trend-setter shirt with big bold broad-shouldered stripes. Frisky | Село ane DEUM ane du 
feminine version for the lady in your life. Fleecy cotton knit, jazzy snazzy тея CE RES ss d Sul 
colors. $5 each. Yours: S, M, L. Hers: SSS, SS, S, M, L. At smart stores | mistake; all of the group's flaws emerge 
or write Akom Knitwear Inc., 350 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York | when it tackles a familiar tune. Coleman 

[ ^ and Cherry do more blowing than bleat- 
ng in this outing. but still leave much to. 
be heard by our cars. Haden and Black- 
well are superbly steady, considering the 
frontline frenzy with which they must 
cope. 


Few who attended the concert Morris 
at the Grove Hall Ph 
harmonic in cooperation with the Bos- 
ton music college, Jazz University, will 
forget the hypersensitive sounds that 
echoed in that hallowed auditorium. 
Unfortunately, few did attend, because 
the gag “concert,” tagged Jaz Univer- 
sity's New Kicks, took place in a record- 
ing studio. It’s all preserved on Morris 
Grants Presents JUNK (Argo). There are 
unique performances by the Mon 
Brewbeck quartet (alto sax by Sol Des- 
man), trumpeter Miles Morris (with alto 
Ball Naturally), pianist Mor- 
drummer Gene Blooper, 
1 Merry Julligan's quar- 
wumpeter Bet T: 
f ut wailing of Отеце Morr 
f tion! the genius of the plastic sax 

or action: tumpetercomrade Mon Che 


musings of pianist Theloneliest Plunk 


duced by Grants. 


A look at life healthy intrusion of wit on the often 


=ч too-intense jazz scene is Jordan Ramin, 
am stereo From the а hip observer blowing the horn of sat- 
| IE ; (plus several saxes and piano) with 

vc 
=: hungryt —— he aid of a aew AL Ca IER TRU 
aa cluding pianist Hank Jones, drummer 


Don Lamond and trumpeter Doc Sever- 
insen. 


Through the Opera Сі 
headed technical gool- 
Don Giovanni (Victor) from the first side 
to the last: the singers are too fzr from 
the mikes and the orchestra overwhelms 
them. Those singers include 5іері, Nils- 
son, Price, Valletti, Ratti and Cc 
but, under the circumstances, м! 
Plonk down no loot for this one. 
Plonk it down, instead, for a sparkling, 
suave La Traviata (Victor) in which young 
Met lovely Anna Mollo sails ad 
takes over the famous role of the high- 
priced callgirl (or, as the gallant French 
used to call them, demi-mondaines). One 
of Verdi's few “drawing room" operas, it 
is therefore one of his most elegant and 
sophisticated, without being either slick 
or effete. As always, this shrewd, eco- 
nomical genius gains maximum effect by 
minimum means: nothing could be sim- 


pler, for example, than the two blatant 
ASK YOUR DEALER ABOUT THE COMPACT 33, THE NEWEST IDEA IN RECORDS. upward runs of orchestra-in-unison that 


iss: One chuckle- 
p mars the new 


тез? 


This bright new talent directs а mischievous eye on his times... 
and makes mirth with everything from Madison Avenue to himself. 
Recorded during an on-stage appearance, the spoofing crackles 
with spontaneity, quick wit — and bursting laughter! 
Hear these lighthearted sounds for spring on RCA Victor, 


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love to wear smart Paris gifts. He'll be especially pleased with this handsome, 
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February 19 (CANCER) 
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December 21 Devoted · Daddy qiie 
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n the first act, yet nothing else could 
so immediately and undeniably set the 
gay, feverish, allegro brillantissimo e 
molto vivace party mood desired. Con- 
ductor ndo Previtali, ree 
this Verdian virtue, makes good 
it throughout. Its a dazzling production, 
ol special interest because several of the 
conventional cuts have bee: д 

restoring some of Verdi's original and 
necessary dran glue (although such 
Лу heard numbers as Allredo’s O mio 
rimorso! and Germont’s No, non udrai 
rimproveri are sull missi Robert 
Merrill brings authority, tenderness and 
smooth, dark tone to the role of the 
elder Germont; Richa urd ‘Tucker, a tenor 
of great gilts, docs very best by 
Alfredo. (Our minority opinion, however, 
has always been that burnished 
tones are less suited to this lightish role 
than to the more dramatic, brooding 
tenor music of La Fora, La Gioconda, 
etc) It is Miss Moffo, however, who 
Is the show — her Addio del passato, 


e, tears your heart out and ends 
gossamer ppp. An 


а delicately spu 
other new Met sensa 
gender js heroic Leontyne Price ( 
who may be hea latter of Verdi 
and Puccini airs, a couple of 
murderous sopran from Turan 
dot. Dig Miss Price as she soars through 
these „ and dig her, too, in am 
carlier recording with Tucker and t 
late Leonard Warren, M Trovatore (V 
tor). Small gripe: has anybody besides 
us ever felt that most Victor discs just 
a't oud cnough and require roughly 
third more volume than other labels? 
Tow come, Vic? 


on a 
includir 


паі). Max Roach and 
ery Freedom Now 


We Insist! (C 
Oscar Brown, Jr's а 
Suite, is a serious е 
cause which makes it doubly painful 
Tor us to cast a negative vote on the end 
result. “The perlormers— Roach, vocalist 


и in а worthy 


Abbey Lincoln, tenor men Coleman 
Hawkins and Walter Benton, and Ni- 
gerian conga drummer Olatunji, among 


others — strive m 
feeling of upheaval 
and Negro countri 
world. Untortun ү. 
sound for the fui 


htily to impart the 
found in the U. S. 
hout the 
"ar die 
¢ ds much 


shouting, shrieking but it 
1 s neither music nor messag 
To paraphrase the Bard, less n 
with more art might ha ved the ses- 
sion. Happier surroundings, for Oscar 
brown at least, are at hand on Sin and 
Soul . Performer 


very right by composer lyri 
dispensing a group of ge 
q а 
Among them are the absolutely firstrs 
Work-Song (music by Nat Adderley), 
Bid n In and Rags and Old lyon. 
Brown’s voice, if you cin imagine it, 


pts, street cries 


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sounds like an amalgam of Harry Bela 
fonte and Cab Galloway: it nevertheless 


has a personality all its own 


Two ladies of note, June Christy and 
Chris Connor, have never been averse to 
exploring the lesser-known peripheries 
of the pop-ballad world. and their лем 
LPs contain a splendid spate of usually 
bypassed ballads that certainly don't 
rate their lot in limbo. Of Beat (Capitol) 
puly describes. Miss Christ's prize pack 
ge. stocked with delightfully rare roun- 
delay the lead Remind Me, а 
Dorothy Fields—Jerome Kern evergreen, 
isa particularly joyous rediscovery, while 
You Wear Love So Well,  seldom-heard 


song, 


contemporary item by Jack Segal and 
George Handy, has its virtues. made 
Christy-clear. АШ the entries sparkle 


under the fine orchestral hand of Pete 
Rugolo. Portrait of Chris (Mlantic) blazes 
fewer trails, but 
into unfamiliar territory on several acca 


with customary Con 


Chris docs cross over 


sions, tender т 


éclat such previously unheralded: items 
as Burke and Van Heusen's Here's That 
Rainy Day and the odd but Dragilely 
vel William. Jimmy Jones 
Ball direct the orchestra in 
and do it well. 


interesting 
and Ronnie 
altendanc 


DINING-DRINKING 


Centrally locited in Hollywood and 
prollering tasty viands and tasteful w 
hour whee, PJs (8151 Santa Monica) is 
а saloon-cun-eatery that opened in carly 
February to a public that came to din- 
ner and hasn't left yet. From the main 
dining room and bar, through the cen 


tral lobby and on into the rear dispen 
ry, the decor is Refined Rustic that has 
a roughhewn elegance both cheery and 


chaste. Up front. near the bar and the 
multitudes, the big attraction is the Joe 
Casto mio (the leader on piano; Don 
Prell. bass; Don Joham, drums). Joe's 
jazz is eminently suited to the hip crowds 
that are usually sprinkled with a soupçon 
of showbiz biggies. Castro's piano is 
funk-laden and fleetly swinging, and the 
rhythm support by Messrs. Prell and 
Joham is first-rate. The long bar, capari- 
soned with a candy-stripe awning, opens 
at noon but doesn’t really rub the sleep 
out of its eyes until about 10 т.м; from 
then on, though, it jumps. With break- 
fast served from 2 till 4 ast, the shut 
tering hour, PJ's is a happy week-long 
the Night Folk. Facing the 
bar, booths are sentineled by white globe 
torch lamps and outfitted with stereo- 
phoni 
for those who don't like their music going 
in one car and out the other. The re 


haven for 


headsets hooked to the jukebox 


©1961, THE PAPER М 


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TRINIDAD = TOBAGO = GRENADA 
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PLAYBOY 


Vicki* Says 


I think that I shall never see 
playboys enough to satisfy me! 
Our playmates galore 

are tanned by the sun, 
But where are the men 

for evenings of fun? 


Our dreams of romance 
would surely come true, 


With playboys like you 
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So hurry on down to these 
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Let us please and delight you 
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You can dance and romance 
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dining room serves up songbirds, piping 
hot and cool. Weld Williams, a striking 
brunette, held forth while we were there, 
augmenting her sophisti 
ry cath СИЕ nube obit oli mittens 

H'wood's liveliest date-bearing oases for 
late dining and/or drinking, PJ's fea- 
tures popular-brand potables for 
„ and fare that 

the wall-inlaid menus reveal, sur- 
ngly inexpensive. Delmonico steak 
ch fries and cole slaw, more- 
d quanti- 
excellent barbecue 
ged аг $3.25; the 
ng 

trencher- 
man whose approach to the groaning 
board is basically carnivorous, New York 
Cut sirloin or filet n available 
at commensurately cautious prices. The 
comely young w 
in simple, ah ‚ longslceved 
white blouses i k sheath skirts. 
PJ's popularity has reached the point 
where fir Visiting Hollywood for the 
first time are asked, "Been to PJ's ye 
The answer is rapidly becoming "Yes." 


ACTS AND 
ENTERTAINMENTS 


after six seasons with 
s fine-feathered flock, singer 
Joe Williams decided to quit the coop and 
id his wings for the single route — a 
OK'd by the ошт and subse- 
tly by Dame Fortune. At the Neve, 
one of San Francisco's more prestigious 
big-name roosts, we recently perched with 
a tightly packed covey of like-minded 
bird-watchers for an unhurried view of 
frst solo Hight, and can report 
action that it was high-flying, 
and decidedly h 
ked by trumpeter Harry 
biting bluesblowers (Jimmy 

Frank Strazzcri, р ; Tommy 
Potter, bass and Clarence Johnson, 
drums), the virile-voiced vocalist wowed 
the crowd with a repertoire of specialties 
ranging from a deep purple My Baby 
Upsets Me (his own handiwork) to a 
fleetly flowing River Saint Marie; from 
а liquidly lyrical Remember to such 
blues-tinted baubles as Smack Dab 
in the Middle, Roll 'Em Pete and Al- 
right. OK, You Win. ssingly 
bedecked in dinner ja ce-front 
shirt and shiny pumps, Joe bopped rifts 
with the horns, swapped one-liners with 
the imbibers, cut a syncopated swath 
through bittersweet treatments of Say 7t 
Isn't So, A Man Ain't Supposed to Cry 
and Lover Come Back to Me, and tagged 
h his fingersnapping theme, Every 
Freed from the big-band arrange- 
ments he termed "a straitjacket: fine 
discipline, but tight, man — not much 


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FILMS 


Burt Lancaster's new film, The Young 
Sevages, is out of West Side Story by 
Mr. District Attorney. Based on Evan 
Hunter's novel, A Matter of Conviction, 
tells how a New York t ang kill- 
ing is tumed into a political stepladder 
h eves on the 
The assistant D.A, who 
ncaster) is from a slum 
ЖООШУП himself; an old flame of 
his is the mother of one of the three 
accused boys: and hi: 
reer-bu 


wife opposes ca- 
ing murder trials. Thus bur 
the movie goes all to plot. But 
n the cracks in the story you can 
glimpse some brutally revealing back- 
ground — the homes, hangouts and hates 
of the JD. particularly the Puerto 
Ricans. John kenheimer, who di 
rected, is better with such те; 
details than he is with the melodr 
изен d photographer Lionel Lindon 
has sliced the roofs off New York's West 
Side with a sharp blade to reveal thc 
swarming tenement life within. Dina 
Merrill attractive, 
wrapped way, 
Winters, the old fi 
a geranium on a fire escape. 
surely of the best-intentioned pro- 
ducers in Hollywood, alway 
out for meaty material, still has 
to go before his acting measures 
his aspirations. 


me, once a 


The Absent-Minded Professor i: 


by one funny gag that is mi 
point of desiccatic 


sustained 
ked to the 
y professor of 
physics — known to his students as Ned- 
dic the Nut— invents an anti-gravity 
propel 
his Model T 
through the 


led “flubber” and puts 
which then goes zooming 
and scares the shift out 
of a shifty rival for his girl's hand. The 
characters are vintage "05; studious, 
forgetful bachelor prof complete with 
motherly housekeeper and brotherly 
dog; peachesand-cream sweetheart; vil 
lain by name of Alonzo Hawk who plots 
to forcelose the mortgage on the college 
even though hes an alumnus. As the 
prof, Fred MacMurray plays the same 
ble young man he was playing 
cy Olson goes 
s the fiancée. 
And Keenan Wynn, as Hawk, gets the 
best lines. When reproved because he 
hopes to tear down his own alma mater, 
Wynn replies sor : “You want to see 
some stranger tear it down?” 


Made from Alberto Moravia's novel 
(Playboy Afler Hours, September 1958) 


Do you make 
these 


Common. 
mistakes 


about whiskey ? 


Mistake: When you order whiskey, do you order what 
you really want? Fact: What Easterners sometimes call 
“rye” and Westerners call “bourbon” is often a blend. The 
actual whiskey in these blends is frequently Kentucky 
bourbon. The rest is grain neutral spirits. When you want 
real bourbon, ask for Kentucky bourbon. 

Mistake: "Kentucky bourbon is strong!" Fact: The 
strength of a whiskey is determined by its proof (alcoholic 
content) and today’s fine Kentucky bourbons are 
available at the same light mild 86 proof as most 
Blends, Scotches and Canadian whiskies. 

Mistake: “Fine Kentucky bourbon is expen- 
sive!” Fact: It isn’t. The price is quite moderate 
...not much more than most blended whiskies; 
usually somewhat less than Scotches or Canadians, for 
there is no import duty. 

Mistake: “АП Kentucky bourbons are alike." Fact: 
That's like saying all men are alike! In Amer- 
ican history as in America today, one bourbon 
towers over the others... Old Crow. In history, 
men of the caliber of DANIEL WEBSTER and 
MARK TWAIN publicly praised Old Crow, today 
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of the last months of World War H in 
Italy, Two Women is the story of a young 
widow (Sophia Loren) who, with hei 
thirte old daughter, leaves Rome 
for her mountain birthplace to escape 
the war, lives with a group of refugees 
and peasants until the Allies arrive, then 
has her appointment na d 
bombed-out church. (She and her daugh- 
ter are violated by Moroccan soldiers in 
a scene more chi 
The Virgin Spri 
actly our image of a peasant, Miss Le 
is her earthy pre-Hollywood self — f 
ing, flirting, ferreting for food, defendin 
her child. Jean Paul Belmondo (ol 
Breathless) turns in another powerful 
performance as a bitter intellectual who 
is murdered by the Germans. But the 
e is the director's. Vit- 

Sica uses his art to make an 
intensely honest statement, as unsparing 
of his countrymen as it is of enemies and 
allies. Women is a revelation of 


ing 


d magnificent. 

A Raisin in the Sun, America's first major 
dramatic film by a Negro about Negroes, 
i stone that's been tripped охе 
tors in this transcription of the 
sberry play (Playboy After 
J) about a poor Chicago 
at is broken up and brought 
n by 510,000 in insurance 
money, make a valiant and not quite 
successful effort to stay afloat in а sea 
of ^a; plot devices, stock charact 
and soupy dialog. For its first two thirds, 
Raisin concerns people who happen to 
be Negro; then they buy a house in a 
resuicted area, and suddenly it becomes 
a Problem movie. Credit the film's 
poignant and humorous moments to its 
superior cast, mainly recruited from 
the Broadway production. Sidney Poitier, 
as a frustrated chauffeur who wants to 
break loose, almost does — 
Ruby Dee 
na Sands as Poit 


together 


cutting- 

matri- 
vy in the comic scenes 
in the heavy stuff. 

In spite of the fact that The Hoodlum 
Priest is about а “regularguy” cleric (and 
even includes the shtick where he breaks 
through police lines to disarm а gunsel), 
it is no gangland Going My Way. The 
picture scores because of its sense of per- 
sonal conviction. Actor Don Murray was 
inspired by the career of Father Charles. 
Clark, a St. Louis Jesuit who is consid- 
ered so far in by aiminals that they 
discuss their heist plans with him. Mur- 
who co-produced and co-authored 
; scenario (under а pen name), 
ark as a man of religion not 


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34 


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“I don’t care if your insides do feel rusted out, Mac's No, 


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*Mac's No. 13 is a marvelous rust inhibitor for car radiators. 
It keeps a car's cooling system running clear for a whole year. 
You can buy Mac's No. 13 at just about any service station. 


bemused by visions of any spectacular 
lastminute triumph over evil. In the 


role of a young con, newcomer Keir 


Dul 


makes the death-house scenes 
у vivid: and director Irving 
Kershner has laid the story out like a 
superhighway. 


THEATRE 


Dore Schary took on a difficult chore 
when he decided to compress Morris L. 
West's complex novel The Devil's Advocate 
to fit the confines of the stage. It is to his 
considerable credit as producer-dir 
writer that much of the pla 
deeply affecting drama. A 
detective story unfolded on a spiritua 
and intellectual level rare in the Broad- 
theatre. Leo Genn is cast as an 
English priest who realizes almost too 
late that he has fost contact with both 
how 
he is dying of cancer, he allows the V 
can to send him to an Italian mountain 
town where, as the Devil's advocate, he 
is to investigate the villagers" claim that 
their local martyr, one como Nerone 
(Edward Mulhare), is qualified for bi 


fication, Nerone's story is told in c 
pertly 


usly in the t 
World War II, befriended the 
starving, leaderless people, performed at 
least one attested miracle, and was exe- 
cuted by Communist. p: xd n 
fascinating assortment of saints and s 
ners that the Englishman encounters 
he resolutely plies his investiga 
nymphomaniac countess (Olive Dec 
ter (Michael K 
nt mistress (Tresa Hughes) 
d son (Dennis Scroppo): 
nd the lonely, agnostic Jewish doctor 
(Sam Levene) who acts as the priest's 
guide along a tortuous trail. $ 
major fault — fortunately not 
one —is that he has allowed the multi- 
plicity of characters and div 
tives to distract him occasionally from 
the driving theme of one man’s search 
for truth, about himself and about 
another. At the Billy Rose Theatre, 210 
West 41st Street. 


gent mo- 


You couldn't meet a pl 
of people than the innocents | 
has dreamed up for her new comedy, 
Mary, Mery. You've met them all before. 
and they don't do anything that will 
come as а surprise, but no matter. The 
plot? What plot? There’s this publisher, 
у Nelson, a serious and somewhat 

g introvert who is getting a 
divorce from Barbara Bel Geddes be- 
cause, like the quite contrary lass of the 


($) lap 


бор Club News "' 


VOL. II, NO. 11 


WANTED—100 BEAUTIFUL BUN- 
NIES just like Bonnie Jo Halpin. 
Glamorous Bunny contingents are 
being formed all over the nation for 
the new Playboy Cluba. 


Tbe name “Playboy Club 
Bunny" has become a coveted 
new job title for beautiful gids 
witb" personality-plus" from every 
part of North America. 

Hundreds of hopeful young girls 
are currently being screened for 
Bunny positions now open at the 


SPECIAL EDITION 


PRETTIEST GIRLS IN U.S. PICKED 
FOR PLAYBOY CLUB BUNNIES 


Fair Femmes from All Walks Screened for Coveted Positions 


many Playboy Clubs—already in 
operation and soon to open. 
Bunnies are being trained at the 
Chicago Club and transportation 
is supplied to Bunnies chosen from 
anywbere in the US. 

Fair femmes from every linc— 
Hdlywood models, Las Vegas 
showgirls, beauteous airline 
stewardesses, young school marms 
and, of course, Playmates from 
PLAYBOY will be picked for these 
ultra-glamorous, bigh-paying 
jobs. From the first “casting 
Session," staged like a Broadway 
call, until а Bunny first welcomes 
Keyholders on the floor of the 
Club with her "ears" and cotton- 
tail, being a Bunny is more like 
“show biz” than anything else. 

Girls of outstanding beauty and 
character are being sought for 
Playboy Clubs opening in New 
York, Los Angeles, Baltimore, St. 
Louis, and many other key cities. 

Applicants for Bunny positions 
should write to International 
Playboy Clubs, c/o PrAxsov 
magazine, 232 E. Ohio St., 
Chicago 11, Ill. 


JUNE, 1961 


Swingin’ in The Penthouse 


М 


А THREE-RING CIRCUS of continuous live entertainment awaits Playboy 
ауе не шырыш щенок Шш усы ы 


a week, the com 
э dutch of Bunnies on the Playbo: 


"hy Stone Four (minus one) 
'nthouse all-star bills 


PLAYBOY CLUBS SHOWCASE 
VAST ARRAY OF TALENT 


Really Swing from Lunchtime to Closing 


“A Disneyland for grownups” 
is wbat one smazed Keyholder 
commented after bis first visit to 
the Chicago Playboy Club, and 
the same policy of “all-star shows 
in a series of swinging showrooms” 
bolds true in the Miami Club and 
others scheduled to open in other 
key cities. 
EARLIEST SHOWS IN TOWN 
"Tbe Penthouse showrooms in 
both the Chicago and Miami 
Clubs offer the earliest shows in 
both towns—the 8 p.m. dinner 
show—and the unbelievable Play- 
boy's Pentbouse Prime Platter— 


| 


from, the Penthouse, 
Tench-born singer агу 
belts a ballad in the [o Playboy 
Library “After Hours” 


ONE FUN-FILLED FLOOR sway 


fabulous 


Playboy in New York 


MIRACLE ON 59TH STREET. Architects and designers arc currently trana- 
bui uet off Fifth Avenue, into the 

ight), designed to be the 
holders and. 


forming this bı 


sS 


"Playboy 
erring up the finest in foods, 


Бш and en tertatnrncad nia HERO ийле рн” айырм: 


а 714-02. prime tenderloin steak 
dinner for just the price of a drink. 
LATEST SHOWS IN TOWN 

"Tbe Clubs also offer the latest 
shows in town in their Libraries 
with the last show going on at 
2:15 Am. in Chicago and 3 Ам. 
in Miami. Both Clubs feature six 
separate shows a night between 
their two showrooms—eight shows 
on Fridays and Saturdays. Even 
through the afternoon, lively jazz 
pianists and combos keep the Club 
swinging on all levels. 


FLASH BULLETIN! 
Playboy Club Set 
for New Orleans 


NEW ORLEANS. May 15— 
Plans have been cinched to es- 


ete geal fer EE 
fall opening. 


Peze send me foll information about joining the Pisyboy Club. 
! І understand that if my application for Key Privileges is accepted, 
Н my Key will admit те to Playboy Clubs now in operation and otbers 


1 that will soon go into operation in major cities in the U.S. and abroad. 
Н 


Н eer o o 3 


АТ зови МАХ 
ОР P 
READS PLAYBOY? 


THE PUMP ROOM—CHICAGO 


apable of turning a fair young lady's head with calculated praise or supervising the preparation of a proper 
martini, the pLaypoy reader both gets around and lives it up. Very apt to find the fellow at the famed Pump Room 
Bar in Chicago's Ambassador East Hotel or similar chic spas. Facts: According to the 1960 Daniel Starch Consumer 
Magazine Report, the PLAYBOY reader is in a class characterized by higher education and position than that of 
any other men's magazine. And it's reflected in his income. Starch Consumer Report shows that the PLAYBOY 
household earns a high median annual income of $8,150, compared to the national median income of $5, 


PLAYBOY ADVERTISING DEPARTMENT · 720 Fifth Avenue, New York, New York * Clrole 5-2620 
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nursery thyme, she i 
ing his cgo w 
ways comm 
and the line was always bus y 
for the sake of form, the author puts 
a pair of obstacles in the way of the 
couple's Act Three reconciliation. 
ly Betsy von Furstenberg as Ne 
new: c-to-be — а fey young heiress ob- 
sessed with health foods and the care 

nd feeding of a lazy colon; and Michael 
Rennie, a slightly tarnished Hollyw 
glamor boy who ades 
ara that actors aren't very different 
from the norm: “They're just ordinary. 
mixed-up people — with agents." Joseph 
Anthonys direction is smooth, and so 
are his players. They have to do a lot of 
talking, but there isn't time between 
laughs to notice. At the Helen H 
210 West 46th Street. 


BOOKS 


The drama that Bernard Asbell re- 
cords in When F.D.R. Died (Holt, Rinehart 
and Winston, $4) opens in Warm Springs, 
Georgia, on the morning of April I2, 
1945. It ends three d er at a gr. 
side in Hyde Park, New York. In a well- 
ordered scrics of vignettes, Asbell records 
the shock waves telt in Wa: 
London, Moscow, Tokyo as the news of 
Roosevelt's collapse spreads. The war 
ms to stop while frontline soldiers 
ad home-front defense workers, who 
refused to credit the fist reports, gri 
as they might for a lost father. Charac- 
teristicall aders of governments 
and arm 
tically 


sworn in as the 
Although the technique of am a 
volume of details about a single event is 
currently being run into the ground by 
best-selling gimmick 
when they see one, reporterresearcher 
Asbell has put together à moving account 
of а most memorable few days in the lives 
of a generation for whom the initials 
ED.R. will always be a synonym for 
President. 


authors who know 


The Heartless tight (Scribner's, $4.95) 
continues Gerald Green's sell-typecasting 
ica's "last angr His first 

two novels displayed disdain for Mam- 
mon-worship on Madison Avenue and 
n the pudgy precincts of Miami 
ach. Now he indicts newspaper row. 
rold Amy Andrus is kidnaped 
front of her Cali 
а home. Her mother is still asleep: 
her father, a TV director, is not around 
because he and his wife have been sepa- 
rated for months. Sj om note 
hints darkly about what will happen to 


as Ате 


ce the 


ENJOYABLE ALWAYS AND ALL WAYS 


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595 Madison Ave., NY, NY 
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* The “conch” is the beautiful shellfish of Florida. 


Florida playboy 


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From Cayo Hueso (Key West), Flor- 
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Into а large Old-Fast 
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one Key lime. Add four ounces of 
ardi Silver label. A Conch-Shell! 


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where the guests bring Bacardi, and 
the host supplies the mixings— as 
many as he ean think of! Like cider, 
ginger heer, cola, fruit. juices — and 
now: Key limes. Fun! 

Я good drinks with 
rdi Party 
write and 


any mixer. Ha 
and invent а dri 
tell us about it. 


William Shakespeare said: 


| “sport royal" 


(Twelfth Night 
Act II Sc. III line 190) 


That’s what you'll be all 

ready for when you wear | 
shirts like this one. And 
although in this instance, 
our quotation is 400 years 
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Illustrated: A Jayson 
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—- 


37 


PLAYBOY 


the child if the police are brought in, the 
THE LOSING problem is how to investigate without 
turning on the heartless light of news 
VIEW 4 E paper publicity. Thanks to a nosy 

+ А neighbor, a dumb-lucky reporter апа а 
stupid police chief, word leaks out 
Green being an eavyour-cakeand-have-it 
author, it is no violation of reviewers 
ethics to report that the child is recov 
cred safely after some peachy-keen work 
by a lec d, of соп 
Amy's parents are reconciled. Chalk up 
another bestseller for an author whose 
ing is notable neither for its heart 
nor its light. 


The Short Novels of Thomas Woffe, edited 
by C. Hugh Holman (Scribner's, $4.50), 
brings together five works by the one. 
time prose laureate of college. English 
majors. Unable to control the emotions 
and words which flooded his books or to 
break the bonds of autobiography, Wolle 
never quite attained the heights that 
some critics predicted for him after the 
publication of his first book, Look Home- 
ward, Angel. We was in thrall to а com- 
pulsion to tell, in rich, multimodified 
prose, everything that he had ever felt. 
id eaten (which was a very great 
eed), and while his Whitman 
glorification of the loneliness and 
ngs of a young American still has 


T" 


WIRES 


The alert playboy wins. Stay awake with safe NoDoz" 


Ever botch up a game because you misread the cards? = 
Drowsiness can cause many serious mistakes. That’s why 
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your sports car . . . piloting your yacht or plane . . . or sit- FINE PRODUCT OF etr RENE A 
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ated by his lack of discipline. The most 
impressive stories in this collection, 4 


Portrait of Bascom Hawke and The 
95 f Web of Earth, both come out of the 
— ог ily life which was the great well- 


spring of Wolle’s inspiration, and sizable 
a remarkable new meter that j tions were in fac incorporated into 
holds readings even after pointed away from subject: | his major works. Bascom Hawke gives а 
the Kalimar Auto-Dial. Reads incident and reflected | twenty-year-old’s view of an aged and 
light. Scaled for ASA to 25,000, EVS, cine speeds to i nced 
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St. Louis 10, Missouri. young narrator is only just Беріпті 


io find. Web, written during Wolle's 

jcean stage, is a mother’s gossipy, 

ighty page monolog of unconnected but 

fr $6.95 to $395. 1 lina family’s life. Strong on detail, but 

л Canada by, IT weak on plot, lyric passages of blank 

verse gleaming amid pages of slipshod 
ng, often uncontrolled, sometimes 


but always honest, these 
both the remarkable pow- 


grotesque relative who has experi 


PLAYBOY ACCESSORIES 


playboy's familiar rabbit in bright 


gargantuan American writer. 


In his latest collection of short pieces, 
Lanterns and Lonees (Harper, $3 
Thurber encounters familiar favorites — 
vague suburban ladies, radio newscasters, 
people at cocktail parties, the "men in 
the gray flannel minds.” His lantern 
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eorrings $4.50 the set $7 
cuff links $4.50 tie tack $2.50 the set $6.50 


PLAYBOY PRODUCTS dept. 259 
232 eost ohio street, chicago 11, is 


tion with a phantom houseguest, 
offers an essay on Henry James, tells an 


enchanted tale about а man who ate 
clocks, But basically, Thurber is pre- 
occupied with language and its abuse 
with the “crippled or wingless words 
that escape. all distorted. the careless 
human lips of our jittery times." He 
adroitly attacks these swarms of stock 
(Calculated Risk), murderous 
mispronunciations (intellectchl), radio- 
t stocks firmed today”), 
gese (“travels and gentles the 
smoke") and other -eses too distressing 
to mention. He plays at spelling words 
backwards. di them, scrambling 
them. For the benefit of fellow insom- 
nomaniacs, he conducts tours of the un- 
charted territory between A and Z— 
and no one knows his Ps and Qs more 
intimately than Mr. Thurber. (P, he says, 
њар 
as ping-pong, pool, poker and parcheesi, 
and partial to pixies such as Puck, Peter 
Pan and Pooh.) In answer to a cri 
who finds his work ged by trivia, 
Thurber writes, “Trivia Mundi has al- 
ways been as dear and as necessary to 
me as her bigger and more glamorous 
sister, Gloria.” And though one might 
wish that somewhat more attention were 
paid to Gloria, surely no one has courted 
the little sister more fondly or more 
winningly. 


stimes such 


layful letter, prone to pa 


man, like doubleday has really flipped 
this wip with a frantic effort tagged 
suzuki beane, scribed strictly in lower-case 
beat talk, about a gone grade-school girl- 
child with mixmaster hair, bonbon eyes 
and crepe-soled mukluks, who cools it 
in this burlap-and-matress-ticking pad 

h daddy-o hugh (who thinks shaving 
is draggy and writes poetry that makes 
ginsberg sound like nick kenn 
carth-mother marcia (who docs 
middle-class values like soap or m 
and has spiritual experiences with hub- 
capamdaomatoxcan sculpturc). alb is 
zensville till suzuki gets hung up on this 
henry martin, a cube type she decides 
is good people суеп though he thinks 
kerouac is what soldiers do when they 
sleep outdoors. he takes her to visit his 
uptown parents, who think he's rented a 
mah-vub-lus beatnik baby through the 
village voice, and she takes him to visit 
hugh and marcia, who think she's 
brought home freddie bartholomew. the 
kids conclude that all grownups are from 
squaresville usa, and forthwith split 
the famil c and wing it twosies, on 
the road in search of a hip oz where 
squares can watch tv and beats can 
stretch canvases in peace. with way-out 
drawings and text by a duo of groovy 
gotham chicks named louise fivuhugh 
and sandra scoppettone, this slender 
volume is really too much — which is 
more, happily, than we can say for the 
modest geets involved: two and a half 
slices of wry bread 


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m fairly hip when it comes to forcign 
cars, but I veer off the track when I try 
to make some sense out of the numerical 
designation foreign manufacturers give 
their chariots. For instance, MGA 1600, 
Mercedes-Benz 300SL, Jaguar’s Mark IX, 
3.8, ХК1505, and Renault 4CV seem 
like total gibberish. Please enlighten me. 
—R. T., Boston, Massachusetts. 

Let's tackle your examples one at a 
time. That 1600after MGA stands for the 
engine’s cylinder displacement (approxi- 
mate) in cubic centimeters; the 300 in 
30051. actually means approximately 
3000 cubic centimeters displacement 
with the final zero dropped arbitrarily — 
the SL stands for Super Light; Jaguars 
Mark IX is simply the ninth model in a 
particular series produced by the com- 
pany, 3.8 stands for liquid displacement 
of the cylinders in litres, 150$ represents 
approximate top speed (the S, again, is 
for Super); Renault's 4CV translates as 
Quatre Chevaux — Four Horses — mean- 
ing the taxable horsepower, a figure con- 
siderably below the actual horsepower. 


WM na: sort of tie will go best with a 
pes stripe suit and a striped shirt? — R. 
^, St. lias Missouri. 
D OK to wear two patterns as long 
as the third element of the ensemble is 
plain, so make that tie a solid color. 


Ё recently purchased а set of com- 
ponents for a hi-fistereo installation. 
Сап I place the tuner and amps atop 
each of my speaker enclosures? Or can 1 
place the tuner atop the amp itself? I've 
heard that vibration and heat can dam- 
age such units, but I want your final 
word on it. — M. W., Detroit, Michigan. 

Placing your tuner and amps atop 
your speakers is bad business; speaker vi- 
bration won't do either any good. Plac- 
ing the tuner atop the amp ts inviting 
disaster, too; the heat generated by the 
amp will damage the sensitive tuner 
mechanism. Both amps and tuner should 
be housed in their own well-ventilated 
cabinet, five to ten feet from the speaker. 


ІМ. too long ago І was over in Eng- 
land, and in the course of some delightful 
pub-crawling came across a champagne 
labeled Creat Western but bottled in 
Australia. Is this a Down Under attempt 
to cash in on the rep of the bubbly put 
up in my home state? I'm curious.—B. D., 
Rome, New York. 

Don’t be too hasty in putting down 
our Aussie friends, Great Western is a 
town in Victoria, Australia, which has 
put up its grape into wine and cham- 
pagne for almost a century. It’s the New 
York State operation that's the jeroboam- 
come-lately. 


WM ncs 1 recently picked up a stalk of 
asparagus with my fingers, my date com- 
mented that this was a breach of good 
manners I sem to recall something 
about its being permissible. Which foods 
can be picked up with the fingers and 
which can't? — L. M., Portland, Oregon. 

Asparagus is a fork or fork-and-finger 
affair. The entire stalk may be eaten with 
a fork, or the soft part may be cater with 
a fork and the stem with the fingers. Of 
course, if it's sauced, marinated or but- 
tered, fingers are verboten. Artichokes 
also lead a double life. The leaves are 
eaten with the aid of the fingers, the 
heart with a knife and fork. Some full- 
fledged finger foods are: corn on the cob 
(which should only be served at informal 
meals, even though holders are available 
to keep the digits a chaste distance from 
the cob), and steamed clams. Oriental- 
fried shrimp (tempura) and crisp bacon; 
the legs and wings of small birds such as 
squab or quail are fair game for the 
fingers, as are the bones of frogs’ legs, 
although they can be tackled with a 
fork if close-contact work makes you 
uncomfortable. If in doubt, the percent- 
ages say use a fork. 


AA: the age of thirty plus, Ive had 
what J suppose is a fair share of romantic 
attachments interrupted in my mid- 
twenties by two years of an unhappy 
marriage. The marriage, in retrospect, 
failed because my ex and I were too 
close: we grew up together and our 
marriage was taken for granted by us 
and our families. The result was that 
our relationship was more sibling than 
matrimonial — and my ex burdened me 
with her personal problems (real and 
imaginary) to an extent I'm sure would 
not have been true in a relationship 
established after both parties had ma- 
tured. Once free, I was determined to 
seek adult romance and may state that 


. 1 did not fall into the traditional pos- 


ture of the divorced man who vows 
never to remarry. However, I did want 
to take my time, do some overdue rov- 
ing, and survey the field. What disturbs 
me, and what I'm asking advice about, 
is this: Try as I will to avoid it, I seem 
to be attracted to girls who have prob- 
lems, be they aged, dependent mothers, 
a child from a previous marriage, a 
dangling and sticky affair with a boss, 
migraine headaches, you name it. The 
problems are never apparent їп the 
initial stages of the romance, and I'm 
an easygoing sort. The result is chat 
sooner or later, usually sooner, I find 
myself giving fatherly advice, or baby 
sitting, or spending Sunday afternoons 
with the girl's family instead of alone 
with her, etc. But by the time that hap- 


pens, I'm hooked, Im emotionally in- 
volved. Then comes the painful parting, 
for both of us, and I'm off again seeking 
the ideal, unencumbered girl. Lately, it 
has occurred to me that the fault may 
be my susceptibility to a specific type of 
girl. If this is the case, I'd like help in 
detecting before I get involved those 
character clues in girls which would be 
danger signals to me if I recognized 
them. I could then break clean fast, or 
never even start with a girl, rather than 
subject both of us to misery when the 
bloom is off the rose. You editors some- 
times tend to give glib, slick, witty 
answers. Please take this question seri- 
ously. — A. S., Chicago, Illinois. 

We give “surface” answers and what 
we hope are witty ones when we feel 
they suffice for the question in question. 
As for yours, you already seem to have 
fair insight into your own problem. Cer- 
tainly, it’s a good notion to avoid mar- 
riage until you are absolutely certain 
about it, and if you're aware of the 
stultifying effects of blind adherence to 
the “once burned, twice shy” attitude of 
the chronic bachelor, you're wise not to 
hurry into another marriage. As for the 
girls with whom you become involved, 
look for one or more of these aspects in 
your character: Does your ego require 
the bolstering of anothers dependence, 
and once bolstered, does it then no 
longer feel the need? Are you, perhaps, 
possessed of latent cruelty which is 
stimulated and then glutted by suffering 
on the part of the object of your love? 
Мау it be that your ideal is unreal 
(everybody does have some troubles) 
and that you shun adult responsibility? 
Is it possible you assume the role of 
helper and confidant to the troubled 
because this spares you feelings of inade- 
quacy in the role of vigorous male? 
What we are suggesting is that you 
search yourself for motivating factors 
rather than seek means for predetermin- 
ing drawbacks in the girls toward whom 
you feel romantic. From a purely calcu- 
lating point of view, however, there is 
ап ancient and wonderfully useful rule 
of thumb for keeping out of entangle- 
ments of the sort you describe. Wear it 
in your hatband; read it every time you 
tip your hat to a new date: Never get 
involved with a girl who hasn't at least 
as much to lose by it as you do. 


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


4l 


ILLUSTRATION BY ARDY KAZAROSIAN 


we 


X 


тагсіаппа * ` 


‚ Carpaine /^ \ 
another bum bangkok, mr. rengs” IN Papaya fiction _ 4 
b 45 Wee 


bernard wolfe А 


marcianna 


MY THIRD MONTH IN HOLLYWOOD was slowed and pleasant; I was still going to the studio but, my script being just 
about finished, I had nothing to do there. Most of the time I sat at my glass-topped executive desk in my leather 
and mahogany executive spring-back swivel chair, surrounded by prints of the hunt and the flare-nostriled stallions 
and setters used by hunters, and read magazine articles about anticholesterol diets and the merits of drinking 
milk fermented by bacteria of the species Lactobacillus acidophilus, X read, nostrils flaring. 

Not knowing any better, I had worked at my scenario as on a novel, doing an average of ten pages a day, so 
that at the end of three weeks I had a 150-page scenario. Then the older and more strategy-conscious hands around 
the writers’ building warned me that if I turned in my material this fast the studio people would be worried sick 
with the thought that since it was done in one sixth the usual time it must be one sixth what it could and should be: 
in their accountant minds, quantity of working time was somehow equated with quality of finished product. So I 
was now operating on the dole system, handing in my finished pages at the rate of five or ten each Friday and 
collecting two thousand fine-crinkling dollars for every lazy week; my producers were happy with my progress 
and full of compliments. I-had plenty of time to read about the coronary-making cholesterol in meat fats and the 
therapeutic changes brought about in the intestinal flora by high colonics of the acidophilus bacterium. I read 
and read. 

I would get to the studio about ten-thirty. 1 would have a sugar-iced French doughnut at the cafeteria counter, 
read in my office until twelve, return to the commissary for a two-hour communal lunch at the writers’ table, retire 
to my office to read some more, visit this or that sound stage to see this or that movie or tclevision show being shot, 
then drive home at four-thirty, exhausted. Time had developed a limp and a lisp for me — until at the beginning 
of my ninth week of doling out pages and raking in small fortunes I discovered in the closet of my office a stack 
of back issues of Let’s Live, a monthly journal devoted to “Health in Mind and Body,” no doubt left there by 
another writer for whom time had been losing tempo. I read. Vacantly, then with the browser’s one fleet eye, in 
the end, wolfishly, slobberingly. There was something fascinating about a devotional prose dedicated to the pulp 
of the nectarine and the juice of the cabbage, and there arrived a time when this nutritional literature became 
importantly nutritive to me. I was stunned by the lecture of Dr. Ehrenfried E. Pfeiffer, “world-famous physician 
and soil scientist" and a charter member of the International College of Applied Nutrition, on the apple, its whys 
and wherefores. I took it to heart when a news item out of Wendell, Idaho, announced that there was an outbreak 
of cancer among Rocky Mountain trout due to a certain brand of fish food manufactured in Buhl, Idaho, and I 
was pleased to learn from Lorraine Justman Moffett that “I Made Addicts with 160 Pounds of Carrots.” 

One Thursday, just when I was getting into a report by B. Lytton-Bernard, D.Sc., D.O., under the heading 
For the Heart: Natural Carpaine in Papaya, my secretary buzzed to say that Farley Munters was on the phone. 

Farley was an actor, a very good one, whom I had known in New York and whom I saw from time to time 
around Hollywood. 

As soon as I answered he began to say with too many too-fast words, “Look, Gordon, if there’s one thing you 
know about me it’s that I’m devoted to my kids and a happy, a very happily married man.” 

I said, “I don’t think that statement does any devastating violence to the facts, Farley,” and settled back to 
wait for the large-size “but” that had to follow such an elaborate and totally unsolicited announcement of marital 
regularity. 

“But,” he went on, carefully avoiding any undue emphasis on the crucial word, and I held my breath, “I 
think you'll agree with me on this, I've never claimed I’m not human. I’m the last one in the world to put myself 
above other people, you'll vouch for that, Gordie. There's no way to control the situation when your wife is stuck 
with the kids back there in Kew Gardens and you've got to come out to the Coast for months at a time to make 
enough money to keep the wife and kids going back in Kew Gardens. You know better than anybody what a kick 
it would be for me and what I'd give if Shirley could be with me on these trips." 

This was better than fifty percent true, so I felt free to say, “I'll put it in writing, Farley. If the matter comes 
to court I'll testify in your behalf. Now: what's her name?” 

“Marciannal” he said explosively, as though the mouthful of vowels had been too long on his tongue. 
“Marcianna Ruskin, she's a French comtesse or something, at least by her third marriage, although I'm not sure 
whether she was legally married to this count or just mixed up with him, and I tell you, Gordie, she's a beautiful 
special item! Made to the dream specifications and with the glory talents!” 

"I'm pleased for you." I didn't see that I could take it much further than that. 

“I want you to get the picture straight, I didn’t go looking for this queen, what happened was, this producer 
in Paris, a fellow I've done a couple of pictures for, she was asking him about people she might look up if she ever 
got out to Hollywood, men, specifically, and my friend gave her my name, it was his own idea entirely. Now, this 
is nothing Z can handle, Gordie, I took a taste but the full meal's too rich for my married blood, a man in my 
position has to be careful, so I'm turning her over to you, see? She was over here fora (continued on page 76) 


“What do you do in real life?" 


PLAYBOY 


46 


Vue шат. Tight 


TWICE AW J WAS 
и. Wo AT KOMET 


AND BEFORE T KNEW 
IT WE WARE I) THE 
MIDDLE OF A BIG 


No MACE 1 Em 
SPEND THE NIGHT! 


DELL, FRADKLY, WHAT OD 
ERTH coup I DO? 1 
ATED Tu (f MS 
WAY ра MU PARENTS 
BOTE HOT ш 
SNEAKED Back «Ж 
WO THE House 

Ар SET THE 

ALARM IN M4 

OLD BEDROOM 

Ке SIX THE NEXT 
Меко. 


EVERY NIGHT AFTER MID - AND EVERY DAY I CALL 


Мент т SNAK юю UP Md ЕШ, FROM 
Mi 00 BepROOM, THE DOINETARS 
SLEEP 00 TOP OF PRUGSIORE AND 
TE BED The 5X THEY YELL AND 
те NEXT MARI, ршн 
HAUG BREAKFAST уши 
AND SNEAK 007. BUT, oF COURSE, I 


МДА TELL THEM ND. 


ш, Y OU CAN MAKE 
A MILLION TODAY 


BY J. PAUL GETTY new business frontiers beckon the young man 
of vision and courage—herein offered ten precepts for amassing 


a fortune 


ANYONE WHO HAS ACHIEVED SUCCESS in any field of endeavor finds that he is frequently asked the 
same question by the people he meets: “How can I — or others — do it, too?” 

Drawing upon his own experience, the successful businessman can find parallels and anal- 
Ogies to given business problems and situations and offer his considered opinions on what he 
would or would not do if confronted by them. He is often able to recognize and point out 
potential opportunities which may not be apparent to younger, less seasoned and sophisticated 
men. Beyond this, anyone long active in the business world should be able to make some 
fairly well-educated guesses about future prospects for business and businessmen. To these 
extents, the yeteran businessman is able to advise others on how they, too, may achieve success 
and wealth in the business world and to estimate their chances for attaining their goals under 
existing conditions. 

I began building the foundations of my own business and fortune in the petroleum industry 
as a wildcatting operator in the Oklahoma oil fields more than four decades ago. 

“But you were lucky — you started in business at a time when it was still possible to make 
millions,” many people have said to me. “You couldn't do it nowadays. No one could.” 

I never cease to be astounded by the prevalence of this negative — and, in my opinion, 
totally erroneous — attitude among supposedly intelligent people. Certainly, there is a tre- 
mendous mass of evidence to prove that imaginative, resourceful and dynamic young men 
have more opportunities to achicve wealth and success in business today than ever before in 
our history. Countless alert and aggressive businessmen have proved this by making their for- 
tunes in a wide variety of business endeavors and enterprises in recent years. 

One man I know was a lower-bracket corporation executive when, in 1953, he heard of the 
development of a new, particularly tough and versatile plastic. He perceived that it would 
make an excellent and economical substitute for certain costly building materials. Using his 
savings and some borrowed money to buy the manufacturing license and to provide the neces- 
sary initial working capital, he went into business for himself producing and distributing the 
plastic. By 1960, he was personally worth well over a million dollars. 

John S. Larkins, a young engineer, took over the Elox Corporation —a tiny Royal Oak, 
Michigan, electronics equipment manufacturing firm — їп 1951. Seeing that there was a great 
and constantly growing need for electronic control devices in industry, Larkins concentrated 
on developing and producing these items, Within six years, he had increased his company's 
gross sales from $194,000 to more than $2,200,000 per year. 

Ex-World War II Army Air Force Captain Victor Muscat has built a diversified postwar 
business empire that includes some twenty firms ranging from toothbrush factories to life 
insurance companies. The annual gross income of Muscat's companies exceeds thirty-five 
million dollars. 

"There are innumerable such modern-day success stories. Among those with which I am 
personally acquainted, none is more telling or to the point than that of New York-born Melville 
(Jack) Forrester. 

Jack Forrester served with distinction as an OSS agent in Europe during World War II. 
After У-] Day, he found himself in Paris, out of work and low on funds. He finally obtained 
a job as a sort of bird-dogging contact man with a large investment firm, the World Commerce 
Corporation. Forrester toured Europe, the Middle East and Asia, looking for promising projects 
and enterprises in which World Commerce Corporation could invest moncy. A shrewd and 
astute businessman, he did so well that within a few years he was made president of the firm's 
French subsidiary, World Commerce Corporation of France. I had known Jack before the 


47 


PLAYBOY 


war. I met him again in Paris in 1949. 
He told me what he had been doing 
since V-J Day. 

“How would you like to do some work 
for me?” I asked him. 

“I don't know much about the oil 
business," he replied with a grin. "But 
I suppose I can learn fast enough.” 

Jack did learn fast — and well. Since 
1049, he has conducted many delicate 
and important negotiations for several 
of my companies. He has been instru- 
mental in obtaining valuable oil con- 
cessions and has prepared and smoothed 
the way for many other operations and 
transactions including deals for tanker, 
refinery and pipeline construction. 

In 1945, Jack Forrester was an ex-OSS 
man without a job and with very little 
money. He was just another of the many 
millions of men who were trying to "re- 
convert” to peacetime existence. Today, 
he is an eminently successful business- 
man — and a millionaire. 

‘There are examples galore to prove 
that it can be done, that success in busi- 
ness and even "making a million" — or 
millions — are entirely realizable goals 
for young men starting out today. I con- 
sider myself neither prophet nor pundit, 
economist nor political scientist. I speak 
simply as a practical, working business- 
man. The careful, conti ig study and 
evaluation of American and interna- 
nal business conditions and trends 
are, however, among my most important 
duties and responsibilities as head of 
the companies I control. Basing my 
opinion on the information I have been 
able to gather throughout the years, 1 
believe that, barring the cataclysmic un- 
foreseen, the outlook for business is 
good and that it will become even bet- 
ter as time goes on. I feel that far- 
sighted, progressive — and, above all, 
open-minded — American businessmen, 
be they beginners or veterans, have am- 
ple reason to be optimistic about their 
prospects and profits for years and even 
decades to come. I say this fully aware 
that, in some American business circles, 
it has long been fashionable — if not 
downright mandatory — to bemoan lack 
of opportunity and the stifling of free- 
enterprise capitalism. 


"and “creeping socialism" are the 
“causes” most often cited for what the 
doom-mongers would have us believe is 
the imminent disintegration of the 
American Free Enterprise System. To my 
way of thinking, all this is sheer non- 
sense. The complaints are merely con- 
venient alibis for the unimaginative, the 
incompetent, the nearsighted and nar- 
row-minded — and the lazy. True, taxes 
are too high—and far too numerous. 
One of these days — and soon — our en- 
tire tax system will have to be over- 
hauled from top to bottom. A logical, 


equitable tax program will have to be 
devised to replace the insane hodge- 
podge of federal, state, county and city 
levies that make life a fiscal nightmare 
for everyone. In the meantime, however, 
businessmen will just have to live with 
the situation. Let's be honest about it: 
that they can live with it is obvious 
enough. Income taxes— the most abused 
whipping boys—are, after all, levied 
only on profits. There are proportion- 
ately more well-to-do businessmen in 
the United States than ever before. I've 
never heard of a single American firm 
that had to close its doors because of 
taxation alone. 

Labor costs are also high, but I've 
often observed that the man who com- 
plains the loudest about excessive 
wages is the same one who spends for- 
tunes on advertising and sales cam- 
paigns to sell his products to the mil- 
lions. How on earth he expects the work- 
ers who form the bulk of those millions 
to buy his chinaware, garden furniture 
or whirling-spray pipe-cleaners unless 
they are well paid is beyond my compre- 
hension. Labor is entitled to good pay, 
to its share of the wealth it helps pro- 
duce. Unless there is a prosperous 
“working class" there can be no mass 
markets and no masssales for merchants 
or manufacturers—and there will be 
precious little prosperity for anyone. For 
its part, labor must understand that high 
wages are justified — and can remain 
high only if workers maintain high 
levels and standards of production. And, 
as long as we're talking about things 
that are high, I might add that L for 
one, think it’s high time both capital 
and labor realized these basic home 
truths and ceased their eternal and cost- 
ly wrangling. Whether either likes it or 
not, one cannot exist in its present form 
without the other. I doubt very seriously 
if either would find the totalitarian 
alternatives to the existing system very 
pleasant or palatable. 

As for foreign competition, it has long 
been my experience that competition of 
any kind is promptly labeled unfair 
when it begins to hurt those business- 
men who do not possess the imagination 
and energy to meet it. Competition — 
foreign or otherwise — exists to be met 
and bested. Competition — the stiffer 
and more vigorous the better— is the 
stimulus, the very basis, of the free 
enterprise system. Without competition, 
business would stagnate. 

These facts are conveniently ignored 
by those individuals and pressure groups 
who loudly demand that the Federal 
Government do something about "un- 
fair" foreign competition. The "some- 
thing" they want the Federal Govern- 
ment to “do” is, of course, to raise sky- 
high tariff walls which would prevent 
foreign countries from trading with us — 


about as nearsighted a policy as one 
could imagine. 

Creeping socialism? That particular 
plaint is proven to be false and without. 
foundation by the very fact that there 
are so many more free-enterprise-system 
American businessmen to voice it today 
than there were ten, twenty or more 
years ago. 

In short, I can't see any validity in the 
arguments advanced by the pessimists 
and defeatists. But then, calamity howl 
ers have always been with us, chanting 
опе dismal and discouraging chorus or 
another. In 1915, when I started pros- 
pecting for ой in the “Red Beds” area 
of Oklahoma, the chronic Cassandras in 
the oil camps prophesied that I'd lose 
my shirt in record time. "Paul Getty will 
be flat broke inside six months,” they 
predicted. “There is no oil in the Red 
Beds." 

For years, oil inen and geologists had 
been telling each other that no oil could 
possibly exist in Oklahoma west of the 
known oil belt. Since the Red Beds were 
to the west of the existing fields, they 
never bothered to find out for them- 
selves if there was any real basis to the 
long-held theory. 

Despite the prevailing consensus, I 
went into the area, looked for struc 
tures and found them. I drilled my test 
wells, struck oil — and made my first mil- 
lion dollars. 

“You're a fool to buy stocks now!” a 
great many people told me in the early 
1930s. “The stock market has collapsed — 
and stock prices can only go lower. It’s 
only a matter of time before the stock 
market is completely liquidated —and 
you'll go under with it.” 

I thought otherwise — and bought the 
stocks I wanted to buy at every oppor- 
tunity, using every dollar I could scrape 
together. That was how I, a relatively 
Pygmy-sized independent oil operator, 
eventually wound up controlling the 
Tide Water Associated — now Tidewater 
— Ой Company, one of the nation's 
major oil companies. That was also how 
I purchased stocks which have since in- 
creased as much as ten thousand percent 
in value. 

Real estate? Hotels? In 1938 the pessi- 
mists were assuring all who would listen, 
“Real estate is a rotten investment — 
and hotels are even worse . . .” 

At that time, the luxurious forty- 
three-story Hotel Pierre, located on 
Manhattan's swank Fifth Avenue at 61st 
Street, was New York's most modern 
hotel. Built in 1929-1930, it had origi- 
nally cost more than ten million dollars. 
In 1938, it could be purchased for 
$2,350,000 — less than one-quarter the 
amount that had been spent on build- 
ing, equipping and furnishing it. No 
crystal ball was needed 10 show that this 
was an excellent buy. The country was 

{continued on page 72) 


ву 
CHARLES BEAUMONT 


its 


carnival 


vibrant 
with 
the 
thunder 
of 
engines 
and 
the 


scent 


GRAND 
PRIX 
DE 
MONACO 
20, 


Clockwise from top left: опе of the unique 
delights of the Monaco Grand Prix: watching the 
Formula | machinery from the flying bridge or 
mizzenmast of yachts hard by the Quai des Etats- 
Unis. A Formula | power plant, minuscule but 
mighty, mesmerizes Stirling Moss. Monaco, a 
spectotor's paradise, has vantage points by the 
score where viewers can soak up the sun, the 
sounds and the spine-tingling sight of a Grand 
Prix in high gear. Britisher Tony Brooks in the 
Yeoman Credit team's Cooper-Climax displays the 
stifl-upper-lip resolve that gained him a highly 
creditable fourth-place finish. The straining 

mounts of the world's finest drivers, tightly 
clustered on the starting grid, lunge forward 


with an eager, volcanic roar. One needn't be a 
racing aficionado to appreciate the chassis 
designs and uncluttered bodywark of some of 
the models lined up at seaside. 


IMAGINE, IF YOU CAN, THIS SITUATION: the 
Mayor of New York bans all waffic from the 
center of the city, ropes off a two-mile area in 
the general vicinity of Times Square, erects 
grandstands on the sidewalks, lines the streets 
with hay bales, and declares a state holiday, 
all for the purpose of staging an automobile 
race. Fantastic? Yes, But that is exactly what 
happens every year in Monte Carlo with the 
running of the Grand Prix de Monaco, since 
1929 the greatest and most spectacular sport- 
ing event on the European calendar. Now that 
the Mille Miglia and the Carrera Panameri- 
cana are no more, this annual Grande Epreuve 
is the only existing road race worthy of the 
name, belonging — with everything else in 
“the jewelbox of the Mediterranean” — to 

a more romantic era. The tendency is 
toward nostalgia. Yet the hard fact is that 
the speed festival is as good today as it was 
thirty years ago. The difference is in the 
cars: they are smaller and they go faster. The 


Right: Their Serene Highnesses seem 
slightly less than that during the race. 
Graham Hill's BRM is helped back 

to the pits after losing an 

argument with a steel tower. 

Below, | to r: the snout of Chris Bristow's 
Cooper; winner Stirling Moss looking 
maddeningly casual os his Lotus-Climax 
rockets along at 100 mph; Californian 
Richie Ginther, in his first Grand Prix, 
showing considerable skill at the wheel of 
the fledgling rear-engined Ferrari. Bottom: 
handling the delicately-balanced race cars 
over rain-slicked cement has been likened 
to skeet shooting [rom a roller coaster- 
For right: Lance Reventlow, whose Scarabs 
failed to qualify, finds solace and haute 
cuisine with wife Jill St. John at the 
post-race Gala held in the opulent Empire 
Room of Monaco's regal Hôtel de Paris. 


American champion Phil Hill regards 
the Monaco circuit as a “Mickey 
Mouse” course. “J£ it were anywhere 
else,” he says, “it would be a joke.” 
But it isn't anywhere else. It is in 

the most glamorous city of the most 
glamorous country in the world, and for 
that reason is loved by the people, 
spectators and residents alike. Thou- 
sands who find no special thrill in 
watching automobiles either at rest or in 
motion, who would not dream of at- 
tending any of the airport and artificial- 
road-coutse races comprising the bulk of 
the season's events, flock to Monte Carlo 
avery May. They enjoy the race, for that 
is the spectacle's highlight, but it is 

not solely, or even primarily, the race 
that draws them. It is Monte Carlo at the 
summit, at the absolute peak of its 
excitement. That it is a truly fabulous 
place is (continued on page 56) 


fiction By FREDERIK POHL 


THE FELLOW WAS OVER SEVEN FEET TALL and when he stepped on 
Bufhe's flagstone walk one of the stones split with a dust of crushed 
rock. “Too bad,” he said sadly, “I apologize very much. Wait.” 

Buffie was glad to wait, because Buffe recognized his visitor at 
once. The fellow flickered, disappeared and in a moment was there 
again, now about five feet two. He blinked with pink pupils. “I 
materialize so badly,” he apologized. “But I will make amends. May 
I? Let me see. Would you like the secret of transmutation? A cure 
for simple virus diseases? A list of twelve growth stocks with spectacu- 
lar growth certainties inherent in our development program for 
your planet Earth?” 

Buffie said he would take the list of growth stocks, hugging him- 
self and fighting terribly to keep a straight face. “My name is 
Charlton Buffie,” he said, extending а hand gladly. The alien took 
it curiously, and shook it, and it was like shaking hands with a 
shadow. 

“You will call me ‘Punch,’ please,” he said. "It is not my name 
but it will do, because after all this projection of my real self is 
only a sort of puppet. Have you a pencil?” And he rattled off the 
names of twelve issues Buffie had never heard of. 

That did not matter in the least. Виће knew that when the 
aliens gave you something it was money in the bank. Look what 
they had given the human race. Faster-than-light space ships, power 
sources from hitherto non-radioactive elements like silicon, weapons 
of great force and metalworking processes of great suppleness. 

Buffie thought of ducking into the house for a quick phone call 
to his broker, but instead he invited Punch to look around his apple 
orchard. Make the most of every moment, he said to himself, every 
moment with one of these guys is worth ten thousand dollars. “I 
would enjoy your apples awfully,” said Punch, but he seemed dis- 
appointed. “Do I have it wrong? Don't you and certain friends plan 
a sporting day, as Senator Wenzel advised те?” 

"Oh, sure! Certainly. Good old Walt told you about it, did he? 
Yes." That was the thing about the aliens, they liked to poke around 
in human affairs. They said when they came to Earth that they 
wanted to help us, and all they asked of us in return was that they 
be permitted to study our ways. It was nice of them to be so inter- 
ested, and it was nice of Walt Wenzel, Buffie thought, to send the 
alien to him. “We're going after mallard, down to Little Egg, some 
of the boys and me. "There's Chuck — he's the mayor here, and Jer — 
Second National Bank, you know, and Padre —" 

“That is itl" cried Punch. “To see you shoot the mallard.” He 
pulled out an Esso road map, overtraced with golden raised lines, 
and asked Buffie to point out where Little Egg was. “I cannot focus 
well enough to stay in a moving vehicle," he said, blinking in a 
regretful way. "Still, I can meet you there. If, that is, you wish —” 

“I do! I do! I do!” Buffie was painfully exact in pointing out the 
place. Punch's lips moved silently, translating the golden lines into 
polar space-time coordinates, and he vanished just as the station 
wagon with the rest of the boys came roaring into the carriage 
drive with a hydramatic spatter of gravel. 

‘The boys were extremely impressed. Padre had seen one of the 
aliens once, at a distance, drawing pictures of the skaters in Rocke- 
feller Center, but that was the closest any of them had come. “God! 
What luck." “Did you get a super-hairpin from him, Вие?” "Or a 
recipe for a nyew, smyooth martini with dust on it?" “Not Воће, 
fellows! He probably held out for something real good, like six 
new ways to — Oh, excuse me, Padre." (concluded on page 131) 


PLAYBOY 


56 


.pennanently resident non- 


GRAND PRIX 


evident in the fact that Monte Carlo 
doesn't even exist — not, at any rate, in 
the way that most pcople suppose. Con- 
trary to popular legend, it is not a coun- 
try, nor a tiny empire, nor even a duchy. 
It is, instead, one of the four distinct 
sections making up the Principality of 
Monaco. The other three are Old Mon- 
aco, an ancient village sitting on The 
Rock; La Condamine, a residential dis- 
trict; and the burgeoning industrial area, 
Fontvielle. 

Incredibly, the Grimaldis have reigned 
over this independent state for more 
than five hundred years. They were a 
Genoese family, and first appear in his- 
tory as having assisted William, Count 
of Provence, and the Emperor Otho I, 
in expelling the Saracens. In gratitude, 
the Emperor gave Monaco to one of 
them, while the others were rewarded 
with fiefs near Nice and in the Maures. 

The descendants of Gibelin Grimaldi 
were at first only seigneurs, but eventu- 
ally they became sovereigns, and the 
family went on to great power. Until 
the Seventeenth Century they had a flo- 
tilla of galleys, which served in many 
local wars. Rainier II, Prince of Monaco, 
entered the service of Philip the Fair in 
1302 and, in 1304, was the first to lead a 
Genoese fleet through the Straits of Gi- 
braltar into the occan. Of all the Gri- 
maldis, he is the one who seems to have 
had the combined instincts of privateer, 
bon vivant and soldier of fortune, and 
so one may assume that it was, at least 
to a small degree, his influence that gave 
the present sovereign his early reputa- 
tion. 

Prince Rainier III is now a serious 
and mature ruler, loved and respected 
by the 2200 Monégasques (and 20,000 

itizens) who 
are his subjects. It is pleasant to report, 
however, that in the days when he was 
called The World's Most Eligible Bach- 
elor, Rainier attended to the sowing of 
wild oats with great élan. That the 
Grand Prix continues on the grand scale 
is due to his abiding enthusiasm for 
motor sport. (It is a little-known fact 
that in 1953 Rainier actually partici- 
pated in the running of the tortuous 
and demanding Auto Tour de France. 
He entered as Louis Carlades and came 
very close to death when his mechanic, 
an official member of the palace staff, 
lost control of their DB and crashed into 
a tree at high speed.) Since his cele- 
brated marriage to the former actress 
Grace Kelly, he has settled into the sober 
dignity that befits his station, and — 
somewhat sad to relate — has even given 
up his stable of high-performance sports 
car. Enthusiasts of Grand Prix racing 
look at the distinguished Chief of 
Government and sigh, remembering the 


(continued from page 52) 


days when he used to jump into his 
Lancia and tour the course at a hair- 
raising clip before each Monaco С.Р. 
But they understand. Rainier must think 
of his country now. 

And think of it he does. For he real- 
izes that Monaco has always becn a min- 
iature paradise, and that it is up to him 
to keep it that way. He gazes down upon 
his princedom from the majestic height 
of a feudal palace, one of the few abso- 
lute monarchs left in the world, fully 
empowered to order the immediate de- 
capitation of any of his subjects; yet he 
rules democratically, through a Minister 
of State and a National Council. There 
are no customs barriers between France 
and the principality, yet Monaco has its 
own army, its own police, its own post- 
age stamps (accounting for greater reve- 
nue than the Casino itself), even its own 
coinage. Citizens pay по income taxes, 
inheritance taxes or death duties. As the 
British journalist Douglas Rutherford 
observed in his excellent book The 
Chequered Flag, “This same legal inde- 
pendence makes it possible for the Au- 
thorities to close the streets of a thriving 
city for two mornings and an afternoon 
of practice and for almost the whole of 
the Sunday on which the race is run.” 

It is difficult to imagine and impos- 
sible to describe, with any accuracy, the 
setting for this Course dans la Cité. It 
must be seen, for no photograph or 
painting could embrace the 360-degrec 
panorama. The buildings which rise, 
tier upon tier, to form a great amphi- 
theatre, are not handsome individually; 
but taken together they are magnificent. 
‘The center they surround is the natural 
deep anchorage which first attracted the 
Saracens centuries ago and led them to 
build their citadel above the bay, pro- 
tected to left and right by high, unscal- 
able slopes. Here, in this calm basin of 
blinding blue, entered by a slender gate- 
way in the encircling rock wall, anchor 
the foremost pleasure yachts of the 
world, all dressed in formal white, like 
matron ladies, surrounded by a retinue 
of smaller craft. Behind the basin, the 
pastel hills, the great amphitheatre of 
palaces and apartments and hotels and 
terraced villas, all pink and blue and 
green and blazing white, rise up to the 
scrubbed sky. To one side you look 
along the French coast toward the fab- 
ulous resorts of Nice and Cannes and St. 
"Tropez; to the other toward Cap Martin 
and the Italian Riviera. 

‘The port of Monaco is an almost per- 
fect square, landlocked оп three sides 
and edged with a broad promenade. The 
Grand Prix circuit begins in the middle 
of the central strip, the Quai Albert 
Premier. This wide, tree-lined esplanade, 
normally closed to all traffic except bi- 


cycles and perambulators, serves as the pit. 
area and startfinish line for the Grand 
Prix. Ahead lie two miles of streets bor- 
dered by curbs, balustrades, thick, un- 
yielding walls, lampposts, and the 
waters of the harbor itself, which may 
explaim why this is the slowest, most 
difficult and most demanding circuit on 
the calendar. Last year's race, considered 
by many to have been the greatest of 
all time, was won at an average speed 
of 67.68 mph. In 1937 the German 
Champion Kudolf Caracciola, driving a 
supercharged Mercedes of 5.6 liters 
which developed well over 600 brake 
horsepower, turned a lap at a fraction 
better than 67 mph. 

When the idea of holding a race 
through the streets of the city was first 
formulated, in 1929, Monte Carlo was, 
in the words of the travel writer S. 
BaringGould, the "moral cesspool of 
Europe.” That is, it was the hub of 
gaiety, the heart of all dreams, the 
glamor capital of the world. Gambling 
was basic to its economy. It lived on the 
hopes of mankind, and lived well: 
Monégasques played host every year to 
over one million visitors, all of whom 
were drawn then, as now, by the lure 
of the Casino. So brisk was the gaming 
trade at that timc that onc of thc first 
orders of business in planning the open- 
ing event was the construction of a 
bridge over the track, to insure that the 
motor race would not prevent players 
from visiting the tables. Moralists were 
warning people away from the city on 
all grounds, including prostitution and 
cruelty to animals (pigeon shooting has 
always been a popular Monte Carlo 
sport). Cried Baring-Gould, in his Book 
of the Riviera: "How much better were 
it in the Maremma or the Campagna, 
where the risk to health and life would 
add zest to the speculation with gold. As 
long as men people the globe there will 
be gambling, and it is in vain to think 
of stopping it. All the lowest types of 
humanity . . . resort to it with passion, 
and the unintellectual and those with- 
out mental culture throughout Europe 
will naturally pursue it as a form of 
excitement. It is therefore just as well 
that there should be places provided 
for these individuals of low mental and 
moral calibre to enjoy themselves in the 
only way that suits them, but again, the 
pity is that one of the fairest spots of 
Europe, this earthly paradise, should be 
given over to harlots and thieves, and 
Jew moneylenders, to rogues and fools 
of every description.” Of course, he— 
and all his worried breed — succeeded. 
only in making the place even more 
irresistible than it actually was. 

Physically, the city has changed very 
little during the past thirty years. The 
architecture was, and is, wholly rococo, 

(continued on page 110) 


article 
By GERALD WALKER 


MIC 


that exclusive confraternity of 
england’s libertine rakes 
and wenches of yore is re-created 
in a british flick 


Latest addition to the burgeoning list of bosom-baring films is 
“The Hell-Fire Club,” a much-romanticized fable built around 
some very high Eighteenth Century jinkery. Made at Britain’s 
Pinewood Studios, the movie is resplendent with unfettered 
ladies (including titian-tressed Adrienne Corri and Kai 
Fischer) and uninhibited gentlemen in uncompromising dal- 
liance—pictorial examples of which adorn the ensuing factual 
report of what the roaring Hell-Fires were all about. 


FOR ONE EXOTIC DECADE in the Eighteenth Century some un- 
common rites were conducted at Medmenham (pronounced 
“Mednam”) Abbey on the Thames River thirty-odd miles 
northwest of London, From 1753 to 1763 the rambling, red- 
roofed Abbey, originally a Cistercian monastery, was used as 
a week-long retreat several times a year by an order called 
the Friars of St. Francis. 

At dusk a bell would toll and the dozen or so com- 


municants would assemble in the cloisters wearing white hats, 


white jackets, white trousers and white monkish robes. Carry- 
ing lighted tapers, they filed out into the gathering darkness 
and ceremoniously trooped across the lawn to the entrance 
of the Abbey, over which was the inscription FAY CE QUE 
youpras. After a reverent pause, the leading apparition 
knocked three times and the Abbey door opened. On the 
threshold stood the Prior, dressed like his brethren except 
for a cardinal's red hat trimmed with rabbit fur. 

"What," intoned the Prior, "is the password?" 

To which the Friars of St. Francis, in unison, boomed 
their ritual response, a translation of the words over the 
doorway: “Do what you will!” 

After intoning this quote from Rabelais, the monks 


PLAYBOY 


58 


followed the Prior into the Abbey where events took an even more unconventional turn. Entering the 
chapel, they passed beneath another inscription which, translated, read: "Stranger, refuse, if you can, what 
we have to offer.” As a sample of what the monks had to offer, lying prone and very likely chilled on the 
black marble altar, was a naked woman from whose navel the congregation sipped the ceremonial wine. 
It is a moot point whether they retained the services of an exceptionally large-naveled woman, or whether 
one of them was assigned the job of refilling. But one thing certain is that these monks constituted a rather 
unorthodox religious sect. 

Actually, the Friars of St. Francis were a group of high-born, high-living Englishmen who convened 
periodically to do some uninhibited partying and to burlesque religion and conventional morality. The 
Abbey was perfect for their purposes. It was near enough to London to be reached without too much 
traveling; it was far enough out in the country to afford privacy; and the religious trappings lent a sacri- 
legious zest to the orgiastic goings-on. By turning the monastic way of life inside out, they won collective 
immortality of a sort as The Hell-Fire Club. The group's namesake was not Francis of Assisi. It was Sir 
Francis Dashwood of West Wycombe. Despite his period-comedy name, Dashwood was a flesh-and-hot- 
blooded roué who owned a sizable estate six miles from the Abbey. To his fellow voluptuaries, the 
lords and politicians who shared his particular tastes in carousing, he was known as Hell-Fire Francis. 

One of the Club's specialties was the Black Mass, which invoked Satan 
and mocked Catholic ritual in accord with the anti-Catholicism then fashion- 
able in England. The chapel crucifix hung upside down beneath a porno- 
graphic ceiling fresco. Black drapes framed stained-glass windows showing 
members in poses customarily called indecent. Narcotic herbs fumed in metal 
receptacles and light was provided by black candles held by lamps in the 
form of a grotesque bat with a noticeably erect penis. The Hell-Fires toasted 
the Devil from a ribaldly designed communion cup. Elaborate double 
entendres were written into prayers and off-color limericks were substituted 
for hymns. The service culminated in the taking of the Host, a specially 
baked concoction called “Holy Ghost Pye.” And, oh yes, the drinking of more 
tepid wine from the recumbent woman’s navel. 

The Hell-Fire Club represented the flowering of a long line of convivial 
groups devoted to providing an evening's entertainment for the jaded Lon- 
don rake. No band of obscure live-it-uppers, its members were among the 
most prominent men of the time. Dashwood himself was George III’s Chan- 
cellor of the Exchequer, although self-admittedly one of the worst to hold that 
office. Lord Bute was no less than Prime Minister, while Lord Sandwich was 
First Lord of the Admiralty. Other eminent Hell-Fires included: John Wilkes, 
Member of Parliament, Lord Mayor of London; Thomas Potter, son of the 
Archbishop of Canterbury, Paymaster-General, Vice-Treasurer of Ireland; 
George Bubb, Baron of Melcombe Regis, Cabinet Member; artist William 
Hogarth; novelist Laurence Sterne; satirist Charles Churchill (not an ancestor 
of Sir Winston). Then there were the Vansittart boys: Henry, Governor of 
Bengal; Robert, Regius Professor of Civil Law at Oxford; Arthur, Member 
of Parliament. 

The rakes who flourished during the reigns of the three Georges were 
no free-lance sinners. They enjoyed debauching, but they enjoyed it best in company and usually joined a 
club of the similarly inclined. These Eighteenth Century versions of the Organization Man dated their genial 


genealogy to the Elizabethan Age's Roaring Boys. “The Roarers and Bravadors of the previous century," 
notes Ronald Fuller in Hell-Fire Francis, “had been, for the most part, like overgrown schoolboys, roaming 
the streets in shouting bands, and amusing themselves with such unsophisticated delights as the baiting of 
decrepit Charlies and the pursuit of elderly citizens round the Lambeth Marshes." Other interests included 
window-breaking, jabbing men in the buttocks with sword points, and standing young ladies wrongside-up 
so that skirts and petticoats tumbled down over their heads. “The members of the Rakes’ Clubs .. . were 


not so easily entertained," Fuller goes on. “They tempered brutality with Elegance, debauchery with Taste.” 
In sum, indoor activities dominated the Georgian scene. 

It was not only an Age of Licentiousness but an Age of Specialization. “We find in each group,” 

writes Louis Clark Jones in The Clubs of the Georgian Rakes, “a tendency to overindulge in some one 
vice — drunkenness, immorality, impiety, or gambling . ..” The Hell-Fires were triple-threaters; they seem 
to have gone in heavily for everything but gambling — not that they had any scruples about laying wagers, 
but first things came first. 
The founder of The Hell-Fire Club was the Johnny Appleseed of wild oats: sowing them was his 
ТТ" lifelong occupation. Dashwood began young, at sixteen, when he came into his 
title and fortune. In 1730, a seasoned fleshpotter of twenty-one, he embarked on 
the Grand Tour. In Russia he made love to the Czarina, one of the great tourist 
attractions of the day; in Turkey, according to Horace Walpole, Sir Francis showed. 
“the staying powers of a stallion and the impetuosity of a bull.” But Dashwood’s 
greatest coup came in Rome. On Good Friday he saw worshipers in the Sistine 
Chapel lightly tapping themselves with small, symbolic scourges. Feeling inclined 
to assist them in their devotions, he hid a whip under his dark cloak, and suddenly, 
in the midst of the worship, he lashed out strenuously on all sides. The 
Italians fled, shouting “Il Didvolo!” 

Back home, Sir Francis did his best to make Merry England 
merrier. An inveterate joiner, he belonged to: the Prince of Wales’ 
retinue; the Society of Dilettanti, cuttingly described by Walpole as “a 
club for which the nominal qualification is having been in Italy, and 
the real one, being drunk”; the Divan Club, a similar group for travel- 
ers to Turkey; the Sublime Society of Beefsteaks, which held Saturday- 
night revels in the tavern atop Covent Garden Theatre; the board of 
directors of a whorchouse near Drury Lane. Between bouts of wench- 


In color, on a wide screen, the cave or- 
gies of a boisterous band of British rakes re È 
provide a rousing raison d'etre for the ing and drinking, the major occupations of a Georgian gentleman, 


new English movie, The Hell-Fire Club. 


Hell-Fire Francis found time to marry a wealthy widow described by one 
biographer as “a poor, forlorn, Presbyterian prude.” He also had his por- 
@ wait painted in a friars habit devoutly worshiping before a naked 
Venus; the painting was captioned “San Francesco di Wycombo.” 

Dashwood found a way to bring this portrait to life after his politi- 
cal patron, the Prince of Wales, died in 1751. Casting about for a new 
interest, Sir Francis discovered Medmenham Abbey, bought it, and 
had it remodeled in the voguish Gothic style, featuring a ruined tower, 
„ dead trees, crumbling pillars and arches covered with ivy, and a few 
tame owls and bats for atmosphere. There was even a gondola, imported 
from Venice, to taxi the SEE and their abbey-followers between London and Medmenham. 

Along with many of his well-to-do contemporaries, Dashwood's imagination had been caught during 
his Grand Tour by the ruins of classic architecture, by wild settings quite unlike England's formal land- 
scapes, and, generally, by the relics of an older, more pagan culture. On their return to England, the young 
fashion-setters stirred up what one writer has called a "skull and crumble" craze, making a fetish out of 
disguising new structures to look like ruins. The dark Gothic passions — melancholy, violence, lust — were 
pushing to the forefront of English art and literature, and Dashwood had no trouble proselytizing eleven 
congenial souls to serve with him as apostles of the new order in his elaborately perverse utopia. Sir 
Francis, who took the monastic code-name of St. Francis (the others were known as St. Paul, St. Thomas, 
etc.), served as Prior. He was assisted by a Steward, the only other permanent officer, who performed such 
duties as collecting dues and ordering supplies. Duly organized, the great experiment began. 

After the Black Mass, it was customary for the Hell-Fires to murmur the equivalent of “Shall we join 
the ladies?” and retire to an adjoining room where a number of masked (continued on page 121) 


59 


man at his leisure 


neiman sketches the gala and sumptuous 


Jun of a transatlantic crossing 


THE S.S. UNITED STATES — one of the world’s most elegant 
luxury liners — crosses the Atlantic, from New York to Havre and 
Southampton, in less than five days (and on to Bremerhaven in six). 
Five city blocks long and twelve stories high, the United States is 
a sleek superliner resplendent with the accoutrements and aura of 
superb relaxation coupled with top-notch service (it boasts a staff 
of eight hundred — one crew member for every two passengers). Its 
plush parties, formal and informal, are among the cruise highlights 
for the distinguished men and chic women aboard. Epicurean 
delights of five continents — and a matchingly splendiferous wine list 
— make up its menus. Throughout the spacious interior of the ship 
is an enticing array of recreational facilities for both active and 
passive sportsmen. It was in this distinctive and fun-filled atmosphere 
that LeRoy Neiman, on land-and-sea-roving assignment for PLAYBOY, 
steamed to Europe. A fitting subject for any Man at His Leisure, 
the United States provided Neiman with abundant inspiration. 

“On the United States, leisure has many meanings,” says Neiman. 
“For the lollers, push-button call bells bring service directly to cabins. 
But the sensible traveler explores the ship. He relishes the unparal- 
leled view of the sprawling ocean, the svelte hugeness of the ship and 
the quiet sophistication of his fellow passengers.” 

From the streamer-laden, horn-tooting moment of embarkation in 
New York, with last-minute champagne quaffing and bon voyages, 
until the massive ship glides past the white cliffs of Dover into 
Channel ports — signaling the nearness of awaited destinations — the 
United States is a festive playground. Neiman roamed it, sketching 
deck life, decor and dramatic moments he shared with the seagoing 
society making the Atlantic crossing. His paintings here preserve the 
majestic magnitude of the liner itself and the joie de vivre that pre- 
vails as the ship forges the link between America and the Continent. 


Left: Neiman depicts the gaiety and excitement of the 
United States’ departure from New York. Above: a ship- 
board gala is a call to colors, with fashionably garbed 
guests and a strikingly decorous setting. Below: on deck, 
the seafarers relax over cocktails and conversation, 
sharing the comforts of the inimitably freshening ocean 
breeze and the superior service of on attentive steward. 


Satire By LARRY SIEGEL 


“Sponsors of the Civil War Centen- 
nial report all TV networks have special 
shows in the works to commemorate the 
celebration. But many potential adver- 
tisers are backing away lest they injure 
the South's feelings by reviving the 
Civil War.” 

— Kup's Column, Chicago Sun-Times 


Scene: a conference room at the Mc- 
Dermott-Osterman Advertising Agency. 
Seated around a small table are CHESTER 
Hopkins, director of TV activities for the 
agency; HARVEY KINGSLEY, president of 
Zephyr Cigarettes; BOB WOLLMAN, a TV. 
producer; and JIM cowan, a writer. 

HOPKINS 
Good news, Jim. Mr. Kingsley has de- 
cided to sponsor your One Nation, Di- 
visible television script. 
COWAN 
Wonderfull 
WOLLMAN 
We certainly appreciate your courage, 
Mr. Kingsley. Especially since twenty- 
three advertisers turned the story down, 
for fear of injuring the South's feelings. 
KINGSLEY 
Oh, don’t thank me. Thank Jim for his 
excellent script. With a few small re- 
visions, this is going to be a Civil War 
story that Zephyr Cigarettes will be 
proud to present to the American public. 
COWAN 
(His elation somewhat tempered) Small 
revisions, sir? 
KINGSLEY 
Yes, but believe me, Jim, they're so in- 
significant that I believe one of the girls 
here can handle it. It just involves some 
minor retyping. 
COWAN 
(Visibly shaken now) T'd like to know 
what changes you have in mind, sir. 
KINGSLEY 
(Chuckling) Jim, I hate to trouble you 
with such trifies, but . . . well, first of 
all, I'd like a rewrite of the first scene 
beginning with . .. (He ruffles through 
а copy of the script) . . . Oh, here we 


7 rie makes 
are .. . beginning with the announcer's 
words, “. .. and so, with the firing on 


Fort Sumter by Southern batteries, the 


Civil War officially began . . .” 


COWAN 
But... but... what's wrong with those 
words? 

KINGSLEY 


Jim, I see no reason for you to go out 
of your way to say that the South fired 
the first shot of the war. 
cowan 
But I'm not going out of my way. I'm 
merely stating a pertinent historical fact. 
KINGSLEY 
I know that... but why flaunt it so 
crassly in the faces of our friends in Dixie? 
Aren't you being unnecessarily vindic- 
tive? After all. the war's been over for 
almost a hundred years. We're all on the 
same team now ... We see the same TV 
shows, watch the same movies, drink the 
same brands of liquor . . . 
HOPKINS 
And we smoke the same cigarettes . . . 
KINGSLEY 
Why yes, Chet, you've got a good point 
there. 
HOPKINS 
Jim, I see what Mr. Kingsley is driving 
at. Now naturally . . . heh, heh . .. we 
can't say the North fired the first shot . . 
KINGSLEY 
(Slamming the table) We will not twist 
historical facts! It's un-American! 
HOPKINS 
Right, Mr. Kingsley. But 1 have another 
idea. How about eliminating the an- 
nouncer here and starting the Fort Sum- 
ter battle scene off with a soldier — it 
doesn't matter which side he's on — firing 
off a cannon, see? Then immediately 
after he fires, he shouts something like, 
“Well, fellows, there goes the second 
shot of the Civil War!” 
KINGSLEY 
ТЇЇ buy that, Chet! In other words, we 
imply that there was a first shot, but we 
don't say who fired itl . . . Take that 
down, will you, Jim? 


the civil war fit fare for vidiots 


CowAN sighs and begins to write in a 

notebook. 
KINGSLEY 

As for the rest of the script, Jim, i 
perfect as їз... no more changes . . . 
except for just one small detail. I'd like 
you to add about twenty minutes to the 
Bull Run battle scene. 


cowan 
But... but that scene doesn't lend it- 
self dramatically о... 

KINGSLEY 


Honestly, Jim, I can’t understand you. 
What have you got against the South? 
Why are you so reluctant to play up 
their victories? 

COWAN 
Mr. Kingsley, will you tell me where 
we're going to find twenty additional 
minutes? 

KINGSLEY 
Oh, hell, you can always cut out one of 
the other battle scenes. Like Gettysburg, 
for example. 

WOLLMAN 
Gettysburg? But, Mr. Kingsley, that bat- 
tle was the turning point of the war. 
Jim can't cut itl 


KINGSLEY 

Bob, where are you from? 
WOLLMAN 

Connecticut, sir. So is Jim. Why? 
KINGSLEY 


I've heard of sore losers in my time, 
but you two guys are the first sore win- 
ners I've ever met. Fellows, the Civil 
War is over - . . по need to keep fight- 
ing it. I'm sure our Southern friends are 
well aware of the significance of the 
Battle of Gettysburg, without our rub- 
bing it in... No, the battle must come 
out of the script. It’s the only decent 
thing to do. 

cowan helplessly scratches again in his 
notebook. 

KINGSLEY 

Well, Jim, I think that about does it. 
They weren't too bad, were they? My 
retyping suggestions, I mean . . . Oh, 


(concluded on page 130) 


from!” 


“So that's where babies come 


our miss june is milwaukee’s favorite dear 


One of the happiest events that ever occurred in Milwaukee — though it netted no headlines — was 
the arrival four years ago of Austrian import Heidi Becker. A strudel-sweet sixteen and be-dirndled 
‘Tyrolean dreamboat even then, June's gemütlich Playmate has since become very much the sheathed 
and toreadored All-American girl. Our Wunderkind, who earns her daily bread as a coif stylist, goes 
effortlessly from curling hair to turning heads, thanks to a pair of flashing green eyes and a fetching 
fuselage. Heady Heidi digs dancing (of the post-Strauss variety), enjoys skiing in winter (she's been 
schussing since she was knee-high to a beer stein), savors summertime swimming (she's a crack back- 
stroker), goes in big for carnivals (carousels delight her), and has acquired a year round taste for 
awesome quantities of pizza (cheese and sausage, hold the anchovies), a proclivity which obviously 


has had no adverse effects on the tape measure (latest reading: 36-22-34). 


Jaunty June filly Heidi Becker, а head- 
spinner in her own right, considers cal- 
liopes and carrousels kicksville, finds hors- 
ingaround on a Milwaukee merry-go-round 
just about the best of all possible whirls. 


PLAYBOY’S PARTY JOKES 


When а boy is young he thinks girls 
are made with sugar and spice and 
everything nice. When he gets older, he 
discovers that it only takes sugar. 


Some men don't give women a second 
thought. The first one covers everything. 


The best kind of girl is the one who says 
stop only when she sends a tclegram. 


Our Unabashed Dictionary defines 
platonic friendship as what develops 
when two people grow tired of making 
love to cach other. 


One of the oldest, yet most perfect, 
examples of a redundant expression is 
the phrase “foolish virgins.” 


Many an actress’ career begins when 
she becomes too big for her sweaters, 
and ends when she becomes too big for 
her britches. 


A really promiscuous girl is one you 
can have a good time with even if you 
play your cards wrong. 


The three hundred passengers оп the 
first fully-automatic rocket plane flight 
from New York to Paris were aboard 
and belted in, and the great machine 
had whooshed aloft and into flight, 
when a voice came over the loudspeaker, 


in measured tones of infinite assurance: 

“Ladies and gentlemen, there is no 
crew on this aircraft, but there is noth- 
ing to worry about. Automation will 
fly you to Paris in [Eo safety at a 
speed of twenty-five hundred miles per 
hour. Everything has been tested and 
retested so exhaustively for your safety 
that there is not the slightest chance 
anything can go wrong . . . go wrong... 
go wrong ...go wrong...” 


Our Unabashed Dictionary defines bow 
wow as a TV performer's low-cut dress. 


Barry had just opened his Jaw office, 
and immediately hired three good-look- 
ing young stenographers to work for 

im. 

“But how,” a visiting friend inquired, 
eying the three, “do you expect to ac- 
complish anything?” 

“Simple,” Barry grinned. “By giving 
two of them the day off.” 


A career girl's mind moves her ahead, 
while a chorus girl's mind moves her 
behind. 


While we generally have nothing but 
contempt for the sassy feminine rejoin- 
der to a forthright masculine proposi- 
tion, we must express a grudging degree 
of admiration for the logic displayed 
by one beautiful chick. The doll in 
question was being entertained at the 
apartment of a friend of ours, and at 
the proper moment he employed the 
time-honored verbal gambit 

‘Come on, baby. Let’s live for to- 
night.” 

For a moment she considered the 
prospect happily, but then her limpid 
blue orbs clouded over, and she replied: 

“Yes, but suppose we survive?” 


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. 


“Get out of there, Pierre.” 


PLAYBOY 


72 


MAKE A MILLION continued from page 45) 


rapidly emerging from the Depression; 
business conditions were improving 
steadily. Business and personal travel 
were bound to increase greatly. There 
had been very little hotel construction 
in New York for scveral years, and none 
was planned for the immediate future. 
The Pierre was a bargain — and a hotel 
with a great potential. But the gloom- 
and-doom chaps were too busy titillat- 
ing their masochistic streaks with pessi- 
mistic predictions of worse times to 
come to recognize such bargains as this 
when they saw them. 

I began negotiations for the purchase 
of the Hotel Pierre in October 1938, and 
took possession the following May. At 
today’s land and construction costs, be- 
tween twenty-five and thirty-five million 
dollars would be needed to duplicate 
the Pierre in New York City. 

I'm not crewing; I'm merely trying to 
show that there are always opportunities 
through which businessmen can profit 
handsomely if they will only recognize 
and seize them — and if they will disre- 
gard the pessimistic auguries of self-ap- 
pointed prophets of doom. Conditions 
are much different in 1961 than they 
were in 1938, 1932 or 1915. Just the 
same, the last things that American busi- 
ness needs are complaints, alibis and 
defeatist philosophies. 

What American business does need — 
and in ever-increasing numbers — are 
young businessmen who are willing and 
able to assume the responsibilities of 
progressive, vigorous industrial and com- 
mercial leadership. The rewards await- 
ing such men are practically limitless. 
‘There is plenty of room at the top. The 
figurative Millionaires Club has an un- 
limited number of vacancies on its 
membership rolls. That these aren't be- 
ing filled faster is, I'm afraid, due largely 
to the fact that too many potentially 
highly qualified young applicants give 
up before they start. They listen to cau- 
tionary defeatism instead of opening 
their eyes to the opportunities around 
them. They are apparently blind to the 
many examples provided by those who 
have made and are making their for- 
tunes. 

As I've said, I started my own business 
career in the petroleum industry as a 
wildcatter, and oil has remained my 
main business interest. I find it discom- 
fiting that so many young men today 
have an idea that the era of the rela- 
tively small-time wildcatter is over. Ac- 
tually, nothing could be farther from 
the truth. 

Oil is a funny thing. It is likely to 
turn up in the most unlikely places. 
There are many areas in the United 
States where an enterprising wildcatter 
is quite likely to find oil —and to strike 
it rich. Admittedly, most structures in 


recognized oil belts have been located 
and are being exploited. On the other 
hand, there are many localities which 
have received little or no serious at- 
tention from oil prospectors. 

At the time I started wildcatting, 
“everyone” said there was no oil in the 
Oklahoma Red Beds. By the same token, 
thirty or forty years ago, oil operators 
into their heads that there was no 
oil in Oregon, Washington, Idaho, Iowa 
or Utah—to name only some states — 
and passed them up. This belief has in- 
fluenced oil exploration ever since. That 
it’s a theory without much fact to sup- 
port it is proven by the fact that only 2 
few years back, oil prospectors finally 
began drilling test wells in Utah —and 
discovered oil. 

"There are many opportunities for the 
knowledgeable small-scale wildcatter to- 
day. While the oil prospector has to do 
his exploration outside recognized — and 
thus already exploited —oil belts, scien- 
tific and technological advances have 
made the business of looking and drill- 
ing for oil easier and cheaper than it 
was years ago. Petroleum geology, an 
infant and at best uncertain science in 
1914, has made fantastic strides. "The 
modern geologist has the knowledge, 
experience and equipment that make it 
possible for him to spot the presence of 
oil with a much-better-thanfair degree 
of accuracy. It's true that most of the oil 
that lay close to the surface has been 
located, and that wells have to be drilled 
to much greater depths than was neces- 
sary in the early part of the "Twentieth 
Century. On the other hand, using mod- 
ern drilling rigs and equipment, an oil 
operator can drill to six thousand feet 
more quickly and more cheaply than I 
drilled to twenty-five hundred feet in 
1916 —and in those days, a dollar was 
worth far more than it is now. 

But the oil industry is by no means 
the only business that offers golden op- 
portunities to the beginner today. АП 
the potentials for an era of unprece- 
dented business activity and prosperity 
are present — for those who are open- 
minded and imaginative enough to rec- 
ognize them. Rapidly expanding popu- 
lations at home and abroad and thc 
awakening desires of human beings all 
over the world to better their livi 
conditions and to таве their living 
standards are guarantees that there will 
be ever-expanding markets for goods 
and services of every kind for many years 
to come. The gigantic strides being made 
almost daily by science and technology 
provide the means whereby those goods 
and services may be produced and dis- 
tributed more cheaply, in better quality 
and in greater quantity. 

There are still fantastic demands to 
be met at home. No one can rightfully 


say that American business has dis- 
charged its responsibilities and done its 
job until every employable citizen has 
steady, full-time employment and un- 
til every American family is well-fed, 
well-clothed, well-housed and able to 
live in comfort and without fear. I do 
not hesitate to predict that many young 
men who read this will make their for- 
tunes and spend their entire business 
careers dealing exclusively with domestic 
markets, meeting domestic demands. Оп 
the other hand, 1 am of the opinion that 
the brightest horizons of American busi- 
ness are to be found outside the United. 
States, in international trade. 

As this is written, newspapers all over 
the world are giving a great deal of 
prominence to stories about increasing 
unemployment and recession in the U.S. 
and the “dollar-drain” caused by an un- 
favorable United States-foreign trade 
balance. Many remedies are being sug- 
gested to correct these situations. Among 
them are demands for “emergency” 
measures designed to cut down or even 
halt imports of many materials and 
products from foreign lands. 

“The United States must cut all its 
foreign imports to an absolute mini- 
mum,” a junketing American business- 
man declared to me not long ago. 
“That's the only way American business 
will be able to survive." 

I'm afraid he was very surprised when 
I told him that, in my opinion, the 
policy he advocated was tantamount to 
economic suicide. The way I see it, the 
long-term solution to our country's eco- 
nomic problems lies in more, not less, 
foreign trade. I'm certain that by the 
time this article is published much will 
have been done to reduce unemploy- 
ment and restore the American economy 
to health. But the immediate measures 
which will have been taken will be at 
best relatively short-term remedies. For 
the long haul, U.S. business will have to 
embark on a gigantic, farsighted pro- 
gram of international trade, seeking and 
expanding markets in foreign lands. 
There is no room for isolationist busi- 
ness philosophies in our present era. 
‘The world has grown far too small. The 
Азпегїсап economy cannot batten upon 
itself; American business must develop 
new and more overseas trade. And, in 
order to sell to other countries, we must 
also buy from them. It's that simple. I 
firmly belicve that the young business 
man who can rid his mind of outdated, 
preconceived notions and gear his think- 
ing to these needs of the times will reap 
tremendous rewards. He will make his 
millions. 

For, despite rumors and reports to the 
contrary, most foreign countries want 
very much to have us sell them goods. 
They want to buy from us. 

I travel extensively abroad, and I 

(continued on page 123) 


PLAYBOY'S 
GIFTS 
FOR 


DADS & GRADS 


6 Ё 


Whether you're a dad ог grad yourself (ог disposed to gift a gentleman of either station), мете sure you'll spot on these three 
pages just the sort of tokens of esteem you'd like to give or receive this festive month. 1. Verbena toilet water, 4 ozs., by Caswell- 
Massey, $7.50; Jacquard woven tie, by Rooster, $2.50; Knize Ten toilet water, 7 ozs, $11.50; Chanel men's cologne, 4 ozs, $5. 
2. Citation III Professional FM Tuner, by Harman-Kardon, factory wired $229.95, in kit form $149.95, walnut case $30. 3. Oster 
de luxe knife sharpener, $20.95; chrome-plated liquor dispenser, pours 116-02. shots, by Alfred Dunhill, $150. 4. 24-volume 
Encyclopacdia Britannica, atlas and bookcase, $467. 5. Dual seating unit upholstered in vinyl and rayon, 24” formica table, by 
Corp., $299; electronic pipe lighter in walnut barrel, by Sidney Rubeck, $49. 6. Weatherby 300-magnum de luxe hunt- 
ing rifle with 4x scope, $397; suede “butcher” vest, by Breier of Amsterdam, $25. 7. Fourlane race track, four HO scale sports 
cars with individual speed controls, by Aurora Plastics, $40. 8. Gold-plated golf balls and tees in leather case, by Hammacher 
Schlemmer, $850; Concord AM.FM portable transistor radio, $130. 9. Transistorized battery-powered dictating machine, 
records on mailable 33/4rpm plastic discs, by Soundscriber, $340. 10. Plaid hand-woven Thai silk kimono, by JL, Arbiter, $65. 


73 


С 


її. Kenyon stabilizer with helium-sealed gyros turning 21,000 rpm, steadies your hand-held camera, binoculars, etc., 
$463; Leica M3 with 90mm f/2 lens, $519. 12. Cowhide travel case, by Rolfs, $12.50; alligator belt with bronze buckle, by 
Knothe, $27.50; hopsacking pullover shirt, short sleeves, by Jayson, $5; calf-covered shoehorn, crested handle, by Sidney 
Rubeck, $40. 13. Charcoalectric Hollywood rotisserie and indoor charcoal broiler, by Berns Air King. $99.50. 14. Sociable 
portable cooler-refrigerator, walnut finish, by Beverage-Air, $212.50. 15. Gentleman's night stand, brass and walnut, by 
Alfred Dunhill, $20; wool plaid sports jacket, natural shoulders, by Saint Laurie, $60. 16. Around-the-world clock, ther- 
mometer and barometer swivels on suspended axis by Sidney, Rubeck, $275. 17. Transistor intercom kit, works on flash- 
light batteries; power master operates up to five remote units, by Heathkit; price as shown, $38.90. 18. Fully automatic 
8mm electric eye movie camera, with #/1.9 lens, by Auto-Carena, $149.50; Sun Gun indoor movie light, by Sylvania, $24.95. 
19. New-style bowling ball, handle instantly countersinks into ball on release, by Natural Grip, $33.25. 20. Custom Osterizer, 
six speeds, chrome finish, by Oster, $69.95; stag-mounted sterling bar tool set, in walnut case, by Alfred Dunhill, $150. 


Y 
Ni 
[Y 


21. Stainless steel desk lamp and clock, two pens and blotter, by Plummer, Ltd., $304; Studio 44 portable typewriter, by 
Olivetti, $119.50. 22. Wine rack stores 12 bottles, by Vermillion Co., $15; push-button cork puller works with CO, cartridge, 
dislodges all corks effortlessly and cleanly, by Hammacher Schlemmer, $10. 23. Private yacht radar unit, 5” indicator weighs 
17 Ibs, antenna unit 40 lbs., five-mile range, by Sperry Piedmont, $1645. 24. Ostrich billfold, by Rolfs, $35; 14k gold-encased 
Snorkel pen and pencil, by Sheaffer, $175. 25. Hydro-Hi water skis with planing keels require only 10 to 15 horsepower 
motor to lift average skier, dismount to 30” length, made of northern ash, by Ero Manufacturing, $30. 26. Double-breasted 
slicker jacket, terry-lined, by Mighty-Mac, $30. 27. Cummins de luxe 14” drill, with circular saw, buffing, grinding and 
sanding attachments, in metal case, $39.95. 28. Poker-chip dispenser, holds 250 chips, dispenses five at a time, by Hammacher 
Schlemmer, $13. 29. Smooth black cowhide luggage, aluminum framed, with gabardine dividers and lining, by Diamond 
Leathercraft, two-suiter $41.50, companion case $36.50. 30. Wafer-thin 18k gold dress watch, brown alligator band, 18 jewels, 
perpetually adjusted movement, by Patek Philippe, $665; your personal key that opens the door to The Playboy Clubs, $50. 


PLAYBOY 


76 


marcianna 


few hours the other afternoon and she’s 
something, she’s the footnote to it all, 
she's the parentheses around the whole 
fat subject, but it’s not for me, I gave 
her your number. She'll be calling you 
so remember, her name’s Marcianna 
Ruskin, and you're one hell of a good- 
lucky fellow. Keep these magic syllables 
in mind. Mar-ci-an-na, you'll be hearing 
from the айу...” 

She called the following Monday. 
“Gordon Rengs? This is Marciann: 
‘That was all. 

Voice a shade too modulated, too 
cultured, too precise, though with a nice 
huskiness to it: too many elocution les 
sons somewhere in the background, 
maybe self-inflicted. And she thought it 
was enough to identify herself to a total 
stranger by her first name and wait. She 
was used to telephoning men who she 
could assume had been thoroughly 
briefed about her. 

Usually I didn’t bother with girls 
who wanted money. But she was sup- 
posed to be the parentheses around the 
whole fat subject. Farley's sales talk had 
gotten to me. Besides, 1 wanted to see 
what was behind the elocution lessons. 

I suggested she drop around to my 
place that night. 

Dinner or just drinks? 

We could have some pizza sent in 
from Tony Gidoni's or some pastrami 
sandwiches from the Gaiety Delicatessen. 

Fine. Fight-thirtyish? Eight-thirtyish. 


(continued from page 44) 


She was tall, almost fiveten in her 
high heels. A regal beauty, with rich 
tumbling auburn hair and a body that 
was nothing less than statuesque, the 
chin and shoulders lofting, the breasts 
held in self-contained pride, the hips 
stunningly ample: you could see her as 
a showgirl on any Las Vegas stage, pos- 
ing coolly with her lovely marble swell 
of stomach and long Praxiteles legs while 
the mere minor ponics worked for a 
living. 

And she gave the full Hollywood 
treatment to her open hazel eyes, smears 
of bluing over the lids, slashes of black 
to continue the lash lines in rakish up 
angles. 

Her lips were of the type classified as 
generous, but there was something pro- 
gramed, something close to school- 
teacherish, in the way they worked too 
hard and too elaborately to shape her 
words. She was determined to lay out and. 
пай down each syllable, to give each 
vowela maximum fatness, as though there 
was something shameful in the slurs and 
dips ordinary people allow themselves 
in ordinary talk. She said few-well for 
fuel and po-wetry for poetry, and in her 
gesticulative mouth the oblate pulpy 


berry known to most of us as a tuhmaydo 
became an awesome tow-mah-tow. 

"If you're ordering pizzas, make it 
plain tow-mah-tow and cheese for me,” 
she said. She apparently had me pegged 
for a literary-type fellow, and so she 
trotted out her best literary small talk: 
“Have you read much Tow-mas Mann? 
I've read every one of his novels and 
short stories and to my way of thinking 
they're the sheerest po-wetry of modern 
times. There are symbolisms in his 
things, I mean, levels of symbolism, that 
give you plenty of few-well, food for 
thought. Particularly the distinction he 
makes between the eloquent and the 
musical, the society of lawyers and the 
deeper, more silent folk community, 
that's a gas, that concept. Next to Mann, 
Fd say, most of today's writing seems 
awfully anemic and, well, malnursed.” 
She stopped short and looked at me. 
“Mal-nourished, 1 mean. Malnourished, 
of course, 

She had a habit of using a mock 
exclamation, a particular one over and 
over, to indicate various degrees of put- 
оп exasperation, outrage, or disenchant 
ment, or simply to turn aside questions. 

"Choo, choo," she said when I asked 
where she had gone to school. "Choo, 
choo, Mr. Rengs" she said when 1 
brought up the matter of what part of 
the country she had come from. And 
I wanted to know what she 
thought of Hollywood men she gave me 
a “Choo, choo” again and added, “I 
mean, Mr. Rengs, sir, a trick is a treat 
and for the working girl it’s always 
Halloween everywhere.” My face told 
her that І had not understood one word 
of this. "I mean,” she explained, “from 
the working girl's point of view all 
towns are the same, they're all fult of 
tricks and in апу town the working girl 
is supposed to give all the tricks the im- 
pression that they're the best treats of 
all time, and that goes for Hollywood 
as much as for any Bangkok you care 
to name. So choo, choo, Hollywood's 
another bum Bangkok." 

As she lowered her sensationally 
blued lids and fluttered them humor- 
‘ously it came to me that in her lexicon, 
in the jargon of her occupation, the 
phrase “working girl” did not mean just 
any girl who had gainful employment, 
but was reserved for those who plied 
Marcianna's especially tricky trade. 1 
did not question her about the refer 
ences to Bangkok. It seemed a likely 
assumption that she had been in some 
Bangkok and lived through a fair num- 
ber of Halloweens there, fast. 

I liked her. She was y, she had 
style, and under the too-zealed diction 
you could make out a rare thing, а sort 
of cosmopolitan's impishness, a world- 


when 


traveler's so-what. If she had tripped 
around more than her fair share she 
wasn't knocking the general scene, just 
ribbing it lightly and with no obvious 
underscoring of self-pity. She was bright, 
too. She talked easily, with all sorts of 
obscure but accurate tidbits of informa- 
tion coming effortlessly to her fingertips, 
about Thomas Mann and the symbolic 
meaning of the lotus position in Yoga 
exercises. Thanks to a lot of men, she 
had been exposed to a lot of things and 
been wide open to them. 

Sliding her long legs gracefully into 
the folded lotus position to show me 
how it was done, she said casually, “In 
Barcelona once for three days and three 
nights Errol Flynn lectured me on white 
wines.” 

And at the Cannes Film Festival one 
year she had been lectured to for an un- 
defined number of days and nights by a 
famous American yocalist-actor who had 
given her an extended briefing on the 
technicalities of the Empire style in 
furniture, and once in Klosters during 
the skiing season a titled member of the 
British Commission on Atomic Energy 
had conducted a seminar for her ex- 
clusive benefit on the workings of 
nuclear fission. 

When I came back from mixing 
drinks — she was ап addict of vodka on 
the rocks —I saw that her large wicker 
carryali was lying open on the coffee 
table and that her checkbook was half 
out. I sat down on the sofa next to her 
and leaned over to read the name en- 
graved in gold on the black plastic 
covering of the checkbook: Comtesse 
Maria de Lesseps, it actually said. 

“Level with me,” I said. "What’s your 
real name?” 

Without a choo-choo she said, “Mar- 
cianna Ruskin.” 

“Come on. Nobody's named Marci- 
anna Ruskin.” 

“I am. In this room, on this sofa, 
with this trick who says he's Gordon 
Rengs, sir, / say I'm Marcianna Ruskin. 
How do I know you're Gordon Rengs?” 

“In any Bangkok you care to name 1 
wear the same face, so I'm known by 
the same name. As for you —" 

“Listen, Gordon Rengs.” There was 
impressive spirit in her voice and for 
once she wasn’t bothering to give all the 
syllables full weight. "There's only one 
face I wear when I go out to tum a 
trick, the face you see this minute, and 
the thing to call it is Marcianna Ruskin 
and don't try to investigate the other 
faces. That would cost you more money 
than you or anybody can pay. See, I'm 
Marcianna, that's my whole definition 
and all you need to get my attention. 
There are usually a couple other sounds 
expected after a first name, so for con- 

(continued on page 98) 


ои 


УУ 
EARS SOIN | 


i 


Ñ 


“POOR SON OF A BITCH,” you say. And certainly you're 
right — by psychiatric social worker standards. By the 
standards of Norman Vincent Peale and your local 
police court. By the whole tsk-tsk, there-but-for-the- 
grace-of-God juice in which our culture is being 
marinated. But maybe 

this character who has 

inspired your conde HARO LD’S 
scension is tsk-tsking 

about you, friend — if AFFAIR 
he ever bothers to think 

about you. This patchy fiction 
citizen without visible 

or nonvisible means of By WALTER GOODMAN 
support, without a 

friend, man, beast, or flower, to his name, and possibly 
without a name, who you see scuffing it up and down 
our hard streets, this passive creature of Salvation 
Army handout lines — maybe the sight of you in your 
necktie brings tears to his eyes. 

His name is, or was, Harold Henry, and of course 
his story begins with the end of weaning, the birth of a 
sibling, the first time he caught his mother and father 
exercising their marital prerogative, or abusing it. But 
it's not for me to analyze — or romanticize. We can start 
with his move to the suburbs. When you asked Harold 
about his move, he invariably mumble-shrugged some- 
thing about its being good for the children, but the 
quick glint in his usually soft dull cyes killed the fatu- 
ous phrase. There, behind the unfashionable steel 
frames, sparkled a secret joy that neither two hours 
and fifty minutes a day of commuting nor a leak-prone 
roof nor uncertain plumbing could quench. By remov- 
ing his wife and three children twenty-one miles from 
the city, the suburbs were abetting Harold Henry's 
Affair. 

Not, I hasten to add, that Harold had an affair going 
at the time, or as a matter of fact had ever had one 
going, unless you count a disorderly hour in the recesses 
of the stockroom with a temporary file clerk at the 
close of the 1952 office Christmas party. But Harold 
had been thinking about his Affair for twelve or fifteen 
years and had already made considerable mental sacri- 
fices to it, including three successful suicides and in- 
numerable unsuccessful but painful attempts, so that 
the move to the suburbs was for him simply another, 
quite minor tribute to his (continued on page 116) 


he sought to mold reality to his dream, 
but life and lola wouldn't cooperate 


Тор to bottom: appreciative Shel eyes a 
hippy hula queen; dunks in the surf off 
Diamond Head; digs a pair of Haw: 
islander—vacal star Тот 
Maku and palsin the Hanolulu market place. 


"Aloha, sir...and I hope you enjoy Hawaii, sir... 
and it's spelled l—e-i, sir.. 
and I've heard that joke 3,227 times, sir..." 


"Listen, you tell the manager this place stinks! Everything 
is modern...everything is air conditioned. Where the hell 
is the atmosphere? Where the hell are the grass huts, 
where are the natives? If I wanted Miami Beach, I'd have 
gone to Miami Beach. Where is your ‘tropical paradise'? 
| Where is the simplicity...where is the serenity? And also, 
where the hell is that damn bellboy with my drink?!!" 


СҮ \ 
TAN 
IN 
how he conquered the islands. You know, AS 
it's really wonderful to find someone from 1 
the mainland who is interested in our \ N 
history and culture. Most tourists who come N 
here just seem to be looking for — excuse me, 


but would you mind taking your hand off my leg." 


| [ irt 
S i eo 
à 3 


| SEE RE ) 
z. IM | WNT 
ае m 1 Se 
— E 
у "No, the other one...no, a little 


to the left...now straight down. ..no 
"And we're going to build more hotels and bigger а little above that опе. no, no.. 
hotels and better hotels, and we're going 5 ч АБО ЫА 
to get rid of all those damned palm trees and аео ча your, right...now UE 
build still more hotels, and get rid of that above...that's it...no, that one just 
beach and build greater hotels...and then when next...you almost had it... 
the tourists arrive, we'll be ready for them!!" just a little to your left...no..." 


"No use, Shel — I can't 
fake it. If I show 
the surfboard, the 

sand shows, too. If I 
don't show the 
sand, then I can't 
show the surfboard. 
I think we're going 
to have to go 
into the water." 


"Use your fingers, for heaven's sake — 
ware you brought up in a barn?!" 


4° "Man, these rich 


American girls — they 
too bossy — they want to take me 0 
to nightclub...I say ОК — I go to "...А few carnations...some rose petals... 
nightclub...they say let's go to bed— an orchid...And then the missionaries come... 
and they take away our land and make 
us wear muumuu...and by'm'bye many Hawaiians 


OK, I go to bed. They say they want 
to buy me present — I say OK, buy me die and Big Five own everything...but 
present. Then they say, 'You come to Hawaiians not mad at white people... 
store. pick out present' and I say. Hawaiians make leis for white people tourists... 
‘Just a minute, enough is enoughl'" А few carnations...some rose petals... 
а little poison ivy..." 


"But even if they were still 
wearing grass skirts, you've 
got to admit it would have 
been a pretty corny gag!" 


rm 


SED SR 1 TA 

D rri ТОИ A 
2 Lov 

| ^i C TON 
ү Я 


"You see, Mr. Silverstein — "Back on the mainland everybody 
in the hula, the story is told thinks that this island is just a primitive, 
with the hands...the hands, backward place with ukuleles and 
Mr. Silverstein...you have to dancing girls in grass skirts and half—naked 
watch the hands. The Savages swimming in the surf. When you 
story is...uh, Mr. Silverstein... go back, please let them know we're just 


Mr. Silverstein..." as civilized here as they are." 


82 


LET 'EM EAT PANCAKES / from crepes 
to cannelloni: gourmet flapjacks for 
the gentleman griddler / food by 


Thomas Mario / Evidences of America’s 
ascending culinary tastes abound every- 
where, but few with the ubiquity or 
sophistication of the once-plebeian pan- 
cake. Just a few generations ago, this / 
now-princely provender was but a 
stolid staple munched mostly by 
lumberjacks and grubstakers. 
And even as recently as the 
Thirties, the now-familiarcrepe 
suzette was still an exotic and 
rather wicked delicacy sel- 
dom savored save surrepti- 
tiously, along with cognac 
and curacao, behind the 
bolted doors of sumptuous 
speakeasies. Today, how- 
ever, after three decades 
of marination in world- | 
wide gourmandise, our | 
multiplying army of I 
homegrown epicures can | 
circle-tourtheentire king- 
dom of cuisine simply by 
taxiing from one city 
neighborhood to another, 
sampling the local pancake 
specialties. You may em- 
bark on a sensuous so- 
journ from fragrant Chinese 
egg rolls to tender Russian 
blini with caviar and sour cream, 
from feather-light French crepes 
to plump Italian cannelloni stuffed 
with crab meat, from lusty Polish 
nalesniki to Danish pancake balls as 
light as a Scandinavian summer breeze, 
from German apple Pfannkuchen as big as 
the wheel of a Mercedes to tiny Swedish 
plattar, darkly resplendent with lingonberry jam. 
For pancake-fanciers still America-oriented, of 
course, old-fashioned griddlecakes are the hearty and 
perennial favorite. A robust repast for fast-breaking or snack- 


taking, the griddlecake is nevertheless the most tempera- 
mental member of the pancake family. Pleasingly plump 
but velvety light when properly prepared, it will turn 
as rubbery as a gum eraser in contact with a 
too-hot pan. And even in its traditional griddle 

of cast iron, this peevish pancake may 

М emerge looking and tasting like a dis- 
carded discus if the flame is either 
too high or too low. But fortunately 
for modern chefs, the antique 
griddle has been supplanted by 
the electric skillet, happily regu- 
lated by a thermostat. Once 
on the fire, the griddlecake 
should be cooked to a me- 
dium-light brown, andturned 
only once. Then—framed by 

a rasherof bacon ora quar- 

tet of link sausages—it 

\ should be rushed to the 

| table forthe homage of hot 

| maple syrup and sweet 
butter, and wolfed down 
while it’s still at its peak 
of tender succulence. 
] Prized by more Соп- 
| tinental palates, the 
“true” pancake—though 
delicate as chiffon—is a 

far sturdier specimen, less 
fastidious about its prep- 
aration, yet still marvelously 
comestible hours afterward. 

It can be chilled, frozen, 
; 4 folded, rolled, stuffed, baked, 
fried, sauteed, flambeed or 

y gratineed— but it stays appetiz- 
ingly mottled-brown and tender as 

the lightest souffle. Cooked ahead 

of time and set aside, it can be served 
at a moment's notice with just one or two 
final flourishes. For the inventive and 
adventurous chef, this versatile victual offers 

a realm of infinite pleasure and discovery; once 
the basic batter is mastered, he can woo the pan- 
p" cake-smitten with a cornucopian variety of fillings. 
p The classic crepe, for instance—Icontinued on page 132) 


83 


PLAYBOY 


ion nowadays.” 


OPINION By LESLIE A. FIEDLER 


ETHE 
SZLITERATIO@ 
EESOF ТНЕШ 
FOUR-LETTER 
WORDBER 


A CONTENTIOUS CRITIC 
CASTIGATES THE TREAT- 
MENT OF SEX IN THE 
CONTEMPORARY NOVEL 


WE LIVE JN A TIME when descriptions of the sex act have come to be expected, even required, in 
literature which pretends to any seriousness. But this is by no means our worst indignity, for we 
live also in a time when it is fashionable to deplore such descriptions, to complain that they are banal 
and ineptly done (this is too often true), or that they bore us (which is, of course, a lie). Primary 
sex — our own sex life, inadequate, harried or routine — may bore us, but vicarious sex — fantasies, 
projections, even the most clinical accounts of our imperfect experiences — never! It is vicarious sex, 
which never flags, falters or fails, that sells toothpaste and nylon stockings, as well as Lolita and Lady 
Chatterleys Lover, Peyton Place and the obscene newsprint pamphlets bootlegged to adolescents. 

In all of us, there is a need not only to dream utopias in which desire never outruns performance, 
but also to make speech of our actual spasms, images of our instincts. The pornographer has always 
cooperated in the imperative task of humanizing our animal inheritance; and the same necessity on 
which he trades has impelled many recent writers of fiction to take on themselves his obligation of 
trying to say the unsayable: to describe not only sexual foreplay and the aftermath of sex, but the 
moment of orgasm itself —the indescribable instant of climax. Unfriendly critics of recent fiction 
somctimes compare writers who have attempted to capture the orgasm in words, D. H. Lawrencc or 
James Joyce, Edmund Wilson or Norman Mailer, to the small boy writing dirty words on sidewalks 
and fences; and such critics are, in а sense they do not suspect, quite right. 

The unexamined life, Socrates once remarked, is not worth living; he might have gone on to note 
further that the unexpressed act is not fully lived. What we cannot say we cannot examine, and what 
we cannot examine we do not really experience. "These are the simple truths which make dear why 
literature has meaning in our lives, and our lives total meaning only when they have become also 
literature. This the small boy with the chalk in his hand somehow realizes; and this writers like 
Lawrence, Joyce, Wilson and Mailer have neither forgotten nor felt obliged to pretend to forget. 
Until he has written for his own sake and that of the little girl he fears and desires the four-letter 
name of desire, the small boy has no sense of owning what racks him, his own sex; and until the 
writers of a society have written their versions of the four-letter words, that society has no sense of 
controlling its deepest torments and pleasures. 

For too long, the writer, in the Anglo-Saxon world at least, was forced to deny in himself the 
small boy with the piece of chalk; and denying that boy lost the power to evoke and humanize 
passion. There is plenty in life for the writer to call up and control besides sex; but sex has come 
to seem to us the essential subject for our time, not only because (as Alberto Moravia has argued) 
it represents the last survival of Nature for the city-dweller, but also because it is what a hundred 
years of literature left out, what almost all of American literature, for (continued on page 125) 


ANN, MAN! 


kenton’s canary sheds 
her feathers for playboy 


ANN RICHARDS, one of vocaldom's most 
sensuous warblers, has but three things 
going for her in her drive to become a 
first-rank jazz nightingale — looks, talent, 
and the considerably consequential fact 
that she's the hip helpmeet of one of 
America's top concertmeisters, Stan Ken- 
ton. With Stan (Playboy Poll Bandleader 
of the Year) as a round-the-clock mentor, 
the development of Miss Richards from 
fledgling band chirper to featured vo- 
calist to nightclub and LP star has pro- 
ceeded prestissimo. Her latest disc, Two 
Much! (Playboy After Hours, April 
1961), etched with spouse Kenton and 
his band, is the current landmark in a 
felicitous liaison dating back to 1955 

(concluded overleaf) 


Above, and left to right, the many moods 
of Ann: break time 'twixt takes at a record- 
ing session for Two Much! finds the team 
of Richards and Kenton comparing notes, 
past and future; Ann, in liquid-smooth leo- 
tards, turns the ivy green with envy as she 
lolis in the Kenton courtyard; a gowned and 
gone Miss Richards enriches the Texas scene 
as she does a single at the Tidelonds, a 
Houston jazz den; about to cross over into 
a stote of undress, Ann is caught tantalizingly 
midstream at the Kenton ménage before 
settling into something more comfortable. 


— EN 


Miss Richards reigns in repose: deploying 
herself decoratively in severol cozy corners, 
this beautifully blue-eyed brownette engag- 
ingly points up the more exotic creature 
comforts of home and hearth. Homefurnish- 
ingswise, Ann is her own most delightful decor. 


hè 


wheñ Ann (a) departed Charlie Barnet's 
crew to join the Kenton contingent and 
(b) exchanged wedding bands with Mr. 
K. himself. While recording sessions do 
get across the point that Miss Richards 
boasts a substantial set of pipes, they 
cannot, more's the pity, do right by the 
very visual assets of this enticingly-en- 
домей lady. Never one to slight the eyes 
solely for the sake of the ears, PLAYBOY 
herewith offers this orb-filling accolade 
to the charms of Ann—an abun- 

dance of Richards at work and play. ЁЙ 


ITIISVO ONIVW AS KHdVWOOLOHd 


89 


дояхтта 


ui 


“Of course, 


the great american divide. 
‘psychological 


"WOMEN ARE PURPOSEFUL IN RENO. The lovely blonde critter strolling the 
lobby of the Hotel Mapes, with a mole on her cheek accented by make- 
up as if she were Alice Faye miraculously preserved into 1961, did not 
come all the way to Reno in order to stake out uranium claims. She 
did not pack her kit bag to examine the pelicans and fossils of Pyramid 
Lake, where, during more idyllic days, Arthur Miller and Marilyn 
Monroe quietly strolled and waited for legal technicalities to be 
arranged. Nor is she a cultural anthropologist studying the Paiute 
Indians or the shepherding Basques who gather at the Santa Fe Hotel 
in downtown Reno to eat and drink in French, Spanish and Basque. 
She may sample all these incidental lures, but primarily she has come 
to Reno for one of two purposes: either to gamble (and also to find a 
man) or to shed a man (and also to gamble). When she pauses in her 
slow amble across the lobby, straightening her stocking — she bends, 
and harken! — we have time to examine her third finger, left hand. 

We find the cirde of the abandoned wedding ring, sunburned a 
bright red. She is a member of the Six Week Club. She is a joyous Jill, 
with her tanned face hit by a vision of the good life, her rump con- 
stricted by her new magenta Western pants and poutingly pressing 
for frecdom. She wears heavy Indian jewelry and the stunned, goofy 
look of imminent divorce. She is in the molting phase, resentful but 
cute, ready for fun and making with rotating eyes. "There are lots of 
women. They are waiting and bored, waiting and anxious, waiting 
and numerous. 

Perhaps she is even one of the ladies who follow the apocryphal 
tradition of dropping her wedding band into the Truckee River near 
the Washoe County Courthouse, but more likely, our friend in the 
lobby of the Mapes has pawned her slender gold band in order to 
increase her capital at the gaming tables. Reno visitors are idealists — 
and practical; people of action — and people who wait. They have 
come to Reno after much deep thought, quiet analysis and broken 
crockery. Now they busy themselves with making the most of their 
decision. 

Helping them in this task is a permanent cadre composed of several 
types of specialized workers, including lawyers, gamblers and a local 
brand of cowboy who is not often home, home on the range. There are 
other classical Reno types, including the obedient judges (trained to 
say "Granted" without hesitation), landladies and ranch proprietors 
(trained to bear witness to the continuous residence of the plaintiffs in 
divorce actions), laborers all in the vineyard of marital afterthought. 

Reno, “The Biggest Little City in the World,” has constituted itself 
the Great American Divide —a man from his money, a wife from her 
husband. Lady Luck and Legal Liberty. There is also sex. In Reno, 
this is slightly more complicated than buying a drink in a saloon, but 
if you wait about five minutes, and smile, or scowl, or do something, 
anything, someone will surely come along. 

A few years ago, they closed the Stockade, Reno's alley of legalized 
prostitution, but that was not a very lively place anyway. It was 
guarded by a policeman and the girls behaved as dully as minor 
bureaucrats. You transacted your business without shilly-shallying and 
then skedaddled, making room for the next in line — a little like getting 
a haircut or paying a parking ticket. Other towns їп Nevada still exercise 


portrait 


article By HERBERT GOLD 


©з 


PLAYBOY 


92 


local option on the matter of commer- 
cial sackplay, and in Reno many fine 
citizens fought the passing of the Stock- 
ade. They felt that this was a step away 
from the right to free assembly guaran- 
teed by the Constitution. It also put 
their innercent dotters in terrible dan- 
ger from desert rats and those crazed 
tourists from San Francisco and the mS 
It abolished a reliable money-maki 
and tax-paying business. But what with 
a steady influx of divorceseekers, plus 
the legion of cooperative ladies who pa- 
trol the lobbies of the hotels, the passing 
of the old Stockade deprived only the 
most boorishly impatient and the most 
stubborn admirers of Nevada frontier 
tradition. 

In all fairness to Reno's hospitality, 
it must be insisted that divorce, gam- 
bling, drinking and sex do not provide 
a complete summary of its services to 
the visitor. There is also marriage. Five 
times as many marriages as divorces are 
performed along the banks of the 
Truckee. Of course, these marriages have 
а tendency to return to Reno a few 
years later in the form of divorces; but 
still. the Park Wedding Chapel, fes- 
tooned in neon. ("Ring Bell for Service 
at Any Hour"), is the scene of a rapid 
marital drone and congratulation. The 
children of such marriages turn out to 
be complex creatures, often with curi- 
ously interrelated parents. (“Му previous 
stepfather's brother was the unde of my 
present stepfather's second wife. . .") 

“We're not backward," declared one 
proud Reno cosmopolite, “we've got our 
Beat Generation, too, and it’s doing a 
production of Guys and Dolls.” The cast 
meets after rehearsals at The in, spelled 
with a lower-case (or hungry) "i," where 
a little group discusses Samuel Beckett 
and Sam Cooke; Kafka and Sinatra. 
Reno is perhaps the unhippest and zip- 
piest town in all the fifty states. The 
women, clicked silly by the keno tabu- 
lator, pufly from grief and alcohol, play 
femme fatale in the gambling dubs, 
with shades jutting out over their sun- 
glasses, This is the promisory land where 
the oppressed are liberated and the 
hopeful stream by on South Virginia 
Street. The chippies compete with the 
іуогссисѕ in all the clubs, casinos and 
hotel lobbies. 


Our lady of the Mapes is called a 
divorcettc in Reno. She is a prospective 
divorcee. She is still legally bound to a 
man hereinafter referred to as Defend- 
ant. Defendant has a job someplace and 
sends her money. She is a Permanent 
Resident. which is not to be confused 
with an Old Inhabitant. A Permanent 
Resident is someone in the final con- 
ions of marriage who plans to stay 
six wecks and a day, and can prove it 
with witnesses. (Appropriately enough, 
Reno was named after a General Reno, 


killed in the Civil War back East, who 
never once set foot in Nevada. The 
founding fathers were looking for a con- 
venient short name and drew the Gen- 
eral's out of a Stetson. A practical, un- 
sentimental people.) 

Mrs. Permanent Resident may pass 
her six weeks weeping her eyes out, or 
she may spend her time in a patio dis- 
cussing philosophy with other Permanent 
Residents (“Beneath that rough ex- 
terior, girls, beats the heart of a wife- 
beater”), or she may hit the slots or the 
tables or the bars, or she may shyly peck 
around for a cowboy or a fresh future 
Defendant. Itchily she sccks to revenge 
herself on the flunkout back home in 
Chicago or New York. She is the made- 
toorder prey for the opportunists, con 
men and brutal rancheros who hang 
around Reno. She blinks her eyes into 
cool desert space as they park the Hertz 
car off one of the roads winding into 
the vacant hills. Sliding across the seat, 
she murmurs, “Oh, Mr. Whart's-Your- 
Name, he was so mean to me.” Bright 
desert stars wink above them. 

“Call me Slim," says the wrangler, and 
takes a firm hold. A new groom sweeps 
clean. 

The specialized Reno cowboy is a 
local representative of one of the most 
curious professions in contemporary 
America, He is known in all the great 
cente: is granddaddy, the gigolo, wore 
evening attire and a silken mustache; his 
unacknowledged ancestor was the sim- 
pering Greek Ganymede. Now, in New 
York and other urban centers, he may 
occupy himself with tennis or modeling 
or claim to be an actor while he waits to 
be chosen by some joy-hunting, moneyed 
lady. In Reno he manifests himself as 
a dude cowboy, based on a ranch, watch- 
ing the air terminal, scouting in the 
better bars and gambling clubs. 

Slim is a subtle, part-male creature 
who probably has not wrangled a four- 
legged cow since Reno last housed a 
WCTU convention. He is a shill of love, 
faking high stakes of passion for a small 
profit, just as a gambling shill pretends 
to gamble in order to make the house 
look sharp and busy. A skinny chap in 
chaps and a duckass haircut, he keeps 
busy holding hands with the blue-haired, 
fifty-year-old lady in the TV room of 
the Holiday Motel; the Trap has gleam- 
ing white teeth and the Victim has a 
subscription to The Wall Street Journal; 
they will make beautiful moolah to- 
gether, he hopes. 

Like other profesional dude cow- 
hands, Slim dwells in a series of six- 
week liaisons, looking always for the 
Big Strike — the woman who will either 
take him home in order to goad Defend- 
ant or perhaps will move her bank ac- 
count, to sunny, tax-free Nevada. When 
he uses rodeo language, he is thinking 
of stock on the wobbly high heel. A 


“rerun” is a cow that has been tuck- 
ered out by much use, “generally easier 
to wrestle and tie.” “Snuffy” describes 
stock that is wild, ready to go. A 
“twister” is himself —a cow twister, suf- 
fering from scaly elbows and nocturnal 
premonitions. 

In sad fact, he is not a happy wrangler. 
He sits with his aging broad, his water- 
slicked hair growing low down his neck, 
his creased, tended tan, his bland, pleased, 
angry, hurt, princely, bored clasp o£ lips; 
he turns his ankle anxiously in its fancy- 
worked Western boot. It is costly after 
all, making out this way. Hard to give 
up joy in sex and work; it's hard to 
give up being human. "But what is 
man,” his neurotic ankle seems to ask, 
quoting Scripture in its dismay of soul, 
“that thou art mindful of him?" 

“Nothing doing,” answers the silence 
between his ears, the creak of his leather. 

Cool, professional, a freckled desert 
hipster, he is tired and wants to go to 
bed, but there no mama to cradle 
him, only this rich bitch whose partic- 
ular mattress needs he tries to predict 
as they watch the Jack Paar show to- 
gether. Well, maybe he is neither man 
nor woman, but our bored buckaroo 
with his corseted prey is in business, and 
doing pretty well. 


There are fine hotels in Reno, the 
Riverside, the Mapes, and the usual 
glorious motels with swimming pools 
and round-the-clock boozing. There are 
also the guest “ranches” (a horse or 
two) or houses that cater to economical 
divorcettes. “Bonny Bode Inn — Divor- 
cees Welcome,” hints the newspaper ad- 
vertisement; "Join the Happy Crowd 
at Harmony House," another chimes in 
winsomely; "Liberty Rooms — Free Cof- 
fee At Any Hour— Make Your Stay a 
Memorable One.” 

The proprietors of these permanent 
residences for permanent six-week resi- 
dents also serve as cheer-mongers to the 
sad, introducers for the solitary. and 
witnesses in court to swear that the plain- 
tiff was really there for six weeks. (Ef- 
forts to shorten the time of legal resi 
dence are met by the practical objection 
that Reno needs the money spent here 
in ransom after matrimonial jags; con- 
versely, greedy ideas about lengthening 
the stay are met by prudent commercial 
warnings of the threat from sordid, rapid 
Alabama and immoral. speedy Mexico.) 

Life in these guest houses generally 
follows a simple, healthful routine. The 
marital convalescents share place at 
table, space in the laundry room, and 
stories about the rat, jackal, hoot owl, 
dog, porcupine, hyena, or stercoricolous 
beetle in Washington, D.C., or San Fran- 
cisco, Dallas, Bangor, or wherever. 
Nevada law in its majesty almost always 
agrees that the One Back Home is some 

(continued on page 134) 


attire FOR MAL APP ROAC H to a Playboy's Penthouse pre-show briefing. PLAYBOY Editor- 


Publisher Hugh Hefner goes over last-minute details with Playmate-cover girl Joni Mattis and avant-garde folk singer- 
guitarist Peggy Lord, as he introduces a slick new sartorial slant to formal attire. Host Hefner's Penthouse garb com- 
prises a Continental black-burgundy tropical worsted dinner jacket dashingly delineated by braided shawl collar and 
cuffs, with double-piped pockets; it exchanges compliments with tropical worsted trousers, by After Six, $110. Put- 
ting up a brave front 'twixt lapels is a minutely-tucked Dacron and cotton dress shirt, by Excello, $13. A black satin 
pleated cummerbund and tie wrap matters up regally, by After Six, $7.50. 


“Т never heard of a 
come-as-you-are party for two, 
but лош: like fun.” 


Ribald Classic 
A tale from “The Exempla" of Jacques de Vitry 


AN OLD ENOUGH to know better took to wife a beautiful damsel of eight- 
A He entertained fond hopes of reliving his youth, but the young 
wife soon relieved him of such illusions. She never welcomed him to bed. Indeed, 
she always turned her back to him and sighed, “Wrinkles and gray hair were 
not made for love.” Nothing the poor fellow could say or do would kindle 
her affection or interest her in the pleasures of the marriage couch. The 
husband therefore was in despair and even contemplated 5 
of poison 

One night as he lay beside her, despondent and frustrated, a dark and 
honid figure appeared in the bedroom doorway. Both husband and wife rec 
nized the man as a robber. They saw how large he was and shuddered at the 
dagger he held between his long white teeth. The thief said nothing, but only 
peered into the dark room to see if 

In the midst of his the husband was suddenly aware that his wife had 
turned to him, that her breast was tight against his chest, and that her arms 
were clasping his body madly to hers. She trembled violently and kept pressing 
closer and closer. At this the husband forgot all about the robber and his 
knife, and had from his lovely wife that for which he had been longing for 
many months, And the wife, for her part, 
all the harder and seemed to make him 
in his fondest dreams. 

The 


пуопе was awake. 


ade no objection, but hugged him 
s welcome as he had hoped she might 


robber, meanwhile, ransacked the house and carried off a large sack 


filled with the husband's gold. 
When at last he departed, the wife sat up and said: "Why didn’t you ary out 


for help and stop the thief? Do you realize that he 
“With my gold, yes.” said the happy husband, 

far better to replace it." 
And when he embraced Iu 

turned her back and sighed. 


ot away with all your gold 
"but he gave me something 


again, his wife agreed with hin 


and по long 


— Retold by J. A. Gato 


THE ROBBER’S GIFT 


95 


96 


МЕ 


DR. GREGORY PINCUS: « progestin а day keeps the stork away 

AFTER ALMOST A DECADE OF RESEARCH AND CLINICAL TESTING under the supervision of Dr. Gregory Pincus, the fiftyeight- 
yearold co-director of Massachusetts’ Worcester Foundation for Experimental Biology, a synthetic hormone named pro- 
gestin has given every evidence of being the most efficient contraceptive ever devised. Among the 838 women volunteers 
who took the drug faithfully — by tablet for twenty days of the monthly cycle— there was exactly one pregnancy, later 
believed to have occurred before treatment began. In the thirteen months since it was placed on the market as a prescription 
birth control pill, these astonishing results have been further substantiated. To millions for whom children are economically, 
physically or psychologically inadvisable, the pill (trade names: Enovid, Norlutin) promises to become a connubial boon. 
Paradoxically, and beneficently, when me suspended, pregnancy occurs with phenomenal frequency — even among 
many women previously considered barren, To Dr. Pincus and his collaborators, these potent pellets represent the first 
really tangible step toward regulation of our proliferating population. Only time will tell whether the other di ic 
methods of fertility control now under exploration — including one involving the suppression of male sperm production — 
will prove to be as wondrously efficacious as progestin, Meanwhile, for the modest premium of 1714 cents a pill, mankind 
seems to have found history's biggest insurance bargain — and its best hope yet for world-wide, month-long peace of mind. 


DICK GREGORY: a funny thing happened on the way to the lunch counter 

SLIM, CHAIN-SMOKING, TWENTY-FIGHT-YEAR-OLD Dick Gregory is the first Negro stand-up comic to ever make it big in night 
clubdom, yet early this y se-week stint as one of a quartet of hip variety acts to open the new 
Penthouse room in The Playboy Club in Chicago, comedian Gregory was washing cars during the day to augment his salary 
and was seriously considering getting out of show business altogether. Three wecks alter he opened, he was the hottest 
new comedian on the national scene. Dick Gregory at The Playboy Club proved to be the right man in the right pla 

the right time: the public. whether to ease a too-long-pent-up fecling of guilt or to affirm a new-found social conscience, v 
ready to accept fresh and often biting commentary on the problems of integration as seen from the other side of the fence 
(Sitting in the back of a bus isn’t all bad. Bus runs into something, you never hear about any of the people in the bac 
being hurt." “I got to leave early tonight. It's my turn to go dow s it one of those restaurants. Oh, у 
we take turns. I satin six months once at a Southern lunch counter. When they finally served me, they didn't have what 1 
wanted.” “My brother is so sure he isn't going to get waited on, he don't even take no money with him. Wouldn't it be 
funny il they finally up and served him? If they was ready and ле wa 7). Gregory is often introduced as “the colored 
Mont Sahl,” though he has neither the depth nor the consistency of Mort as vet, and he benignly greets T 
“In the Congo they call Sahl the white Dick Gregory"; he is also able to offer some choice Gregorian chants on colore: 
considerations (‘I'm glad that Mr. Kennedy is in. 1 voted for him. And now that the Democrats is in the White House, I think 
they ought to repeal the Mann Act, and anything else that discourages travel in this country.”). The Chicago press picked up 
on Gregory almost at once and Time devoted à full page to him: this was followed by three guest shots on | аг show 
quick succession: The Playboy Club held him over for six weeks and signed him up for return engagements later this year and 
next. Then, to prove it was по fluke, Gregory played to SRO audiences at New York's Blue Angel and San Francisco's hungry i. 
nto the eyes of the Internal Revenue department.” 


is audience м 


h, 


now thanks audiences profusely for pushing him out of obscurity and 


PLAYBOY 


98 


English 
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marcianna 


(continued [rom page 76) 
ventional minds who think in tei 
(оо names making a face I add a Ruskin 
to the Marcianna, and that's how come 
n this room with 
you working up to a twenty-five-dollar 
trick that I can assure you in advance 
will be 
If she 


ms of 


treat, the greatest.” 
was 


needling me she was 


"are you really a 


ve me her choo-choo sta 
didn't tell Farley that. I w: 
drunk. He must have heard it 
somebody. 

"Well? Are you?" 

Queenly "hat's for me to know 
and you to find out. You ask too ny 
questions. Must be те 
writer. I like writers, some of my best 
friends, you know, but cool it. Listen, 
write 


because уо! 


га or the 
pastrami sandwiches? Pm a little drunk 
because I've worked hard today with 
more damn ticks than I think PH tell 
you about, all treats, every last mother 
of them, and I'm famished. Choo, choo.” 

I ordered the pastrami sandwiches, 
cheesecake for dessert. Over coffee she 
remembered the t nem she had 
been with the Iran 
told her all about the 
and hipped her to a valuable book, 
Robert Graves The White Goddess, 
that laid out the matriarchal principle 
behind all religions and poetries. So she 
was partial to writers, that was the point, 
because she always learning things 
from them. 

Now did I want her to take her clothes 
It was nice here, I was nice, she'd 
like it fine if she could stay all night, 
was partial to writers and shi 
card from Farley Munters what a spe- 

ial writer I was, but, choo-choo, an 
other appointment at eleven, might as 
well get to it, no? Certainly. Why nov 

While I thought, mechanic, mime. 
whether she came with Farley's high en 
dorsements or not, too programed, too 
thought. out, like her speech, too damn 
much lip service, while she 
dictating in m it was spec 
everything, the least part of it the great 
est voice perfectly controlled, modu. 
lations impeccable, the tooactive fine 
lips bringing forth the 100-5 
in tooeven metronomic me; 
rageous lids going like the 1 
sixty, blue butterflies of gray pas 
the choo-choos understood. 


d 


ures, out- 


‘Things eased along at the studio. 

On Wednesday, as usual, 1 went over 
to the coi litle after twelve 
to join my fellow toilers in the rhetoric 
vineyards. The writers’ round table, po 
sitioned at the far end of this large and 

(continued on page 102) 


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102 


busy oval room, was cut of from hu- 
manity’s general run by a magic shim- 
mer of inner-circle snobbishness that re- 
pelled the unliterary as insecticide repels 
insects. 

Ivan Masso called the meeting to 
order. 

“We have a busy agenda today, gentle- 
men, so 1 suggest we get on with it. 
First item of business: will Brother 
Rengs tender us a brief report on the 
progress of his various projects, that is, 
a progress report, a projects report?" 

“Brother Chairman,” I said, “because 
of certain spectacular developments in 
my work this week, certain major break- 
throughs, I am asking the studio for 
four thousand dollars this payday, four 
thousand irreprozchable dollars, and I 
believe the Writers Guild will support 
me in this. This situation is as follows. 
"Though it is only Wednesday noon, that 
is, though there may be still further 
openingsup and flowerings-out this dy: 
namic week, already I can report that 
B. Lytton-Bernard, D.Sc, D.O., of 
Guadalajara, Jalisco, Mejico, has found 
a crystalline alkaloid through the length 
and breadth of the papaya plant, in the 
fruit, in the stem, in the leaf and in the 
roots, which turns out to be natural 
carpaine, an excellent and therapeutic 
enzyme. Dr. Lytton, whom I prefer to 
think of as Dr. Bernard, feeds natural 
carpaine to coronary cases and patients 


suffering from brain strokes instead of 
the usual adrenalin and digitalis, feeds 
it to them in the form of papaya juice, 
in dried papaya leaf for chewing, which 
also provides a salutary roughage, and 
in a papaya herb tea or infusion, and he 
reports that he has not yet lost a patient, 
though he has no doubt misplaced a 
couple. The doctor also reports that an 
open wound tends to heal twice as fast 
when a piece of papaya skin is placed 
over it, which may mean that in the very 
near future Hollywood writers will be 
going around covered with papaya 
skins. This is what I have turned up to 
date and I believe it more than supports 
my claim to a double salary this week, 
namely, four thousand ineluctable dol- 
lars.” 

“The chair will make the proper 
recommendations to the bursary,” Ivan 
Masso said. “The chair feels obliged, 
however, to point out to Brother Rengs 
one ancillary matter to his stimulating re- 
port on papaya. It has come to the chair's 
attention that certain meat tenderizers 
derived from papaya were recently fed 
to a group of rabbits and these rab- 
bits developed a definite flabbiness in 
their erectile tissues. For example, their 
cars, normally perked to attention, began 
to flop and droop, and in general it was 
very difficult to get any rise at all out 
of the furry animals. The chair suggests 
to Brother Rengs that before he recom- 


"Desk? ... Desk? .. . So who needs a desk?” 


mends a papaya diet to his fellow 
scriveners he ascertain whether there is 
not a danger of erectile degencration, 
because, brothers, and the chair cannot 
stress this point too strongly, a writer 
with lagging erectile tissues is no writer 
at all, at least not an upstanding опе." 

A voice came over the commissary 
loudspeaker: “Gordon Rengs on the 
telephone, Gordon Rengs wanted on the 
telephone." 

It was the first time since I'd been at 
the studio that I had been paged in this 
dramatic way. 

“How much does it cost to get your 
name blasted out like that" Jamie Be- 
heen, another scrivener in our grou 
said. “Ten dollars per call? I think it's 
money well spent.” 

“I can get you twenty percent off for 
quantity,” I said, not at all happy. 

I got up and made my way through 
the crowded room to the phone near the 
entrance, 

“Hello, Gordon. Marcianna.” 

Just that, and the pregnant pause. 

I knew it was a far reach for the light 
touch, but I was shaken and I couldn't 
help saying, "How's tricks?” 

“Treaty, very treaty. Listen, Gordon, 
what are you doing tonight? I've got 
some free time and I could drop 
around.” 

Directly across the room Cary Grant 
was busy talking to a striking Hindu 
girl in a sari, and that heightened my 
sense of unreality. 

"Do I understand you properly, 
Marcianna? Are you adding yourself to 
my entourage of faithful admirers?” 

“I told you, I like writers. Besides, I 
feel like talking. Nine-thirtyish?” 

Nine-thirtyish, I guessed, would do. 

I had felt some kind of strain in her 
voice and 1 was not wrong. She was in 
a worked-up state from the minute she 
arrived; she paced and made quick 
gestures. "This night she was wearing 
tight bold-patterned toreador pants and 
very high heels and she was, to put it 
conservatively, sensational, a gripping 
picture. 

"Im jumpy,” she said, pacing. "I've 
been jumpy all day. It's about the 
furniture more than anything.” 

“What furniture?” 

“Well, I've got all this furniture that 
1 had shipped out from New York, it's 
in the Bekins storage place and they 
won't give it to me until I come up with 
two thousand dollars, and I have to pay 
a monthly storage charge besides. 
Naturally, having all that stuff right 
here but not being able to get it makes 
me nervous." 

“I don't understand," I said. “Where 
did you get this collection of furniture?" 

"Paris" she said vaguely, as though 
the question was an irrelevance. “I was 
sort of married to this fellow, you see, 


and we filled the house we had with 
wonderful pieces, all Empire. When I 
moved back to New York, naturally 1 
had all this great stuff sent over. I busted 
up with this fellow, I forgot to say, and 
I took all the furniture, the house too, 
but I sold the house.” 

My eyes were wide with what I was 
sure was admiration. The reference to 
“this fellow” I thought was superb. I 
said, “Who was the man, the Count de 
Lesseps?” 

“I gues he was a count,” she said 
without interest. “Some said he took the 
name de Lesseps so people would think 
he was descended from somebody im- 
portant, the man who built the Suez 
Canal or something.” 


was close to superb 
too. I was finding out a good deal about 
her in high style. 

“All right,” I said, "lets forget the 
intermediate steps. They built the Suez 
Canal and now you've got all this Em- 
pire furniture at Bekins.” 

“It's this town! This cistern of a 
town!” she said suddenly, blazing. I saw 
now that she was as much drunk as not: 
her eyes were seething under the lids 
of blue, and the indignation level in 
her voice was way up. "I thought, an 
Errol Flynn was a hundred-dollar job, 
hundred for the evening, five hundred 
for the weekend, so why not come out 
to Hollywood where all the Errol 
Flynns are and get a taste of the big 
moncy. Only the Flynns, the ones who 
think big and spend big, are practically 
gone, and the few that're left, they can 
take their pick of a thousand working 
chicks, so you're lucky if you get one 
measly hundred-dollar trick a month 
and the rest of the time you're stuck 
with the ones who count pennies and 
never owned a yacht or chartered a 
plane for a weekend party in Acapulco, 
the twenty-five-dollar hotshots. How'm I 
going to get my furniture out of hock 
it 1 can't make any real 1001, tell me? I 
shouldn't have come out to this cesspool 
of a town, this dungheap of a town, but 
the climate in New York wasn't good for 
mums and I thought she'd like it in a 
place where I could drive her around 
to the zoos and the mountains. Damn! 
Hell! I'm stuck, but good!" 

This was the first Га heard of any 
mums. It was also noteworthy that the 
exaggerated boarding-school precisions 
were gone from her voice and what she 
said came from the corner of the frozen 
mouth, flat, metallic, punchy. 

"Im sorry Im not Errol Flynn,” I 
said. "I'm sorry Farley Munters isn't 
Errol Flynn. You have my apologies for 
the absence of the grand manner in me 
and my colleagues. I know that the color 
of our money grows increasingly pallid.” 

I'd had a few drinks too, after my 
hours of exhaustive reading at the office. 
I was now one of the world's best-ii 
formed men on the subject of Dr. Lyt- 


“Hey Joe, we've been swearing them in 


on 'Cooking Can Be Fun. 


ton-Bernard and the natural carpaines. 

“Oh, I'm not blaming you and Far- 
ley," she said with an undirected, cosmic 
disgust. "Га a damn sight rather spend 
my time with men like you, you espe- 
cially, but work comes first, then play. 
How do they expect me to keep my head 
above water when all I'm making is rent 
and food money? I've got expenses, I tell 
youl I've got to make a killing or it's no 
good! Damn! Damn it to hell!" 

She was emphasizing her words by 
pounding a fist against the books in my 
bookcase. I was put out, but only a little, 
to note which volumes she had chosen 
Íor her unresistant sparring partners: 
the shelf she was pummeling was re- 
served for my own publications. 

"What was the reference to your 
mother?" I said cautiously. 

She never heard the question. She had 
stopped attacking the books wholesale 
and was running her index finger up 
and down the spine of one, delicately, 
almost caressingly. When she turned to 
me her mouth was open and her eyes 
were stretched wide with wide queries. 

“What” she said. "You? No. You 
wrote this?” 

“If it's got my name on it I think you 
can safely say I wrote it. Which one are 
you pointing at?” 

"Messages, Hints? You wrote this wild 
thing?" 

I had written it, and I suppose it was 
wild, and people had managed to avoid 
reading it in droves, but it remained a 


thing I had a special fondness for, per- 
haps somewhat in the way the mother 
of a large brood has a particular soft 
spot for the spindly-legged and pump- 
Kin-headed offspring who has shown no 
signs of being able to make his way in 
this rough world. 

“That was my second novel,” I said. 
"It sold exactly seventeen hundred 
copies, I think mostly to dope peddlers." 

"My God, this is unbelievable,” she 
breathed. "I put this book right up 
there with Tow-mas Mann and Robert 
Graves” It was a minority opinion, but 
1 was not prepared to dispute it, “Гус 
read it from cover to cover a dozen 
times, Гуе learned from this book, 
changed my whole life, but until this 
minute I never stopped to make sure 
who the author was. Gordon Rengs. 
You made this beautiful and wonderful 
thing." 

"I didn't mean to make any trouble. 
I was just trying to pass the time." You 
чу not to speak inanities when some- 
body says nice things. much too extrava- 
gant things, about one of your books, or 
even about the shape of your nose or 
the sculpting of your earlobe. Even а 
Marcianna. 

She looked at me for a long moment 
in what I supposed was bemused awe. 
Then she came across the room, sat 
down on the sofa alongside me, reached 
for my head with both hands and 
planted the softest of kisses on my fore 


103 


PLAYBOY 


104 


head in a kind of chaste benediction. 

You receive the murmurous blessings 
of a staggeringly-built lady, for work 
well done, without blushing. Even of a 
Marcianna. 

"I consider that my twenty hunched 
years at the typewriter are now justi- 
fied,” I said, not snidely. 

She paid no attention to my words. 
Something else was on her mind. She 
reached for her carryall, groped around 
in it, and pulled out a crumpled check. 

"You listen to me, Gordon Rengs,” 
she said seriously. "Listen good. This is 
the twenty-five-dollar check you gave me 
the other night for services rendered. 
You never gave me this check, you 
understand? No moneys ever passed 
from your hand to mine.” With de- 
liberate twists she tore the paper into 
small squares and let them fall to the 
ashtray. “There were no transactions of 
any kind between us. We never balled 
or even met before this minute, we're 
just now meeting, right now we're say- 
ing the how-dos. You've written a won- 
derful, singing book and I'm happy and 
proud to meet the author of those words 
and want to be your friend. How do, 
Mr. Gordon Rengs." 

"Hello," I said. "I'm pleased to meet 

you.” Then it occurred to me that I 
couldn't call her Marcianna Ruskin any 
more. "But I don't know what to call 
you. For God's sake, what's your real 
me?" 
“Well,” she said, “Comtesse Maria de 
Lesseps is quite а mouthful for most 
Americans, and titles аге un-American 
anyhow, besides, I'm not with that fel- 
low any more so there's no reason to 
keep the original name. I kind of Amer- 
icanized it. You can call me Mary Dell 
Lessons.” 

"I can't call you any such thing. You've 
got to tell me the name you were born 
with or I won't believe youre my 
friend." 

“All right, then.” She took a deep 
breath. In a small, reined voice, but with 
a hint of defiance all the same, with a 
dare in it for me to make anything 
I wanted of this, she said: "Marcia 
Brown." 

At this point, maybe because she felt 
stripped of her clothes, no, of more than 
her clothes, she was used to that, of her 
skin, of all her precious protective sub- 
stances, her dramatic features came to- 
gether, her azured lids clamped down 
tight, and she began to cry, her whole 
body shaking. 

"Then I heard an astounding story. It 
tore out of her in torrents of innermost, 
cherished lava. 

“Gordie, I'm one-quarter Cherokee. 
T'm one-quarter goddamn Cherokee, you 
hear me? You go to Sioux City, where I 
was born, and you'll meet my grand- 
father on my mother's side, he's a full- 
blooded goddamn Cherokee. Thats а 
bitch of a lot to fight against if you've 


got it in mind to better yourself, make 
something of yourself. My people were 
and are ignorant. Part of the time we 
lived on a reservation where there 
wasn't much schooling and what there 
was of it was bad, so I never got past 
the seventh grade. My mother, she’s a 
good woman and I like my mums, do 
anything for her, but she's ignorant and 
she gets her words all twisted. I'm 
ashamed for her but she's a good soul, 
she really is. So Marcia Brown gets up 
off her pretty little keyster at age six- 
teen and marries this young fellow, this 
auto mechanic who talks about books a 
lot and figures on someday maybe own- 
ing his own garage. Only this was no 
kind of real marriage, I'm telling you. 
Amos didn’t have the real ambition to 
make something of himself, he was all 
talk, to this day he's nothing but a god- 
damn factory hand in some goddamn 
bicycle factory out around Wichita. 
That was no kind of a marriage for 
hungry Marcia Brown off the drag-ass 
reservation and set on going places. I 
had no eyes for a life of washing diapers 
and counting pennies in two crowded 
rooms while this Amos read his drag- 
ass books and talked about the nice re- 
ir shop he was going to own someday. 
By this time Gloria was born and I had 
it set in my mind to make something of 
myself and her too. You understand 
what I'm telling you. Gordie?” 

She wasnt talking about the inner 
meanings in Thomas Mann now, and 
the worked-at note of high culture was 
gone from her voice, Her tone was 
husked and rasping and she was going 
on sullenly, as though at a police line-up. 

I said, "I understand, yes.” 

"So I took little Gloria and we trav- 
eled. I got married some more." Superb, 
nothing short of superb. "For a while I 
was married to this fellow in New York, 
he was a theatrical agent, he made out 
well and we lived in a ten-room apart- 
ment, we did a lot of entertaining, im- 
portant people, I was one of the big 
hostesses in town. By this time mums 
was with me, the old man had passed 
away and she was down with arthritis, 
for years now she's been on crutches and 
1 look out for her, I take her every- 
where with me. The reason I didn't stay 
with thís agent was, he was a coarse 
man, no appreciation of finer things, 
besides, he used to get a skinful and beat 
me up, it was bad for mums to hear and 
Gk too. Then we knocked around 
Europe and other places for a while." 
Oh, superb. "Never mind the details. 
I was with this count in 
Paris hc called himsclf a count. Don't 
get the wrong idea, I'm not a real pro- 
fessional hustling chick, I only do it now 
and then, in between steady men, its a 
now and then thing and I wish to hell 
1 could get out of it, get into some busi- 
ness, maybe set up in a little business 
of my own and quit the balling around 


for good, but how am I going to get free 
and settled until 1 make a killing and 
how can you make a killing in this 
rathole of a Hollywood with the Errals 
long gone? I don't know why I'm telling 
you all this, Gordie. I feel bad for 
mums, real bad, because she’s not too 
good with words and when she uses 
words she’s not sure of she gets them 
twisted, she says malnursed for malnour- 
ished and impovrich for impoverished, 
but it's not her fault, it's all in the 
bringing up. It's a long job of work to 
make something of yourself when you 
got to start from way back and it's up- 
hill every inch. I've got my hands full, 
I'm telling you straight, Gordie. Noi 
there's this drag-ass thing with Glori: 

She was crying in a more subdued w 
now, in little gasps and shudders, but 
her face was still in pieces under and 
around the active blue lids. 

"What's the problem with Gloria?" I 
asked. 

“It's, well, the bitch of it is she's had. 
a too damn good education for her own 
goddamn good. See, wherever we were, 
I always sent her to the best private 
schools, wasn't anything too good for 
her, whether I had the loot for it or had 
to scrape and scuffle. For a long time in 
New York she went to the Ethical Cul- 
ture School, then to another high-rated 
place called Walden, and in these fancy 
progressive schools she rubbed elbows 
with all kinds, Negroes, Jews, Chinese, 
all the races and colors. Only thing of 
it was, all the kids she was friends with, 
Jews, Negroes, all of them, they were of 
all different kinds but they had this one 
thing in common, they were all from the 
moneyed class, they stank from money. 
So Gloria comes out of this fancy educa- 
tion without any of the snob feelings 
about other races and religions but she's 
got a big snob thing about money, she's 
only used to associating with kids who've 
got nothing but loot and she feels un- 
easy and unhappy around ordinary kids 
from ordinary families. Well. Now that 
we're settled more or less in this zero 
town, this nowhere Hollywood, why, 
I've got her enrolled over to the Holly- 
wood High, you see, since we're living 
down the way just east of Doheny Drive 
and therefore this side of Beverly Hills 
we're under the jurisdiction of Holly- 
wood, West Hollywood. Well, lately 
Gloria's been staying home from school 
and just moping around the house, and 
when I finally pinned her down as to 
the reasons she told me, moms, she said, 
I can't go to that school, the kids there 
are too rough and go around in gangs 
and do wild and bad things, I don't 
understand these kids, theyre not my 
kind. What she's saying, only not in so 
many words, is, these are poor kids, or- 
dinary kids, and what she really wants, 
what she’s got her heart set on, is shift- 
ing over to the Beverly Hills High be- 
cause over there in Beverly all the kids 


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are rich and she'd be going to school 
with the classy rich like she's used to. 
Only where in the hell, where in the 
dear God's name, is her moms going to 
get the loot to set up in a big fam 
Rouse in Beverly Hills with a heated 
swimming pool and all, me not being 
able even to get my goddamn furniture 
out of hock? You Know what kind of an 
overhead 1 got right 
month by month nut is, and the furni- 
ture still tied up in the warehouse? Му 
God, I made someth out of that kid, 
all right, what I made out of her is a 
kid with her head full of rich-kid ideas, 
only her moms is flat busted and if I'm 
going to make her happy and surround 
her with the rich kids she's used to 
whats that going to make out of me, 
whats she want me to do, peddle my. 
self around the clock ind за 
week? I want to be a good mother but 
they got to let me breathe, Gordie. ^ 
got to back off and ease up the pres- 
sures so 1 can catch my breath. They're 
pushing me too hard, Gordie, too damn 
hard. Ive got nowhere to turn and I 
don't have the stamina to stick on the 
ny more years. Now do 
you sec? I got problems, І wasn't. put- 
ting you on, I got real, head-breaking, 
cye-bugging problems and 1 don't know 
which way to turn, I genuinely, for sure 
don't know. How'm I going to get out 
of this one, Mr. Writer? How do I god- 
damn breathe ag; 

She looked up а siniled suddenly, 
though with some wanness, throu 
tears, and said, “Choo, choo, 
man, you don't have to give 
answers.” 

“Choo, choo, № Brown,” I said, 
not [ecling up to the effort to smile, 
“you can have all the answers I've 
Only I'm low on answers today." 

1 have been worrying at the question 
of what tears mean for some twenty years 
and I can sum up my thinking in these 
words: tears are invariably the seepages 
of self-pi When they are tears for 
yourself they are meant to say “у. 
without window dressing, look at the 
raw deal they give me, just look: and 
when they are tears for somebody else's 
plight they are really saying, under the 
guise of sympathy for another, if you 
look closely 


now, what my 


ratrace too n 


writer 
me any 


: 


you'll see that I get 
deal than he does, if he’s bad off Fm 
worse off. For that reason I am gener- 
ally impatient with tears, including my 
own. But I felt a surge of sympathy for 
Marcia Brown. Nobody I knew or had 
heard of lately was being pushed around 
in this total, unremitting way. It didn’t 
make any difference, at this moment, 
that the final source of all the shoving 
vas herself, that she had been asking 
for it from age sixteen with her hunger 
for Empire furniture and well-bred dic- 
tion and some sort of glory-road Culture 
that never existed in this world and 


shouldn't, her infernal itch to transform 
ordinary Marcia Brown into a high-stvle 
Comtesse Maria de Lesseps or Mary 
Dell Lessons, her inability to see that 
the only thing that could eventuate from 
such a drive toward total metamorpho- 
sis was a Marcianna Ruskin who couldn't 
make it, burdened with a rosy-cheek 
Gloria who had to. The point was that 
she was now in this b 
no way out, and that was the only point 
1 cared to see. There are traps too 
damned irreversible for analysis. 

ГЇЇ tell you what's 
she said. "In a few days Gloria's 
r Sweet Sixteen party and I 
know the one present she wants [rom 
me. the news that we're moving across 
Doheny into Richbitchsille and all the 
swimming-pool glamor. And I know that 
the only present I can give her on this 
y of birthdays is to let her know 
once and for all t she's not a rich 
kid and can't live like a rich kid. and 
s going to br her heart. 

teen. A kid's crossing that. big 
once-in-a- lifetime threshold and they hit 
her over the hi 

It won't break her for good," 


nd. and there was 


I said 


without too much force. "Some kids 
graduate from Hollywood 


1 for life. 
she said, bright- 
“I can't give her what she 
wants, I cant, but there's somebody I 
can give something to, all Гус got, you. 
You're a marvelous writer who teaches 
people things, vou taught me a lot. even 
if you can't teach me what to do with 
my tich-kid daughter, and 1 want to 
give a whole lot back to you. ht now, 
this minute, and keep your checkbook 
in your pocket. 1 feel better just talkin 
to you and now I want to make you feel 


at as it may," 
ching a bit, 


better, feel wonderful, I'm going to give 
you all the present: 
Marcia Brown," T said almost heart- 


ily, “for two decades and more Гуе been 
hearing about the magic of the written 
word, the m 


gic of literature, 
experienced it myself — to me it w 
hard work. Now for the first time I see 
there c abracadabra in my 
words and that's a big present you've 
made me, you've given me plenty.” 
But she wanted to give me more and 
more. She thought my book was a once- 
ina-century thing. 
She still had the eroticism of a mech- 
no set but this time it was with spc- 
cial vocal effects, she was whisp 
liule carefully ardent things to me 
French that I could not decipher, though 
my French was passable. (I've passed it 
many times.) Glottal colloquialisms of 
endearment, the language of the Seine- 
housewife or the Pigalle 
Learned from whom, the esteemed Gomte 
de Lesseps? Errol Flynn? The sl 
fool of an Iran. No, 


n bc an 


side whore? 


in ambassador 


No, 
that wasn't the skier. The skier was Ше 


chap from the British 
thing. 
She wanted to ki 
desired. cverythi 
Treat of treats, ma petite, ch 
ère gosse, mon amou 


My checkbook stayed in my pocket. 


Momic Energy 


w, was it good, she 


ch 


I didn’t sce her for a week after that 
but she called me every day. sometimes 
two or three times а day, First she was 
busy, running her fool head ой, with th 
arrangements for Gloria's Sweet Sixteei 
party. Then her time was taken up wi 
an unidentified girlfriend who had had 
enough of this outhouse of а town and 
was getting her T-bird overhauled so 
she drive cross-country back to 
New York where she was going into 
fancy house and make some real, sub- 
tial, regular, easy-com The 
friend was after. Marcia to go with her 
and get her hands on some real gold 
- Marcia didn't know. She was de- 
bating with herself. She'd give it more 
thought alter Gloria's Sweet Sixteen 
party. It was a possibility 

Then on a Thursday morning, eight 
days after Га last seen her, she called 
me at the studio. There was a note of 
iron in her voice. 
had her party yesterday," 


could 


loot. 


she 


low'd it go: 
Great Shes the happiest gil in 
town 

What? You did it? You promised her 
Beverly Hills and the pools and the 
year-round heated moon made of 
ported gourmet gru 


im- 


had to do it, Gordie. I looked into 
her eves and 1 couldn't tell her no, I 


сопан. So the plan is, we're going to 
get a real ni in Beverly, ГШ get 
my furniture out ol the warehouse and 
fix the place up id she'll 
enroll in Beverly High and be able to 
have h As soon as I get 


€ house 


l classy 


friends over 
New York, that 


it as though reading 
stock market quotations out loud 

“Гуе got to do it. There's no other 
way around this one. It won't be too 
bad, Gordie, Auntie Mand is supposed 
to be solid and give her girls a fair 
shake. 

“Ye t told me 
Auntie Maud.” I said helplessly. 
“Didn't 1 mention her to you? She's 
this great whitehaired old dame, she’s 
bout eighty, who has this fancy fifteen- 
room penthouse on the East Side, it's a 
hundreddollar house and Maud. splits 
the take lifty-fifty with her girls. You cin 
imagine that when you're one of the 
girls in this established. place and the 
hns parade in all day and ev 
why, there's quite a few tricks 
any given day and a girl can m 
ybe five, six, seven hundred by 
night. Maud's supposed to be a square 


hav about 


any 


shooter. The johns like her, they sit 
and play chess with her.” 

don't care who plays chess with 
her!” E éxploded, without being quite 
sure why or even whether I had any 
t to. Immediately 1 realized th 
s nothing to do but пай off, a 
did: “You apparently didn’t re: 

s. Hints as carefully as you said you 
did. If there's one lesson to be learned 
from that book, from any of my books, 
ivs that not all young güls have to go 
to Beverly Hills High and have pools. 
All my life Гуе been writing about one 
thing, one thing only, namely, that the 
secondary school system is just about the 
same in all the towns, in all the Bang- 
koks.” 

“I know what you're saying, Gordic. 
Be angry if you want to. This has got to 
be done and Fm going to do it. Listen, 
I'd like to see you. My friend 
starting out at sundown, we're all packed 
and everything, so today's my last chance 
to say goodbye, It would be real kicky 
if vou could meet me somewhere for 
lunch. or something?” 

As it happened. this was the first day 
in weeks that I had some genuine work 
to do: my producer had asked for some 
revisions іп the carly part of my sce- 
nario and I was trying to get them done 
before quit time. I explained that 
my lunch period ited and sug- 
gested the only thing 1 could suggest, 
that she come out to the studio for 
lunch. She agreed. Twelve-thirtyish. 

When we entered the commissary 1 
did my best to curve around the writers? 
corner to a smaller. more private table, 


but it was а lost cause, Marcia was wear 
ing a flaming orange sheath cunningly 
designed to duplicate each Tast contour 


of her skin and my sharp-eyed colleagues 
were not going to let us slip past: to a 
man they stood up and smiled at me 
their determination to be introduced. 
I ticked their names off one by one 
Beheen, Ivan Masso, the others, 
but when 1 began to say to them, “Га 
like you to meet.” exactly 
how I would finish the sentence, Marcia 


not knowin 


cut in calmly, saying, "Mary Lessons, 
Mary Dell Lessons, nice to meet you.” 
They insisted we sit down, they wouldn't 
think of our sneaking off to another 
table. We sat down. 


Ir was simply incredible, the subject 
they had chosen for their meandering 
forum that talky noon. It was one of the 
catastrophes of the century. 

"Miss Lessons," Jamie said without 
preliminaries, "E think I ought to ex- 
plain what our procedure is here. We 
are writers, wielders of the mighty pen 
that has largely. in this part of the world, 
supplanted the sword, and as such we 
devote our noon hows to giving each 
other works progress reports and engag- 
ing in a general cultural communion. 
For example, Gordon here fills us in 


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from time to time on his current re 
searches into the beneficial enzymes of 
the papaya fruit, and our cultural hori- 
zons are widened. Today we have been 
exchanging notes on the various books 
and plays we have lately been exposed 
to, and our topic is, Re: . just 
as she is portrayed in all the novels and 
plays of our time, the whore is our out 
standing Lady Bountiful, 
than a witch, wakan, for your i 


solved. tha 


according to the Sioux religion, ma 
the world real and palatable; їп other 
words, that the lady of casy and pr 
tagged availability 
ather than a Pand 
such she is to be elevated to the highest 
pedestal ped, as in the plays 
and novels of our time. Am I making 
myself clear?” 

Marcia was taking it in beautiful 
stride. “As ] understand it" she said 
coolly, “according to the Cherokees a 
whore is, when you come right down 
to it, a whore, and the diflerence bc- 
tween а ten-dollar whore and a twenty- 
five-dollar whore tly fifte dol- 
lars. Of course, there are all kinds of 


is a hot comucopia 
"s box, and th 


nd worshi 


s c 


religions." 
Phere are,” Jamie said with full ap- 
proval, “and I believe in all of them. 


Now I think that the chair, and I don't 
feel that I am being unduly cgocentric 
when I identify myself as the chair, 
though a surprising amount of the time 
1 feel rather more like a sofa, the chair, 
1 say, will now throw the floor gapingly 
open for discussion. Does anyone wish 
the gaping floor? Mr. Кепш?” 

"South Dakota abstains.” 1 said. I was 
very careful not to look at Marcia. 

“I would like to say a few chosen and 
perhaps even well-chosen words, Mr. 
Chairman," one of the other writers said. 
“I have just come back from New York 
where I saw The World of Suzie Wong, 
and on the basis of the evidence pre- 
sented in that play J see no alternative 
Dut to agree that the whores of all na- 
tions are unfailingly kind, warm, giving, 
witty, and infinitely worth h 
womankind in handy concentrated form, 
Instant Wom: 

“I am just now reading Alberto Mo- 
ravia's Woman of Rome," somebody 
else said, "and I must report that if his 
lena is everything Moravia says she is 
her name should be Pallas Athena. She 
is a flower in full bloom. She does not 
imply give, she hurls herself 
it would scem, is not crushed by the 
cash nexus, it is liberated for the first 
time and allowed to come into its own. 
The place to look for а good and ful- 
filling woman, I have learned from 
Brother Mor mot in thc cla 
rooms of Vassar and Bryn. Mawr but in 
the fleshpots and pleasure houses of the 
filthiest slums of Rome, where women 
don’t merely give, in the sense of 2 


Passion, 


ion to charity, they geyser 
‚ in the sense of your getting full 
value for your money. Whores, in short. 
are the most precious commodities on 
the market, and if department stores 
ever decide to carry a line of thes 
articles I think 1 would like a job with 
one of them as comparison shopper.” 

Mr. Chairman," Ivan Masso put in, 
“1 would like at this time to make men 
tion of Henry Millers pacon to the 
French streetwalker entitled Claude. 1 
believe it is worth noting that in this 
curbstone Aphrodite Brother Miller has 
located the fountainhead of all the 
womanly virtues, the furnaces froi 
which waft all the warming human 
heats. 1 will make a confession. 1 have 
never married and the reason is that I 
could not find my own, my one and true 
Claude according to the Miller rule- 
book, though I wore out several pairs 
of stout English shoes hiking down the 
bylanes of Paris in the hope of falling 
into her cherished footsteps. 1 can only 
conclude that Brother Miller's incom- 
parable Claude passed away, leaving no 
hiers and heirs to ply the family 
trade, and this is what is happening to 
all the waditional handicrafts in our 
mechanized 

It went on and on. This time 1 
not find it funny. 1 watched Marcia's 
composed sober face with its extrav 
gantly decorated eyes and 1 thought, 
when will that great day come when 
there will be a natural carpaine in some 
papava leaf that Dr. Lytton-Bernard 
can apply to Лет wounds, her ope 
wound of a mother on crutches and full 
of malapropisms, her open wound of 
the reservation Cherokee in her hidden 
but not quite quarter, her open wound 
of needing two thousand irreducible 
dollars to liberate her needed period 
furniture, her open wound of being the 
parentheses around the whole fat sub- 
ject to any number of johns in any num- 
ber of Bangkoks when all she really 
wanted to do was bone up on the sym- 
bolism in Thomas Mann and practi 
the lotus position some more, the open 
wound of having wanted to make some- 
thing of herself so fiercely that she now 
was wagged from hellfire to straitjacket 
by a sixteen-year-old who believed she 
was made for everything, the open 
wound of being designed as ап Errol 
Flynn plaything in a world from which 
the Errols had vanished? 

"Might 1 have the loor? 

It was Marcia, her voice controlled 
even, but sharp. 

“The chair deems it a privilege to 
recognize Miss Lessons,” Jamie 
a most gracious way. 

"I've read Moravia's Woman of Rome 
and I've read Richard Mason's Su 
Wong and Ive read Millers Claud. 
too,” Marcia said slowly. "I've read a 
couple other things on the subject as 
well, for example, all the case histories 


id in 


of whores in the recent psychoanalytic 
literature. Most of all, Гуе read Emile 
Zola's Nana, which is the only true thing 
ever written about whores and gives the 
straight goods on them seventy-five years 
belore a couple of psychoanalysts set 
out to get a few facts. Now, let me tell 
you something. Zola was right, and Mo- 
ravia and Mason and Miller are wrong. 
wrong as hell, totally, abysmally wrong. 
You all may sit around here thinking 
you're just kidding this thing but the 
fact is, you're all pretty much in ag 
ment with these nowhere myth-m 
novels and books and they're full of. 
dirty li Let me tell you what a 
whore is, according to Zola and accord- 
ing to me. 

They were all sitting up straight and 
staring at her, Something was creeping 
into her voice, some knifing, smoking 
thing, that was not at all in keeping 
with the light tone of their luncheon 
game. And her face was set, fires were 
gathe n her eyes. 
she ground out, “as 
man knows who сап tell the difference 
between blue diamonds and cheap paste, 
is lazy, sloppy, slow-witted, ice to the 
fingertips, full of vicious thoughts about 
men that she never mentions except to 
the other working chicks. capable of 
nothing but contempt for the johns who 
аге so stupid as to pay her for nothing 
but welllearned gestures, a dod, a 
sloth, an IBM adding machine, а stin! 
ing. recking mess under her sleazy per- 
fumes and powders. A whore is, if you 
nt to know. a lesbian through and 
through, and that’s absolutely all she is. 
As the psychoanalysts are slowly begin- 
ing to find out. As Zola knew and had 
the courage to say a long time ago. As 
1 know.” Her eyes were hard on me, 
and unblinking. "As you would know, 
ad Miller and Mason and Moravia, 
xli took the trouble to 
sce the difference between a lousy per- 
nce and a true reaction. Whores 
ke big sounds and give a lot of two- 
literature to the world, words, and 
get good dollars in return. because their 
johns, and their pimps, too, are too soft 
in the head to know how they're getting 
short-changed emotionally. At least you 
writers ought to learn how to tell good 
literati Whores can't pro- 
duce anything but bad literature be- 


ny of 


from bad. 


se they're even too damn lazy to make 


words, they borrow 


up their own 1 
their words from cheap, two-bit novels, 
which 1 hope none of vou ever wrote, 
that you сап leave то the Masons and 
Monavias.” 
Well, she had style. She had depth. 
Across the room Сагу Grant was en- 
gaged in earnest conversation with a 
beautiful Negress in a Seventeenth Cen- 
tury nun's habit. 
Whores!” she sid. "What 
I'I tell you. they're the only contraption 


re they? 


on the market that the buyers will pay a 
hell of а lot more money for because 
they won't work, they're incapable of 
doing their assigned job. Give? Whores 
give? Don't make me laugh! How can 
they give to a man when they don't even 
know what a man is? They see men only 
two ways, as things to foo] and get 
money Irom, as things to fall down in 
front of and give money to, men who 
give money and men who take money, 
johns and pimps, the two kinds of men 
a whore needs, both of them together, 
to keep the money circulating, and 
those’re the only needs she ever felt in 
her scrawny little pesthole of a soul!” 
I looked away from her shouting eyes 
to frown at my coffee cup. “Whores are 
cesspools. vacuums, behind the nt 
eyes they're im, im, impovrich — 
Her eyes were still on me. wide now 
and stricken. 
“I know exactly what you're saying,” 
I said hurriedly, to fill the agonized 
pause, "and 1 agree with you, Mary, 1 
agree onc-hundred. percent . . . 
"Im-pov-er-ished;" she said slowly and 
ately. Her fa xed. "Choo, 
choo, its getting late, must go. Gentle- 
men, it's been a pleasu 
As she started to get up Jamie Behe 
тозе too and said. "No. really. must 
you, M You're a remarkably 
well-read young woman. I was going to 


х 


сє rel 
nu 


ss Lessons? 


TRUE 
PASSION 
STORIES 


drop over to the set of The Spark and 
the Flame and 1 thought you might be 
interested in seeing them shoot some 
scenes. If you'd like, I can introduce you 
to Tony Reach, he’s playing the lead. 
he's partial to well-read girls.” 
“Ord Td take yo 
Mr. Behcen,” she said. all grace 
I'm leaving for New York this alte 
On business, Must run, Choo, choo.” 


As we walked toward the parking lot 
she 


her arm with mine and 
y close to say, "You made a 
g in Messages, Hints. Woi 
Make more good things- 

I felt proud, I lelt positiv 
though she was getting 
and riding oll to the Auntie Mauds who 
ed chess. 

When we got to her car I put my 
to her cheek and said. "You were mag- 
nificent in there. Yowre the 
girl I know. Goodbye, Marcia Brown. 
Make the best literature you сап, do 
those Cherokee oud.” 

She pressed my arm w climbed 
into the car, lifted her dr ic lace to 
me with the sky-blue lids going and the 
eas just beneath them shining wet: 
she drove off. waving 

For all 1 know she n 
yet. as Bangkok after I 


linked 


best-read. 


be waving 


kok dances 


"Em just taking Miss Conlin's place. She's 
having a baby." 


109 


PLAYBOY 


110 


GRAND PRIX 


few modern buildings slic- 
zorbacked way up among 


except for a 
ag their ra 
the palaces today. 

The circuit itself is identical to tha 
used for the first event. Hay bales a 
used in place of sandbags (it was said 
that most of Monaco's small beach was 
stacked about the course during that 
premier running), and the liule elec 
street gone, but no other 
pect of Ше course has 


trie 


irs are 
a 


According to the motoring journalist 
Gordon Wilkins, who attended the first 
Grand Prix de Monaco: “The noise was 
dealening as the starter dropped his 
yellow flag and sixteen engines, all 
Supercharged, screamed to peak revs- 
ifteen cars tore n» De Rovin strug 
gling on the grid with his lyjlite 
Delage. [The] start was behind the pits 
Е ittis hurtled into the 
tight bunch and 
amed up the hill to the Casino, fol- 
lowed by а 
Lehous, "Philippe" and 
tweed cap, back to front) w 
twoliters and Dava; 2:3, 
Caracciola was at the wheel of the Mer- 
cedes. But as they emerged [rom the 
wel, it was Williams; a British 
sident in France, who led. on a 
nted Bugatti. As they hurded 
down into a vicious S-bend lead 
the harbors edge, there came the first of 
went 
utitul 


w 


white Mercedes. 
tancelin (in 


dr 


howlin 


ng 
while 


e a 


ng to 


‚ broke three of the bea 
cast alloy wheels of his Bı 
to the pits and calmly w 
gainst the stream of raci 
dling, three new wheels . . . 
“Williams” went on to win the 
С.Р. of Monaco, at an aver 
5033 mph. Sentiment r 
year. The race was hailed as the most 
spectacular of all time, and the stands 
were crowded to cap for the second 
1t was won, and fiercely won, by 
René Dreyfus, today the gente pro- 
prictor of one of New York's finest res- 
tauras, Le Cha 1931 was the 
year of the Monégasque Louis Chiron, 
still one of s bestloved figures, 
who ran away from the field in a twin- 
camshaft Type 57 Bugatti. By 1932 the 
tramlines had been taken up, and faster 
ap times were possible. Chiron crashed 
badly in that ус nt, which w 
won by the legendary Tazio Nuvolari, 
board a scarlet 2.3-liter Alfa-Romeo. 


cars trun 


eveni 


teclair. 


ъ ev 


Now the average had risen to 55.81 mph, 
nd everyone thought. i 


t was close to 
the limit. But in | fter a vicious. 
dog-fight with Nuvolari, Achille Varzi 
? the victor at 57.04. 

Through 1937, and the temporary 
ional motor sport, Monte 
of auto racing’ 
Veterans still 


came 


Carlo 
most dramatic тоте! 


the 


was эссп 


(continued from page 56) 


reminisce about the time Nuvolari tried 
to win even though his car was on fire, 
about the invasion of the great and all- 
conquering Mercedes and Auto-Union 
teams, the thrusting attacks of Robert 
Benoist (whose heroism during the Re- 
sistance caused him to be hunted down 
and tortured to death by the Nazis), 
the. hammer-and-tongs scrap between 
Caracciola and von Brauchitsch, who 
were members of the same team and had 
no business fighting but couldn't help it, 
the terrible multiple crashes, th 
prise victories, the overwhelming defeats. 
Jt was great then, and the greatness 


Ж 


sur- 


did not fade. After the storm, eleven 
years ‘later, the streets 

echoed again to the thu acing 
exhausts. The 1918 event was taken by 


iuseppe Farina 
of designer Pinin 
becom world champion. The 
lapsed in 1949, but was revived in 1950. 
Everyone looked forward to a fine Alfa- 
Romco-Ferrari duel, but it was not to 
be. At the corner of the harbor, by the 
ule tobacconist’s shop, Farina slid on 
wet patch; his Alfa caromed off the 
stonework and crashed into Gonzalez 
Maserati, Within seconds the road was 
choked with spinn chines, none of 
which emerged uns l. Miraculously, 
ingio got through the mess and won 
the С.Р. at a record 61.33 mph, 

The race was а sports car event. 
Though exciting, it didn’t seem to be 
the real thir nd interest lagged. The 
speed fest was called off until. 1955, 
at which time it was revived in all its 
old greatness. That was the year of the 
Mercedes comeback, people ex- 
pected the silver cars to walk off with 
everything. But Monaco has always de- 
fied racing tradition. Its winding streets 
took the heart out of the German ma- 
chines and п affable 
wine grower пате 
the supposedly obsolete Ferrari. The 
great Alberto Ascari came close to win- 
ning, but a moment's inattention hurled 
him and his Lancia olf the road, throi 
the hay bales and into the Medite 
nean. It was а spectacular accident, the 
worst anyone had ever seen, but Italy's 


doctor (and nephew 
Farina) who 


and 


champion emerged without a scratch. 
(Four days later, at Monza, he was road 


testin 


friend's Ferrari. Coming around 
turn just a shade too fast, he left the 
road, rolled over slowly and died.) 
Sürling Moss, the perpetual brides- 
id, came into his own in 1956, snatch- 
ing victory from the late Peter Collins. 
1957 saw another sensational pile-up. as 
Moss, Mike Hawthorn and Collins all 
crashed at the harbor chicane. Fangio 
in threaded his way through the de. 
bris, with contemptuous ease, and took 
the checkered flag. Then, in 1958, Trin- 
gnant won for the second time at the 
wheel of a newcomer to Formula I rank: 


a Cooper-Climax. John Cooper, of Sur- 
biton, England. had made a considerable 
name for himself in the manufacture of 
Formula III (500 cc) machinery, but few 
gave his absurd. spindly little 
chance all in full-blooded G.P. 
petition. When a Cooper won а 
1959, with the Australian dirt-track driv- 
er Jack Brabham at the wheel, С ^ 
creation changed the face and he 
Grand Prix machines forevermore 
the beginning they had been g 
lowing metal beasts, rubber-shod brutes 
that were not so much driven as ridden 
It took strength, endurance and couray 
them. Then came the Сооре 
g like nothing so much as а kiddy- 
side its elders. But the y 
car, with its rear-mounted 214-liter Cov 
entry-Climas engine (originally designed 
to power a fire pump), went faster than 
any other competition machine, and 
since 1959 all the manufacturers have 
followed John Coopers example. Now 
the fire-breathing monsters are gone. 

The last of them, а F ‚ Was see 
during the 1960 Grand Prix de Monac 
and a fine farewell 
Phil Hill was the 
suaight and proud. 
thrashed the clumsy 


From 
at bel- 


ni 


iddy 


appearance it was. 
driver. He sat up 
in the cockpit and 


had. Even though the F 
shed third, it was clearly someth 
out of another time, an antique, ad 
able in its gallant refusal to give up. but 
also a bit pathetic. In the midst of the 
nimble, darting, licking little Сооре 
and Lotuses and BRMs. it was like 


old owl png chicken hawks. 
1960 also ushered out the 214-liter 
formula. From now on G.P. cars must 


limit their engine capacity to 1500 cc, 
which means even smaller, lighter m 
chines. The FLA, international govern- 
ing body which makes all the major de- 
cisions in autosport, is seeking by this 
change to curb speeds, but they are not 
taking into consideration the engine 


oper, Enzo 
apman. "These 


and Colin С 
three, alon 
else 
a while, but then accepted it — as a cha 
lenge. And reports indicate that the new 
cars are faster than ever. 

The 1961 race promises ta be one of 
the greatest in the history of the event, 
but it will have to go some to better 
1960. The swan-song nature of last year’s 
spectacle was only а bonus; the Grand 
Prix itself was classic. 


with practically everyone 


We flew to Nice a week before the 
гасе. The nineanile drive to Monte 
Carlo, most of it along the sea front, 
allowed just enough time [or anticipa- 
tion to reach a peak. In the little g 
line stations along the way there л 
Citroëns and Renaults and Panhards, as 
usual; but crouched in the shadows were 


о: 


те 


antzen surfwear for surfers this is the big surf at Makapuu, where the best body- 


surfing waves on Oahu met the finest surfwear of all time. Here are four examples of the smart trunks and 


jackets designed specifically for swimmers. The trunks on Gifford have the great stay-put waistband that 


we invented; trunks аге 6.95, jacket is6.95. Other grand styles appropriate to any surf are in the better stores. 


Ыс: Left: Members of the Jantzen Interna- = 
tional Sports Club “Hawaiian Village” е5 
Expedition in the Jantzen lineup of superb 
sportswear . . . . Bob Cousy, Ken Venturi, 
Frank Gifford, Warren Miller, Bud Palmer. 
= Tom Kelley took all expedition photos, in- E 


cluding this one, Jantzen Ine., Portland 8, Oregon Seem, 


PLAYBOY 


112 


several of the sleck, sharklike Formula 
Junior cars that were to participate in 
Saturday's curtain raiser. The Juniors 
look very much like regular Formula 1 
machines, only smaller, slower and a 
леа deal less expensive. Count Gi 
ni Lurani dreamed them up originally 
s the answer to Italy's chronic driver 
age. In his concept, a singleseater 
utilizing the components of stock pas- 
senger sedans, such as Austin and Ford, 
would permit anyone with a bit of mon- 
cy to prepare for a carcer of professional 
е driving. And so it was, for a time. 
"Then Cooper and Chapman got into the 
act, and Britain began to dominate. Soon 
rmula Junior Lotuses and Coopers 
were traveling at speeds only slightly 
below attained by the all-out 


й 


those 
bombs, prices zoomed (you can pick up 


a little trainer for $5000) and once 
Italy was stuck with its problem. 

Monte Carlo was quiet when we ar- 
rived. But the air was electric, and if 
that sounds mysterious, try stepping off 

plane into a Nassau night just before 
Speed Week, or going from Luxembourg 
into Germany for the running of the 
Nürburgring: you'll experience the same 
thing, a feeling of something different. 
The course was already carved out. The 
grandstands were erected. The fences 
were up. It gave the impression, some- 
how, of a city under siege. 

For а few days we relaxed, wander 
about the opulent Ноле] de Paris, one 
of the finest hotels in all of Eur 
the tiny str 
ch. m in Monaco, 
and that country still seems to be one 
of the few places where they are com- 
pletely at home, When we tired of this 
diversion, we visited the fabled Casino. 
Once it was the g mbling palace 
in the world, today it reminds one of a 
giant hollow tooth with very little gold 
left; yet, despite its efforts at modern 
tion, its dreary slotmachines (ай Las 
Vegas castolls, painted a depressing gray), 
and its humble position in Monte Car- 
lo's economy (accounting for less than 
four percent of the overall wealth), it 
remains an exciting and mysterious 


n 


сагсзг g 


place. Standing in the Salon Privé, lis 
tening to the turn of the roulette whecls, 
the hop of the little white balls, the soft 
drone of the croupiers voices, the mur- 
mur of winners and the decorous groan 
of losers, one travels back to another 
age: and suddenly the giant hall. seems 
to be filled with the ghosts of ex-kings, 
miharajas, racketeers, soldiers of fortune, 
spies, pimps, film stars and crew-cut, 
sabrescaried barons. For a few moments, 
anyway, one believes all the old legends: 
the young man who loses a fortune, 
dashes out to the garden and shoots him- 
self, only to have his pockets stuffed with 
money by representatives of the manage- 
ment: the millionaires who finds herself 
temporarily short of funds, borrows a few 
thousand from you, and turns out not 
to have been a millionaires after all . . . 

The city, as noted, was already excited 
when we arrived; a few days later it 
b o run a fever, for that was when 
the aficionados —or tifosi — moved in. 
Suddenly the quiet streets thundered to 
the high-revving engines of Ferraris and 
Maseratis and Aston. Martins and Alfa- 
Romeos and Porsches and. Austin-H 
leys and Mercedes-Benzes. The m 
of French became mixed with the chop- 
and-slash of German, the calm, confident 
drone of British, the high song of Italia 
The sidewalks were bright rivers ov 
night, flowing with the costumes of a 
dozen different counvies. Then the 
Grand Prix circus itself arrived. The 
drivers, heroes or fools, all of them, 
direct. descend of St. George 
Baron von Richtofen, shy, bold men 
come from everywhere in the world to 
gamble their lives while others g 
their money; their mechanics а 
agers silent and worried: their women, 
beautiful as the dolls you can buy in the 
most expensive Paris shops; the whole 
bright anachronism, moving in, taking 
over. 

The talk was of Stirling Moss, the 
finest and unluckiest driver in the world. 


amur 


He had put the race in his pocket the 
1 
previous year, only to go out with me- 


ch: al bothers. Would he In the 
jinx this time? Would his Lotus hold to- 


gether? Would he get a decent start to- 
ward the world championship he so 
richly deserved? And what about. Lance 
Reventlow and his Scarabs? They were 
the first all-American Formula 1 cars 
Europe had seen since Jimmy Murphy's 
Fi hG.P-winning Duesenberg, in 1921 
Would they put the US. back into the 
motor racing picture? Then there was 
the experimental rearengine Ferrari to 
consider, and the new BRMs, one of 
them to be driven by the phenomenon 
from Riverside, California, Dan 
Gurney . .. 

The betting was on Jack Brabham to 
w He was, after all, the champion of 
the world, and he'd got there by a re- 
markable series of fast, steady victories 
He w not particularly liked; neither 
was he disliked: he was, to most, a color 
ess example of that new breed. the bu: 
nessman driver. Those sw: g bucca- 
neers Portago and Castelotti would have 
eclipsed Brabham anywhere, except on 
the track. There the Australian has al- 
ways been in command, yielding only to 
Moss. Moss was faster, everyone knew, 
but there was that jinx of his, this time 
а complicated. non-standard gearbox de 
ened by the Italian Союш. 

LO as, she test arbox in the 
world,” says Ami Guichard, publisher of 
the estimable Automobile Yearbook. 
rely. it does not work. 
d 
practice session. Moss’ privately entered 
Louis toured the course in the astound- 


уои! 


ng time of опе minute 36.3 seconds — 
n absolute record. No other driver 
close. So 


marched that, but 
close, in fact, that th 
car on the starting grid was sey 
from Moss by a mere three seconds. 

Qualifvii 
During the 
using tactics. 


all came 


ways exciting. 
aal race the drivers are 
Some пу Moss’ system — 
“Assume the lead as quickly as possible 
and then improve your pos 
while others attempt to emul 
great Fang 
point of a motor race is to win at the 
slowest possible speed." Some ch: 
from the sta hang back and con 
serve their energies for the final laps, 
others simply watch and wait. Maurice 
ant prefers the lutter system 
and, though he attracts little. attention, 
he wins plenty of races. Qualifying, how 
ever, is another matter. Bec the 
danger of multiple crashes, only sixteen 
cus are allowed to enter, these selected 
on the basis of recorded times. Ther 
fore, one may be sure that each of the 
twenty-five or thirty drivers is going just 


ion" — 
atc the 
io, who stated once that “the 


som 


use of 


as fase аз he knows how, and there is 
nothing quite so exhilarating as the 
cling at 


first hour, that 
rds were going to tumble: no 
one guessed, though, that in order to 
qualify at all, even for the last place on 


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PLAYBOY 


114 


the grid, one would have to go faster 
than last year’s fastest qualifying time. 
Yet it was so. 

w will ever forget the duel staged 
by the hopeful entrants in 1960. All the 


lambs, the cautious, careful. watch-and- 
waiters, became ravening tigers, clawing 


for that extra tenth of a second that 
would get them into the race. Masten 
regory, one of America’s most aggres- 
sive drivers, flailed his outdated Centro 
Sud Cooper-Maserati_ about the course 
з а manner that brought screams from 
the grandstands. He turned times that 
would have put him on the front row of 
any other rac other year. Yet he 
iled. Reventlow's Scarabs went around 
nd around, both Lance and his chief 
driver Chuck Da i; from the 
new machines every last ounce of speed. 
‘Their times were splendid, good enough 
for a fine sta ny race but 
this one. They f ‘The Briton Brian 


spot in 
iled. 


Naylor made the field as the result of 
а terr 


g lap in h 


serati, but he was out a few mo- 
ments later as Alan Stacey covered the 


1.97-mile course tenths of a second faster. 
Out went. Naylor for another 
тогай Then Stacey. No driver 
could ever be sure of his position, so all 
were go ough too fast to look like 
insane men. Only Moss seemed to be 
secure, but even he was standing ready. 
Toward the end of the session the great- 
est drama of the day occurred. Tri 
mi, like Gregory stuck with a rela- 
tively slow, yearold Gooper-Maserati, 
mounced that he would make а 
try. "Petoulet," as he is called, 
n. He is a gentle man. As owner of a 


great and prosperous vineyard, he has 
по need to race except the need 
prompted by his enthusiasm lor the 


sport. No one 
was getting along 
reactions were slow 
was 

The 
пе dor 


е him any chance. He 
years, after all, hi 
ag, his temperament 


ged 
two 


Frenchman had 
laps. As he roared 
away from the start-finish line, spectators 
begin to drift off to their hotels or to 
the numerous cafés nearby. Those who 
remained saw one of the most incredible 
driving exhibitions ever witnessed, at 


only 


Monaco or anywhere else. gnant 
was no longer recognizable as he drilted 
down the S-bend onto the harbor 


straight. Hunched forward in the cock- 
pit, his head held high and rigid, his 
face a dark mask of concentration. he 


П but a 
erati slid within 
n bollard the size of a 


seemed no longer a man at 
demon, The Cooper 
inches of an 


small barrel, spasmed itself more-orless 
straight 
the 


id. shrieked, twitching, toward 
appeared in a blur 
The crowd. was silent. You 


next. bend. [t di 


red buildings all 


round the course. Farther à 


tant buzz, rising and falling with the 
lightning gear-changes, then turning in- 
to a howl п, coming closer. Thi 
time the left rear tire kicked up a spray 
of straw as the Cooper-Maserati. nego- 
tiated the S-bend. No one had ever seen 
such abandon, or such control. An extia 
fraction of an inch and the car would 
have cannoned through the hay bales 
and cither smashed itself to pieces 
bollard or plunged into the sea. 
normally — calm, 
"Ladies and 
! He's 


tignant is in the race!" 

Nor was the race itself a disappoint- 
As we sat on the terrace of the 
de Paris, Cinzano, we 
joined in the dassic pre-event specula- 
tion: Who would come through first in 

at hel-forleather opening lap? Moss, 
surelv. Or Brabham. But which? The 
city hushed. The engines were started, 
a sound of sixteen angry lions. The 
starter began to count down. Off beyond 
our vision, a flag was dropped. The loud- 
speakers exploded, a babel of French 
nd English lost under the thunder of 
accelerating machines, The street before 
us was empty. There was that long, de- 
licious, agonizing moment of suspense, 
then the ferocious sound of the cars as 
they rocketed up the hill and toward 
the hotel tu 

“Is it Moss?” 

“Ts it Brabham?" 

Neither. The first car around, bellow- 
ing as it sank its fingernails into the 
cement, was a low-slung, dark-blue 
BRM, and the driver was Sweden's cham- 
pion, Joakim Bonnier. Snapping at his 
heels was Jack Brabham, in а Cooper, 
nd joined to Brabham was the Lotus 
of Stirling Moss. А few yards behind 
came the British dental surgeon Tony 
Brooks and the young ace whose career 
ended tragically a few weeks later at 
Spa-Francorchamps, Chris Bristow. Then 
the rest of the pack, snarling and push- 
ron Wolfgang Berghe Graf von 
Trips, known to intimates as Tally, or 
von Crash, provided momentary horror 
his Ferrari burst into ЇЇ; 
Frips might have evacuated the machine, 
but chose instead a different method. Не 
went so fast toward Beau Rivage that 
the downrush of air simply blew out the 
fire. He continued in ninth place. 

Meanwhile, Bonnier was building his 
lead. y he BRM һай a reputation [о 
but while it kept together 
as a formidable machine. To anyone 
miliar with its history of burst en- 

ines and broken suspensions, it must 
have seemed unbeatable. And so it was, 
for a great many laps. Then Moss de- 
cided it was time ro stop hanging about. 
He passed Brabham and took after Bon- 
nier. At the ten-lap mark, the bearded 
Swede led by just 0.8 second. 

As if this were not exciting enough, 


me 


es within races were going on back 
in the field. Phil Hill was whipping 
mmense Ferrari past car after car, and 
was now preparing to bull by Brooks. 
Little Richie Ginther, of Californi 
а handful with his rear-engine proto- 
type, but he was driving smoothly and 
the experimental Ferrari was ahead of 
several lighter, faster machines. 

On lap seventeen. Moss roared into 
the lead and began to pull away. Then 
Brabham passed Bonnier, and the sti 
was set for another battle of the gi 
But Bonnier refused to cooperat 
went by Brabham and set off after Moss, 
who was now 47 seconds ahead. АП 
three were traveling at an average speed 
which was considerably faster than the 
lap records of other years. 

Then it | . To the spec: 
tators this was a mild discomlort; to the 
drivers, a nightmare. The streets became 
slippery as oiled glass. A fecling of dread 
crept into the air. as the inevitable in. 
lents started. Roy Salvadori went by 
his pits indicating that he would need 
a visor. Suddenly his Cooper slid out of 
control and collided viciously with the 
barriers at the Vira des Gazométres. 
Phil Hill tried to hang onto his brute 
t the Casino bend, lost it, got it ba 
somehow, and slithe 
Careful was suddenly goi 
man. He got closer to Moss every lap, 
th on the thirty-fourth, passed into 
the lead, which he began to stretch. 
Moss was expected to attack, but he did 
not. Perhaps he knew what was going to 
happen. It is dificult to explain other- 
wise how he м able to avoid disaste: 
For on the forty-first lap, Brabham spun. 
Moss came around Sainte-Dévóte to find 
the lead Cooper revolving wildly. A 


accident seemed inevitable, but Moss 
gave the wheel a quick llic ‚ missed the 
gyrating Cooper by millimeters, and 


went through. Brabham ended 
wall. 

And still it rained. Dark mist capped 
the terraced hills, tu the bright 
houses gray. We sat wondering now, with 
everyone else, if Moss had beaten his 
jinx: His lead seemed unassailable, yet — 

On the sixtieth lap the darkblue 
Lotus failed to come around. The crowd 
ned. Moss was out of it, cheated 
n. But only for He 
had stopped at the pits when the power 
had begun to fail in his engine. A plug 

1 had come adrift. Moss replaced it 
iself and continued. 

More incidents occurred. Mel 
lost control of his Cooper, allow 
Hill and Graham Hill to catch up. 7 
Graham Hill lost his BRM, crashing 
to the Radio Monte-Carlo commen 
box and all but demolishi 
ing — fortunately with no 
to 


is race 


a few moments. 


hen 


опе. 
Now the rai 
nber of 


п slacked off. Moss turned 
ncredible laps below one 


ап 


minute 36.8, under the mistaken impres- 
sion that he had only five inste: 
to then settled. 
steady winning pace. Bonnier dropped 
out, after a fine run. биги never con- 
паст of the car, brought his BRM into 
h broken suspension. Other 
ped in, like cripples. or 


nto a 


stopped dead. 

The spectators were 
Moss, praying that not 
peu to stop a welkde: 
Nothing did. The checkered fag fell on 
the dark-blue Lotus, and Stirling Moss 
won the Eighteenth Grand Prix de Mon- 
асо at 67 68 mph by 52.1 seconds from 
Bruce McLaren. (Cooper-Climax), who 
was followed home by Phil Hill (Fer 
and Tony Brooks (Yeoman Credit 
ooper). 

Moss was buried in roses. The little 
Lotus, which had gone so fast, sputtered 
around the city for its victory lap, and 
you could see only the roses and the 
driver's happy smile. The G.P. w: 
The sky turned gray, and the 1 


Il cheering for 
g would hap- 
ved victory. 


ent now were three broken rose 
lowing red in the dark street. 

al was not yet completed. 
For now it was time for the traditior 
Is went to the 
pbed the d oil [rom thei 
skin, dolled their racing overalls, donned 


reuse 


the Hotel de Р: 
the Empire Roc 
transformation that had taken pl 
were the and fools. They 
men having а spree. Deadly 
enemies only a few hours earlier, the 
pilotos were now gathered in wild сап 
radere on the dance floor of the cle 
Room, dancing mambos, 
rally having a 
Traditionally, the Prince 
ed the celebration, but 
they didn't slow it down. The regal, 
ermine-cool Grace made an entrance out 
ol The Prisoner of Zenda — slow drum 
roll, crowd. standing at attention — but 
very soon she melted and joined the 
mad melee on the floor, which lasted 
until. dawn. 


о 


lon; hero 


were youn 


They] be dancing there again this 
The streets will thunder 
in there will be the thrill of speed. 
the joy of victory and the bitter chal- 
lenge of defeat, Hard as it is to imagine, 
the festival will probably be greater than 
ever. Porsches will be joining the fray, 
Ferrari will have its superlight, 290- 
horsepower threat, and you m 


and 


у be sure 
the Coopers and Lotuses won't be slow 
and maybe the new rear-engine Searabs 
will be ly. never be surc 
about Grand. Pri 


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116 


HAROLD’S AFFAIR 


romantic life of the spirit. 

As fate or parapsychology would have 
it, six weeks after the corporeal part of 
Harold settled in the pink and gray split 
level in Cloverdale, Marilyn Sprower 
took a job in the accounting department 
ol Fabrique Handbags. Despite some- 


what horsi tures, Marilyn was a fine, 
large girl and Harold, whose reveries 
were usually derived from fleeting 


apses on the lunchtime street, soon 
found that it was Marilyn's lips that 
opened for him as he sat resting his eyes 
at his desk, Marilyn’s formidable bosom 
that pillowed his head on the wip 
home to Cloverdale and Marilyn's ample 
behind that blocked all other vistas 
during the course of a day, Like many 
men who dislike their children, Harold 
had always left for work in the morning 
with a sense of vast relief and come 
through the weekends feeling like a 
lun . Now, with Marilyn filling Fab- 
ique I and the huge dream of 


Marilyn filling his mind, he switched to 
а шош that got him to the 
office tw utes carly and took to 


home from the 
he was strolling 


dawdling on the way 
station, imagining tha " 
hand in hand with Marilyn — who at 
these times resembled Simone $ 
1 uenchcoat— up the Champs 
toward the back-street hotel where they 
would roll about wildly amid the wall- 
paper's lascivious cupidons. 

As chief accountant at Fabrique, Har- 
old was obliged to stay late one night a 
month to check inventory. In. previous 
us his companion for these late hows 
d been а thin and aging man, of yel- 
lowish complexion and gravelly voice, 
no inspiration for working any later than 


absolutely necessary. But his assistant 
having finally faded away, it was, he re- 
alized as inventory night approached, 


Marilyn who would naturally remain at 
his side after the others had gone. Mari- 
lyn who would share his nocturnal labors. 

In the week preceding The Night 
Harold's imagination worked as never 
before. There they were, he and Marilyn, 
accountably entangled as they climbed 
together the ladder to the upper shelves 
of merchandise: or Marilyn was falling 
from the ladder into his arms; or they 
were sipping daiquiris under Mr. Sochet's 
own desk (having first broken into Mr. 
Sochet's bar); or they were nesting in a 
mound of damaged goods. “Darling,” 


Marilyn murmured huskily from among 
the rejects, "shouldn't you be 
home, lest they suspect.” But her 


hold on his hips belied her words and, 
with a reciprocal squeeze, he replied, “1 
often stay overnight in the city. Tha 
the way the ball bounces when you 
in the suburbs.” 

The Night came. Harold, in shirt- 
sleeves, and Marilyn, in an entirely un- 
suitable fock that opened here and 


(continued from page 77) 


clung there, set to work. The Fabrique 
stockroom was narrow and crowded with 
boxes; it did not allow much standing 
room even for persons of more sensible 
proportions than Marilyn. As the taking 
of inventory involved great deal of 
climbing and stooping and maneuver- 
ing, there were many slight collisions be- 
tween the person counting and the 
person transcribing — Harold had never 
before realized how many. At cach tin- 
gling brush, Harold felt the hair of his 
en and leap toward the fuzz 
rilyn’s. She was every He 
reached toward the white goods and his 
hand passed across her leg. He asked her 
to check а back number and when she 
bent over he lost count. He started up 
the ladder, remembered an item he had 
overlooked and turned suddenly back, 
and they were touching from chest to 
necs, "I think we should eat now," he 
said. 

Marilyn had thought to bring sand- 
wiches, and Harold had the daring to 
“We might as well 
he said and giggled in spite 


where. 


unlock the showroom. 
sup in style, 
of himself. 


imi and tuna salad," Marilyn 
"Ehe tuna will be fin 
“Thats good." Marilyn delved fer 


to her brown paper bag. “Per 
1 don't dig mayonnaise. It don't 
ree with me. You know?” 


two qu 
bananas. “I dig bananas," 
While Harold, never 


h, Ma 
and lay back 
by no means 
rs, the qu 


matched up to h 
bottle in one hand. 
other. "Hmmmm," she said, 
be riper.” 

Harold poured a cup of beer for him- 
self and sipped at it absently. He was 


“it could 


observing Marilyn, and there was a great 
deal of her to observe. He followed the 


curve of her leg, the nim. 
pression of thigh against her stretched 
skirt, the softness of belly and hi 
of breasts, the mouth working 
the banana. Her face became flushed 
and а veil drew over her eyes. “There's 
nothing like a little beer on а hot night," 
she said. 

Harold grimaced as he sipped the bit 
ter brew. He sensed that a Moment was 
at hand, but he lacked confidence in the 
Harold Henry thar had to deal with the 
world. How many times he had Бе 
confounded by reality! But supposing it 
were not reality at all? The job of sup- 
posing at once restored his self 
Supposing he had created this scene as 
he had so many others, and such del 
cious ones? What riposte would he toss 


aviness 
round 


"urance. 


the contour 


off then to the woman 
chair? “1 do hope, Miss Sprower . . . 
He coughed and beer spilled onto his 
trousers. 
Whatdchya say?" asked Marilyn. 
If you just tell me how much this... 
repast” (he chuckled a lile at the over 
statement) "cost, ТЇЇ be pleased to . 
Aw, forget it,” Marilyn waved aw 
the debt with her beer boule. "I 
more than you anyhow.” 
A moments pause 


te 


nd Harold 


adroitly ed direction. “How are 
you liking your stay with Fabrique, Miss 
Sprower 


"Call me Lola,” she 

of enormous comfort and began to hum. 

"You oughta have a radio in this place, 
you know?” 


Yes," Harold chuckled. leaping into 
repartee. “Then we could dance." 
“Hey, now that’s what I call an idea.” 


Marilyn put down the bottle, lifted her 
entire self from the chair and advanced 
“C'mon, Mr. Henry, old boy. 

1 n. 

"Call me Lola." 

Harold got home very lare, but the 
g, after four hours of sleep. 
marvelously refreshed. He 


he felt 
hummed а few bars of The Boilerman 


med to hi 
g M 
and he 


Rock while shaving. It se 
kfast that he was exud 
тї Пот every роте 


or опет зр ога breath fi 
that was still rich with Marilyn's alert 
his wife's intuition. 

"Did you have a hard time last night 
dear?” Sylvia asked. 

Was she being snide? Well. give her 
tit for tat. “Yes, unusually hard.” He 
chewed on cardboard flakes. “May have 
to stay late again tonight.” 

‘Oh, that’s a pity. Are you sure?" 

He chanced a look at her "I wa 
thinking I might stay over in the cit 
That slow late tr -every stop... 

‘OF course, dear. Just call me so 1 
won't worry." 

Harold left the house restrain} 
great desire to skip and whistle 

Sylvia waited until the car pulled out 
of the driveway, then went tremulously 


to the telephone. “Bert? He's going to 
be away again tonight. AI night.” © 
paused and smiled secretively at what 


came over the phone, "Yes," she said, 

s. Yes. Yes" She hung up, looked 
whin ally at the br t table, whis- 
tled and did 


That eve 
nated their м 
of the stock in record time and sped up- 
town to Marilyn's apartment 
only to pick up some pastr: ad- 
wiches and a fifth of bourbon. “Bourbon 
weakens all my resistances,” Marilyn re- 
ported. The apartment turned out to be 
а one-room walk-up. A small closet served 
as kitchen and a rather smaller one as 


ler 


bathroom. The walls were mottled, the 
furniture of the kind that seems never 
to have belonged to anyone in particu- 
lar but, like some women (like Marilyn 
hersell?), had been created to serve the 
transients of the world. Both windows 
offered a view of red brick and some- 
where nearby ancient trains kept wheez- 
ing past — or maybe it was just the sound 
of the plumbing from other apartments. 
Conquering his first shudder of squ 
ishness, Harold established him: 
the faded flowers of an аппсһа 
began то enjoy the sight of Ма 
leaning over à table to open a bottle of 

The apartment was cast 
touch of the sordid that h 
from his years of reveries, 


been missin 
and he liked it. 

And so the pattern was establishe 
quickly became understood at the Не 
split level that owing to cert 
counting innovations at Fabrique Hand- 
bags. H:uold would have to work late 
once a week, generally on Wednesdays 
Furthermore, it was accepted that since 
the Lue trains to Cloverdale were slow 
and illsmelling, 
at a hotel on these nights. The three 
children. who had never been certain of 
Harold's exact function in their family 
anyway. couldn't have cared less. 
Sylvia, she was very understa 
Wednesday she packed a clean sh 
Harold and touched his cheek briefly 
on his way out. К 

For a month or seemed to 
Harold that Ше. poor laggard. had at 
last caught. up to his vision, that Mar 
Iyn had made his davdr 
Bur. then, one slow afternoon, it broke 
him that something criti 
1 his new relationship. H 
ir was пог holding a candle to his 
Mair True, Marilyn was a splendid girl, 
with the cap d, so far 
as he could gauge. receiv 
ure, but she w. 
one might se MEC discuss suicide. The 
gic element which had dignified his 
ums, had raised them above the erotic 
nings of teenagers, was lacking. 
Ako he was irked by the fact that each 
Wednesday he was sure to find waiting 
for him in Marilyn's walkup, the stub 
of a cigar partially filled 
boule of somebody else's bourbon, even 
an odd article of male attire. 

He resolved to bring a new dimension 


Harold would stay over 


more, 


upon 


n an ashtray, 


into their Wednesday nights, 
their filth meeting he said, 


you know I'm a married man.” 

Marilyn, lolling as usual on the hidea- 
bed that was never made, much less 
hidden, patted the space next to her. 


ar belt ake yourself 


“Loose and m 
comfortabl 
He stood over her, and said, 
sternly, “I have three you 
“Attaboy, Harry 


“Three children, 


ve 


ithe 


g children. 


“It’s ОК Harry, it's OK, I take pre- 
cautions.” 

“Between you and me. Marilyn. there 
can only be so much: we can only go so 
far. No matter how fiercely our emotion 
pull, 1 must remember my responsibil 
s. I will remember them. 

She grunted. 

am telling you this because the last 
thing I want to do is hurt you. We can 
only continue with one another if wi 
accept the limits of what each of us can 
give. and never ask for what is beyond 
our means. I have my family . . He 
allowed a note of resignation to deepen 
his voice. “. . . for better or worse. And 
you m 
force yourself to sce other men . . . 

“You bet your lite. kiddo.” 

"You're young and lovely, Marily 
won't permit vou to sacrifice vour Y 
10 one who can't ever give you more than 

single night a week no matter what his 
heart cries to give you. You must not of- 
fer too much of yourself to one who |...” 

The telephone rang. Marilyn рш 
down her nail buffer and reached over. 
her head to pluck the receiver. "Hullo 

. . Oh, hiya Al. Whereya been? .. . 
Haw. You're a card. you know? ... Well, 
I happen to be occupied just this min- 
ute, entertaining ‚. Yeah. it’s 
busy too. Allame . Tomorrow? 
Yeah, that'd be pe: w... Don't 
worry about that. Just make sure you're 
in shape, Remember last time? . .. And, 
hey, don't forget the bourbon.” 


t be free to go ош: you must 


His tragic spirit having again and 
ain been rebuffed by life in the form 
of Marilyn —oh. попрагей 


Harold attempted to regain the 
of h таме. He conjured up man 
es that would once have been quite 
factory. In one of them, for instance, 


Marilyn's lover. a hulking desperate- 
looking fellow with a scar, accosted him 
п her garbage-smelling hallway. "You 
the lover muttered, and struck him 
е. Stoical Harold Henry's mouth 
gave the most subüy ironic of smiles 
while his nose hemorrhaged down his 
shirt front. Not bad, but no longer good 
enough for Harold. He was like a run- 
e who having found the outside 
id unendurable seeks once more the 
warm hearth of thralldom. But his brief 
freedom 1 confused him: he could not 
find his way back. And even if he had. 
he knew, his once-rejected, unforgiving 
master would only have kicked him out 
the kitchen door. the years of 
happy meanderir the lush, 
sweet-smelling woods of his imagi 
Harold was faced with si 


reality. 
“Well, all ht!" he de ed on his 
commuter train one morning, causing 


several persons to peep out from behind 
their newspapers. Well ight. and 
better than all right! Here was the chal- 
lenge he had needed all along — to bring 
the drama of his secret world to the 
tention of the world at large. He could 
not work out his life's tragedy on Mari- 
lyn, but he could use her to stir the 
others, all the others — or at least those 
who happened to be around. 

He started his campaign on 
Monday by taking Marilyn to lunch. He 
took her to lunch aga uesday and 
spent most of the afternoon going by her 
desk on fictive errands and calling out 
mbiguous remarks loudly enough so 
that no one along the entire corrido 
cubicles could miss them. “Say, Lo 
how's your old Је ne sais quoi treati 
you this afternoon?" 

“Hey,” Marilyn sa 


new 


117 


PLAYBOY 


118 


fter a day replete with 
pats, pinches and obscene winks, "hey, 
vou beuer cut out all the fiddling. 


You're gonna get your name in Dorothy 
Kilgallen if you ain't careful. You know?" 
Harold ошу smiled cockily. And on 
Thursday he grabbed her in public 
twice, once at the water coole 

The following Wednesday instead of 
bedding down for the customary hours 
of dalliance in Marilyn's walk-üp. Har- 
old insisted on their out to dinner. 
He took her to a small 
rant near where he and Syl 
belore the move to Gloverd 


ast Side restau- 
had lived 


evening between six and nine, he knew. 
several of their former friends and ne 
bors could be counted on to be in 


residence. 

He greeted Anthony, the proprictor, 
loudly, and checked his move to show 
them to a discreet table in the shadows. 
“We'd like to see and. be seen.” he an 
nounced and nudged Marilyn. toward 
the center of the room. 

Whatcha getting aż” Marilyn asked 
uneasily. “You trying to give me a repu 
tation or something: 

But a couple of bourbons later she 
was as merry as he had ever seen her, 


trading wisecracks with the businessmen 
1 the пем table and complimenting the 
waiter extravagantly on the bread sticks. 
Harold was delighted to notice that Dan 


and Peggy Schneider, a couple that 1 
lived across the hall from him 
Sylvia. were trying hard to make them 
selves oblivious to her perforn 
Peggy had been a particular friend of 
Sylvia's —and of the genre of friend 
thi iders it a special mark of 
intimacy to be the first gravely t 
unpleasant. news. 

Ti Dan. Hi. P 
waved. The Schneide: 
back. 

In the following days Н 
for t of a change in 
mood. He rehearsed thoroughly the d 
nified nod. the studied yet sympathetic 
impassivity with which he would ас 
cept tears, screams, imprecations, grim 
silences, the ion of God or his 
three children. But he ng. 


ance. 


any h 


eve 


saw noth 


in the next Wednesday and the next 
ts be- 


he paraded Marilyn into old hau 
old f t Syl 
ant 


ls. bı 


rema 


ple 
ing sl 


gant for so simple а domestic duty. She 

ppeared to be filling out a little. 
fattering. places, and was forever hum- 
mi 


Nor were his fellow wor 
responsive. They wer 
nd deaf to M; 


ers any more 
blind to his 
lyn's squ 
s grew coarser, his 
esses more emphatic, but no one 
noticed. He might have assaulted her 
on the receptionists desk and not an 


hes 


eyebrow in the building would have 
moved. The world was perversely bent 
on ignoring him. He might as well have 
been invisible. He probably was in- 
visible. Despite Marilyn. despite the 
million heroic impulses that churned 
nd bubbled in his breast, for the world 
he had never existed and still did not 
exist. 

But he would. he vowed. "I will.” he 
told Marilyn. “I will bash them. T will 
stun chem, I will send them reeling.” 

"Please pass the hot relish, willya 
replied Marily 


On a Monday n numb- 
ng wet weekend with the children and 
with Sylvia whose sweetness had become 


entirely sinister. Harold knocked on Mr. 
Sachets door lways kept his 
id that 
the office boy wis пу to steal stock 
tips. The president of Fabrique. a jiggly, 
palpitating little man, an organism of 
allergies, suspicions, incipient ulcers and 


was afraid of ever 


ocher 


door dosed because he was 


advanced neurose 
one in his company, including his hi 
apparent, Randy Stark, whom he 
sisted share an office with him lest he be 
left alone to the mercy of his furies. At 
Harold's knock. Sochet blanched and 
grew rigid behind his desk. “The tax 
xaminers! 
“What is 
bravely. 
Harold threw open the door and ad- 
vanced past Randy, toward the presi- 
d ted catty-c 
so that no one could slip up behind him. 
"Mr. Sochet.” said Harold. puling out 
his chest, “it has come to thi: 
"No requests for raises can be con- 


called out 


nts modest desk. situ 


ner 


sidered before the end of the year,” 
Randy's dry, crackly voice intruded. 
Company policy 

“Mr. Sochet. E have deceived you, I 


have betrayed your trust. After more 
than a decade . 
chet gasped. “Randy, get the books 
checked . . . put a Pinkerton on him . . . 
quick. two elliptical yellow pills.” 

How much did you get away with, 

7 Randy asked as he ministered 
ting patient. 

Id proceeded with digr 
lyn and 1...” 

"How much ... to the nearest hun- 
dred? . |” Sochet ripped at his necktie. 
yn and I— and the fault lies 
e deep in . . , an affair. 
ds out and squared 


with mi 
He shot the list w 
his shoulders. 
“What's he saying? What's he trying 
to do to me? How much?" Sochet's face 
flushed and paled, flushed and paled, 
-andgrill sign. 
ilyn and I—on company over- 


“М 
time. 
"Hey, ME 
think it’s money. 
“Money!” Harold al 
atuation ... ma 


Randy sa “J don't 


“Ie was 


ast spar. 
1... insane. . 


He spoke on and on, words pouring out 
of the cornucopia of his dreams. 

il Randy flicked his arm, “Hey, 
you're talking about Lola.” Harold 
turned ominously. bare inches from the 
predatory face. “You mean your Wednes 
day nights, right?” Randy sucked at the 
г. and Harold saw them 
shtrays full of c 
nants next to the almost empty bottles 
of bourbon. “I got her on Tuesdays my- 
эс” 

Harold swung out with a free-form 
backhand. He missed Randy, but Sochet, 
tapped behind his desk. flinched vio- 
d struck his knee against an 
“Fire him!” he scre 
“You're fired,” Randy mumbled, hack. 
g away. Harold swung again, Again he 
achet fell off his chair, hit his 
ипм the desk as he dropped, and 
pissed out, 


r rem: 


that 


When Harold. reached home 
afternoon, Sylvia was waiting for him 
the door, pale, fidgety, vet. strangely 
buoyant. As she fumbled for words, 
Harold caught a glimpse of Bert Cella 
the Cloverdale dance instructor, ducking 
away from the living room door 

"Harold." Sylvia managed. after 
eral false starts. “I am leaving you. 

Harold smiled the ironic smile he 

had been practicing for fifteen years. 
It was a masterpiece, and he knew it 
“OF course you are, dear" he said, 
turned about calmly and walked for the 
last time along the path which divided 
the Jawn he hated. He did not even stop 
at the corner to look back. 
Soon after, Marilyn was married to a 
buyer for a big piecegoods firm, who 
had for some time been her Mr. 
Night. Harold sent a Hallmark Card to 
the coupl moved to Chica 
Marilyn, having played her role brib 
liantly, thus exited оп cue. 

Well, thats Harokl Henry. And so 
you still think he's the poor son of a 
bitch among us. But consider this, my 
friend. To how many of us is it given to 
live out our life's drama entirely, first, 
second and Last acis? How many Hamlets 
nd Lears have you bumped into on the 
morning bus? Oh, you and I are doing all 
right in our cool way — we'll never have 
to bum meals off the Salvation Army 
we can always weave our small dr 
out of the stills in front of the neighbor 
hood But bepatched Harold 
Henry walks in the glory of his complete 
gedy — job. fan everything sacri- 
ficed to his love. aithless love. He 
is the daily in: 
own catastrophe, and with each fall of 
the curtain, his refreshed spirit sc 
where the Muses frolic. You 
friend, who get drunk so we ca 
our dreary visit to the local whore, 
merely live and dic. 


sev- 


who 


movie 


his 
ible spectator to his 


[ The First of a Series of Open Forums Presented аз a Public Service by Rainier Ale ] 


SHOULD 


WOMEN 


BE DEPRIVED OF THE VOTE? 


Have you noticed that most things don’t taste the 

same any more? 

Some authorities hold this to be part of a general 
trend. They say that the character of everything is 
changing, and for the worse. They have even fixed 
the date when this decline started: August 26, 1920, 
the day the 19th amendment became law and wom- 
en got the vote. 

Since then everything has been going downhill, 
and will keep on as long as women are allowed to 
vote. That’s what they say. 

At first we were inclined to pooh-pooh this, but 
now we're not so sure. Maybe there's something in it. 

Because just the other day a prominent professor 
was quoted in the newspaper as saying that we must 
get back to "determining what is masculine and 
what is feminine so that the sexes may keep their 
mutual regard for one another and their self- 
respect.” 

Well, we are in favor of that. We determined a 
long time ago that our ale is masculine. It has a 
male color and a male flavor and we'd like to keep 
it that way. Aren't we afraid of losing our female 
trade? No. We don't have any.* 

Back to the authorities. Is everything going to 
blazes in a hand basket just because women got the 
vote? Perhaps. Their reasoning is as follows: 

1. You shouldn't ask women qucstions about things 
that don't concern them. Because... 

2. Women hate to be asked questions about things 
that don't concern them. So... 

3. The answers will be just about what you deserve. 
They will do you no good at all. And... 

4. Once you start asking women uninteresting ques- 
tions there is no end to it and eventually every- 
thing becomes a great big mess. Which it is now. 
Therefore ... 

5. Man's mistake was in ever asking women un- 
interesting questions in the first place. Like... 


ASSOCIATE COLLECTOR 
OFFICE OF COLLECTIONS 


€ е 
x YES suu NO 


And their feeling is that things have gotten to such 


SICKS' RAINIER BREWING CO., SEATTLE 


a bad state that the only thing to do is to go back 
and start over again: repeal the 19th amendment. 

There is some merit to this idea but we don't 
think anyone should go off half-cocked before the 
subject has had a good airing. So we are throwing 
our advertising space open to discussion of this vital 
matter. Our next will feature a guest contributor 
who will go into it much deeper. 

But still, it wouldn't be a bad idea if we did a 
little research to find out how you feel about it. To 
reward you for your interest we would like to send 
you one of the badges pictured below, depending 
on which way you vote. We welcome any other 
comments you might care to make and may pos- 
sibly include them in a future advertisement. 

Thank you. 

*As one well-wisher so succinctly puts it: “Rainier 


Ale is for men. | don't know that | ever saw a dolly 
drinking it.” 


BALLOT 


Rainier Ale, Box 3134P 
Seattle 14, Washington 


SHOULD WOMEN 
BE DEPRIVED OF THE VOTE? 


YES— NO__ 


Remarks, 3 
Name. Address 
City. State. 


119 


PLAYBOY 


120 


“Looks like we didn’t get the screens up none too soon, Pa.” 


women — one (tas cach monk — awaited 
them, ranked like Rockettes. They were 
dressed as nuns. in robes as loose as their 
As one of the Hell-Fires wrote: 
Womanhood in habit of a Nun 
AL Medmenham lies, by backward 
Monks undone. 
Although most of the girls were pro- 
fessional prostitutes,” explains Daniel 
P. Mannix in The Hell-Fire Club, 
‘many were the wives and daughters of 
local merchants and tradesmen who were 
thrilled at the idea of having a fling 
with members of the nobility... . There 
were even some noted ladies of fashion, 
but, most surpri 1, a few of the 
nuns’ were the wives, sisters, or even 
the mothers of the ‘monks.’ And so, 
whatever items of apparel the wome 
may have shed of an evening, the masks 
€ supposed to have stayed on. 
The monks passed up and down be- 
fore the row of women like officers re- 
viewing their troops. First choice was 
the perquisite of the Abbot, a rotating 
post whose duties included selecting the 
menu, wines and nocturnal diversions. 
When the Abbot had picked his wench 
out of the lineup, the other Hell-Fires 
paired off with the ing girls. 
Festivities began in the Roman Room, 
earthy paradise for voyeurs and ex 
ionists alike, Exch couple made for 
one of a series of comfortable couches. 
covered with green silk damask on 
which they could recline im the tradi- 
tional Roman fashion. The couches, all 
in full view, lined the room. The walls 
were whimsically hung with painting 
of the Kings of England interspersed 
with those of well-known prostitute: 
there were pornographic murals copied 
from those in Pompe and a 
statue of Harpocrates, the Egyptian god 
of silence, finger to lips, stared across 
the room statue of the Volupian 
Angerona, goddess of covert passion, i 


теша! 


the same pose. 
After a while, the company gathered 
around a heavily laden banquet table 


where the: 


drank brandy laced with sul- 
phur out of human skulls, or home- 
brewed cocktails picturesquely named 
“Lay Me Down Softly,” whose ci 
gredient was gin. For victuals there were 
items like “Breasts of Venus,” а pair of 
squabs cach topped with a cherry. Then 
all joined in the communal singing of 
bawdy ballads led by Lord Sandwich, 
who knew more of them than anyone 

Between al selections, the 
more literary HelkFires would read 
passages of salacious verse and prose 
that they had penned. As а contem- 
porary account put i itions of 
an amorous and Platonic kind sometimes 
are introduced, in which full liberty of 
speech is allowed... . 1 the topics 


iel in- 


1 


else. musi 


(continued from page 59) 


should unexpectedly become too warm 
and passionate . . . some females seize 
this opportunity for ry retreat 
with their para 
Couples could slip out of the Roman 
Room to the library to sample Eng- 
land’s leading collection of pornography. 
Others, feeling the need for a modicum 
of privacy, might withdraw to the With- 
drawing Room, a series of individual 
cells furnished with one green silk 
couch apiece. The hardier types could 
always go outdoors where the grounds 
had been laid out in a series of groves 
Heys and serpentine walks punct 
by erotic statuary in acrobatic poses and 
conveniently placed benches with sug- 
gestive inscriptions. A wandering couple 
might, for example, come upon a statue 
of Mercury, holding a phallic май with 
a red tip. On his pedestal was the in 
scription “Peni Tento non Penitento" — 
A penis tense rather than penitent.” In 
the words of a member, “The garden, 
the grove, the orchard, the neighboring 
woods, all spoke the loves and frailties 
of the yo monks, who seemed at 
least to have sinned natura! 
ОГ course, not even the Hell-Fires 
found it possible to sport with their fe- 
male guests for a week or longer with- 
out a break. There were quict intervals 
when the ladies read or amused them- 
selves by playing musical instruments, 
and the men gathered round the table 
ink and display their wit 
. Clocks and sundials were pro- 
hibited: it was a place to while away the 
hours, not count them. As Thomas Pot- 
ter wrote John Wilkes just after. Mrs. 
Potter had given birth to a daughter, 
g from the solemn lullabies 
nd the yells of a 
hoo that has just thrust. 
herself imo the world yesterday. If you 
prefer young women and whores to old 
women and wives, come and indulge the 
heavenly inspired passion of lust." 
About fifty years ago. some Bri 
scholars found The Hell-Fire Club's M. 
ute Book which was kept by the Steward 
and contained a painstaking record of 
all Abbey activities. They burned it as 
being too obscene for publication. For- 
tunately for posterity. however, the pen 
of Charles Churchill set down at least 
one participant’s tribute to his sojourns 
with the nuns, or “the sweet little sati 
bottoms,” as they were sometimes called. 
Churchill wrote: 
The grasp divine, 
thrilling squeeze! 
The throbbing, panting breasts, the 
trembling knees! 
The tickling motion, the enliven- 
ing flow! 
The rapturous shiver 
ing... oh! 
With propaganda of this sort circ 
o wonder that The Hell- 


ed 


sexual 


the emphatic, 


and dissolv- 


t is 


Fire Club was soon besieged with appli- 
cations from aspiring rakes. To keep up 
the standards of their monastery, the 
Hell-Fires created two degrees of mem- 
bership. The twelve original members 
were known as the Superior Order and 
they remained the inner circle, the most 
active members of a very active brother- 


hood. The Inferior Order was also kept 
to a dozen and. according to one source, 
"was composed chiefly of illustrious 


visitors or amusing пе 

When a member of the Superior Or- 
der died or left the country, an Inferior 
monk was elected to fill the vacancy. The 
initiation ceremony was one of the 
mock-serions ights of Abbey rigma- 
t midnight, First, the 
candidate approached the chapel door 
through which he could hear “solemn 
intive music.” After knocking three 
‚ he entered and knelt before the 


r and, of course, the naked woman. 
ls stood. the 
their 


Behind the carved altar 
Susie monks, St. Francis at 
‘Then the candidate, 
а writer of the time, made 
of his principles, 


“a profe 
nearly in the words but 
with the most gross perversion of the 
sense of the Articles of Faith . . , [and] 
demanded admission within the rails. 
The Brotherhood . . . retired to the table, 
around it, [the Prior] re- 
yer in the same strain and 
manner . . , to the Being whom they 
served.” After a vote, the elected friar 
lowed to ра id the altar 
There, after renouncing the 
tian faith and swearing allegiance to the 
Devil, he underwent the Black Baptism: 
he was sprinkled with salt and. sulphur 
from an ebony font and given his monas- 
tic nickname by the Prior. 

gian 


p 


Chris- 


mor 


lity, 


people. So perhaps there is a touch of 
poetic justice in the fact that one such 


uted to the ev 
Hell-Fire Club. On the ev 
tion, it was Lord Sandwich turn to 
conduct the chapel services. As he knelt 
before the altar (and that monumental 


ual dissolution of The 


ing in ques- 


patient naked woman) invoking the 
name of the Emperor Lucifer, a strange 


black figure suddenly a 
members’ midst, chattering wildly and 
unintelligibly. A little tipsy to begin 
with, the monks bolted for the door 
g “The Devil!" —an ironic echo 
lwood's exploit in the Sistine 
Grinning ha " according 
ne report, the wi 
high into the у 
on Sandwich’s shoulders. The distraught 
Lord fell to the floor, swore repentance, 
and shricked lor mercy. But when he 
opened his eve wt, he found him- 
self staring into the face of a baboon. 
It turned out that it was all a prac 
joke conceived by John Wilkes, 


ppeared in the 


121 


PLAYBOY 


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who was bored to tears by all this Satan- 
ism. Wilkes wanted to have that part of 
the evening climinated, so they could 
get to the women lined up and waiting 
in the Roman Room. What he had done 
was put clothes on the Abbey's mascot 
(sent from Bengal by Governor Vansit- 
tart as a gift to his former cronies) and 
hide him chest in the chapel. A 
string running from the chest to Wilkes? 
seat controlled the lid so the ape could 
be released at the most opportune 
moment. Since the joke was largely at 
the expense of Sandwich, it sowed the 
seeds of bitter enmity between Wilkes 
and the influential Lord. 

Although The Hell-Fire Club had been 
founded as a means of escaping politics 
and other mundane cares, the members 
found that even at the Abbey the world 
was still too much with them. The fric 
tion between Sandwich and Wilkes had 
political ramifications. Sandwich, like 
most of the Hell-Fires, was a Tory. 
Wilkes and his friend Churchill were 
liberal Whigs who criticized the gove 
ment sharply in their newspaper. The 


Tories huddled and decided to dis- 
credit their opponents. Sandwich, anx- 
ious to avenge himself for the baboon 


episode, rose in the House of Lords 
read a long pornographic poem, dn 
Essay on Woman, written by Wilkes. 
Several peers called for Sandwic 
stop. but others shouted “Go on!” and 
the Upper Chamber heard every di 
graceful word by majority vote. As a 
a was passed outlawing 
for libel, blasphemy and obscen- 
ity. Fleeing to Paris, Wilkes retaliated by 
planting items in London newspapers 
alluding to the doings at Medmenham 
Abbey. A satirical novel was published 
which did likewise, its author reportedly 
having received inside information from 
Churchill, Although the insiders of Lon- 
don society had long known about The 
Hell-Fire Club, now the gossip spread 
to the point where the Abbey became а 
magnet for the curious. Many members 
dropped out because of the publicity — 
but not Hell-Fire acis. 

Dashwood had not yet given up his 
lifelong dream of a Coney Island of 
Vice. He dismantled the Abbey's fur- 
nishings and had them carted to his 
house in West Wycombe Park. As far 
as he was concerned, the orgy must go 
on. He laid out his garden so that its 
shrubbery formed the curves of a 
woman's body, and he commissioned 
pornographic paintings throughout his 
sixty-eightroom house. But his master- 
strokes were the furnishing of a series 
of caves deep within West Wycombe Hill 
and the reconstruction of the Church of 
St. Lawrence on top of the hill. As 
might be expected, neither was the work 
of a convention 

Atop the church spire, instead of a 
cross, Dashwood put a great golden 
dome, twenty feet in diameter, The 


1 designer. 


s hollow and Sir Francis en- 
joyed sitting inside it with his friends, 
drinking his “divine milk punch" whose 
pe has not come down to из. One of 
ors called it “the best Globe 
tavern ] was ever in." At the mouth of 
the cave system Dashwood had local 
laborers build a large Gothic ide with 
pointed towers and pillared arches. The 
tunnels, mined out of chalk, ran into 
the hill to a depth of 280 yards. It was 
here, far from prying eyes, that the in- 
domi ncis would lead the 
few ren hg Hell-Fires and some 
Wycombe lasses for an evening's diver- 
Passing carved demon heads set 
in the walls of a catacomb- 
like section of cave, crossing an under- 
ground stream which Dashwood dubbed 
the River Styx, the robed figures entered 
а great vaulted banquet тоот forty feet 
high. und the circular walls, hacked 
into the rock at regular intervals, were 
six recesses just large enough to hold 

couch —a subterranean version of the 
Roman Room. The old Abbey traditions 
were carried on faithfully, though on а 
smaller scale. Wrote one participant in 
these submerged revels, village 
maiden said goodbye to her innocence 
when she visited the Inner Temple.” 

Whether high above the hill or deep 
within its bowels, Hell-Fire Francis had 
created the facilities which the Hell- 
Fires could assemble once more and pick 
up where they had left off. But his last 
grand effort to recapture the spirit of 
what had been was futile. Most of the 
other monks had either died or — pei 
haps worse, in Hell-Fire Fram 
defected to respectability. His сга of 
greatness was at an end. 

In The Profane Virtues, Peter Quen- 
nell sums up the meaning of The Hell- 
Fire Club, as well as the other rakes’ 
groups, from a historical perspective 

“А recrudescence of paganism, not u 
connected with the fertility rites of the 
European Middle Ages, these clubs pro- 
vided outlet for some of the violent 
y impulses that had be- 
ferment beneath the smooth 
so-called ‘age of reason.’ 


dome м: 


view — 


and revolu 
gun to 


to explo: Y 
nature from which conventional moi 
ity and the dictates of common. sense 
alike debarred him. Debauchery is a key 
that has often been employed, though 
very seldom with success, in an attempt 
to make new discoveries on the mental 
and spiritual planes: mysterie: 
are frequently hard to distinguish; and 
whereas it would be unwise to attribute 
too solemn a significance to the ex 
gant mummeries enacted by the monks 
and nuns of Medmenham, we should yet 
regard them as the 'olous inheritors 
of an ancient and serious cult.” 


ind orgies 


MAKE A MILLION (continued from page 72) 


have busines sts on five continents. 
I have found very little evidence to indi- 
cate there is any lessening of demand 
for products which bear the "Made 
U.S.A.” label. The Amer 
remai 


late it is still the goal of most people in 
lands— and the premise th 
I do so is still the most glow- 
tractive amd effective promise 
nment leaders and. politi 
cians сав make to their own people. 
Even Mr. Khrushchev admits this when 
he makes his predictions that Russ 
production and living standards will 
equal or surpass prevailing American 
levels. Whatever m 
American political prestige in 
yens, there has been no appre 
loss of what, for want of a better term 
would call American “product prestige 
The proofs of all this are plain 
to anyone who lives or travels 
abroad with open eyes and an open 
mind. Most of the world outside the 
Iron ain happily sips n 
cola amd hopes some day to own a 
ler pen. American automobiles are 
still, statassymbols for those who own 
them in foreign countries — and so are 
American refrigerators, washing ma- 
chines, TV sets and a host of other 
items. Arrow shirts, Colgate toothpaste, 
Gillette razors and blades — these and a 
thousand and one other American trad 
ked products are high on the pre- 
ferred lists of foreign shoppers. In Com- 
munist countries, even such common- 
¢ American-made items as ballpoint 
lipsticks and nylon stockings fetch 
Dlack-market prices ten or more times 
arket cost. Any American 
who has resided abroad for any length 
of time knows what it is to be bom- 
barded by requests that he order this or 
that item from the States. 
The demand is there — have no doubt 


n 


y have happened to 
епі 
ble 
1 


Ameri 


their open-m 


about that. Foreign markets are wide 
open to the enterprising American busi- 
nessman — more so now than ever before 


use the wealth and buying power of 
пу for ids have 


But we can't compete with fore 
nufactuirers,” а U.S, industrialist com- 
ed to me recently. “They can al- 
ways undersell us.” 
First of all, it's not true that foreign 
manufacturers. can "always" undersell 
producer. Take just two 
mples. American c i 
paid. American miners, is sold 
ny pans of Europe at a 
lower price than English coal, which is 
produced by 


Americ 
random е: 


counterparts. 
An Italian-made shit of a quality equal 
to that of a fivedollar American shirt 
sells for more than eight dollars in Italy. 


The secret of competing in the for- 


cign market lies in ri 


theory behind volume turnover at com- 
ely small persale profits. In the 
they still cling to the longout- 
moded principle of making large profits 
per sale and contenting themselves with 
relatively sm 


1 turnover 

Unquestionably, import duties levied 
by many foreign countries often raise 
the prices on American goods well above 
those of like items produced within the 
countries themselves. As 1 sce it, enter- 
pri 
serve their own — and the public's — 
terest by demanding that the U.S. Gov- 
ernment Ш the reso its 
disposal to prevail upon other countries 
to lower or abolish their import duties 
on American products. This — not. the 

ising of our own Guill walls — will 
st recession and 


g Amer 


businessman's job to devise new means 
and techniques which will enable him to 
produce more at lower cost while rigor- 
ously maintaining traditional American 
standards of quality. Th be must sell 
his products abroad just as imaginatively 
and сп tically as he does at home. 
"But how is it possible to reduce pro- 
duction costs when wages and prices on 
everything from raw materials to ma- 


I maintain that. produc- 
Чоп can always be increased amd costs 
can always be cut if one knows enough 
about his business to know where to 
look for waste and inelficiency, There 
are always means whereby economies 
may be achieved without lowe! 
standards of quality. 

То start with, it nufactur- 
ing law that when production 
bled, production costs are automatically 
reduced by twenty percent. 1 hardly 
think any further comment is needed on 
this. Then, there is administrative ov 
cost item which can almost 
v stand a great deal of judicious 
pruning. It’s very seldom necessary for 
an assistant vice-president's secretary to 
have her own secretary. Гус run my busi- 
mess personally for decades —and I'v 
never found any need for more than one 
secretary. Truth to tell, much that is 
dictated and then typed in multiple 
copies could be passed on faster, mor 
efficiently and more cheaply by the s 
ple expedient of dialing à telephone. 
And ГЇЇ wager that most firms could 
slash their "entertainment" budgets by 
fifty percent or more without losing 


an old n 


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123 


PLAYBOY 


124 


single sale. T can take a drink or two 
myself, but I've observed that one gen- 
erally does far more business in fifteen 
n 


minutes over a cup of coffee than he са 
possibly do in three hours over a si 
martini lunch. 

"here is no federal statute that re- 
quires all salesmen and executives in a 
company to йу “de luxe” wherever they 
go, when they сап get where they're go- 
ing just as fast, almost as comfortably — 
and at an impressively lower cost— on 
tourist flights. There are many other 
areas in which the smart young business- 
man will find that he can effect impor- 
tant economies. There is always room for 
improvement — and for savings in busi- 
ness, be it in the home office, the plant or 
wherever. 

Tm not 


advocating senseless- penny- 
pinching. | am, however, saying that 
there is no excuse for waste or unneces- 
sary expenditures if one is faced with 
heavy competition. In any all-out busi- 
ness battle to capture markets. it is 
necessary to reduce all costs wherever 


possible — ап axiom some firms and in- 
dividuals tend to forget during peak 


boom periods. 

Young men who want to s 

a million today have a wide variety of 
business fields from which to choose 
when selecting their careers. The one an 
individual selects will, of course, depend 
largely on his particular talents, inter- 
ests, background, training and experi- 
The alert manufacturer. knows 
that there is a great demand for new 
nd improved products of al! kinds. The 
man with a flair for merchandising will 
see the great potentials in wholesaling 
or retailing. Other men will re: 
can make their fortunes by pr 
new and better services to indust 
the public at large. Simply stated, it all 
Ids up to this: the man who comes up 
with a means for doing or producing 
almost anything better, faster or more 
economically has his future and his for- 
tune at his fingertips. Don't. misunder- 
stand me, It is not easy to build a busi- 
ness and make а ion. It takes hard — 
extremely hard— work. There are no 
nine-to-five hours and no five-day weeks 
for the boss. 
“I studied the lives of great men and 
mous women.” ex-President Harry S. 
Truman remarked, “and I found that 
the men and women who got to the top 
were those who the jobs they had in 
nd, with everything they had of energy 
and enthusiasm and hard work.” 

There are no absolutely safe or sure- 
fire formulas for achieving success in 
Nonetheless, | believe that 
re some fundamental rules to the 
game which. if followed, tip the odds 
for success very much in the business- 
n's favor. These are rules which I've 


enc 


pplicd throughout my entire carcer — 
and which every millionaire business- 
man with whom I am acquainted has fol- 


lowed. The rules have worked for them — 
and for me. They'll work for you, too. 

1. Almost without exception, there is 
only one way to make a great deal of 
money in the business world — and that 
is in one’s own busin 


5. The man who 
wants to go into business for himself 
should choose a field which he knows 
and understands. Obviously, he can't 
know everything there is to know from 
the very beginning, but he should not 
start until he has acquired a good, solid 
working knowledge of the business. 

2. The businessman should never lose 
ht of the central aim of all business — 
to produce more and better goods or 
provide more and better services to more 
people at lower cost. 

3. A sense of thrift is essential for suc- 
cess in business. The businessman must 
discipline himself to practice. economy 
wherever possible, in his personal life as 
well as his business affairs. “Make your 
money first — then think about spending 
it,” is the best of all possible credos for 
the man who wishes to succeed. 

4. Legitimate opportunities for ex- 
pansion should never be ignored or 
overlooked. On the other hand, the busi 
must always be on his gua 
st the temptation to ovcr-expand 


or launch expa 
without sufficient justifi 
r 


nsion programs blindly. 
ation and plan- 
ng. Forced growth can be fatal to any 
business, new or old. 

5. A businessman must run his own 
business. He cannot expect his employ 
ees to think or do as well as he can. If 
they could, they would not be his em- 
ployces When “The Boss" delegates 
authority or responsibility, he must 
maintain close and constant supervision 
over his subordinates. 

6. The businessman must be constant- 
ly alert for new ways to improve his 
products and services amd increase his 
production and sales. He should also use 
prosperous periods to find the ways by 
which techniques may be improved and 
costs lowered. It is only human for peo- 
ple to give little thought to economies 
when business is booming. That. how 
ever, is just the time when the business- 
man has the mental elbow room to 
examine his operations calmly and 
objectively and thus effect important 
sayings without sacrificing quality or 

i for 
gs and, as 
a result, often hit the panic button and 
slash costs in the wrong places. 

7. A businessman must be willing to 
take risks — to risk bis own capital and 
to use his credit and risk borrowed 
money as well when, in considered. 
opinion, the risks arc justified. But bor- 
rowed money must always be promptly 
repaid. Nothing will write finis to a 
career faster than 

8. А businessman у 
new horizons and untapped or under- 
exploited markets. As Гуе already said 
at some length, most of the world is 
er to buy American products and 
know-how; shrewd businessman 
looks to foreign markets 

9. Nothing builds confidence and vol- 
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LITERATI 


(continued from page 85) 
nored completely until our 
nd in the century 
language for spe 

aspects of love de- 
to brutal vulgarities 


instance, ig 
century had begun. 2 
of official silence, the 
ng of the physica 
cayed, fell ap: 
and polite clichés, 

To write about sex, however, means, 
like all writing, finding a language first 
of all: and the language problem baflles 


us still, In painting and sculpture, a 
long and unbroken tradition of the 
Nude serves to formalize and dignify 


the erotic appeal of naked flesh; but in 
poetry and fiction, no sim 
survives — only, unti 
the underground. tra 


raphy. It is as if 


wadition 
day, 


just the othe 
lition of p 
we possessed only the 


famous calendar picture of а naked 
Marilyn Monroe, but no Venus of Bot- 
ticelli. To speak of the "sex act.” as I 


have done, or of is doctors 
prefer, is to suggest experiences hop 
lessly different by virtue of their names 
from the one the boy knows how to 
spell before he has learned to perform 
it. In our deepest minds, most of us, 1 
presume, use still the childhood words 
for the seed we spill and the act of spill- 
ing it; and no one surely describes to 
himself the climax of love as "having 
an orgasm. 

To use the boy's 
the old, once disowned 
Lawrence, for insta 
to risk seeming shock 
when one тау wish rather to be tender 
or merely matter of fact. Lawrence 
wanted to shock, to protest; but there is 
no point in a second-hand protest, and 
for post-Lawrentians the shock value of 
street language is irrelevant, a drag. Yet 

à hundred years of taboo seem to dies 
Sd а hundred years of anti-taboo 
long, more and more pointless qu 
with grandma. Chaucer and Boccaccio, 
we know, could usc the schoolboy words 
for the sexual org: self-consciously; 
but we are hypocrites when we pretend 
to ignore the titter they still stir in some 
quarters, and fools when we do not face 
up to the fact that in books we must 
invent anew each time the language for 
talking about sex. It is Norman Mailer's 
decision to use in his story The Time of 
Her Time а newly invented poetic | 
guage bi 


. however, 
anguage, as 
nce, decided to do, is 


or rebellious 


xd on the hippest new slang 
at once gross and elegant, which mikes 
that story both good literature and good 
pornography. 

The treatment of sex 
however, hampered not only by 1 
guage dilficulties. Given the subtlest of 
vocabularie would have to con- 
front, too, the felt sameness of human 


in fiction is, 


one 


experience between the sheets, the lack 


of v 


ty in sexual intercourse. To be 
sure, one can explore with such a writer 
as the Marquis de Sade all the kinks 
possible to a cruel native mind 


nd imag 


bent on relieving the monotony of the 
sex act; but the moment of orgasm is 
unredeemably the same and the changes 
wrought in the approach to it more in- 
genious than s tory. A French 
scholar who compiled and edited the 
fabliaux, Twelfth Century merry tales, 
many ol them prototypes of the modern 
dirty joke, complained at the end of his 
long job about "the incredible monot- 
ony of human obscenity": and John Cle 
nd bringing to a close Fanny Hill 
(surely the most distinguished piece of 
pornography in English), with his her- 
oine in the arms of her long-lost first 


lover. observed, "Bur, as the circum- 
stances d not ad of much var 
tion, 1 shall spare you the description. 


What he 
desc 


ives in tlie place of a proper 
ption runs as follows: "We were 
ind up 
пасей 
long before we finished our 
tip to Cythera, and unloaded in the 
old haven . . ." And even when he is 
more circumstantial, which is frequently 
enough, Cleland is just as flowery and 
quite as careful to avoid what he calls 
natural expressions." Like the mystical 
experience, the erotic must finally be 
rendered in terms of one metaphor or 


те we 


other even in societies | concerned 
with “fashion and sound" than Cle- 
land's; but almost invariably the meta- 


phois of the Eighteenth Century pornos 
raphers were silly or platitudinous or 
both, Regrettably, the metaphors of the 
‘Twentieth Century heirs of those por 
nographers are equally hackneyed and 
bsurd. Here, for instance, is D. H. 
Lawrence attempting to adorn the lan 
guage of sex, even as his lovers attempted 
to adorn each other by twining lowers 
in their pubic hair: “And softly, with 
that marvelous swoon-ike caress of his 
hand in pure soft desire. . . . / And she 
felt him like a flame of desire, yet tender, 
and she felt herself melting in the flame. 

. And oh, if he were not tender to her 
now, how cruel, for all open 
to him and helpless!" This is the last 
stand of bad Nineteenth Century Ro- 
mantic poetry, driven from the hills and 
the streams into the refuge of the bed- 
room; or rather it is the next-to-last 
stand, for in Hemingway's For Whom 
the Bell Tolls, the same kind of pseudo- 
poetry is used to render what can only 
sem ps : "Now beyond all 
bearing up. up. up and into nowhere 
suddenly, scaldingly. holdingly all no- 
where gone and time absolutely still 
and they were both there, time having 
stopped and he felt the earth move out 


she wa 


udo-lov 


and away [rom under them." Heming 
way was never very skillful at dealing 
with real encounters in the living flesh 


between lover and love 
come in such quasi-nccrophilic scenes as 
the close of A Farewell to Arms, 
which Lieutenant Henry tries to kiss a 
corpse, or in the baffled sui 


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126 


achieve an impossible union between 
Lady Brett d the impotent Jake 
Barnes in The Sun Also Rises. Since For 
Whom the Bell Tolls, however, Hem- 
ingway has tried to evoke actual erotic 
scenes and has provided instead а с 
history of an aging man's nympholeptic 
dreams, Fortunately, his reputation de- 
pends less on his efforts along these line: 
than on his ability to create n's 
world — а world of comradeship in field 
nd on stream. 

In Lawrence, all the typi 
errors are made, а 
struck. now famili; 
n 


al modern 
1 the false notes 
10 us as our own 
nes: but he was à man of great talent, 
ble of contriving for the first time 
pseudo-poctry and i 
proper to sexual frankness 

kind of moralizing and. spec 
ing which threatens to make суеп pas 
sion а bore, Lawrence ely 
renders а love scene; he cites example 
to prove points, demands of his lovers 
that even in cach other's arms they act 
out allegories demonstrating the superi- 
ority of instinct aver intelligence, the 
sterility of the English upper classes. the 
hypocrisy of the bourgeoisie, etc. ete, 
And from this stems such tendentious 
ual fiction as that ot Norman Mailer, 
for instance. with its advocacy of the 
“Good Orgasm” and its pseudoanystical, 
finally incomprehensible theories which 
equate sex with time — propagand 
rather than poetry, for all the poetic 
trimmings. Since Lawrence, at any rate, 
it has become clear that more is nec 
sar the truth about sex than 
the breaking of old гарою. 

The dedication af certain earlier writ- 
crs, willing to risk poverty, infamy, even 
I persecution. has produced in our 


never an 


se 


icc, 


generation publishers convinced that 
carrying on their fight cin mean profits, 
acclaim, court decisions which make 


theoretically possible the freedom to 
write about anything in any langua 
that seems. appropriate, Books [d 
smuggled) past. customs 
n supermarkets: 
men who have missed their 
asleep in airline termi 
of Lady Chalterl 


old 
planes. fall 

h copies 
у in their hands, But 


newsstands 


nals w 


nius lell at the 
between x 
ure wi 


the pioneers of g 
when the ines 
and “decent lites 


ошен 
ography 
rly 
Frying to avoid the sentimen- 
t d faked poetry of the first break- 
through, he is likely to be betrayed with 
Edmund Wilson into the pedestri. 
of the clinician's report: "She gets a sen- 
sation, she says, like a thrill th 
through her — som 
toes curl, 1 want to 
don't know where 1 
“The doctor in 


c still cle 


nism, 


climes it 
tch or bite —1 
am or anyth 
al had s 
she must be very passionate because the 
opening of her womb was so small. . . . 
She is now so responsive to my kissing 


the hospi 


her breasts that I can make her have a 
climax in that way 

But this, too, is ап evasion, equal 
though opposite to the first, onc more 
way of not coming to terms with the 
complex truth about our sexual experi- 
ence, which, on the one hand, we are 
driven desperately to know — and. on 


the other, cannot bear to confront 
Though on some level the mass audience 
yearns for a book about physical passion 


аз straight and direct as the boy's scrawl 
on the sidewalk, given the choice, it will 
tum to the romantic prosepoem, the 
fake doctors report, the hot-breathed 
exposé, the heavily moralistic plea for 


more sex or less. 

As early as the Eighteenth Centur 
when modern pornography was in- 
vented, authors were aware that their 


readers demanded of the sex book some- 
thing more than mere titill: n; that 
even ready-made erotic daydreams had 
to be provided with the semblance of 


а moral. Cleland, still avidly read after 
two hundred years by those who can 
ids on his work, assured his first au- 


dience in а “tailpiece of morality” that 
sex without true love 
jov. "whether in king 
that, of course, Virtue 
Vice. And these final unexceptior 
sentiments ате echoed by the inf 

Marquis de Sade, who prelace 
count (still not publishable 

France) of horrendous defilem. 
rapes with the declared hope that his 
readers will be moved to ery out: “Oh, 
how these renderings of crime make me 
proud of my love for Virtue! How 
sublime docs it appear through te 
How ‘tis embellished by misfortunes!” 
Hypocrisy, hypocrisy! the disenchanted 
mode wl turns with 

shrug: but even when such sentiments 
are not (as they аге not in Lawrence) 


away 


blatant hypocrisy, they involve a subtler 
form of deceit, a falsification of what we 
seck when we choose to read erotic 
literature: pleasure rather than profit, 


and the chill of terror at knowing we 
prefer pleasure to profit: the dangerous 


joy of self knowledge rather than the 
smug satisfaction of determining to 
reform. 

It is because he renders this joy with- 


out excuse or equivocation that James 
Joyce seems at this point the greatest of 


recent erotic writers, the final soliloquy 
of Molly Bloom in Ulysses the Twen- 
ticth Century. masterpicce of the genre. 


And it is from Joyce that such later suc 
cessful fictionists uel Beckett (in 
his novels) and J. P. Donleavy (in The 
» Man) have learned their стай: 
wh the most successful young Amer 
ican in the field. John Barth, the author 
of The Sotweed Factor, apparently stems 
rather from Rabelais and the M. 
Sade. Most other practitioners of ama- 
tory fiction, суеп Henry Miller and Law- 
nce Durrell, owe more to Lawrence 


quis de 


than to life, and arc, like their master, 
tempted into dealing with kind 
of metapolitics or religion rather than as 


terror and joy. Indced, the terror and joy 
any 


proper to erotic literature strike n 
readers as well as writers as peculiarly 
limited c ons: for they are available 


fully and directly, to only one half of 
the human race, which is to say, to 
males. Certainly. women do not oft 


write pornography: and as readers they 
are likely to prefer the tearful but те 
tively "clean" of the soap- 
opera. which performs for them the 
function entrusted by men to the “dirty 
book in classic or subliterate form. 
"The investigations of Dr. Kinsey have 
statistically confirmed the impressi 
casual that women by and 
large do not respond to pornography 
and literary eroticism with the intensity 
of men, It is not the lide girl who takes 
up the piece of chalk: and, indeed, the 
awled. obscenity fails to move her as 
ity litle boy perpetrator dreamed. In 
the end, he writes for himself. To spec 
ulate on why this is so is (for the male 
leas) a fascinating though obscure 
enterprise: but even this side of such 


asochism 


observers. 


speculation, one thing is clear: pornog 
raphy is “for men only” because — in a 
very special way — it is about women. 


more precisely perhaps about what men 
imagine women to be, pretend that they 
arc. The girlie magazine “for men only” 
contains, as everyone knows, pictures ої 
naked women, but there is no corre- 
sponding “bovie” magazine “for women 
only." A magazine full of photographs 
of male nudes or almost nudes is for 
male hom ls. that is to say, for the 
st thing 10 а woman which а man 
in pain and deviousness, becom 
се Lawrence, of course, the old lines 
between specialized pomography and 
gene have become blurred, 
so that women, who are the chief con- 
sumers of books in our society, find then 
selves more and more often with books 
in hand the authors of which 

speaking for them in ways which they 
must find. balling, 

In light of this. it is possible to con- 
sider the history of erotic literature in 
the modern world an episode in that 

urd war of the sexes wh 


sexu 


sist npon 


h was one 


of the unforeseen consequence 
tianity’s coming to terms with 
world. There have been two main st 
in the development of erotic lite 
(and of the struggle between men and 
women which the end 
of the Middle Ages: à comic-sadist stagi 
ıd a masochist-pathetic one. The first, 
which left important traces in such emi- 
nent writers as Chaucer, Boccaccio, Rab- 
clais and Shakespeare, an with the 
fabliaux, verse tales sometimes innocu 
ous, often obscene, but almost 
sally dedicated to the vilification of 
women as lecherous. sly, disloyal, lying 
ad desuuctive. Character- 


ges 
lure 


niver- 


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128 


tically farcical (the serious literature of 
the Twelfth Century and just after was 
largely devoted to the conventional 
praise of woman), breezy and superficial, 
the fabliaux represent the chief activ- 
ities of females as the betrayal of hu 
bands and the indulgence of insatiable 
appetites, It is all a little like the 
literature about Negroes in 
Century America, and re- 
nd fears in the 
n oppressed segment of society. 
s Wile of Bath is a supreme ex- 
mple of the concupiscent man-cater, 
the heroine of a hundred thousand wet- 
dreams verging on nightmare; but she 
fares better at the hands of her sympa- 
thetic creator than most female figures 
sonify the shame of 
y aware that they have 
t as less than human 
fellow humans. 
of the Negro, how: 


of her time, who р 


their makers, dim 
conspired to trea 
certain of th 

Just as 
ever, a literature. 
succeeded (with 
ping) by one of p 
the movement for female “emancip 
tion” developed, the Western world 
ceased to laugh at victimized woman 
and began to weep over her. The de- 
tachment which makes comedy po: 
yielded to the kind of 
which encourages senti melo- 
drama. The modern novel itself begins 
in the mid-Eighteenth Gentury with such 
sentimental melodrama, with an invita- 
tion to its readers to weep over the 
plight of raped or seduced women; and 
й апу а century before pornog- 
raphy is finally separated from fiction in 
general by the genteel revolution in 
manners against which Lawrence was to 
struggle much later. 

The Eighteenth Century shift. from 
erotic farce to erotic pathos was, more- 
over, accompanied by a tendency to 
deal with the inward rather than the 
nerely outward aspects of sex, to get be- 
yond physiology and into psychology. 
‘Through the time of Chaucer the writer 
remains oddly uninterested in anything 
but sexual action itself, ignoring rc- 
action, response, awareness, as in The 
Merchant's Tale, for instance, where at 
(a young wom imbed 
into a tree with her lover, ic her 
hi nd, old and blind, below), 
Chaucer simply tells us: 

+. and with a spring she thence 

— Ladies, I beg you not to take of- 

Jence, 

I can't embellish, I'm a simple man — 

Went up into the tree, and Damian 

Pulled up her smock at once and in 

he thrust. 
Not a word about the special titillation 
of such indulgence and deceit, much less 
ny analysis of regret or strife between 
conscience and desire, just the facts. 
With such “facts” no one alter the Fight- 
centh Century has been content; for 
even the most vulgar pornographer has 


tended to reach beyond the question of 
who laid whom to the question of how 
did it feel. But this has involved getting 
inside the female head, the female loins, 
the womb itself; for the inwardness with 
which even the earliest writers of psy- 
chological sex literature were concerned 
is woman's inwardness, and the prob- 
that has really vexed them from 
how does it feel to her? 

nly, this has not been less wu 
as pornography has become first ad- 
vanceguard and then standard litera- 
шге, А. E. Coppard's Justine and Fanny 
Hill yielding to Madame Bovary. Anna 
Karenina, Lady Chatterley's Lover, Lo- 
lita and the second Justine by Durrell. 
The very names ol the books betray 
their authors’ eagerness to assume the 
female role, the female voice; and even 
the apparent exception has been short- 
ened in popular speech to Lady Chatter- 
ley. This is fair enough, for Lawrence's 
book belongs finally to the Lady and 
its sexual а 
pects, a rendition through а woman's 
yes of male narcissism and anxiety, a 
series of variations on the theme: what 
is it like to be possessed by one of u 
Lawrence is by no means exceptional 
in this regard; and, indeed, if an an- 
thology were to be made from the classic 
passages in contemporary literature deal- 
g with the climaxes of love, most of 
them would be projections of the 
woman's view, whether culled from the 
master himself (“And this time the sharp 
ecstasy of her passion did not overcome 
her; she lay with her hands inert on his 
striving body, and do what she might, 
her spirit seemed to look on from the 
top of her head, 
haunches seemed ridiculous to her . . .”), 
or Joyce ("pretending not to be excited 
but 1 opened my legs 1 wouldn't let him 
touch inside my petticoat. — 1 tor- 
tured the life out of him tickling him. 
2s. L made him blush a little when I 
got over him that way when I unbut 
toned him . . or Faulkner ("With her 
hips grindi inst him, her mouth 


not her lover, being, 


ıd the butting of his 


gaping in st protrusion . . . drag- 
s head down, making a weeping 
- .- Please. Please. Please. Please. 


You've got ro. Im on fire [tell you. 
Not only in the prose of our time but 
in our most distinguished poetry, too, 
the pattern is repeated: the assumption 
of female self-consciousness, the attempt 
to give words to the woman who lies 
moaning or in silence beneath the male, 
but who will not— perhaps c 
tell how it is with her. T. 5. Eliot's The 
Waste Land is not ordinarily thought of 
erotic literature, but in it the poet 
plays like Lawrence himself the m 
ventriloquist to various female dummies. 
He's been in the army four years, 
he wants a good time, 
And if you don't give it him, there's 
others will, I said. 


ппо — 


le 


Oh is there, she said. Something o’ 
that, I said , 


“... By Richmond 1 raised my knees 
Supine on the floor of a narrow 
canoe. 


After the event 

He wept. He promised ‘a new start? 

1 made no comment. What should 1 

resent?” 

And in his notes to the рост, Eliot gives 
to himself as transvestite and ventrilo- 
quist. to the character who терге 
that self, а mythole 
sias . - .” he writes, 
portant personage in the poem . . 
the women are one woman, and the wo 
sexes meet in Tiresias. 

But who was T 7 A blind The- 
ban prophet, we remember, who, asked 
by the Gods to judge their argument 
over who got more pleasure out of the 
act of love, n answered 
blithely: female — and for the presump- 
tion of his response was turned by Juno 
into а woman, It is, on the one hand, a 
punishment which fits the crime of male 
pride, pluming itself on the ple 
bestowed by the thrust of maleness; 
on the other, an allegorical rep: 
tion of what happens to the male writer 
when he sets himself the tisk of 
ing the fem 
sex, his butting buttocks. Once more, it 
is D. Н. Lawrence who naively 
way the game, putting in Lady Ch 
leys mouth the hyperbolic p 
le likes to think he reads 
ror of a woman's eve at the 
nt before orgasm: "And now she 


1 


which the ım 


in the n 
mom 


touched him, and it was the sons of 
God with the daughters of men, How 


beautiful he felt, how pure of tissue! 
Such utter stillness of potency and deli- 
cate flesh! . .. The roots, root of all that 
is lovely, the primeval root of all full 
beauty. 

It is not, however, mere masculine 
narcissism which demands the fantasies 
of erotic fiction; it is also the deep need 
of the le to know what he is to some- 
one utterly other, to be told, as if by 
that other, what he seems at the moment 
ol his fullest maleness. Without this, he 
ot help feeling, he will nev 
his truest self, fail forever to att 
The act of male pen 
ich we are likely to call “pos 
n Biblical He- 
d is spoken of in the King 
» Version) as "knowing 


ca 
ize 
sell-knowledg 
uation w 
session” was spoken of 
Drew 
Jan а wom: 
but how “know” himself un- 
less he сап become vicariously for an 
stant the woman knowing his “know 
ing," that is to say, Tiresias. 
The boy with the chalk and the blind 
bisexual before the walls of Thebes — 
the two ideal forms of the 
erotic writer: scrawler of dirty words 
his beginnings, prophet in his end. 


these are 


“Why don’t I get rid of everybody?” 


PLAYBOY 


130 


JOHNNY REB 


before I forget, one other thing . . . no, 
it's too trivial to bother you with . . 
I'll speak to one of the typists about 
later. 


COWAN 
(Sighing) Га rather you told me about 
it, Mr. Kingsley. 

KINGSLEY 
Very well. I's that Gettysburg Address 
scene. Don't you think you're laying it 
on a bit too thick there? 

COWAN 

But this is one of the most famous 
speeches in history, delivered by onc of 
the greatest men of all time . 

KINGSLE: 
My boy, you don't have to tell me about 
the importance of that speech or what a 
great man Lincoln was. But wouldn't 
you say it's only fair for us to give Jeffer- 
son Davis some kind of equal time here? 

WOLLMAN 
But Jefferson Davis didn't speak at Get- 
tysburg. 


KINGSLEY 
Hell, Bob, I know that. But he spoke 
in places like Richmond, didn't he? 
HOPKIN: 
I have it, Mr. Kingsley. We pull the old 
split-screen bit. On one half of the screen 
we have Lincoln delivering the Gettys- 
burg Address, see, and on the other half 
we have Davis, in Atlanta, or someplace, 
rebutting him on certain key points. 
KINGSLEY 
ГИ buy it! ГИ buy it! 
COWAN 
Come now, gentlemen, (Jat speech was 
so far above petty partisan issues that ... 
WOLLMAN 
OF cour: And besides, Davis didn't 
really rebut. Lincoln. Would you want 
us to put our own words in his mouth? 
KINGSLI 
(Splintering the desk with his fist) Never! 
We're not going to rewrite the pages of 
history! 
WOLLMAN and cowan lean back to 


zen 
cM o 


(continued from page 62) 


savor their victory. 
KINGSLEY 
not going to rewrite the 
pages of history to satisfy amy sectional 
group! . .. Cut the whole Gettysburg 
Address scenc, Jim, and add fifteen more 
minutes to the Battle of Bull Кип... 
cowan pathetically returns to his note- 
book. 


KINGSLEY 
Well, that should do it! Now we've got 
ourselves а nice taut, solid script . . - 
and with a little retyping in the final 
act, we're ready to roll. 
cowan 
(Feebly) The . . . the final act? 
KINGSLEY 
Frankly, Jim, I'm a bit worried about 
the Appomattox Court House scene. 
cowan 
(Desperately) You . . . you don't like 
the idea of the South surrendering? You 
. . . you'd prefer а different ending? 
KINGSLEY 
Let's not be facetious, Jim. We all know 
the results of the Civil War. What I'm 
driving at is, why must we present such 
n unfavorable image of Robert E. Lee 
in this scene? 


Cowan 
(Panicstricken, ruffling quickly through 
the script) Unfavorable image? But . . . 
but... listen to what General Grant 
says about Lee . . - where is it? . . . Oh, 
I have it . . . Grant says, “Sir, you are 
generous, sincere and brave. You are a 
ted commander and a gentleman of 
spotless character . . . 

KINGSLEY 
Oh, come off it, man . . . How authentic 
an image is that? 

COWAN 
I'm not sure I follow you. 

KINGSLEY 

m, how proud would yow be, to be 
called generous, sincere, brave, a gifted 
commander and a gentleman of spotless 
character-by a DRUNK? 


“Did you hear a crunch?” 


COWAN 
But Grant was nol drunk at Appom 
tox! 


KINGSLEY 
No, I suppose not . .. but hold on, w 
can take some minor historical liberties 
- - . Why not have Grant drunk? In this 
way, to some extent we can offset the in 
dignities that Lee is forced to undergo. 
HOPKINS 
Great idea, Mr. Kingsley! Why can't we 
make a really hilarious satirical bit out 
of this scene and obscure the surrender 
thing completely? 
COWAN 
For three reasons , . . it would be histor 
ically inaccurate, it would detract from 
the drama, and James Thurber would 
suc us. 


KINGSLEY 
Very well then, what I suggest we do 
EE 
COWAN 
(Pitifully) Cur the Appomattox scen: 
KINGSLEY 
‘s right. Then perhaps we сап... 
COWAN 
(Very weakly) Add ten more minutes to 
Bull Run? 


Tha 


KINGSLEY 
Damn good idea, Jim . . . Well, I think 
that should do it. We're ready to roll 
now. 
owas makes а few more notes in his 
book, then rises wearily to his feet. 

COWAN 
(To KINGSLEY and norkixs) Gentlemen, 
t be all right if Bob started c 
ing the play before the revisions? Alter 
all, we're going to need an awful lot of 
extras for Bull Run. 

WOLLMAN 

I've already started casting, Jim. 

COWAN 
Oh, I didn't know that! Say, Bob, I'd 
like to make one casting suggestion. For 
the important role of Will Jac 
you know, the slave — I'd like to 
mend a fellow who's done some £ 
stuff in small Negro theatre groups . . . 

KINGSLEY 
Negro theatre groups, Jim? ? 
atre groups? 


would 


COWAN 
Why . . . why . . - yes 
thought .. . 


-. you see, 1 


WOLLMAN 
(Slightly abashed) Ex . . . Jim, 
Kingslev's suggestion, I put i 


at Mr 
call 


to the Coast before the meeting started 
Tm still waiting for that call to get 
through . .. It concerns the role of Will 


Jackson, the slave. 

There is а buzz on the intercom, wou 
ман pushes down the lever. 

WOLLMAN 
Yes, Miss Tracey? 
voici 

Mr. Wollman, it’s your call to Tab 
Hunters agent in California . . . 


PUNCH 


(continued from page 55) 
“But seriously, Вие, these people are 
unpredictably generous. Look how they 
built that dam in Egypt! Has this 
Punch given you anything?" 

Bulle grinned wisely as they drove 
along, their shotguns firmly held between 
their knees. “Damn it,” he said mildly, 
“I forgot to bring cigarettes. Let's stop 
t the Blue Jay Diner for a minute.” 
The cigarette machine at the Blue Jay 
was out of sight of the parking lot, and 
so was the phone booth 

It was too bad, he reflected, to have to 
share everything with the boys, but 
on the other hand he already had his 
growth stocks. Anyway there was plenty 
for everyone. Every nation on Earth had 
its silicon-drive spaceships now, fleets of 
them milling about on maneuvers all 
over the Solar System. With help from 
the star-people, ап American expedition 
had staked out enormous radium beds 
on Callisto, the Venezuelans had а di 

попа mountain on Mercury, the Soviets 
owned a swamp of purest peni 
the South Pole of Venus. And indi 
uals bad done very well, too. A ticket 
taker at Steeplechase Park explained. to 
the aliens why the air jets blew up 
skirts, and they tipped him with 
safety pin that 


A 


for a springl 


was earning him a million dollars a 
month in royalties. An usherette at La 
Scala became the cosmetic queen of 


Europe for showing three of them to 
their seats. They gave her a simple pain- 
less eye dye, and now ninety-nine per- 
cent of Milan's women had bright blue 
eyes from her salo 

АП they wanted to do was help. They 
said they came from a planct very far 
and they were lonely and they 
wanted to help us make the jump into 
space. It would be fun, they promised, 
and would help to end poverty and war 
between nations, and they would have 
company in the void between the stars. 
Politely and deferentially they gave 
у worth trillions, and human- 
ity burst with a shower of gold into the 
Г plenty. 


Punch was th 
ing the case of bo 
blind. 


before them, inspect- 
rbon hidden in their 
"b am delighted to meet 
‘huck, Jer, Bud, Padre and of co 
Вие,” he kl. “It kind of vou to 
e a stranger along on your fun. 1 re- 
gret I have only some eleven minutes 
to мау” 
Eleven m 
apprehensively 
his wistful voic 
to give you a m 


е 


utes! The boys scowled 
Вийе. Punch said, 
Hf you will 
nento, perhaps you 
would like to know that three grams of 
common tible salt in а quart of Crisco, 

posed for nine minutes to the rad 


п 
llow me 


г silicon reactors, 
llibly remove warts.” They all 
scribbled. silently planning a partner- 
ship corporation, and Punch pointed 
out to the bay where some tiny dots rose 
and fell with the waves. “Are those not 
the mallards vou wish to shoot?” 

Ў said Bue glumly 
you know what I was thinking? 
g — that transmuta 
ned before — 1 wonder — 

"And аге thi the weapons with 
which you kill the birds?" He examined. 
Padre's ancient over-and-under wi 
silver chasing. “Extremely lovely 
said. "Will you shoot? 

“Oh, not now," said Вис, sc; 
"We can't do that. About that. 
tation ——' 


pink pupils and return gu 
“Well. I may tell you, 1 think, what we 
© not urprise. We are 
soon to be present in the flesh, or ne 


anounced. A 


"Near?" Buffic looked at the boys and 
the boys looked at him: there had been 
no suggestion of this in the papers and 
it almost took their minds off the [act 
that Punch w leavin: He nodded 
violently, like the flickering of a bad 
fluorescent lamp. 
car indeed, in а rela 


© way," he 
said. "Perhaps some hundreds of millions 
of miles. My true body, of which this is 
only a projection, is at. present in one 
nterstellar ships now ap- 
proaching the orbit of Pluto. The Amer- 
ican fleet, together with those of Chile, 
New Zealand and Costa Rica, is there 
practicing with its silicon-ray weapons 
nd we will shortly make contact with 
them for the first time in а physical w: 
He beamed. “But only six 
ren he said sadly. 

“That transmutation secret you men- 
tioned ——” Buffie be ‚ recovering his 
voice. 

“Please,” said Punch, “may I not 
watch you hunt? It is а link between us.” 

“Oh, do you shoot?” asked Padre. 

The sta id modestly, “We have 
little game, But we love it. Won't you 
show me y у 

Bufhe scowled. He could not help 
thinking twelve growth stocks and 
û wart cure were small pickings from the 
starmen, who һай given wealth, weap- 
ons and the secret of interstellar travel. 
“We can't," he growled, his voice harsher 


of our own 


minutes 


than he intended. “We don’t shoot 
sitting birds.” 
Punch gasped with delight. “Another 


bond between us! But now I must go 
to our fleet for the . . . For the surprise.” 
He began to nner like a candle. 

Neither do wi а, and went out. 


girl bait!... 


BY Goldenaive 


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131 


PLAYBOY 


132 


PANCAKES 


a thin pancake spread with preserves and 
then flambéed — takes on a thousand 
different’ personalities with cach new 
combination of liqueur and preserves, 
or even such tantalizing alternatives as 
sliced brandied peaches, Nesselrode 
sauce, cherrics jubilee, fried bananas, 
chestnuts in vanilla sauce, and pineapple 
spears in rum. In concocting one of these 
light delights, it will be well to remem- 
ber that the French crepe is far closer to 
lace than burlap. This delicate texture 
is best by abandoning whisk 
and egg beater in favor of am electric 
blender, which will produce in twenty 
seconds a lightness of ba 
penditure of manual labor could achieve. 

No batter will be worth the beating, 
however, unless it goes to its reward 
the right receptacle. A black iron omelet 
pan seven to eight inches in diameter is 
the perfect choice, but almost any good 
frying pan of these dimensions will 
serve just as well — provided irs light 
enough to be wielded effortlessly, but 
heavy enough to keep the batter safe 
from burning. 

For the sake of discouraging am over- 
aison between pan and batter, 
they must of course be separated by a 
chaste film of shortening. The most ctfi- 
ient technique is simply to rub the pan 
until it shines with a small cube of Iard- 
ing pork: the easiest, to cover the pan 
bottom with salad oil and pour off the 
excess; the tastiest, to anoint the pan 
evenly with a modest measure of drawn 
butter. To prepare: melt table butter 
off the foamy surface and, 
the white sediment at the bot- 
tom, pour off the golden balance. "Thus 
clarified, it will never over-tan in the pan. 

As a holiday from the routines of five- 
ncakes can be a light 
nd informal tiffin that is neither im 
gly heavy nor rigidly relegated 
meal hou Their nutlike 


ter that по сх 


heated 


iteed to Iure hungry hordes 
n deep of night, crack of 


dawn, or blaze of curagio. 
Once lured, Pfannkuchen fan and 
buckwheat bulk, crepicure апа nalesnik- 


сап easily be persuaded to expedite 
affairs by laying silverware, slicing but- 
ter and warming brandy for the chef; 
and then, enjoyably, to do a round of 
griddling for themselves — following the 
advice in the Middle English couplet: 
And every man and maide doe take 
their turne. 
And tosse thew pancal 
they burne. 


up for feare 


CREPES, BASIC BATTER 
(Serves four) 


3 eggs 
% cup milk 
1⁄4 cup cold water 


(continued from page 83) 


16 teaspoon salt 
№ cup sifted flour 
14 cup clarified butter or salad ой 
Place eggs, milk, water and salt into 

the well of an electric blender, add flour, 

blend at high speed for twenty seconds, 
and turn off machine. With a rubber 
spatula scrape the sides cleam of any 
adhering flour, and resume blending at 
the same speed fo 
onds. Then heat a te 


nother twenty sec- 


butter over а moderate flame in а 73⁄4- 


frying pan and drain off any excess. 
Pour in three tablespoons batter and tilt 
the pan so that the mixture covers the 
bottom completely. Adjust flame to pre- 
vent overrapid browning; when done, 
turn with a spatula, and brown other side. 
Remove from pan, set aside and con- 
tinue in this manner until all batter 


(Serves four) 


Grepes, basic batter 
14 cup orange marmalade 
14 cup sweet butter 
Grated rind of 1 


icdium orange 


2 
2 


tablespoons cognac 
4 tablespoons curagao 


pread each crepe with two teaspoons 
пре шаги 

Melt butter їп а saucepan ог chafing 
dish (large enough to accommodate all 
the crepes side by side), add orange rind, 
sugar and orange bitters, stir well, and 
then arrange crepes in рап. Turn them 
to coat each side completely with butter, 
and when hot, add the cognac and cura 
cao. When liqueurs are hot, set them 
ablaze for a minute or two, and spoon 
crepes anto serving dishes. 


0 


CREPES WITH ROQUEFORT 
(Six appetizer portions) 
Crepes, basic batte 
3 ozs. roquefort cheese, finely crum- 
bled 

14 cup bread crumbs 

у cup light cream 

Dash white pepper 

Dash cayenne pepper 

% cup heavy cream 

3 ozs. Swiss gruyère cheese 

Paprik: 

Cook crepes in pan 41- 
In a small mixing bowl, combine roque: 
fort, bread crumbs, light cream, white 
and cayenne peppers, and mix well. 
Spread each crepe with two teaspoons of 
this mixture, roll up, and set aside. Heat 
heavy cream to boiling point but do not 
boil, and pour over crepes. Shred gru- 
yere, using the large-holed side of a metal 
nd spread evenly over the crepes. 
Sprinkle lightly with paprika, place un- 
der preheated broiler until cheese 


in. wide. 


browns, and serve at once. 


CANNELLONI WITH CRAB MEAT 
(Serves four) 


Crepes, basic batter 
614-07. can crab meat 
1⁄4 cup mayonnaise 
2 tablespoons minced 
1 tablespoon 


reen pepper 
need parsley 

2 tablespoons minced scallions 

1 teaspoon French mustard 

14 teaspoon lemon juice 

Salt, pepper, p: 
8-о7. tomato s: 
teaspoon on 
armesan cheese 


Carefully remove any cartilage or shell 
from crab meat, and break meat into 
small pieces. Combine in a mixing bowl 
with mayonnaise, green pepper, parsley, 
scallion, mustard, lemon juice, salt and 
pepper. Spread 
ture, roll up, and place i 
casserole. In a small saucepan 
tomato sauce and oregano to b 
point, and pour over crepes, sprink! 
generously with grated parmesan chee 


heat 


n preheated to 375°, bake about 
twenty minutes or until cheese browns, 
and serve bubbling hot. 


LOBSTER ROLLS 
(Serves four) 


Crepes, basic batter (with cither vari 
n which follows) 

Meat of 1 boiled chicken lobster 

34 cup diced cooked pork or chicken 
514-02. can bamboo shoots 

1 medium-size piece celery, diced 
2 diced scallions 

1 teaspoon soy sauce 

aspoon sugar 

Y teaspoon 
Salt, pepper 
1 beaten egg 


ionosodiu lutamate 


A version of Chinese egy rolls, this 
lordly dish is made from the basic crepe 
batter, but with two possible variations. 
The first uses cold water instead of mill 
‘The second uses half ordinary white flour 
—and half water-chestnut flour, if you 
can obtain it 

Cut both lobster and pork i 
cubes about the size of the 
g bowl combi 


nto small 
bamboo 
shoots. lob- 
ster, pork, bamboo shoots, celery, scal- 
lions, soy sauce, sugar. monosodium 
glutamate, salt and. pepper. Divide this 
filling among the twelve pancakes, brush 
the inside rim of each with beaten c 
and roll up. folding and pressing 
ends in securely for complete sealing 
Place each roll, folded side down, in a 
shallow pan or platter, and chill thor- 
ly. Heat deep fat to 370° (or until 
the first wisp of smoke), lower rolls 
slowly into fat, brown on all sides, and 
serve immediately with hot Chinese 


In a mix 


оц 


mustard and Chinese plum or duck 
sauce. 


BEER GRIDDLECAKES 


(Serves four) 


34 cup bread crumbs 
1 cup beer at room temperature 
2 eggs. well be: 
3 tablespoons salad oil 
y, cup 1 
cup sifted flour 

spoon baking powder 
1 tablespoon sugar 
& teaspoon salt 
Combine the bread crumbs and beer, 
id Jet stand for about ten minutes. In 
large mi 
and cream, 
the Hour, 1. 
salt, 


a g bowl combine eggs, oil 
nd mix well. Sift together 


king powder, sugar 


heat an electric griddle to 390° (or if 
you use an old-fashioned iron griddle, 
heat it until a few drops of sprinkled 
water sizzle and disappear in a few sec- 
onds — no longer and по shorter). Grease 
lightly, and drop the batter onto the 
griddle 14 cup at a time. When medium 
brown on bottom and dull beige on 
top. turn them over and brown other 
side. Serve with generous pats of sweet 
bute тор. 


nd hot 


ple s 


BLUEBERRY GRIDDLECARES 
(Serves four) 


120z. pkg. frozen cultivated blue- 

berries 
14 cup white table sy 
3 tablespoons butter 
a beaten 
1 cup buttermilk 
cup light crcam 
ablespoons salad oil 
cups sifted flour 
spoon baking soda 
peon salt 

2 tablespoo gar 

Let the blueberries stand at room tei 
perature until half-thawed, and drain. 
off liquid, addin to the white table 
syrup and butter in a small saucepan. 
Heat until butter melts and keep warm 
until serving In a mixing bowl 
combine beaten eggs, buttermilk, light 
cream and salad oil. Sift together the 
flour. baking soda, salt and sugar, and 
add to misture. stirring until dry flour 
is no longer visible. To this batter 
(which should be somewhat lumpy), add. 
the drained blueberries. Preheat an elec- 
tric griddle to 390^, grease lightly, and 
pour in batter, about 14 cup 
for each pancake. When medium brown 
on bottom and dull beige on top, turn 
and brown other side. Borne swiftly to 
serving plate. crowned with melting but- 
ter, and bathed in hot blueberry syrup, 
this stcamii 


m 


g savory — though. rustically 


American as hominy—is regal prov- 
ender for even the most pampered 


palate. Enjoy! Enjoy! 


Look what ROUGH RIDER 
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The poise, confidence and buoyancy you feel AMAR 
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SPORTSWEAR 


AT BETTER STORES EVERYWHERE 


133 


american divide 


those in Reno, 
пе wronged angels. 


sort of jungle beast 
and women, 
joyous conver: 
House patio concerns ways to 
his/her hash, which badly needs set 
For current news of what he/she 
to, you can always get word from detec 
live agencies or crystal. ball snoops who 
do a thriving business: 
RUTH— Card. 
Counselor 17th Successful Year in Reno. 
$3.00. "Phychic" is probably a combi 
tion word. meaning 


ion in a Guest 


PLAYBOY 


fidgety and fishy, 
cterizes the stories to which 
thiree-dollar 
“My husband. 
That wile of 


long sulfer 
has had to lend an е: 
listen, he used to . 

by God. I wanted to . 


spouses who, for all th 
the Post Office: 
s closet in Tulsa: 


be working fo 
dead in a schooltcachei 
he is producing а movie entitled. Teen 
agers at the SEATO Conference 
Ruth cann 


| clear, He has dis- 
appeared from the ken of mortal and. 
psy. and will be s 


wvocation. published 
1 advertisement: 


with the plaintiff 
And hell never 
bout him before the Reno judge 
judge probably won't know, either, He 
has heard te 
me ending. He turns off the hi 
id and pores over his copy of Pok 
— a Gentleman's Paslime. 


know what w 


stories that all have 


hoarding house gives wounds 
to heal under the gentle urging of that 
famous law — misery loves company of 
the opposite sex. One should а 

me's trouble to those 
check for accuracy: sympathy b 
pathy in return: and listen, pal. it sure 


I kuow, 1 


(continued from page 92) 


about making а tour of the dubs?” 
There are plenty of shaky stomachs 
and trembling lower lips, plenty of se- 
cret tears in ow beds. but there is 
also the lovely resilient chick who com- 
ments, “I learned ay 
mar I dont 
leaned how to give big part 
to keep the maid from ste: 
Most things that vou do furtively in 
other places you can do without shame 
in Reno. This is to Reno's credit: 
esty is one of the good policies 
popular acceptance of gambling is indi- 
cated by а recent debate in the City 
Council. Should the city get out of the 
slot machine business at the Municip: 
port? OF course. Why? Declared th 
mayor: "We don't want to compete with. 
pri 
The privare enterprise includes H 
old’s Club. (in addition to The Nevad. 
The Golden, Harrah's Club and 
secondary institutions), a giant seven 
floor department st D luck. with 
blackjack, craps. roulette and eight hu 
dred slot machines grinding up money 
twenty-four hours а day. The custo 


nd how 


hon- 
The 


ate enterprise. 


other 


heroes of horror movies who lc 
their monster and say. "I think i 
ing to tell us something.” (It is trving 
to tell them: “The grind is against vou, 
buddy — bell. cherry and orange") Some 
s are “humanized.” being built into 
gorgeous female bodies, with the coins. 
when you hit. emerging from a disma 
ppropriate place. 
We build slot machines.” stated one 
manufacturer, “but we don’t build m 
а v people to play.” Neve 
theless, the mechanism seems to be built 
into most of us. Jean-Paul Sartre once 
committed a famous remark: “Hell is 
other people.” This is an casy epigr 
since any definition of hell with such 
outrageous 
ke us by surprise and sound briefly, 


nes to [oi 


nd dogmatic format will 


pretentiously true. For example: Hell is 
oneself; Hell is nobody. But those hip: 
rows of caule before the slot 
chines, blind to anything but the 
rolling fruit, suggest some particular 
dramatic sense to the French philoso- 
remark. Hell is other people play 
slot machines. 

This repetitive, ritualistic, manu 
game recalls fantasies in which the child 
defies logic — he is all-powerful: he con- 
trols his fate simply by force of will. 
(Dylan Thomas made fun of this primi 
tive dream when he wrote about а rocky 
wansatlantic flight. “Only my iron will 
will keep the great bird 
sambler's iron will comma «Крот 
when he wants it— right now — and re- 
fuse to admit failure until he wakes 
from his dreams of omnipotence to find 
his pockets empty. Perhaps — while we 
are walking these psychological 
waters — there is anoth ictor at work 
in his heart of hearts the gambler wants 
to lose, а stubborn. guilty child asi 
10 be punished for tr 
side the laws of chance. 

One of the saddest, most instructive 
ои in the world is that of a gambling 
асер shuffling out of a room on South 
Virginia Suect and over to the Western 
Union office on Center Street, there to 
mouth his stub of pencil and try to 
transform himself into a poet with a 
с way of saving SEND MONEY QUICI 
Going from club to club you see the 
System Players, clutching their 
books. grinning hard, with harassed eves 
and chewed lips, sure that nest time 
the laws of statistics, which they have 
invented, will take hold. Next time. 

The Smith family, owners of Harold's 
Club, are respected. leaders of comm 
nity life in Reno. Thev endow concerts 
and the Harold's Club Scholarships 
the University of Nevada. (One condi- 
tion: The Scholar must not cross the 
threshold of Harold's Club during his 
Legalized gambli 
dustry. 


to stand. out- 


ne 


note- 


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ves precious time between 

, Сап be operated by even the 

ady hend, ond is a clever 

ing addition to your bar set. 

Chrome and leather handle contains 
flashlight battery Gnd small electric 
motor. Only $5.00. Satisfaction guaran- 
teed. Sond check or money order to: 


Bar Boutique 
Вох #3376 Merchandise Mart, Chicago 54, III. 


the fume and fus 
little mark on the Nev: 

Reno and environs display a distinct 
physical charm and diversity of terrain. 
Besides the gambling/divorcing Reno, 
there is also the typical Western town 
in which people live much as they do 
in a thousand similar places, blessed by 
lovely homes and mortgages, spacious 
lawns and chickweed, happy voungsters 
thronging to school, church and drag- 
strip. This ignored Reno boasts magnifi- 
cent surrounding mountains, the snow- 
fed Truckee making green the center 
of the city, skiing in winter and health- 
ful dry desert air in summer — plus the 
University of Nevada, “finest institution 
of higher learning in the state.” (It 
also the only institution of higher learn- 
ing in the state.) 

But it is not for these advantages in 
culture and climate that Reno is so 
much better known than, say, Ottumwa, 
lowa, or Bellingham, Washington, both 
towns of comparable size. Reno is a 
rambunetious, brawling Mickey Rooney 
among cities. The workaday Reno 
grudgi harbors its wild, permi 
twin, without which, of course, any 
renowned Reno at all would be impossi- 
ble. The two Renos are joined by com- 
mon elements of the picturesque and 
the bizarre: the traditional rodeo, the 
splendors of desert sage and mount: 
pine, the romantic outcroppings of sil- 
ver-bearing rock in nearby, antique Vir- 
ginia City, where ragtime is the rule, 
the hot mineral springs for swimming, 
the general morality of No Speed Limit 
in Nevada. 

The u churchly, cultural Reno, of 
which some old residents defensively 
prattle, also has some basis in fact, once 
you leave Virginia Street (the major 

sinos), Commercial Row (pawn shops, 
Indian bars, prodding policemen), and 
Lake Suet (Chinese and Negro 
bling clubs—Reno is covertly Jim 
Crow). But it's hard to keep the wistful 
visitor in church once he has found the 
Mint Club, where Rosemarie has been 
Held Over by Popular Demand — and 
by popular demand she holds it over 
the drinkers at the bar on which she 
prances. The place of the great rose 
window of the cathedral of None Dame 
is taken by the grandiose outdoor mural 
of an Indian massacre which is the en- 
trance to Harold's Club, the dominating 
structure in town. 

Over this cathedral of chance shines 
а beacon; within it the multitude 
throngs. The slot machines whir, the 
process servers knock, the courts do their 
work. A woman snifiles, a woman laughs, 
a dude moves in. Someone asks for 
change of a paper twenty in silver dol- 
lars. A spur jangles. Six weeks begin 
for someone; six weeks are over for an- 


other. 
ü 


ive 


n exclusive import 


from Britain 
qxES sino Ка а etur 
Neckwear of the finest South African 
Capeskin or bumer-soft Suede to add 
a rich note to any sportswear. Knots 
smoothly. Braided "tie-tainer" frant. 
Copeskin: Ivory, Brown, Block, Beige: 
Suede: Sand, Brown, Grey, $12.50 ppd. 


Send Check or Money Order to: 


JACK'S TOWN FOR MEN 
16 W. St. Charles Rd., Lombard, Illinois 


Dcaler Inquiries Invited. 


DIAL YOUR SHOWER... 


. . . from sharp needle spray 
through full volume, medium 
and coarse spray, as well as 
"Rinse-Flush'" position. Fash- 
ioned of gold and chrome plate 


by famed designer Henry Drey- 
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most convenient shower head 
you've ever had the pleasure of 
using. 

So pamper yourself for only 


$14.95 ppd. 


Unconditionally guaranteed, of 


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APRIL SHOWERS 
1126 East Florence Ave. 

Los Angeles, Calif. 


135 


PLAYBOY 


136 


PLAYBOY 
READER SERVICE 


Write to Janet Pilgrim for the 
answers to your shopping 
questions. She will provide you 
with the name of a retail store 
in or near your city where you 
can buy any of the specialized 
items advertised or editorially 
featured in PLAYBOY. For 
example, where-to-buy 
information is available for the 
merchandise of the advertisers 
in this issue listed below. 


Akom Knitwear... 
BMC Sports Cars. . 
Bondshire Shoes. 
Catalina Swimwear. 


Clipper Craft Suits. 118 
Cricketeer Suits. E 
Heathkit Stereo Tape Recorder. ....14 
HIS Sportswear........ coa 
Jantzen Sportswear ПП 
Jayson Sport Shirts... 33, 37 
Jockey Hose 8rd © 


McGregor Beachwear... «au. -8-9 
Paper Mate Pens. 
Paris Felts .. 
Ronson Roto-Shine 
Van Heusen Shirts. 
YMM Slacks. 


s Pilgrim will be happy to 
answer any of vour other 
questions on fashion, travel, food 
and drink, hi-fi, etc. If your 
question involves items you saw 
in PLAYHoY, please specify 

page number and issue of the 
magazine as well as a brief. 
description of the items 
when you write. 


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


SEND 
PLAYBOY 
EVERY 
MONTH E 


[13 yrs. for 514 (Save 57.60) 
O1 yr. for 56 (Save $1.20) 
ÛÎ payment enclosed (] billlater 


PLAYBOY 


папе 
address 
Чу тюе нае 


Mail to PLAYBOY 


232 E. Ohio Street, Chicago 11, Illinois 
066 


PLAYBOY’S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK 


BY PATRICK CHASE 


CAESAR AUGUSTUS" ices Pin can 


, for 
n's society 
me pcak during 
nde — yacht races, 
idors, horse 


stance, the smarte: 
spas, is at its plat 
August's Sem 
bullfights f 


of Spain 


racing and pelota (jai alai’s sprightly 
re very much a 


grandfather) matches 
mano. San Sel 
beaches— La Concha a 
and one superb hotel, the María Cristina. 

But for something extra-special, pick 
one of our prize offbeat spots — the 
little Spanish island of La Toja, just a 
torti toss from the northwest coast. 
The water couldn't be better, breaking 
from blue to foaming white on the pro- 
tected private beach of the Gran Hotel 
there. We don't advise tackling this stint 
solo, however: almost all are paired up. 

If you dote on Kultur, Austria in Au- 
gust is your cup of Kaffee. A highlight of 
the Salzburg Festival this year will be 
the premier August 16 of a new opera, 
Das зата: zu Falun, by Rudolf Wag- 
- This, of course. is only one 
of thirty-two operas on a schedule that 
also includes eleven major orchestral 
concerts and a whole raft of serenades, 
chamber-music_performanc 
certs, lieder recitals and pla 

Besides mu however, the 
at Salzburg usually offer а g 


festi 


ed of the longhair sounds and 
more than happy to help you squander 
schillings at the Salzburg Casino or circle 
the intimate little Tanz bars of the city 
by night. By day you can take her in an 
open fiacre to lunch at Til Eulenspiegel 
or the Café Bazaar. 

You'll find no melancholy Danes in 
Copenhagen: it's one of Europe's great 
fun towns. Or, as the Danes put it, 
atch up with your sleep in the next 
country!” The city offers thirty-two 
nightclubs ranging from diamondin- 
the-rough-ish spots like the Outlaw, Fla- 
mingo, the elegant Ambassadeur, or the 
boisterously beer-gardeny Landsbyen to 
more placid places such as Drachmann's 
Kro graced by lute-playing minstrels. 
There are dozens of re: rants beside 
Davidsen's which serve the world-famous 
open smorrebrod sandwiches, plus Dan- 
ish aqvavit and beer — notably the Seven 

а ‚ which is just that, and 
Krog's Fiskerestaurant overlooking the 
canal — and still others near the famous 
Tivoli Gardens, particularly Seven 2 
tions and Imperial Ariu 
Dansk dining delights. 

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


NEXT MONTH: 


“THE PLAYBOY PANEL"—A GROUP OF DISTINGUISHED EXPERTS DIS- 
CUSSES SEX AND CENSORSHIP IN LITERATURE AND THE ARTS 


“DESIGNS FOR LIVING"—THE TOP CONTEMPORARY AMERICAN FURNI- 
TURE DESIGNERS PLUS A PICTORIAL DISPLAY OF THEIR BEST WORK 


“MACHINA EX DEUX"—A SCIENTIST EXPLORES THE RELATIONSHIP 
BETWEEN MAN AND THE MACHINE, PREDICTS THE NEXT STEP IN THE 
EVOLUTION FROM MASTER TO PARTNER BY ARTHUR C. CLARKE 


“LE CRAZY HORSE"—A FIVE-PAGE PICTORIAL TRIBUTE TO THE FAMED 
PARIS STRIPPERY AND ITS BRASH YOUNG SISTER IN HOLLYWOOD 


“HIGHWAY ROBBERY’ 


'—WHY CAR INSURANCE FOR THE YOUNG URBAN 


DRIVER 15 A ONE-WAY TRIP TO THE CLEANERS BY JOHN KEATS 


PLUS NEW FICTION, ARTICLES AND SATIRE BY T. K. BROWN 


I, BARRY 


SPACKS, LELAND WEBB, RAY RUSSELL, MORE “TEEVEE JEEBIES” 
BY SHEL SILVERSTEIN, MORE “WORD PLAY" BY ROBERT CAROLA 


AATA ea Ve S 
Tene са 


РА 
Й 
£ 
, 
у 
' 
f 
4 


They flipped on 5th Avenue 
over Jockey Thorobred Hose 


Boulevardiers were on their ears 
at the sight of these luxurious 
yarns! Here where fashionable 
Fifth Avenue meets the Park . . . 
where grand hotels look down 
their haughty facades and even 
the cabs are hansom . . . they'd 
never seen the handsome likes of 
Jockey Thorobred hose. The 
distinguished ribbing . . . the re- 
strained solid colors... the 
unmistakable look of gallant 
grooming! So patently polished 
that only the perfect gentleman 
could resist kicking his heels for 
the sheer pleasure of pulling on 
a pair of Jockey Thorobred hose, 


Imported English fib, very 
Thorobred in shrinkesistont 
wool with nylon reinforced 
heel "n тсе. Clossic colori in 
regulor length. $1.75 


iT] 


Soft touch, wonder-weor in 


cuff keeps sock in place; in 
bosic colors 
ond white. 51.00 


olive, gold, 


The hond-knit look in soft 
lomb’s wool with resilient 
stretch nylon ond Orlon®. In 
hecther-ioned bosics, olive, 
ond red. Ankle length. $1.50. 


Hi-foshion over-the-colf 
Thorcbred with sell-suppott 
ing cuff. Luxurious wool- 
nylon-ond-Orloni® in greys, 
navy, ond brewn. $1.95 


Bet on Bon-Lon? for cosy 
going! IF's soft and obsorb. 

b ent. Unisize, weshfost fit in 
woshfast colors, both dork onkle length ond o word 


Å Jocke 


Thorobred Hose 


COOPER S, INCORPORATED » KENOSHA, WISCONSIN 


The individual flavour of 
each has stood the test of 
time since 1627, both from 8 
the House of Haig, oldest E i 
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BOTTLED IN SCOTLAND 


SAAN a 


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