PLAYBOY

PLAYBOY

ENTE : Ww FOR MEN DEGENEER ронан E"

SPECIAL GI
EIGHTH ANNIVERSARY
BEGINNING THIS ISSUE: “MY BROTHER, ERNEST HEMINGWAY"
A PERSONAL BIOGRAPHY BY LEICESTER HEMINGWAY
"WALL STREET IS NOT MONTE CARLO" BY J. PAUL GETTY
HOLIDAY HOSTING: HOW TO THROW FIVE PLAYBOY PARTIES
PLUS A PICTORIAL INVITATION TO A PLAYMATE HOUSE PARTY

No matter how you view it, Canadian Club
is the world’s most wanted gift whisky!

Outside

Resplendent wrappings and gay
ibbons (at no extra cost) outsparkle any
gift under the tree.

Inside—Famous Canadian Club, with a fla-
vor so distinctive, no other whisky tastes
quite like it.

Canadian Club, the lightest whisky in the
world, is hailed as “The Best In The House"
in 87 lands, It's the finest compliment you
can give . . . or serve . . . at holiday time.

Canadian CL ...the world's most wanted gift whisky

RECIPE FOR AN EXTRA NOTE OF CHEER—
CANADIAN CLUBHOUSE PUNCH
in peel of 2 oranges 205 cups fresh orange
Ja cup sugar juice
1 bottle Canadian Club. 6 oz. fresh lemon juice
2 teaspoons pure orange 4 ог. Hiram Walker's
extract. Blackberry Liqueur

In mixing bowl, mash thin orange peel in sugar. Add
id lemon juice. Stir until sugar dis-
Black-

6 YEARS OLD. IMPORTED IN BOTTLE FROM CANADA. SLENOED CANADIAN
WHISKY. 66.8 PROOF. INPORTEO BY HIRAN WALKER IMPORTERS, INC.,
DETROIT, MICHIGAN. HIRAM WALKER'S BLACKBERRY LIQUEUR, 60 PROOF.
HIRAM WALKER & SONS, INC., PEORIA, ILLINOIS,

Powdered Агрёре

For after the bath. What goes on
after that is up to you.

Promise her anything but give her Arpége |

COMPOUNDED Ih THE M.S 4

returned a

There are no records to document a resounding “NO” to this
question. However, it is a matter of record, that during its 126
years, many great men in American history gave and received
Old Crow, and either wrote or publicly voiced their praise of it.

Certainly, these men never returned or ex-

„* (д 7 changed their gifts of this historic bourbon!
gif О [ Old LOW Forexample, the great Henry Clay once

THE OLD CROW DISTILLERY CO., FRANKFORT, KY., KENTUCKY

sent a gift of Old Crow to Andrew Jackson
and received a note of thanks “the most
eloquent note...the hero of New Orleans ever wrote.”

We have just uncovered evidence that Walt Whitman received
a gift of Old Crow from an admirer with a message saying, “I am
assured that this is the very best of its kind
and the best of anything is not too good for
Walt Whitman.”

The great Confederate cavalryman, John
Hunt Morgan, sent his friend Dr. Henry Fox,
а demijohn of Old Crow with the comment,
“as good as ever went down your throat.”

These lavish descriptions of Old Crow
hold just as true today. It is the best—and the
fact that more people buy Old Crow than any.
otheris, we think, a tribute to the discriminat-
ing taste of bourbon drinkers of America. To-
day, with bourbon in a phenomenal up
popularity, Old Crow is more than ever ihe
gift to give—and to serve your guests at holi-
day parties.

Old Crow makes the finest of gifts. There
are no wrong colors or wrong sizes — except
the bigger the better. And, so far as we know,
no one has ever returned orexchanged a bottle.

Light-Mild-86 Poof

Kentucky Bourbon

(ЕТ BOURBON WHISKEY. B PROOF

V. Mit. SECOND CLASS

TASE PAID AT CHICAGO 3. SUBSCRIPTIONS IN THE U.S. е FOR OME YEAR

PLAYBILL

мати THIS 210-PAGE ISSUE — FIRST OF A PAIR OF SPECIALLY PRICED Christmas Gift and Holi
tes its Eighth Anniversary.

day Packages and the biggest in our history — rLaysoy celebra
iemoratin, become accustomed, Editor-
isher Hugh M. Hefner has thrown open the portals of the Playboy Mansi

vish Holiday-An y house party. Along for the weekend: an even dozen of our
most popular Playmates of the past, frisking from hearthside popcorn popping to
bikinied splashing in the free-form indoor pool — all to be seen on 10 pleasure-filled
spouse merely vicarious diversions, we also offer counsel on
for the Holidays, in a compendium of wise words and
anging from the traditional

the occasion in the style to which you'y

on for a

E

sur

pages inside. Never one to
how to do your own Hostin
structive pix presenting five festive рілувоу par
ner to the unique Let the Guests Do It.

brimful Anniversary issue: My Brother, Ernest Hemingway,

ng
and personal biography of America's most influential literary stylist, and

— Papa's younger
compelling mo

possibly its greatest contemporary writer. Leicester Hemingw
brother — has assembled a lifetime of sibling recollections into
of the Jate author as man and artist. In book form, Hemingway's Hemingway will
г in late February under the imprimatur of the World Publishing Company.
Yuletide stockingful of wry. you'll find such risible delights as Eldon
< portfolio of Christmas cartoons: PLaysoy’s annual array of impudent Christ
mas cards for assorted loved ones, and The Night Before Christmas, that hoary holiday
chestnut done to a Park Avenue turn by Percy Llewelyn Dovetonsils (sometimes known
as Ernie Kovacs). Dovetonsils, in Kovacs’ own words, was “born on a mauve chaise
n East Side co-op of fashionable Manhattan. His father was an eccentric
brain surgeon. married for seven fulsome years to a Polish sand hog. They were not
blessed with progeny.” Other works by Dovetonsils, “none of which have appeared,
include Ode to Fig Blight on Adam's Leaf and Does the DC-8 Eat Its Young?”

Raise a welcoming cup of good cheer to a trio of pravnoy newcomers. Ex-Collier's
editor Walt Grove serves up our well-spiced lead fiction treat, Square Christmas, а
hiply told tale wherein a love-smitten uptown type takes the cube route through beat
bohemia and winds up as part of an unsquare triangle. Novelist Alec (Island in the
Sum) Waugh conducts a spirited study of Modus Bibendi, proposing with character-
istically dry British wit that as it is with people, so it may be with nations: by their
drinking customs ye shall know them. The verity of this maxim is further substan-
tiated by Professor Hyde, a refreshingly fresh fictive variation on the Jekyll-Hyde
theme in a college-faculiy setting, brewed with a dash of bitters by Thomas Berger,
whose book, Crazy in Berlin, was a best seller.

Christmas being also a time of warm reunion, these new friends are joined by a
contingent of seasoned pLaynoy hands. Charles Beaumont — long-time conuributor то
our fictional and factual pleasures, and our Conuibuting Editor in charge of the pres-
ervation and encouragement of nostalgia — evokes this month The Golden Age of
Slapstick Comedy. In it, Chuck takes affectionate measure of such lost joys as the classic
pratfall and the pic in the face, along with their legendary practitioners: Chaplin, Sen-
nett, Langdon, Keaton, Fields, Arbuckle, Laurel, Hardy and all the rest. In Wall Street
Is Not Monte Carlo, J. Paul Getty, Consulting Editor in Business and Finance, answers
a question that's no laughing matter: why the speculator in common stocks has the house
odds stacked against him, while the judicious investor is a good bet to come out a win-
a — whose pert Femlins and impressionistic illustrations have
ures — celebrates the jolly season abroad with a Man at His

ns

Lei:

ire pilgrimage to Paris famed mecca for bons vivants: Maxim’s. To help you and
yours celebrate the season in the traditional fashion — gift giving — we offer five full
pages of goodly bounty for the man 41 the Present Time. Ray Russell, whose PLAYBOY
novella of last January. Sardonicus, is now a movie (reviewed in this issue), fires a
sile aimed at the sci-fi mags; it hits the mark dead center in its
recital of the intergalactic exploits of one Zoonbarolarrio Feng, a villain most foul in
any world. Out of this world, and a heavenly body indeed, is parachuting Playmate
Lynn Kartol, a Christmas and Anniversary bonus from us to you. Be merry.

shori ical mi

nge sat

BEAUMONT

DOVETONSILS

*
CR.

HEMINGWAY

vol. 8, no. 12 — december, 1961

CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE

PLAYBILL.

E E 3

DEAR PLAYBOY... es 7

PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS... zem 2 tarner 15

Hosting Time P. 83 THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR... e = 45
MY BROTHER, ERNEST HEMINGWAY—biography..... LEICESTER HEMINGWAY 48

, SQUARE CHRISTMAS—fiction. - à WALT GROVE 80
HOSTING FOR THE HOLIDAYS—modern living.
SPACE OPERA—fcHion ..

PLAYBOY'S CHRISTMAS CARDS—verse

s £8
RAY RUSSELL 89
-LARRY SIEGEL 90

PROFESSOR HYDE—fction.

o THOMAS BERGER 93
J. PAUL GETTY 95

ELDON DEDINI 96
SHE FLOATS THROUGH THE AIR—playboy's playmate of the month. 102
AYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor.

DEDINI'S CHRISTMAS PORTFOLIO—humor_

Present Time Р. 111

108
AT THE PRESENT TIME—gifis.. = a Sese 00)

MODUS BIBENDI—articl — ALEC WAUGH 117
THE NIGHT BEFORE CHRISTMAS—verse_.. DOVETONSIS /KOVACS 118
PLAYMATE HOLIDAY HOUSE PARTY—piciorial_.

T mee HET)
< __ 130
— -~ LA FONTAINE 133
THE GOLDEN AGE OF SLAPSTICK COMEDY-—nostalgia... CHARIES BEAUMONT 148
NAPOLEON IN RUSSI|A—humor SHEL SILVERSTEIN 171
PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK—Iravel.... PATRICK CHASE 210

MAXIM'S—man at his leisure...

A GASCON REWARDED—ribold classic

Playmate Time Р. 120

HUGH м. HEENER editor and publisher

- SPECTORSKY associale publisher and editorial director

ARTHUR PAUL art director

JACK J. кезк managing editor VINCENT

TAJIRI picture editor

GENERAL OFFICES, PLAYBOY BUILDING, 232 Е. LDON WAX associate editors; ROWERT 1. CREEN

оно STREET, CHICAGO 11, ILLINOIS. RETURN POST. CRED NG ENIE LON BES YNES

AGE MUST ACCOMPANY ALL NARUSCRIFTS, DRAWINGS. fashion director; DAVID TAYLOR associate fashion editor; THOMAS MARIO food &
E E EAL NEM ECTS ЧЕ drink editor; емти cuasi: travel editor; J. vAUL сутту consulting editor, business
FOR UNSOLICITED MATERIALS. CONTENTS COPY and finance; WICHARD AVEDON, CHARLES BEAUMONT, RICHARD GEHMAN, WALTER
пао Ды а CE TLL C диви GOODMAN, PAUL KRASSNEK, KEN W. PURDY contribuling editors: JEREMY DOLE assistant

WITHOUT WRITTEN PERMISSION FROM Т} в. editor; ARLENE BOURAS copy editor; RAY WILLIAMS editorial assistant; NEV

tierra d APA ACE CHAMBERLAIN associate piclure editor; BONNIE BOVIR assistant picture editor; DON
MAGAZINE AND ANY REAL PEOPLE AND PLACES 15 BRONSTEIN, MARIO CASILLI, POMPEO POSAR, JERRY YUISMAN staff photographers; REID
ОДЕ ЫМ CH. Gh AGED AUSTIN associate arl director; PHILIP KAPLAN, JOSEPH н. РАСЛЕ assistant art directors;

Фон! rosin, P. 3 PHOTOS BY JAMES WAC Chu. DOROTHY CHU, ELLEN PACZEK art assistants; JONN MASIKO production manage

son рпснэтн: г. ав corrment ©

"ri eM UM M Er sd FERN HEARTEL assistant production manager • HOWARD w. Leverer advertising
ARRANGEMENT win THE WORLD PUBLISHING COM- director; JULES KASE eastern advertising manager; JOSEPH FALL midwestern adver-
any; т. аз TAOTO MY KEN HEYMAN, P, азат tising manager; меток LOWNES m promotion director; NELSON титси promotion
ознтнд., INC.. сом SETTINGS BY SHERATON manager; MELMUT LoKscH publicity manager; KENNY DUNN public relations man-
VETE ENDE atone as a К ЕД кшшз ор
ттк. 120.129 Protos M reader service; WALTER J. HOWARTH subscription fulfillment manager; ELDON

лант BY MARIO CASICLI, POSAR, BRONSTEIN, HAIR s : i 3 :
irc RUNS eta ego SORTEN, вн SELLERS special projects; KONEKT s. PREUSS business manager and circulation director.

in the new d’Romano suit...Viva L'Italia!

mr. J: “What was the word the Italians used

to describe these luxurious worsteds?
mr. F: ‘“Maraviglioso... and the same goes for
the modest price, too."

some advice from Joseph & Feiss, tailors for gentlemen for 120 years: the luxury of Italian
worsteds is no news to the man who has been accustomed to buying the “Very Expensive Suit." It will, however,

К ant surprise to the man who has to watch what he pays for а suit. These new J & F arrivals
the fabric grandeur and authority of style of the richest imports, yet the “duty” is light on the pocketbool

Joseph & Feiss suits and topcoats are pleasantly priced much less than you'd expect, $89.95, $65, $69.50. For better stores, write J & F, 200 Fifth Avenue, К.Ү»

A PRESENTATION OF
FREDDIE FIELDS AND
DAVID BEGELMAN

In Carnegie Hall on Sunday Evening, April 23, 1961, Judy Garland
walked on stage and sang 26 numbers in a special one-night-only concert.

It was perhaps the most memorable evening in show-business history.
The audience was composed of 3,165 people who had fought,

begged, pulled strings, and paid astronomical sums for the precious
tickets. The 3,165 people roared, applauded, cheered, laughed,

cried, stomped, whistled, and shouted. The ovation was unprecedented
and overwhelming. The press exhausted all the superlatives.

It was “Two hours of just pow!”

The evening lives. Capitol recorded it in its entirety, live.

Share this astonishing performance. Hear the exciting song:

Judy Garland made famous. And hear her sing marvelous numbers never
before recorded. Become the 3,166th person to thrill to this

memorable performance by the greatest entertainer of our time.

Two 12” Record Set

men
m

ip COMPLETE

S RE nant
околно м

vi

sey

cAPrTCL Rec:

DEAR PLAYBOY

E] apres PLAYBOY MAGAZINE + 232 Е. OHIO ST., CHICAGO 11, ILLINOIS

LIONIZED
I grant the flailing arm of coincidence
can reach out and bat anybody, but if
Harvey Jacobs pulled September's The
Liows Share out of his imagination,
I'm heading for Zen. My curiosity is
roaring. To wit: The ladies Bell exist,
but the daughter's name is Bonnie Bell,
the mother’s Irene. The goddamn cat
is probably still alive. I'm from the
Bronx. I have а good collection of Tris-
y roommate, the biggest slob
yphoid Mary, was a creative
writing major. All this business took
place while I was at the University of
Oklahoma.
Martin Stein
Hastings-on-Hudson, New York
Sorry, Martin, Harvey Jacobs attended
the University of Syracuse,

The lead story in your September
issue by Harvey Jacobs was one of the
most delightful you have ever published.
He rüst.

te Professor

is, obviously, a superb :
Maurie Hillson, Asso
Bucknell University
Lewisburg, Pennsylvania

A hoist of the glass and а Skoal! to Herr

cobs on a beautiful piece of literature.
Peter Hoskins
Portland, Oregon

MIAMI BREACH

In your September article on the Mi-
ami Playboy Club I noticed a picture of
a trio that you said was the Barr Sisters.
I thought the girls, whom I saw in Las
Vegas а few months ago, were the Starr
Sisters.

Pat Solkenberg
Northridge, California
A threeStarr booboo on our part.

SOWING WILD OATHS

1 have just returned to the States after
а long absence and haven't time to com-
ment at the length to which I am
tempted on William Iversen’s excellent
A Short History of Swearing; but 1
would like to refer to one or two points.
"Drop dead" is not a Yiddish impreca-
tion—at any rate, I don't know its
equivalent and can't find it in the ex-

haustive Yiddish Thesaurus of Shtutch-
koff. It may be Jewish, nevertheless. The
authentic Yiddish is: “Ver geharget!" or
"Get killed!" The most ingenious of the
Curses І can call to mind is: “May you
be reincarnated as a candelabrum, to
hang by day and burn by night." As Mr.
Iversen correctly points out. Yiddish
curses have depth and vigor; they also
have an imaginative and lyrical quality
which sterilizes their rancor. I have
known two Jews to stop and correct cach
other in the course of “mortal” ex-

es of this kind.
M

urice Samuel
Jew York, New York

Bill Iversen is happy io acknowledge
the scholarship of Maurice Samuel,
author of the prize-winning book “The
World of Sholom Aleichem,” translator
from the Yiddish of the works of Sholem
Asch and 1. J. Singer.

HIGHWAY ROBBERY

Sincere thanks and congratulations to
Mr. Keats for his eye-opening exposé
Highway Robbery. As an under-25 male
urbanite, 1 have long suspected the con-
demnation of my age group by the in-
surance companies but have never becn
presented with the real facts and sta-
tistics.

Charles А. Smyth
Princeton, New Jersey

I assume you are aware that the
surance industry has been putting on a
ationwide campaign for some years,
apparently to sell the public on the idea
that all plaintifis’ lawyers are crooked,
juries and judges are for the birds, and
high-award verdicts are responsible for its

surance rates. This campaign started
some time ago and I believe they have
since cast about and selected the under-
25 driver as an alternate scapegoat.
Kenneth
Columbus,

Ohio

Your article struck home to this under-
25, sorely putupon bachelor. I feel much

better now that I've found somebody
to сапу the ball for me. Recently, I was
involved in an accident in which the

PLAYBOY, DECEMBER, 1961, vot в, NO 12. PUBL
ANGELES, 1721 BEVERLY BLVD.. OL 20730, STANLEY L. PEAKI
FLA., UN 52601, SOUTHEASTERN REPRESENTATIVE, PIRMIE а

CHANGE OF ADDRESS.

NS CO., INC., PLAYBOY BUILDING, 232 Е
5., TIS POSSESSIONS, THE PAN AMERICAN UNION AND CANADA,

OWN, 1722 RHODES.NAVENTY BLOG., ATLANTA 3, GA.. JA 2-813,

MY SIN

a most
provocative perfume!

LANVIN
thet pane Phat ofl

Purse size $3; Spray Mist $5;
Toilet Water from $3; (plus tax)

PLAYBOY

wear
a cigar
...look smart
smoke smart

Take a look around somctime and see how many men are enjoying
cigars. There's good reason to. You'll find a size and shape to fit your
face, your pocketbook. And cigars give you complete satisfaction
without inhaling, There are few pleasures so great that cost so little.

CIGAR INSTITUTE OF AMERICA, INC.

Sweaters by Robert Bruce
Jacket by Zero King made with Sherpa® Creslan® lining

j

other fellow was to blame. Everyone,
induding the state police, thought that
I was innocent, but my insurance com-
pany was not too sure. To avoid a fight,
they settled out of court — and hiked
my premium,

David L. Chase
Granby, Connecticut

Your review of the insurance situation
is onc of the finest, most comprehensive
and downright sensible articles it has
been my privilege to read.
David I. Gilmore, President
Albuquerque Citizens Safety Council
Albuquerque, New Mexico

Highway Robbery neglected to men-
tion one item. Many insurance com-
panics will, if you twist their arms, write
policies on males under 25 — for an out-
rageous fee, of course. But if they hap-
pen to be wearing the uniform of their
country, the door is rudely and firmly
slammed in their faces.

William S. Rivkin, Editor

AFCS Intercom

Scott Air Force Base, Illinois

I don't know how old Mr. Kcats is,
but he is either under 25 or his insurance
company has just turned down a frandu-
lent claim he presented.

M. C. Brooks
"The Bezanson Agency
Cedar Rapids, Iowa

Keats is over 25, has never filed an

auto claim against an insurance company.

OUT ON A LIMBO
1 read with great interest—and, I
must confess, a certain pleasure — Mur-
ray Kempton’s trenchant analysis of the
pomposities of some sociologists as they
strain to suggest that they alone are the
Keepers of esoteric knowledge about
Man’s social habits (Status-licians in
Limbo, September). As one interested
layman who has waded through many
hundreds of sociological papers, 1 do
not feel his chidings were unreasonable.
He might also have had some fun with
the proneness of sociologists to intra-
mural feuding and schism-formation. On
the other hand, sociology — adolescent
as it is as a science —does have in its
ranks some men who have reported their
findings in blunt, incisive fashion, Hol-
lingshead, Warner, Mack, Baltzell and.
Kahl are names that come most immedi-
ately to mind in this connection.
Vance Packard
New Canaan, Connecticut

For the most part, I agree with Kemp-
ton. Sociologists are often inexact — апа
too often self-serving. What I resent most
is their pretensions about being scien-
tists, with precision, which they are not.
At the same time, I must honestly say
that I think Kempton went a mite too

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far. I think sociology has timate
place— when it doesn’t jump on the
publicity escalator— and some findings
in various fields arc illuminating. It is
just that they don't have the useful
magic they claim. And as to their rol
casting for Baal is still open. It is one
of the several points I tried to tackle in
The Chapman Report. Much of last year
in America and this year in Europe,
interviewers tried to provoke me into
admitting my novel was anti-Kinsey and
anti-sex survey. I would not admit to
this because it is not true. Like much of
the press, the Kinsey people thou
was true. For almost a year, Kin
Dr. Wardell Pomeroy. threatened me
nd also id Darryl
Zanuck w nction or libel action
— which he dropped recently. The fact
is that I am not anti-Kinsey or anti-sex
survey any more than Г am anti-sociolo-
st. I think sex surveys are important for
the little the:

bout others and
ourselves, for the тау of light they some-
times offer, for dispelling of countless
uilts, etc. They have their place. But it
not and should not be on the front
pages, where it encourages confusion and
permissiveness. Also I suspect — I cannot
prove, but suspect — the methods of these
sociologists leave much to be desired. It
was a point I made in my novel. You
don't go into a community or on a
campus and feed a lot of women — so
many inhibited and neurotic — questions
on sexual behavior, and then simply
leave them and move on. These women
ré not numbers, not statistics. They
have emotions. They can be unsettled
badly. I don't believe а sociologist should
be permitted to ask à man or woman or
youngster of either. gender. provocative
questions without later providing a com-
petent psychiatrist or advisor to discuss
with them their answers. As to. Kemp-
tons remark that Kinsey has helped
make scx more tedious by making it
consequential — I doubt that, Despite
those statistical charts, or because of
them, Kinsey gave people the license to
discuss sex more and to consider it with-
out as much fear and shame. Once it was
in the open, “pain, laughter and sutter-
^" were surely near at hand. As to
Kempton's remark 0
mpregnable can probably mot be se
duced by books"
the girls. 1 know the books. And I know
the sociologists who can back me up. But
Murray Kempton is rightminded and
good, Raise his word rate.
Irving Wallace
Los Angeles, С

teach us a

at "girls otherwise

— he is wrong 1 know

MORANDOM HARVEST

А very minor footnote to Richard
‹ тїйє on Jim Moran.
ace practical joker and owner of "a
lection of ancient stringed instruments
A few years ago 1 visited the Village

shman's major

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13

PLAYBOY

String Shop on Bleecker Street. I wan-
dered around, poking at lutes. citterns,
harps, vihuelas — all of which appeared
to be at least 200 years old — and. dis-

covered an item which looked like a
cross between a zither and а one-drawer
wooden file cabinet. Across the metal
strings was laid something like a drum.

stick. faestro.” I asked, “what iu the
hell is that?” The proprictor smiled a
weary smile. “Jim Moran brought that
in a while back and asked me to tune
it." he said. “I fiddled around with it for
a month before I discovered that it was
an old-fashioned noodle-slicer.”

Avram Davidson

New York. New York

PIGSKIN PREVIEW REVIEWED
Anson Mount has done his usual good

job with Playboy's Pigskin Preview
Harold “Red” Grange

Chicago, Illinois

May you and Sports Illustrated live
forever in your happy land of Easter
Supremacy. The days of the Top Ten
being in the Big Ten are over, just a
Rutgers and Princeton aren't the only
r
the West hasn't been a powerhouse on
the gridiron since the breakup of the
Pacific Coast Conference, but we've
been rebuilding. Or has the pain of the
EAU | last two Rose Bowls performed a lobot-

і omy on your memory?
DE Robert A. Hughes

COLOGNE Berkeley, California

You mentioned that in a year or two,
Ohio University will be reclassified
CHAN EL "Major" rather than "Small" by foot-

ball people. "Small" Ohio has more

7 | students than Baylor. Kentucky, both

Mississippi State and Mississippi com.

bined, Notre Dame, Oregon, Princeton,

and any three South Carolina colle;

or US. Military Academies combined.
Who says “Small” and why?

Lewis B. Hodges

! Kettering, Ohio

“Small” is a measure of the emphasis
the school puts on the game.

ms playing football any more. Granted

es 5.00 ADVISOR ADVISED
Man, I'm sorry. but your Advisor
160z 13.50 zoofed in September's third letter. Ап
„шатак | English horn is a tenor oboe, not alto.

POUR MONSIEUR The oboe d'amore is the alto and has

not been used since the time of Bach.

2 The English horn is in F, a fifth lower
than the oboe, and darker in timbre.

J- Kelley Robinson, Jr.

Sylacauga, Alabama
Man, we're sorry, but “The Oxford
Companion to Music” corroborates us.
“Cor Anglais or English Horn . .. This
is an alto oboe, its range lying a fifth

below that of the oboe.” You dig?

PLAYBOY

үү were the recipient of à telephonic

ery for help from a fellow fourth
estater the other day. Our caller was the
editor of the Courier-Review. the
newspaper of Barrington, Illinois, an
exurban hamlet which has been pejora-
tively described as а road-company West-
port. His plea for succor was not a selfish
one: his readers were confronted with a
thorny problem entailing the тайце
nance of status in a changin
nd we were glad to oller our

local

society —

sistance

to a colleague and, via him, to the van-
ishing breed of entrenched county blue
bloods. For many years, he told us, the
sterling folk of Barrington had been
privileged to obtain from the county
derk the required. resident. windshield
stickers bearing status-Joaded low num-
bers. rin, said clerk (who
may otherwise be the soul of charity)
had brutally that, for the
coming year, no numbers would be held
sacrosanct for the upper crust; the stick-
ers would be issued strictly on a first
come, first served basis. Deprivation of
this numerological badge of privilege,
our caller felt

To their cha;

anounced

would not only sow con

stema

ion among the gentry, but might

even threaten the fiber of social

very
class distinetions and their ready recogni-
tion. He wanted advice — last —to im-
part to his readers on how to combat
this bureaucratic plebcianization with-
out too much effort, since effort of this
sort is as infra dig as high sticker num-
bers. The conversation — with us doing
our off-thetop-of-the-noggin best in a
worthy cause — went like this:

“What,” the Barrington editor wanted
‘might be the effect of this
cold-turkey cure, or

to know

sudden withdrawal

of status symbols, on the communit
We suggested that, at the least. Bar
ringtonians would be tempted by less

AFTER HOURS

benign forms of status secking,
"Can you suggest possible outlets for

the status drive which aren't antiso-
cial?" he asked
Well.” we said, as soothingly as we

could, “Angst is Angst, and when you
deprive an in-group of ready reasons for
looking down on an outgroup, you're
looking for trouble. Previously.” we went
оп. “there was simple recourse to some

pool

thing expensive, like a swimmin

What with the low cost of pools and the
expense account sociery's spreading of
the ample life, however, good status
symbols are pretty hard to find.

“What about the volunteer fire de-
partment kick?” we were asked.

\ possibility,” we said, pointing out
that in certain chic parts of Connecti
cut, it v
long to the volunteer police. “But.” we
told the harried man, “a status symbol of
the first class is never sought or bought —
it is conferred. In Barrington, your prob
lem is giving status to the automobile
This is very tough tod

as deemed rather smart to be-

ay. For example,
Japanese manufacturer is now in the
business of turning out counterfeit for-

gn motor-club. badges. For a couple of
bucks, you can appear to have been tour-
ing the Continent as a member of the
Auto Club d'Italia, the Real Automovil
de España, or even the British Racing
Drivers’ Club. When everybody's got it,
it’s no good."

We then offered what we deemed to be
a truly superior suggestion: that the
villa board have all vehicle stickers
nbered from onc to 10— thus conler

ae

ring status on high numbers — but were

told the state's g

ndarmes might object
At last we took pity on the man and told
him about the rear-deck gambit — refer:
ring, of course, to the grecnhouselike
shelves under cars’ sloped rear windows.

"You start out,” we explained, "by throw-
ing a few m es onto the shelf. Ma
be a copy ol the Paris Review, to show
you're an intellectual — no, Botteghe Os
cure would he better: a paperback
mystery to show you're not a snob, and

zi

a copy of the Harvard Business Review.

“Next, dogs and horses are very
Toss a hacking bridle on the shelf, may-
be. Or the a broken polo
indicating that you're intending
to have it repaired, so you can get back
to your polo. Also very good is an invita-
tion to stop in and have your income-tax
return. examined."

Our interlocutor, who was breathin
hard from furiously
dropped these priceless pearls of wisdom,

юй.

pieces of
mallet

king notes as we

iv source of counter-
Гей letters of invitation from the feds
"No." we said, “but a man can always
inform on himself, anonymously. And if
this farfetched, your local
tradespeople might be pressed into serv-
ice im the interests of their tonier di-
emele. It would be a good idea for
arages, for

asked if we knew

seems 100,

instance, to specialize in
gmata of status. They
could fix up the car with them while
you're getting an oil change and grease
job. For five bucks you could get the
whole kit."

“But,” he reminded us, “this would
violate onc of your previous dicta: whe

these special st

everybody's got it, it's no good.”

“True.” we admitted. A silence, filled
only by the humming of the phone wires,
indicated we were thinking. “W
said finally, defeat in our voic
re tough in suburbia today. That's why
we prefer to live in the city.”

A theater-buff couple of our acquaint-
ance received in the mail a pair of all-
bucunobuainable ducats to an SRO
Broadway hit — accompanied only by а

1s

PLAYBOY

16

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note mysteriously signed “Guess who?
Puzzled but pleased, they went to the
play, enjoyed themselves immensely, and
returned home to find their apartment
systematically looted from its cathedral
ceilings right down to the parquet floors
— and to discover a neatly printed note
on the mantelpiece. lt read simply:
"Now you kno

Headline on а food story in The
Atlanta Constitution: GREER TARTS MAKE
PARTY FUN FOR THE HOSTESS, ТОО.

Among the less predictable occupa-
tional hazards is the bartender’s need
not merely to cope with the psychi
atric revelations of MWelischmer=ridden
lushes, but to occasionally put down,
pleasantly but permanently. the too-
knowing customer who sees himself — in
the darkling haze of the back-of-the-bar
mirror — as а Noel-Cowardesque interna.
tional epicure who will entertain all
with a display of barstool One-upman
ship. Bartender of Chicago's Near North
oasis the Knight Cap gave us a world
weary sample of the sort of thing he has
to forcibly finesse from time to time. A
very junior and very correctly Continen-
хес showed up at the juniper hour
ked, in loudly imperious and su-
perior tones, for “a really ашу martini
dry, that is” (the last words
ng delivered in an infuriatingly con
descending manner). To which the b:
tender repli пау, “Perhaps you'd
prefer а sa 1 don't quite recall
how its made," said the couth lout: to
which the barman calmly replied, "But
I'm sure you do — six parts gin to one
part sand."

THEATER

The hardworking, original and tal
ented authors-performers of From the Sec-
end City demonstrate conclusively that
is only a short theatric
Chicago, where their revue wi
(rrAvnov, October 1960). to the Broad.
way big tim

step from

The collective excellence
пу has been appreciated
for years by collec sippers at the
Windy City's Second City — heir to the
improvisational heritage of the Gom-
pass Players — and. earlier this year Los
Angeles had the pleasure of this com
pany's company for three successlul
months. Whether or not the show
matches this record in New York, its
visit will still have been most welcome.
The production is simple: cight actors,
rs and a wunkful
of props. And the viewpoint is fresh in
approach, wise in comment and rich in
verbal wit Take the sketch that ribs æ

one pianist. four c

——

Ed ———À handsomely

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PLAYBOY

18

INTRODUCING
THE NEW 1962
FOLKS WAGON

The Journeymen, a brand-new
folk-singing trio with 300 horse-
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music. Styling? Clean and
bright. Handling? Have a listen
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like “River Come Down; Black
Girl; Ride, Ride, Ride; and Soft
Blow the Summer Winds?
Performance? Impressive. The
Journeymen. How about you
stop by your neighborhood deal-
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Album No. (8)1-1629

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nized world of “
A lonely young misfit listens hope-
long-playing record that offers
him the eternal friendship of the nar-
rator. As Eugene Troobnick’s voice
booms heartily over the sound track,
oily in cajolery, avuncular in phony
aphorisms, Paul Sand, who studied with
the master. Marcel Marceau, a
tion of despair and tentative
confidence that is a small masterpiece of
pantomime. There is a wildly animated
burlesque of an early Chaplinesque
flick; a lethally perceptive parody, in
drastically broken Swedish, of an Ingmar
Bergman film; and a brilliant d
between Alan Arkin as a beatnik with
uitar and no place to go, and Barbara
Harris as a shy young art student "with
problems in the area of spontaneity.
All the players are at home with intel
lizent ideas that demand an equal share
of intelligence from the audience. Al-
though not every sketch is up to par
and although what seemed right in thc
informal case of a cabaret theater does
not always make it in the formality of a
stem theater, the best of From the
Second City is the best revue mate
Broadway has seen in years. At the
Royale, 242 West 45th Stres

d. together-

hieves

an alte

RECORDINGS

Miles Davis in Person af the Blackhawk,
San Francisco, Volumes 1 end 2 (Columbia).
reconfirms, in the clearest possible terms,
two things — that Davis’ playing is an
intricately sculpted work of art, and
that any sideman working the quintet
must be absolutely firstrate or suffer
the consequences. Hank Mobley, Dav
tenor man for these sessions, unfortu-
sullers the consequences. Ade-
in other surroundings, Mobley's
sterile and inconsequential

s% A random
sampling of Davis statements Bye Bye
Blackbird (Volume 1), Fran-Dance (Vol-
ume 2) and Neo (Volume 9) — gives an
accurate indication of how Miles has ex-
panded the scope of his instrument and,
for that matter, the horizons of jazz. The
erroneous equating of audio excitement
overdecibeled, underdis-
Z wa» never more r60-
y put down than in the tightly
transcribed tonalities of Davis lovely
horn.

in the glar

Laugh Along with the Kirby Stone Four
at the Playboy Club in Person (Columbia)
chronides the Chicago exploits of four
Characters in search of a keeper. The
boys kick off with a straight run-tluoi
ol

do

verythinz's Coming Up Roses

legit chorus of Lazy River. There-
alter, mayhem breaks loose as they offer

PLAYBOY
FOR CHRISTMAS—

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rapid-fire imitations (and good ones) of
the Mills Brothers, Billy Daniels, Tony
Martin, Mr. Magoo, Arthur Godfrey, Ed
Sullivan, Elvis Шер Louis Prima,
Boris Karloff, Bela Lugosi, Jimmy
Ste Mr. Kitzel, n Brando,
Liberace and Sammy Davis, Jr. They
then segue into a stifi-upper-lippish Brit-
ish rock-n-roll version of The St. Louis
Blues, and sandwich some honest har-
monizing around their classic Ed Sul-
livan anthem, It’s a Really Big Shew, а
tile which nutshells the LP.

For those whose antic appetites were
piqued by 2000 Years with Carl Reiner
& Mel Brooks in cither its record form
or as it appeared in pLavuoy, August
196], 2000 and One Years with Corl
Reiner ond Mel Brooks (Capitol) should go
a long way toward assuaging their
humor hunger. It is not, though, as
continuously amusing as its predecessor,
but its lead-off track, a second interview
with the 2000-ycar-old man, is worth the
price of the LP. “I pray fiercely for 22
minutes every day that the roof shouldn't
fall on my head and my heart shouldn't.
attack me - . - The first hospital was a
cave, and would you believe it, today
hospitals are exactly the same; people
king up and down not caring
whether you're yelling and scream
the same wonderful indifference
first songs were ba

somebody'd say ‘hello,’ you had to sing
it out. For ‚ there was a song:
A Tiger Is Eating My Foot Up; Won't
Somebody Call a Cop? . .. Sure 1 knew
William Shakespeare. What a pussycat,
but he w: ter. You know
first folios—blots all over it, p's
looked like q's. you couldn't tell an r
from a v — he was an awful writer. One
play of his you don't know about which
I had invested money in was Queen
Alexandra and Murray. It didn't ge
past Egypt . .. Did I know Napoleon?
A short guy; yeah, I knew him from
when I took a summer cottage on Elba.
1 used to say to him, "Napoleon, why
don't you go back to France and open
a mouth? . . . Sure ] knew Sigmund
Freud; a terrific basketball player. The
reason nobody knows that is because
he t score much; he used to sct
up the shots. What a dribbler . . .
Today, if every human being in the
world would play the violin we would
nd better than Manto
Things taper off after the 14-minute
‚ but there are enough laughs
sprinkled through the Two-Hour-Old
Baby and The New Technique Psychiat-
ociety to make it worth your while.
to the first two tracks on Joey
Carter's Little Belly Laughs (Epic) and forget
about the rest. The іп band, Some

a terrible wi

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Folk Songs. finds Jocy pluc
god-awful zitherlike instrument а
ing baleful lyrics like “I'm goin’ to
join the CIO, ‘cause everyone I sce I
or "When I was young | had a
dog. I loved him like my brother. Until
one day my maw said hc were no dog:
he were my brother." The second band
finds Joey directing a gig
epic, The History of Man
right, we're ready to shoot. Charlie, will
you keep those people in Asia quiet . . .
Adam and Eve, start raising Cain . . .
Moses, lead. your people out of Egypt
to the water... take off that life pre-
server, Moses, have a litle faith... not
on top of it: that comes later . .. Every-
body stab C; u, too, Brutus ...
Now the restaurant scene: Judas, you
set up from the table and pick up the
check . . . Now, Christopher umbus.
you steal a boat and the other two boats
chase you . . . Louis Pasteur, wash your
hands, then milk it... Let the two
young kids run for the Presidency and
let the guy whose wife is pregnant
win..." From that point on. though.
bombsville. Shelley Berman: A Personal Ap-
pearance (Verve) is a painful recording on
three counts: (a) the inclusion of a num-
ber of sight routines, which might have
been terribly amusing to Berm:
audience, but exclude and dism
(b) Berm
frantically high-strung, it
tension that beclouds the
the material. on the whole, is just not
very funny. The opening take-off, a
routine on Manners. the minuscule
Kleenex butler, is an outlet for Berman's
dramatic skills, but nothing more: a
lampoon of TV advertising is neither
nal nor mirth-provoking. It is only
when Shelley plays a newly arrived hotel
he reverts to his customary
Tello, desk. this is Berman,
just checked in - . . I don't
have a window .. . №, I looked
Well, I guess I just like to have a win-
dow . . . Everything else is here, wall-
paper, Utrillo prints, Gideon Bible . . .
lots of hot water . . . out of both taps . - -
Near which door? . .. | can't find the
door .. . You mean the door to the
closet... Oh, I thought I had опе...
Well, send up а bellhop . . . Well, what
time do you reopen? . .. What do your
guests think about all фі... I am?
The Remarkable Carmell Jones (Pacific
Jazz) features trumpeter Jones’ sensitive
horn visi-vis the equally perceptive
tenor of Harold Land as they execute
quiet configurations around such dis
parate items as Duke Ellington's Anat-
omy of a Murder melody I'm Gonna
Go Fishing, the Arlen-Meicer evergreen
Come Rain or Come Shine and the
dlin Full Moon and Empty

nd

nc movie

nd: “АП

listener ms delivery is so

usually m:

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Arms. This outing, happiness is just a
g called Jones. Donald Byrd at the
Half Note Cofé, Volume 1 (Blue Note) is
another salubrious pairing, as trumpeter
Byrd is off and winging with baritone
sax confrere Pepper Adams. The mood
is mainly blue and mostly minor as the
quintet works its way meticulously
through a handful of originals that sur
round the all-Byrd oldie A Portrait of
Jennie. Another distaff paean, Cecile,
extraordinary lyric quality en
hanced by the Byrd-Adams embellish-
ments. Pianist Duke Jordan's Flight to
Jordan (Blue Note) is a superior six-pack
of his own compositions. Their handli
marks Duke as a musician of rare inven-
tiveness and consummate taste, possess-
ing а talent which, regretfully, has not
yet been given its full due. Trumpeter
Dizzy Reece and tenor man Stanley Tur
rentine join Jordan in filling out a quin-
tet tl is very much on the musical qui
vive. A vigorous group that sounds as
though it's come stright from Vic
Таппуѕ, the Horace Silver Quintet, is at
its zestlul best on Doin’ the Thing (Bluc
Note), a camp meeting recorded live at
the Village Gate, The exuberant Silver
piano is a restless probing instrument,
constantly racing off in new direc
The stout trumpet of Blue Mitchell
the tenor of Junior Cook respond rous:
ingly. It is, verily, a set of sterling Silver.

For jazz archacologists, The Fletcher Hen-
derson Story — A Study in Frustration (Colum-
bia) is Minos, Troy and Angkor Wat
all rolled up in опе. A handsome
fourLP package, it covers the ill fated
Henderson band from its embryonic
the early Twenties right on
through its death throes in the late
i s. The initial Don Redman ar
c primitive, almost Mickey
Mouse in scoring and quality of repro-
duction, but the great musicians arc
all there — Armstrong, Hawkins, Carter,
Eldridge, Waller, Webster, Cootie Wil.
liams lead a long line of notables, One
of the small joys of this album is the
rediscovery of several sides featuring
the trumpet work of Tommy Ladnier
whose sound, even today, is a thing of
rare beauty.

boasts

ions.

Concerto buffs would be well advised
to acquire Hermann Scherchen Conducts
Trumpet Concerti (Westminster). Haydn,
Torelli, Vivaldi and Handel arc repre
sented with works for this rather uncom:

of

concerti were written
originally for a now extinct, valveless
trumpet called the clarino; Roger Del
motte and Arthur Hancuse — who share
solo honors — exhibit the brilliant tech-
nique demanded by Baroque composi
tion. The Handel work for two trumpets

22

The
Margarita

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28

is interesting in that Handel "stole"
from it most of the material for the
fist movement of his Royal Fireworks
Music — hearing it is rather like meet-
ing an old friend in strange clothing.
The tenuous thread that ties together
Jimmy Rushing ond the Smith Girls (Colum-
bia) — Mr. FivebyFive belting out the
tunes pioneer jazz singers Bessic, Mamie,
Clara and Trixie Smith made famous—
is all Rushing needs to wrap up in his
typically robust fashion a Twen
tinged, bluesladen package. Rushing’
rear-back-and-let-go style is traditionally
backdropped by trumpeter Buck Clay-
ton, clarinetist. Buster Bailey, trom-
bonists Dickie Wells and Benny Morton,
and rhythm. The tenor of Colem
Hawkins, however, is an instrument in-
capable of backtracking into history;
the sound of the Hawk, an cloquently
contemporary non sequitur in this con-
text, is nevertheless highly pleasurable.
Among the memorabilia dusted off by
Rushing & Go. and given a glistening
patina that belies their age are Arkansas
Blues, Trouble in Mind and the Bessie
Smith blockbuster, Gulf Coast Blues.

FILMS

The Hustler is Paul Newman in more
senses than one. He plays a pool shark
who lives by conning pool clunks, then
makes the big time for a short time. In
one scene he tells his girl what it feels
like when the balls are clicking right and
the cue seems part of his arm. That's
es us all through the
film — in control and going. He can take
moments you've seen 3000 times, that
usually you just can't wait to get past —
ind make them happen (the moment
when he sees the girl's body, for
ample). An actor who can do that is
like a writer who can nudge a weary
cliché slightly and. suddenly the world
starts all over again and all of us are
very, very grateful, Newman is perfectly
paced by Piper Laurie, who does well
as a kid with her nervous system show-
ing, and Myron McCormick, a friend
whom Newman and an audience can

the feeling he

х-

lean on. George С. Scott, playing a gam
bler, is exceptional, as is Jackie Gleason
playing pool whiz Minnesota Fats. Rob-
ert Rossen has directed with a Marcel
Carné touch and, with Sidney Carroll,
has co-authored the script based on
Walter Tevis' short story that originally
appeared in paynoy (January 1957) and
was later turned into a novel. The dialog
is incredibly real and dramatic, and the
script reaches for the Hemingway mys-
tique: sport as the one activity at which

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modem man can face his moment of
truth. The poolroom doesn't quite match
the bull- and boxing rings, but the scenes
in the poolroom ате as compelling
anything put on film this year and the
best parts of a strong picture. This is
a triumph for Rossen and gives Newman
the chance to niche his name nice and
big at the top of his profession.

Depravity, modern rootlessness, murder
and similar ingredients make up Purple
Noon — and all in color as luscious as the
title. In this French film a couple of
young American expatriates named. Rip-
ley and Greenlact are played by a couple
of Frenchmen named Alain Delon and
Maurice Ronet; a third American is
played by a real one—in French, with
Apart from such
ics, René Cl has con-

Now you've got fit, feel and free- cocted a tight, tenterhooking example

dom like you've never had it be- аце kind of suspense film — you

every scene seems to in-
no mere thriller. We're
g psychologically and

fore. Sansabelt's patented French s
imported waistband has it to give [| | ely delving psycho

h SE En contemporary life like c
— #-1-у-е when you need it, g-i-v-e f | or may not be sliced, but rich young
where you need it — around the | | Greenleaf sure is, and Ripley, his poor

T but dishonest friend, impersonates hi,

waist. And Sans- [yr one ano ony forges his signature on bank drafts
abelt tapers you | SANSABELT tries to move in on his

down, right Laforet, a chic chick). The
,

shot in southern Italy, and when the
down to your E OEE E ERD

shoe tops. So say | rnis wean ine Roman scenery for improvement. May:
goodbye to belts, Pesan Sie аги, be this is a study in social psychology,

этив BY Y LE COTTER but we have to confess that, in our
buckles, buttons | тетш о vet visceral way, we got an old-fashioned,

... and bulges. ишт totally nonpsychological bang out of the
plot as plot—especially the surprise

Wear Sansabelt. p EE

Look lean! She’ll -

look long! Go sce Mr. Serdonicus. Many are the
- unpredictable elements that enter the

Left: plain front, % top pockets, plenty J | making of a movie, but you can usually

of fabrics, patterns and colors. Starting figure that if a film is based on a firmly

at about $15.95 at better stores. plotted yarn, and the author of that

If your favorite store doesn't carry n enlisted to write the screenplay.
nd a cast of expert (if largely unknown)

YMM, write Playboy Reader Service pean actors signed, the resultant
Department, or directly to Jaymar- flick stands an excellent chance of being
Ruby, Inc., Michigan City, Indiana. well worth the price of the ducats. Thi
z а Em ши: р happily, is true of the ripsnorting horror
d film Ray Russell bas fashioned [rom his
novelette, Sardonicus (it led off our Ja
чагу 1961 issue). Russ
you'll recall, was a tour de force told in
the grand manner. His scrcenplay fol
lows the story faithfully — but. not slay-

AE

ishly, since he has cooked up a wealth
of new invention for the cinema version.
"The title c urdonicus, stylishly

lish Shakespearean
cr Central
been blighted

portrayed Бу
actor Guy Rolle,
id | European whose face has

"e by a rigid, tceth-baring grimace, and who
MAN'S Moon wears a n to hide this fact from the

YOUNG cae |
a product ol JAYMAR-RUBY, NC, Mich. City, Ind. world. So ugly is he to behold that his

pretty wife (prettily played by Audrey

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57

TONIGHT
IN PERSON

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269. Notion's hotest

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282. Hunting themes
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310. Pinnacle ol ort!
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N. Y. Times.

214. Abo: Blue Ski,
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270. Leîsurel,, tilting
melodies include, Fosci-
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31

PLAYBOY

32

CHERISHED

AS ONE OF

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Born, bottled and sealed in France
8.50 to 75.00 plus tax ©1961 Revlon, Inc.

Dalton) will not admit him to her bou-
doir, and the poor chap is reduced to
forcing his attentions on peasant girls
procured for him by an evil, one-eyed
helot called Krull (played to the hilt by
seasoned pro Oscar Homolka). Sardoni-
cus invites a prominent London physi-
cian, Sir Robert Car; (young Ronald
Lewis, another English import, and a
talent to watch) to his remote castle. In
his efforts to persuade the medico to
cure his affliction, Sardonicus uses his
wife,
asa lever, threatening her with a punish-
ment so di the doc agrees to try
a dangerous new treatment. The com
plications mount; the plot twists and
twists again, leading to a jolting surprise
and it all adds up to a little
low-budget classic of flamboyant horror,
told with elegance by scriptor Russell
and presented with impact by producer-
director William Castle, who makes a
brief appearance as the story's racon-

n old heartthrob of Sir Robert's,

teur. Why the puzzling addition of Mr.
to the title? We hear the Columbia front
office feared conlusion with Spartacus.
(incidentally, Russell's original novelette
is now at your bookdealer's: see Books.)
In The Devil ot Four O'Clock, Spencer
асу says to Frank Sinatra, “When I
was a kid in Hell's Kitchen, we used to
eat punks like you." And Sinatra те
plies: “That was when you had your
teeth.” These, sad to say, are the best
lines in the film, The title comes from
an old proverb that a man needs extra
courage if he knows he's going to meet
the Devil at four рм. Tracy pl
American priest on a French i
the Pacific, who has been there long
enough to build a leper hospital for
children, to grow embittered at the vil-
m
stmt lapping up the nonsacramental
sauce. Sinatra is one of thrce convicts en
route to Tahiti whom Tracy borrows to
do some work at the hospital. Later,
when а volcano threatens the island and
everyone flees, the convicts go back with
the priest to get the children out. Trail-
ing tatters of My Three Angels, The Inn
Of the Sixth Happiness and Boys’ Town,
the film sta

ers because of their opposition and to

Ts to a conclusion as
credible as everything that has gon
before. "The color is poor, the editing
worse, Mervyn LeRoys direction un-
speakable. However, Tracy gives one of
his best performances in years; he actu-
ally manages to seem awake and inter-
ested a good deal of the time.

In Judgment et Nuremberg,

Stanley (On
the Beach, Inherit the Wind) Kram
er has tackled another serious subject —
and, once more, it has thrown him.
This time it's the postwar American
trial of four Nazi judges, and, as in his
films on nuclear dangers and the Ten-

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THE BEST OF CIRCLES..!

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nessce Scopes trial, he has not stinted
with sincerity or directorial skill. But
again he has crashed between two
stools: the film has nothing enlightening
to say to those who have thought about
the matter, and others will not find
themselves much moved. The script by
Abby Mann plods heavily over the sur-
face of such topics as Nazi guilt for their
crimes, German guilt for the Nazi
world guilt for the Germans. And when-
ever the movie comes to а Moment of
Revelation, it's as ineffectual as Chaplin's
huge cannon out of which a little shell
plops weakly. The attempts at inducing
tension (some pressure is put on the
judge and prosecutor to go casy) are born
more from desperation than from dra-
matic necessity, and brief appearances a
itnesses by Montgomery Clift and Judy
Garland, intended as star shells, turn out
to be empty shells. Burt Lancaster plays
а former German Minister of Justice who
sits mute through most of the trial, and
is almost convincing until he opens his
mouth. Spencer Tracy (this is Tracy
month), the chief American judge, has a
miserable part; mainly he says, “Thank
you,” and raps for order. Richard Wid-
mark, the U.S, prosecutor, loses the act-
ing if not the legal battle to Maximilian
Schell, the German defense lawyer, who
has the best role in the film and knows
it. A German general's widow is played
by Marlene Dietrich, who comes across
like an unreasonable facsimile of herself.

E

No love for Johnnie asks, in a civilized,
quick-witted manner, What Makes John-
nie Run? — for liament, that is. J.
Byrne is a political pro, a Laborite from
the Midlands who has shucked a m
Small accent for a large ambition. In
his early 40s he has risen far enough in
the House of Commons to be disap-
pointed when the new Prime Minister
fails to give him a government post.
Curving in and out of this penetrating
picture of life in Talkery-on-the Thames
are the women in Johnnie's private life
—his cranky ex-Red wife who leaves
him, the available woman upstairs, the
impressionable girl who impresses him.
Peter Finch plays Johnnie with sym-
pathetic understanding, and there are
unimprovable performances by Stanley
Holloway as an old M.P., Geollrey Keen
as the P.M., Rosalie Crutchley as John-
nie's wife, Billie Whitelaw as Lady Too-
Bountiful, and Mary Peach (no kidding)
as Byrne's flame.

Girl with a Suitcase stars well-packed
Claudia Cardinale, This Italian export
makes much of another of those en-
counters between a girl who ha
everything and a teenager who's look-
ing. Miss Cardinale, a band singer, has
been taken on a jaunt by a rich young
joker, who ditches her after a couple

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fork replaces the delicate ha
spring and balance wheel Ше
parts responsible for inaccu-
racy in all other watches,
cluding electri
the first basic n per-
sonal timekeeping in 300 years.

Accutron is
than conventiona

more rugged
watches, too,

Registered Trademark. ©1961 Bulova Walch Company, Inc., New York, Toronto, Bienne. Milan.

because it has only 12 moving
parts. It rarely, if ever, needs re-
pair. Never needs winding. And,
of course, it's shock-resistant,
water prool,** anti-magnetic.

‘The man in your life doesn’t
have everything until hegets an
Accutron timepiece. Give him
one this Christmas. Accutron is
more than a gift— it’s a new
way of life, Suddenly, you put
him in confident command of
the exact time, all the time.

Only Accutron, the world's
new standard of accuracy, can
bring him such an extraordi-
nary measure of pride. Choose
from the many impressive styles
at your jeweler now.

*Plus FET.

THE SECRET OF ACCUTRON
This tiny tuning fork is _
oscillated at the rate of SX
360 times а second by a
germanium transistor, $
powered by a button-

size power cell, It keeps [8]
Accutron 99.9977% ac- U
curate оп your wrist.

Accutron Guarantee of Accuracy
Accutron is guarantced by Bulova

not to gain or lose more than one
minute а month in actual daily use
оп your wrist. Forone full year from

date of purchase, th
jeweler from whom y
your Accutron timepiece will ad-
just it to this tolerance, if necessary,
without charge

At left: Accutron "501" with 14-KT
gold case, flexible bracelet. $395*

See ACCUTRON
by BULOVA

at finer jewelers $150 to $2500*

* Waterproof when case, crystal and crown are intact,

PLAYBOY

36

Who is the man in 417?

He's the man with impeccable taste, in champagnes, in women . . .
and in clothes. For Cordon Rouge '29 and candlelight, he dons a dis-
creet 417" Snap-Tab shirt (easiest tab-collar ever put on, because
convenient snaps replace finger-fumbling buttons and pins). It's just
one example of Van Heusen's "417" Collection of good-looking
dress and leisure wear . . . available wherever fine men’s wear is sold.

Show-Case for a NEW DIMENSION IN STEREO SOUND!

GRUNDIG 202

A STEREO CONSOLES
featuring STEREO FM

As you'd expect, Grundig-Majestic is first with the finest
in stereo technology. Now available in the all-new Show-
case Collection of ‘'Stereo- Sixties" consoles: fabulous
multiplex for FM stereo broadcast? Luxuriously band-
finished cabinetry in precious Black Forest walnut... Old
World craltsmanship tailored to American taste and tempo.

Miustratod: Model SO-260__FM-AM-Short Wavo,
optional FM Sterco Multiplex; 4-speed stare
phono, diamond needle; built-in reverberation; pro
vision for TM-45 lape deck; 4 Superphonicspeakers.

aget INTERNATIONAL SALES
division of The Wilcox-Gay Corp.

743 No. LaSalle St., Dept. P12, Chicago 10, Illinois

Write fer FREE illustrated.
brechure and name of
nearest Grundig-Majes-
tic dealer...

omy,
тесту
ECTY,

hy VAN HEUSEN

of days. When she follows him home,
he sends his sensitive 16-year-old brother
out to give her the brush. But the kid is
stunned by her beauty and, with his
Xray vision, sees the virgin in the vet-
eran. The story details his infatuation
and her affection, and, after consider-
able commotion, reaches the moment in
which they clinch and part — he sadder
and wiser, she just sadder, Some of the
scenes between the two haye a Devil-in-
the-Flesh delicacy, but the picture, with
its serpentine plot and its snaillike pace,
is about one third too long. Valerio Zur-
the director, has obviously been
studying films like Antonioni's L’Avven-
tura but, equally obviously, he hasn't
mastered their creation. Jacques Perrin,
the boy, has a certain poetic tende:
Miss Cardinale's assets are more tangi

DINING-DRINKING

Don't be taken aback by the 5000-

odd books lining the walls of The Library
(917 Clement near Hth Avenue), way
off San Francisco's beaten and beat
track. This boite is not for the pedagogi-
cally inclined. As soon as you're comfort-
ably ensconced on one of the back-to-back
couches scattered through the dimly lit
lounge ог at the low-slung volume-inous
bar, a close-by phone jingles; you un-
cradle it and hear: “This is Nonie, your
librarian. If you see someone you know,
or would like to know, pick up this
phone, tell me where she is sitting and
I'll make the connection." Nonie, а 36-
2436 former Jackie Gleason
dancer, makes connections from cocktail
time through 2 a.m. closing; as а result,
few chicks who come to The Library
solo leave that way. Partners in this
beer-booze-n'-books emporium (a brew,
straight or mixed drink, or any book on
the shelves goes for six bits) are Joc
Gannon (who was one fourth of The
Kingston Quartet belore it switched to
a trio) and Bob Fischer, who has a
strictly business background. While fly-
ing the Berlin airlift, Joc first spotted
the phone shtick in a German Bier-
stube. Years later, he remembered the
phones, Bob dreamed up the libr:
operator acting as а hostess to introduce
people to the phones and each other,
and the p. business. Prime
public relations problem was persuading
telephone execs that one room with 30
phones did not a bookie joint ma
Since its June opening, The Library's
n swinging right up to its GO-sit, 60-
ity. and they're now talking
nchising Libraries in Los Angeles,
New York, Seattle and Honolulu.

The Alhambra (1321 South Michigan),
in Chicago, is jazz pianist Ahmad Jamal's

show

r was in

Compare—

before you shine another pair of shoes
(апа please do it before Dec. 25)

BRAND X

Polish: Polish, polish, polish, polish, polish, polish, polish, polish. Gobs ord
gobs on your shoes, some on your honds, some on your socks, someon the floor.

Brush: Brush, brush, brush, brush, brush, brush. brush, brush. Bock ond forth,
bock ond forth, bock ond forth. Whew! [don't stop now, you're clmost done).

Buffer: Bull, БО, bull, bull, bufl, buff, buff, buff. If you work hard enough ond
practice long enough, maybe you can even make it snap (this is a man-size job).

Motor: Hond driven. Gets messy lost Tires eosily.Temperomentol. Sometimes

just doesn't hove опу gel-up ond shine (whot good is its lifetime guarantee).

Kit: This old-foshioned shoe shine kit will give your shoes c good shine in just
four minutes ond is a lot of work. (And how con you give it lor Christmas?)

Polish: Squeeze on just o dob of polish (speciol formulo Ronson creom black
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Motor: Click onthe switch.It'selectric, portable, rugged. Itnevertires. I! power:
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е”

Kit: The new Ronson Roto-Shine kit will give your shoes о terrific shine in оп!
two minutes ond is a lot of fun. (Doesn't this moke a great gift for Christos?
Roto-shine comes їп а hondy hardwood box. with black and brown brushes, tw
bulters. pods, polishes. $23.50* Without wooden box $19.95

ча. fase etam зоот.

night to remember a man, a girl...and a drink or two of Early
Times! These are the ingredients for a wonderful evening. For this true
old-style Kentucky Bourbon is distilled with patience and pride, from the costliest
grains in America, by the costliest, slow, old-style distilling methods.

Treat your taste — try Early Times tonight! EARLY TIMES

KENTUCKY STRAIGHT BOURBON WHISKY - 86 PROOF - EARLY TIMES DISTILLERY COMPANY, LOUISVILLE, KENTUCKY © etoc 1961

DINNER JACKET BY AFTER Six FORMALS.

© Playboy Clubs International
Distinguished Clubs in Major Cities

VOL. II, NO. 17

SPECIAL EDITION

Playboy Club News

"Your One Playboy Club К,
Unlocks All Playboy Clubs

|

DECEMBER, 1961

SPREAD YULE CHEER THROUGHOUT THE YEAR
GIVE A PLAYBOY CLUB KEY FOR CHRISTMAS

- MIAMI CLUB TO HAVE
SENSATIONAL WINTER SEASON

Fun in the Sun Plus Lavish Nights
for Vacationing Keyholders
1) —Following the sun to Miami this
nitelv includes a visit to that winter
brightest. ray — the Playboy
Club. Since its opening last May, the Miami
Playboy Club has moved right to the top of
the festive Florida fun scene. and special
PLAYBOY -styled plans are on the agenda for
the upcoming winter season.
B The Playboy Club's Miami resort—situated on а palm-
studded 40000-square-foot estate by the aquamarine
ауле Bay-is а super-swinging
And just listen to this sterling array of talent—only a
L3 sample of the top-flight entertainment that will parade
-1 through the Mjami Club this winter: Ernestine Anderson,
Jackie Gayle, Johnny Janis, Peggy Lord, Moms Mabley,
} Margaret Ann with the Ernie Mariani Trio, Pat Morri
sey, Nino Nanni. Jimmy Rushing and Jerry Van Dyke.

/MIAMI (Spec

Around, the clock, whether it's under the sun or "moon over
Miami,” the Playboy Club will cap a visit to southern Florida,
‘The Club opens for luncheon during the week at 11: 30 A.M. and а
swinging trio provides the sounds for the “breakfast jam session”
in the Living Room until 5 А.М.

PLAYBOY CLUB LOCATIONS
Clubs Open—116 E. Walton St. in.
Chicego, 7701 Biscayne Blvd. in
Miami, 725 Eue Iberville in New
leans.
Next Line—Boston, Philadel.
phia, 5 East 59th St. in New York,
Pittsburgh, Cleveland, 1006 N:
Morton St in Baltimore, Wash-

ton, Dallas, 3914 Lindell Blvd, in
St. Louis, Denver, Phoenix, 8580
Sunset Blvd. in Los Angeles,
‘San Francisco, Seattle,

The dean of hip wits, Mort Sahl
pigne) relaxes at the Chicago

NEW ORLEANS CLUB
OPEN ‘TIL 5 A.M. layboy Club. n with Mort is
Playboy Club favorite Jackie Gayle.

PLAYBOY CLUB TALENT LINEUP

CHICAGO (Through November 25)—Don Heller, Enid m
Roland. Jackie Gayle. Penie Pryor, Max Cooper, Bob. озере
(November 26 to December 16)—Burns & Carlin, Bob Grossman;Carol Brent,
Hate Bans & Mason, George Kirby, Ernestine Anderson, Slappy White.
(Through November 25)—Joe & Eddie Trio, Eagle & Man, Slappy
White: Phyllis Branch, Don Rice. (November 26 fo Decemb! Tama
& Tra. Dick Curtis, Doree Crews, Billy Rizzo, Stu А юа
RLEANS (Through November 25 а rns & Carlin,
The Starr Sisters, Jchnsy Janis, Will WI Me nes, pur оку
16)—Jerry Van Dyke, King & Mary, Romer & Howard, Peggy Lord.

CHICAGO CLUB
OPENS SWINGING
NEW SHOWROOM

Playroom Offers Earliest
Show in Town at 7 P.M.
CHICAGO (Special) — The
opening of a scintillating new
showroom in the Chicago Play-
boy Club-the Playroom—gives
Keyholders the opportunity to
go Straight from work and enjoy
fhemselves in the posh sur-
roundings of this fifth floor of.
fun. The Playroom opens for
dinner at 6 р.м. and offers the
earliest show in town at 7 P.M.

The perfect answer to an
early week night “оп the town”
—as well as festive weekending—
the Playroom features the best
in swinging entertainment as
presented in the Library and
Penthouse and offers three
shows nightly (7-9-11), with

extra late shows on Friday and
Saturday at 1 Ам.

Your One
PLAYBOY CLUB
KEY

Unlocks AlI Ñ, g
PLAYBOY CLUBS

A sterling Playroom entree
has brought further raves from
Keyholders and their guests.
It's the "Playboy Delmonico
Steak Dinner"—succulent slices
of the finest prime beef from the

“eye of the rib,” au Jus, accom-
panied, by rissolé potatoes,
roiled tomato with cheese
crumbles, relishes and petite
dinner rolls — ALL FOR THE
PRICE OF A DRINK

PAASSEN будл
To: yboy Clubs Intern:
Gentlemen

Pie send the following a Lifetime Playboy Club Key 26 a Chri

my пате. If the recipient of my
qp Pss pend hiro the full amount of m

tse to live-itup at the Playboy Club as my guest

Pla;
So PLAYBOY Magazine, 2% E. Ohio Street, Chicago 11, Ilinois

GIFT KEY MAY BE
ORDERED THROUGH
DECEMBER 15

The Playboy Club has the
key to solve your Christmas
problems. If you act before De-
cember 15, you can be sure of
giving a lasting gift to the dis-
cerning men on your holiday
shopping list. The Playboy
Club's special Christmas Gift
Key Offer is the perfect answer

to the problem of finding a truly
personal gilt.

Gift Keys are the $25 Charter
Rate for anyone living outside a
75-mile radius of Chicago, and
$50 for persons living within
that area. A Playboy Club Fem-
lin will adorn your personalized
Christmas card, announcing
your Playboy Club Gift Key to
all the lucky men to whom you

give this choice holiday offering.

Your gift of a Playboy Club Key
offers the lucky recipient a life
time of enjoyment and sophis-
ticated entertainment notonly at
Clubs already operating but at
all Playboy Clubs wherever
they are established.

If we discover that anyone on.
your list already belongs to the
Club, we will send him a hand-
some packet of “Bunny Money”
in the full amount of your gift,
which can be applied as a cred
against his monthly statement.
AA REE EERE

ly owns a key to the Playbo:
in “Bunny Money," which he

pss Repent Tee
(Atte gt — EDT Ec EUR
las Zone County Sine

Gift card to read:

Ше tons w
[Eee

p My Name

В Aadress

State

key order.

"ш or if you

it Ke T

PLAYBOY

40

Yes, a Sony!
The new TAPECORDER 111 only $7950!

The first quality tape recorder at a popular price—a smartly-styled instrument so versatile
its uses are virtually unlimited! Invaluable fer students, world travelers, and businessmen
too. The perfect way to start a family album of sound—preserving a child's first word, а
confirmation, a wedding day. And nothing could be more fun than to capture party
conversation, theatrical readings, a speech or a poetic declamation

Features are all deluxe; all that you would expect from Sony. Yet the coral and white
Tapecorder 111 is only $79.50, complete with microphone and flight-type carrying bag.
AN Sony Sterecorders are Multiplex ready!
Sold at better stores everywhere.
Ask your dealer how you can start your
family sound album. Or write Super-
scope Inc., Dept. 2, Sun Valley, Calif

The Tapeway to Stereo

ШШ
| CROSBY THE NEW LOOK...SNUG TOPS
SQUARE

V BY CROSBY SQUARE

THE HOUSE OF CROSBY SQUARE 539 W.WRIGHT MILWAUKEE, WIS.

Girst plunge into supper-club entrepre-
neuring. Ahmad, a devout Moslem, has
had the club's four levels, which hold
hundred customers, decked out
in whitewashed Moorish decor. In keep-
ing with his religious belicfs, no alco-

holic beverages are served, as of this
writing: knowing the club crowd's liba.
tional tendencies, this ranks as one of the
year's braver moves. The Alhambra does
have an impressive list of no-proof po-
tables guaranteed to keep your head crys
tal clear — from Aam Ras (mango juice)
to nonalcoholic hot zabaglione (hot milk,
cggs and sugar). Three cooking staffs are
on tap to handle the American, Pakistani
Indian, and Middle-Eastern cuisine and
they're capable of turning out a wide
array of exotically tempting fare.
(Maitre de Lou Kulis claims the Alham-
bra serves the only true curry between
the East Coast and Chicago.) The Ameri-
can side of the menu is stocked with
steaks, roasts, fowl and seafood. The
curry entrees (lamb, beef, shrimp, chick
bles, dahl
(а spiced puree), chutney and condi-
ments, may be preceded by an appetizer
of spiced meat or vegetable samosa (a
flaky triangular patty), and capped off
with India honey cake and an extensive
variety of coffees or teas. The Middle-
Eastern menu features as an appetizer
an eggplant salad that boasts а super-
latively exotic handle (and flavor), Ba
Ba Gannouge, with Oriental white
cheese and black olives offered as an
alternative. The entrees are varied: we
turned our attention to the Lahma Mo-
hammara (cubed lamb, beef and calves?
liver with onions, herbs and spice
simmered in broth and served with rice),
up the Mahshe (grape leaves
stuffed with chopped lamb or beef), and
several others that held gourmandial
promise. Jamal and his trio are almost
always on tp supplying fine musical
accompaniment. On our visit, however,
he was off on concert tour, but his club
chores were more than ably taken up
by Jackie Cain and Roy Kral. The dub,

is open
5:30 P.M. to 4 ASt: sets commence at 9,
11 and 1:30, with an extralate set added
on Saturday. "There's a $2.50 cover from
9. Flamenco guitarist Lou Russo and
an unobtrusive hi-fi system fill in while
the troops are off stage.

en), served with rice, ve

shuttered Monday and Tuesday

BOOKS

Morris L. Wests new novel, Daughter
like The
y

ist, a

of Silence (Morrow, $:

Devil's Advocate, set in contempo
Italy where the Australian novel
down-under Alberto Moravia, apparently
spent some crucial years. The book opens
with a young woman stepping out of a

taxicab (it's obvious from her looks that
she comes from a big city), knock
the door of the mayor of a small back
country Italian town and, when he ap

at

pears, shooting him five times in the
chest. Promising opening, one murmurs
to onesclf— dark passions, mysterious
doings, and all that. And then we meet
the Ascolini family, who are summerin;
and simmering not far from the scene of
the slaying. II dootore is a noted lawyer,
urbanc, cynical, whose aged body no

longer performs in signorine's camere do
letto, but whose mind. performs

in manipulating the emotional lives of
those around him. His daughter, Valeria.
is occupied full time putting horns on
her husband, Carolo, a young lawyer as
unproved in law as he is in matrimony,
who does a great deal of brooding at
the piano over Chopin nocturnes. The
cast is rounded out by Peter Landon, a
visiting American psychoanalyst, and
Ninette Lachaise. an attractive French
painter, as unattached, self-sufficient,
worldly wise and as aching with adoles
cent yearnings as Peter. Question: What
happens when young Carolo decides to
get out from under poppa-in-law’s
thumb by defending a pretty your

agilely

ng

murderess and showing his stuff in
court? Answer: Just what you'd expect
to happen when La Dolce Vita is crossed
with The Guiding Light.

Sinclair Lewis had more than his share
of the torment required to live the life
of а tormented genius, but not enough of
the genius. The harassed carcer of the
enormously popular, enormously un
happy novelist, the first American to
win the Nobel Prize for Literature, is
set forth with ironic compassion in Mark
Schorer's 800-odd-page biography, Sin-
Чой Lewis: An American Life (McGraw-Hill,
$10). Lewis’ most memorable achieve.
ments were less esthetic than social.
Babbitt and Main Street, overdrawn.
naive and gracelessly written as they
were, with their heavy reliance on photo-
graphic description and quickly dated
colloquialisms and slang, do not stand
as literary masterpieces, But they jolted
post-World War I America into an
ess of the fatuously conforming
moncyoriented society that dominated
the nation's hinterland. With painstak-
ing care, Schorer traces Lewis’ pain-filled
life from his boyhood in Sauk Centre,
Minnesota (“Не was a queer boy, al-
ways an outsider, lonely"), to his death
in Rome in 1951 ("He dicd among
strangers . . ."). His battles with wives
and publishers, with agents and alcohol,

awa

and mainly, with his own restless, ragin;
temperament that kept him traveling
over the world in search of a peace he
was never to find are reported with an
abundance of detail that the general
reader may find somewhat excessive, But
writer-critic-English professor Schorer's

A
collector's

item
before it was
recorded!

Sinatra sings again
the songs of the Dorsey days...

.-. reliving, recreating the mood, style and material which fused the
Sinatra state-of-mind in America's music. Listen to an evocative, remi-
niscent Sinatra, breathing new life into an awesome musical legend —
conjuring the imagery and sentiment of an era and an idea you can
never forget. Г] Arranged and conducted by Sy Oliver, these are the
historical Sinatra songs — as much yours as they are his — as steeped
in nostalgia as a faded Valentine. Never before a Sinatra presentation
so uniquely meaningful — to you... and to him.

I'M GETTING SENTIMENTAL OVER YOU - IMAGINATION - THERE
ARE SUCH THINGS ~ EAST OF THE SUN (ANO WEST OF THE MOON)
* DAYBREAK • WITHOUT A SONG « I'LL BE SEEING YOU + TAKE МЕ
+ IT'S ALWAYS YOU = POLKA OOTS AND MOONBEAMS « IT STARTED
ALL OVER AGAIN « THE ONE 1 LOVE BELONGS TO SOMEBODY ELSE

reprise
records

..TO PLAY AND PLAY AGAIN

41

PLAYBOY

42

WATCH
WHAT
BLACK WATCH
DOES
FOR

the man’s fragrance

for around-the-clock distinction
.
shave lotion $250, cologne $3

BLACK WATCH
by PRINCE MATCHABELLI

wailablo in Canada

P.S. Try a sample of
Black Watch Shave Lotion.
Send 25/, your name and address
to: Black Watch, c/o Prince Matchabelli,
Box 10, 485 Lexington Ave., N.Y. 47, N.Y,

decade of conscientious scholarship and
reporting have produced what will
surely stand as the definitive biography

ad

of a writer who, as one critic put it.

the terror of commonplace Ame

soaked into his pores.

The rise and fall of a garment-center
selfmade man is related by his only
friend in A Feast of Friends (Appleton-Cen.
tury-Crofts, $4.50) by Rosser Evans. Igor
Conrad and Jack Hobbs started their
careers as delivery boys in the garment
disuict and Igor—in a Horatio Alger
esque, ruthless scramble to the top
succeeds in betraying the friendship en
route, via tampering with Jack's girl and
the girl's wealthy mother. So much for
the rise of our hero; the fall is literal —
in a plane crash. Jack i
nocent — recreates Igors careening Ca-
reer in a series of flashbacks notable for
their originality, acuity and vitriolic wit
Igor’s doom — apart from proving that
many a modern Achilles is a heel — is
pure psychiatric deus ex machina and.
in terms of the reach of the novel.
beside the point. But along the way,
both in business and in bed, there are
episodes (oft moving) that lift this tale
above its rather tortured plot and
arbitrary outcome

Sordonieus ond Other Stories (Ballantin.
350) is Ray Russell's first fiction collec
tion, and a roistering romp it is. Kicking
off with the Graustarkian novelette lime-
lighted in the book's title, it offers a
cornucopia of 17 yarns which — though
they range Irom "straight" through sci-
ence-fiction, fantasy, horror and suspense
= сап all be described by the coinci-
dentally apt adjective, sardonic. Other
writers may see life through the grimy
window of realism, or under the micro-
scope of clinical analysis, or through
rose-colored glasses: Russell sees it rc-
flected in a funhouse mirror—
viewpoint that can be, and in this
is, tartly entertaining. The characters
include, in addition to the ghastly
Gothic gentleman of the title tale
Russian film director with Eisensteinian
overtones, ап unsupernatural ghost, а
mutated baby, the Devil (їп по less
than three stories), the Emperor Nero,
and an interplanetary invader who takes
а long look at Farth's inhabitants and
promptly commits suicide. The stories
take place in the past, the present and
the future; half a dozen of them — in
duding the opening novelette, which
has become a motion picture (see Filns)
— appeared first in these pa

wry

We picked up I Should Hove Kissed Her
More (Simon and Schuster, $1.50) appre
hensively, a bit worried that Alexander
was making too much of a good King.
But this third installment of his inter

ANONYMITY
05.

RESPONSIBILITY
FA

ГУУ

) 5: Aim seek anonymity who would
avoid Responsibility. We, Daroff, tailors of
Philadelphia, offer AUTHENTIC natural
shoulder clothing to gentlemen at its NATU-
RAL PRICE, and in earnest of our HONEST
INTENT, do proudly sew our ‘Botany’ 500
Tailored by Daroff label into every garment.

If you have it in you to STAND FIRM against
the connivance of certain partics to TAX your
good taste by iufliting the ргис of fashionable
attire beyond the limits of rcason and EQUI-
TABLE PROFIT. thea we invite you to join with
us and MAKE COMMON CAUSE.

een no natural shoulder garment as
authentic of which you do mot know ITS
MAKER. Nor should you accept the names of
ENGLISH COUNTIES and suchlike labels
as naming the TAILOR, these being rather a
CONCEALMENT thana DECLARATION.

We are aided and abetted in this cause by
dedicated merchants who proudly affir their
OWN GOOD NAME as well, to the end
that, the garment having PROVED ITSELF,
you may know where to find its like again.

Suits $69.50 (vest included), Sport coats $39.95,
Topcoats $65.00 (slightly higher in the West)
For thc merchant nearest you, write us: H. Daroff
б Sons, Inc., 2300 Waluut Strect. Philadelphia
3, Pa. (a division of Botany Industrics).

| {BOTANY’500°

tailored Бу DAROFF
of Philadelphia
(The Cradle of Freedom in Menswear)

minable memories. in which the old
master reminisces about old mistresses,
is the best yet. He calls it a “lovingly
poised mirror of memories by a man
with instant extinction constantly on h

mind," and, naturally, he opens with
daydream of his own funeral. Each en-
suing d devoted to a lady or

dics who will or, for various excellent
sons, will not attend. Some of them

ег;

only friends, some were fr

wel
all have their idiosyncrasies. There is the
Leopard Girl in the Coney Island side

show whose spots were caused by an al
lergy to tomatoes, the Russian artist's
model who had — literally —a tail, and
the khaki-clad buxom young recruit for
land service Israel med Bubbles
Gallagher. King's stock of anecdotes
shows no signs of depletion. He tells, for
iple, of the Broadway music
who took revenge on a mounted cop for
giving them a parking ticket by feeding
his horse an apple stuffed with laxa
Although King sometimes leaves the tap
open on his emotion, the drain of real-
ism keeps things from overflowing.
Maybe it's all true, maybe it’s touched
up a bit. No matter. In either case, it's
a Kingsize memoir.

©

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44

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THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR

Wi soup is served in a cup with handles,
is it correct to pick up the cup and drink
from it? What if the cup has no handles?
— T. K, Newport, Rhode Island.

It is entirely proper to drink soup or
bouillon directly from a handled cup. A
spoon should be employed for stirring
and tasting the soup, and for polishing
off whatever noodles, vegetables or other
ingredients may remain after the many
sips "twixt the cup and the lip. Onc may
also drink with propriety from a small,
cup-size bow! that does not have handles.
With a larger, handleless bowl. a spoon
must be used at all limes.

For the past four months 1 have been
enjoying a warm relationship with an in-
telligent and vivacious young girl. Of
late, however, my enthusiasm for her
company has been dimmed by a desire
on her part to " my admittedly
mperfect characte aken to
proposing certain ground rules for my
personal conduct: 1 should henceforth
limit myself to a pair of pre-dinner cock-
tails, stop seasoning my conversation
with salty expressions, and give up what
she considers to be the bad habit of puff-
ing a postprandial cigar. The obvious
thing to do, of course, is to tell her to
shut up, but Lam reluctant to risk losing
die young lady beue Е

life is otherwise admirably emancipated.
How can I straighten her out w
alienating her affections? — W. F., Chi
cago, Illinois.

A woman's urge lo purge her male of
"bad" habits is primal and potent — but
there is a way to curd it, We suggest that
you explain to your inamorala as omi-
nously as possible thal your minor vices
are merely emotional safety values — and
that if they are denied you, you won't
be held responsible for the consequences.
It this doesn't jar her out of her role as
a one-woman reformation, try capitali:

pproach to

ing on her sense of humor by quoting
Oscar Wilde's incisive observation: “The
only way а woman can ever reform a
man is by boring him so completely that
he loses all possible interest in life."
Whatever you do, don't yield an inch to
her wishes.

Bam about to set forth on a three-week
holiday cruise to France, Spain and Italy.
While abroad I intend to add several
items to my wardrobe — but what little
I know of the European clothing meas-
urement system leaves me completely
bafiled. Is there any easy way to convert
American sizes into their Continental
equivalents? — С. H., Cambridge, Mas-
sachusetts.

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be outfitting themselves in countries us-

ing the metric system, we offer the fol-
lowing size conversion table:

Suits and Coats:

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European: 41 42 43 44 45

Shirts:
neck
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European: 37 3839 4142
sleeve

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B sportsman friend and I have re
cently had several arguments concer
the care of guns when they are not in
use. We were unable to resolve the fol-

g questions: (1) Is there any truth
to the assertion that it’s bad for a gun to
store it in its carrying case because the
lining accumulates moisture? (2) Is it
wue that handling metal parts of a gun
(except when in use, followed by clean-
ing and oiling) causes rust? (8) Most
bullet boxes bear statements that protec
tive coating and/or special. priming pre-
vents any fouling or pitting. If this is
really truc, is it necessary to swab out the
barrel after shooting? (4) My friend keeps
his varment rifle, deer rifle, skeet gun
and duck gun on a decorative rack. The
muzles are plugged with cotton soaked
in oil to keep out dust and moisture. Т

30 31 32 33 31 35
76 79 81 84 56 89

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say this is bad because the oil in the
cotton tends to get gummy. My method
is to seal the barrels shut with a dab of

gun grease. Which way is best? (5) Should
guns be stored cocked or uncocked? —
H. G., Madison, Wisconsin.

In the order in which you fired your
questions, here iy the score: (1) In gen-
eval, it is wiser not lo store your gun in
its case, not only because some lining
sare apt lo accumulate moisture,
but also because case tanning processes
may involve the use of chemicals which
induce rusting, Too, under certain cli-
matic conditions, an encased gun will
"sweat," producing condensation, (2) Yes.
Perspiration contains acid which will ac
celerale rusting, The corrosive qualities
of perspiration vary with the individual.
(3) Modern primers and smokeless pow-
ders (which release no hygroscopic salts)
will not с
lubricant pla
indeed, have a rust-inhibiting effect.
However, in humid climates it is always

maleria,

use bore corrosion, and the

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plug your gun bores with either oil-
soaked cotton or gun grease. Swabbing
the bore with a good gun grease prior
lo storage will provide protection even
under severe conditions for a prolonged
period of time. (5) Most guns are cocked
automatically when the action is closed
after gelling off the last shot, and e:
perts agree guns should not be stored
with their actions open (which invites
dust and rust). Some gunsmiths claim the
trigger spring is weakened by keeping it
in the cocked (compressed) position for
long. Others say the alternative (pulling
the trigger on an empty chamber) may
injure the firing pin. Take your choice;
if either were likely to be seriously dam-
aging, manufacturers would so state їп
instruction manuals апа suggest eme:
dial action.

Bn the apartment above my bachelor
digs there lives a toothsome young chick
who is charming, voluptuous — and mar-
ried. Her husband is, to coin a ph
а traveling man, who is out of town on
business more often than not. Of late,
it has become increasingly apparent that
the girl is getting tired of spending her
evenings alone. Repeatedly she has pre-
nted herself at my door on some patent
pretext or other—even the corny one
of wanting to borrow a cup of su
but there has been no mistaking th
tation in her Уос eyes. Thu

rate. Am I а fool for ignoring such a
temptation? Wouldn't I be better advised
d the pantry while the breadwinner

y? — M. G., Seattle, Washington

Pass up this chance to make a pass: it
spells trouble, ranging from mayhem, to
alienation of affection suits, to prominent
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the 10th Commandment and never for-
get that one man’s helpmeet is usually
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hubby's in town, invite the couple to
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bachelor.

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47

My Brother,
Ernest Hemingway

an intimate and
personal biography
of the writer as
man and artist

By Leicester Hemingway

PROLOGUE

This is a book about Ernest Hemingway the writer, the soldier of fortune, the big-
game hunter, deep-sea fisherman and bullfight buf]. Ernest was all of these things. He was
also my only brother. In the early years after I was born he changed my diapers with amuse-
ment and called me “the Pipehouse.” Later he changed my nickname to “the Baron.”
He taught me even more than my father did about shooting, fishing and fighting.

One calm evening after World War II while we watched the sun setting beyond
Havana, Ernest talked about life and the things that made a good one. We laughed
together over some of the observations on his own life that had been made by people.

outside the family. “Jeezus, Baron,” he said finally,
“someday I'd like to have somebody who really knew
me write a book about me. Maybe you'll be the one.
After all, the Huxleys made out all right, and the James
brothers — Frank and Jesse especially.”

A good deal of time has passed since then. But Ernest
never took back anything he said. In the time that has
gone by, some of the material written about Ernest by
scholars, columnists, reviewers and indignant custodians
of public virtue has been so heinously and hilariously
inaccurate that it does not merit correction. A few of
the writers have been just and accurate.

Ernest was one of those тате humans who are truly
original. That he has a secure position in world litera-
ture as a gifted writer is certain. That he also possessed
absolute integrity, both emotional and esthetic, is clear
to the people who have read his books and to those who
knew him well. But the fact that he was a child of God
besieged by a welter of familial and. personal problems
is either forgotten or overlooked by most students of his
work and life.

As Ernesi’s brother, I have many times been asked
Jor insights into his life and character. These glimpses
might well be called notes for a biography, since his
life was so abundant that a definitive account would be
almost impossible. As Ernest once pungently observed,
“The true story of a man's life should really cover every-
thing that happened to him and around him every 21
hours for 50 years.”

Ernest lived as he died — violently. He had a tremen-
dous respect for courage. During his own lifetime he
traded in it, developed it, and taught other people а
great deal about it, And his own courage never deserted
him. What finally failed him was his body. This can
happen to anyone.

The morning of that last July 2, when he took the
final action of his life and for the last time fondled his
silver-inlaid 12-gauge double-barreled Richardson shot-
gun, there was no one to witness the exact manner of
his death. It may indeed have been “in some way an
incredible accident,” as his widow Mary 1014 reporters
after the news of Ernest’s death was released.

In the circumstances of his death Ernest created a
mystery, a thing he had never done in his lifetime of
writing — а lifetime concerned with death and violence,
tenderness and humanity, the comic and the true.

When news of Ernest’s death reached the radio and
television stations across the country about noon of that
final Sunday, Ernest's three sons were engaged in varied
pursuits. John was trout fishing in Oregon, Patrick
was on safari in British East Africa, and Gregory was
in and out of a medical library in Miami studying
for a midsummer exam. I was being splashed on a
beach in the Florida Keys, teaching my young daughter
to swim. None of us received the news until late in the
aflernoon when friends, relatives and communications
finally caught up with us. Our older sister Marcelline
was in Detroit, Ursula was in Honolulu, Madelaine at
Walloon Lake, Michigan, and Carol out on Long Island.

52

My Brother, Ernest Hemingway (continued)

They all had the word by evening,
and preparations were soon under шау,
with the assistance of Ernest's friend Pop
Arnold, for attending the funeral, first
scheduled for the following Wednesday.
When we discovered that Patrick couldn't
arrive before Wednesday evening, even
with the best jet connections {rom Africa
and Europe, the funeral was rescheduled
for Thursday.

The day following Ernest's death,
statements were issued by the Vatican,
the White House and the Kremlin, as at
the passing of a world statesman. Never
before had an author been given such
news coverage following his death. The
entire world was realizing with a sense of
shock that the loss of this man would be
felt by all mankind.

I midsummer the Sawtooth Mountains
of Idaho are their greenest. In the
higher ranges the snow stays through the
warm season, But down in Sun Valley
there is a fine crop of hay by July, and
the Wood River runs troutcold down
one edge of the winding fold in these
old, smooth foothills of the Rockies.

Between Hailey and Ketchum, a dozen
miles away, the valley narrows from two
miles to less than half a mile. Along its
western edge the mountains feel closer,
and a steady line of trees marks the
course of the river. Just outside Ketchum,
across the river and beyond the trees,
sils the two-story house where Ernest
Hemingway lived and worked during the
last years of his life. The house has a
natural wood color like so many of the
houses in this winter sports arca. But
Ernest's house on the west side of the
Wood River has an unusual view. In-
stead of catching sunsets, like most dwell-
ings in Ketchum, it faces the rising sun,

By the morning of July 6, those mem-
bers of the Hemingway family who could
attend the services had arrived in Idaho.
Of the more than а dozen honorary poll-
bearers, only half were able to attend.
Many other friends from far away had
flown in to honor ihe man who had
spent a lifetime writing about what he
had learned of life, writing so simply
and well that all men could understand
some of what he said and be moved by it.
Early that morning the mountain air
was chill, and you could see your breath.
The sun was up well before six, and fine
clouds far overhead moved slowly east-
ward aver the valley. There was an in-
sistent smell of sage in the air as though
great quantilies of the herb lay some-
where upwind just over the horizon. In
the lower meadow the Wood River gur-
gled over the pebbled bed and fish occa-
sionally darted out. of the shadows to
feed.

By midmorning the chill had vanished,

The sun made small heat waves shimmer
above the tops of the cars as they pulled.
in beyond the State Police barricade at
the cemetery entrance.

The cemetery lay on а gentle slope
around a small hill north of town. A
galvanized wire fence enclosed it. And
beyond this. less than 30 yards from the
freshly dug grave, waited a group of
photographers and technicians with tape
recorders.

Ernest's grave was beside that of Tay-
lor Williams, an old hunting friend. For
years Taylor, called “Beartracks,” was a
shooting instructor at Sun Valley. He
died two years ago, and Ernest had been
a pallbearer at his funeral. Plots in the
cemetery al Ketchum are $25 each, so the
Hemingway family bought six. Ernest
always liked space.

The burial ceremony began at 10:30
Ar, on schedule. A small gathering of
townspeople and curious strangers col-
lected around the fence. First to arrive
were the pallbearers, all local friends,
including the undertaker. To enter the
area, everyone needed a plain white en-
velope with Ernest's box number on it,
containing a single sheet asking thal the
bearer be admitted to the graveside serv-
ice. The envelopes had been distributed
the day before, and cach one was checked.

After the relatives, honorary pallbear-
ers and friends had gathered, Mary Hem-
їп шау approached. escorted by Ernest's
sons. She wore a simple black dress and
а black hat with a wide brim. She crossed
herself before sitting down. Then the
priest, Father Robert J. Waldmann, look-
ing unused to so much commotion,
walked to the front of the group. He
was followed by two altar boys.

5. That's Jack Hemingway, the au-
thor’s oldest son, sitting down now,” a
voice from beyond the fence intoned into
a microphone, “And beyond him is . .
The voice faded as the priest began the
graveside service in Lotin

Then, lapsing into English, Father
Waldmann began a meditation on death,
and since he hud been requested to read
verses 3, 4 and 5 of the first chapter of
Ecclesiastes, he began, “What profit hath
а man of all his labor which he taketh
under the sun? One generation passeth
away,and another generation cometh: but
the earth abideth for ever.” He paused.
Then he passed on to a new thought,
omitting the next verse which contains
the passage “The sun also riseth."

Mary looked up quickly, Later she told
friends, “I wanted to stand up right then
and хау, Stop the ceremony.”

Father Waldmann continued in Eng-
lish, “Our Father, we beseech The
forgive Thy servant Ernest . . ” Behind
the fence, the tape recorders continued
to give a play-by-play account of the

service as though it were a sporting spec
tacle. In mood the scene was curiously
theatrical. To the eye it had a clearly
etched quality.

Suddenly there came a resounding
“hawhomp.” Everyone in the burial
party remained motionless, barely turn-
ing to see what had happened. Just be-
hind Father Waldmann, near the upper
end of the coffin and close to the fence
with its gathering. of newsmen and
photographers, lay a form dressed in
white. At iis lower end a pair of new
brown shoes pointed heavenward.

The group stood in stunned fixity. The
priest retraced his words, and then con-
tinued. Silently the funeral director cir-
cled the group, bent down, lifted the
fainting altar boy onto his feet, and held
him as he rocked unsteadily, making
small convulsive sobs. Then he quietly
led him away.

“What was the name of the one who
fainted?” The whisper carried clearly
from behind the fence into the service
area. The large cross of while flowers at
the grave's upper end stood wildly askew.
It had been disturbed as the altar boy
fell. No one touched it during the re-
mainder of the ceremony. It seemed to
me Ernest would have approved of it all.
Ave Marias and Pater Nosters were said
three times. Then the casket was covered
with a bronze shield, lowered into the
grave, and sprinkled with the soil of the
land in which it would rest.

It would have been difficult for any-
one present, hnowing Ernest had seen
the valley from that vantage countless
times, to look around without thinking,
“I will lift up mine eyes unto the hills."

At the foot of Ernest's grave there is
another, with a simple marker, Beneath
it rests the body of a Basque shepherd,

rnest came straight out of the Mid

West Victorian era of the Nineties.
Our parents, Grace Ernestine Hall and
Clarence Edmunds Hemingway, grew up
in Chicago. Grace on the South Side
during her early years and later in the
Oak Park section where Clarence spent
his entire life. But was common in
the t middle c of the Middle
West, they believed themselves to be
bers of the upper class. They prided
elves on their interest in church
ary work and the fine
all sorts of uplift
from the establishment of na
ather founded the

ry societies dedicated
to spr Word all over the
world.

Father, the oldest in his
three brothers and

high school hours he studii

y had
After
1 photog-

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54

My Brother, Ernest Hemingway (continued)

raphy and made wet plates of Oak
Park scenes. He also played football.
But his real love was nature. "When I
was a boy there were plenty of prairie
chickens north of Lake Street," he used
to tell us. These rolling grasslands are
now lined with solid miles of houses.
During one summer Father spent three
months with the Sioux Indians of South
Dakota, Іса
ng а great tion for Indian ways.
Another summer, between studies at
Rush Medical College, he worked as
cook on a Government surveying party
n the Smoky Mountains of North Caro-
a. He loved the outdoor life, but
medicine was his consuming interest
Our mothers great passion was for
music. Having shown an early interest
in piano, she continued studying through
her teens and also cultivated her con-
Ito voice. By the time she finished
ish school, she had a solid basic train-
ing in music. She wanted to study voice
urope, but Grandmother considered
mbition too bold. Mother did
ad France.

ng nature lore and gain-

dmi

ge g
serious music study,

But for she settled
n upper Manhattan. For a year she
worked intensively under Madame

Capiani there. Then she made her sing-
ing debut under the direction of Anton
$0141, conductor of the New York Sym-
phony, and had excellent notices from
the criti

At that point she returned to Oak
Park to marry the promising young
physician, Dr. Clarence E. Hemingway.
They had met in Oak Park High School
— Father had graduated in 1889, Mother
n 1890. After finishing his studies at
Rush Medical College, Father had in-
terned at the University of Edinburgh.
By mail he and Mother compared notes
on Europe and their friendship flour-
ished. When the young couple married,
in the fall of 1896, our mother felt she
was sacrificing a great musical career.
For most of her life that feeling rankled
within her.

Father longed to be a medical mis
sionary like his brother Will. Mother,
cultural arbiter, dealt firmly with this
wanderlust. So our father settled down
and built a large, successful practice
right where he was, in Oak Park. He was
medical examiner for three insurance
companies and the Borden Milk Com-
pany as well as head of the obstetrics
department at the Oa 1k Hospital.
During his career he delivered more
than 3000 babies in the Oak Park area.

Marcelline, our oldest sister, was born
in 1898. She was exceptionally pretty
and from the start received lots of at-
tention. When Ernest was born on
July 21, 1899, he was a healthy baby.
According to our mother he cried a lot.

This emotional honesty paid off later.
According to family records, he was
tfed for the first year, began
putting on weight after the first 10 days
of regaining his birth weight, and had
reached a hefty 17 pounds by the time
he was three months old. He was early
with teething, learned to walk before he
тоа zed in а jabber
g lingo of his own during most of his
waking hours.

Years. later, Mother
was such а darli
two before he managed to cl:
share of attention. By then he was a
strongly independent child.

One of the early attention-insuring
devices Ernest latched onto was the use
of what Mother called “naughty words.
"Go wash your mouth out with soap,
common command in the Hem
ingw mily, and the list of words our
parents deemed improper was a long
one. Ernest knew the taste of soap from
an early age. So did our sisters. So did I.
"This punishment emphasized the powe
of words. Part of Ernest's later reputa
tion as a realist was gained through his
adroit usc of these same words, and he
once wiote am article for Esquire en
titled In Defense of Dirty Words.

Beyond singing lullabies and breast-
feeding, our mother lacked domestic
talents. She abhorred diapers, deficient
manners, stomach upsets, house cleaning
and cooking. It was necessary for each
child to have considerable outside aid
reaching the acceptable stages of
ing, talking and self-reliance.

Striving to catch up with Marcelline,
Ernest progressed quickly. He had the
baby words and mispronunciations
that were parroted in fun and served
only to confuse. But he was shrewdly
perceptive.
her, extremely proud of having
produced a scion, did some adroit guid-
ing toward an interest in nature, and
in hunting and fishing, the noncompeti-
tive sports he loved so much. Ernest was
introduced to fishing before he could
say "pish," a bit of bad diction he was
never allowed to forget. While walking,
whether down by the beach or over fields
or in the "yard," he was regularly told
the names of different things he saw,
touched, tasted and smelled. Our father
had a way of explaining even the
simplest of things so that they became
fascinating.

During the summer of 1900 our
parents ted Walloon Lake in north-
em Michigan and were seized with a
strange sense of shared destiny. They
bought a tract of land— two acres of
shore line more than four miles from the
foot of the lake, which was then known
as Bear Lake. Nine miles from Petoskey,

was а yea

admitted, "Marce.

was а

it was some 300 miles north of CI
and much cooler. Here the
cottage. Mother's fascination with Sir
Walter Scott's novels came into play.
The place was christened “Windeme:
and remains so to this day.

The best thing about the Windemere
location was its beach. Here the clean
sand made it an excellent place to camp.
A favorite family picture shows Ernest,
one year old, and his sister Marccllinc
splashing in the shallows. Mother had
this one printed on post cards to send to
relatives and friends.

The summer when he was two, Ernest
went out in the boat whenever Father
went trolling or fished around the old
sawmill pilings. The following year

over his shoulder. Our proud parents
stuffed the family album with pictures
of Ernest in his troutfishing regali
There were plenty of pike, large-mouth
ass, perch and bluegills in the lake and
Ernest learned to name the catches ac-
curately.

By the time he was three, Ernest had
been calmed with readings on hundreds
of occasions. Our father uscd books of
natural history with good color illustra
ions. From these est learned the
birds of North America. Mother was
quick to put him through his paces for
ny and all visitors.

Ernest had his own sapling rod and
went everywhere with a trout creel slung

“Now, Ernie, whats this one?" she
would ask.

Icterus galbula,” he'd say, ог “Car-
dinalis." He had learned more than 250

of the Latin names. Erithacus rubecula
and Merula migratoria were as il
to him kbird"
to lads years older, Our mother, a E
critic, would beam with pride. Ernest
ust have felt then that to excel was a
very satisfying thi
nest began the first grade of school
when he five. Mother decided he
could do the same classwork as Marcel-
line who was а year older, as were most
of his other classmates. This spurred
his competitive spirit. Throughout his
school days he tied not only to equal
students older than himself, but to sur-
ass them. By high school years he was
etting straight A's, and seldom missed
a day's attendance.

When Ernest was three our sister Ui
sula was born. Two years later, Mad
laine, known as Sunny, came squirming
along, She was Ernest’s favorite from the
first. As soon as she was old cnoug!
Ernest permitted her, Tom Sawyer fash
ion, to help him clean fish and skin
game.

“You can carry the snakes and hold
the frogs,” he'd say when she begged to
go hunting with him. To Sunny he gave

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My Brother, Ernest Hemingway (continued)

the honor of burying the fish entrails
around the roots of the apple trees our
father had planted.
Windem With Sunny, Ernest cri
guage. Marcelline and Ursula
scoffed, “That's just pig Latin,” but they
couldn't unravel it — nor could anyone
else. Only the nicknames — Ernest was
Oinbones, and Sunny was Nunboncs —
were known to outsiders.

There were lots of outsiders visiting
us in those days. Once Father's brother
Will came home on sabbatical leave
from Sbensi Province, China, where he
was à Protestant medical missionary. His
daughters, with their Oriental costumes
nd ability to speak Chinese, delighted
Ernest. He questioned them constantly,
ng to learn everything about life

w

in another country. And he learned
well When our sister Ursula visited
n some 40 years later,

she asked suddenly, "Hey, do you re

member Jesus Loves Me?"
And Ernest, then a bearded patriarch,
burst into the Chinese version of the

hymn he had learned from our cousins
while si grade school. He 1 Ur-
sula sang together until the tears rolled
down their cheeks.

m was something else E
learned early and well at Windeme
Summer vacations were not all hunting
and fishing. As soon as a child was old
enough to hold a broom or a rake, he

Stoic nest

ng every morning, and
the slope down from the cottage toward
second project. Ernest
as given the daily errand of the “milk
mun,” bring оГ milk from
the Bacon farm half a mile а id re-
turning the empty jars.

Tt was on the milk run that he almost
lost his life — Һе frst time. А dark,
shaded ravine separates the high ground
of Windemere from that of the Bacon
farm. A small stream, choked with water

«тез, flows along Ше bouom of this
пе. The ground on either side is
brown humus, from decomposing hem-

lock wees.
One morning Ernest r
the milk carryi

з off to get
short stick in his
hand. When he reached the ravine, he
stumbled in the loose carth and fell
Torward, bringing up the hand with the
stick to protect his face. The stick was
driven into the back of his threat, goug
ing out parts of both tonsils, The blood
gushed and hc lost quite a lot before he
Fortunately, our
ached the bleed-

The sight of her young son hemor-

ing as he ran toward the house was
g one to Mother. Years later,
youngster and picked up

when I w

stick or even a
the ng was sw
Ernest!” someone would

Emest’s throat wa
time after the accident. Our father told

sharp piece of candy,
"Remember.

he felt like crying as а
mind off the pain.
rnest's stoic reaction to pa
\ picture of the wounded
hero taken in an Italian hospital dur
World War I shows
through clenched teeth.

The summer that Ernest w.
Mother's father died. He left her
money to build the kind of house in
the Oak Park suburb of Chicago she had
wanted for years She designed its 15
rooms, including a 30-by30foot music
room two stories high with a balcony —
very impractical as far as heating went,
but fine for recitals and. concerts.

The new music room was truly a joy to
our talented. mother. She soon decided
that what the family musicales needed
most was a cello to provide depth for the
violin, piano and voice she and Marcel-
line conuibuted. Ernest's feelings w
ol minor consideration. He had an
Гог music, and a third member was a
definite need. So Ernest was started with
the cello, a half hour а day at first. Soon
ated to a full hour's daily prac-
tice. This was the system our mother
used with each one of us until she w
completely convinced the eilorts wer

camc
that time on.

rs Emest put in his hour a
day at the cello. To the everlasting que:
uon, "How did you get started writing?
his most truthful answer was olten mi:
tiken for a joke by people outside the
family. “Part of my success,” Ernest used
to зау, “I owe to the hours when I was
alone in the music room and supposed
to be practicing. I'd be doing my thin]
ing while playing Pop Goes the Weasel!
over and over g

In these carly years Ernest was ре
sonally far more fond of shooting than
of music. One fall before he was 12, after
Hemi

father way had given
st a 90-gauge shotgun, Father took
him down to the farm of our Uncle

Frank Hincs, Carbondale, Illinois.
"That was wonderful quail country and
h the trip had been anticipated
months, it had an outcome that
neither father nor son could have fort
seen.

n shot

nest’s little g remarkably
dose pattern. He could reach out with
it and bring birds down out of the sk;
that were more than 50 yards away when
his luck was running well, and Father
was tremendously proud to have him
show off his shooting on the pigeons

flying around the barn. They needed
m g out, and this was exhibition
work, taking all the hard shots within
plain sight of the house where the wom-
en and. youngsters were.

Ernest downed more than 20 with a
single box of shells. Then the men went
off on an errand, and told him to take a
dozen birds down the road to another
farm for pigeon pie that night, On the
way down the road alone Ernest met a
party of country boys coming the other
They asked him where he got all
the birds and he proudly told them.

“I shot ‘em around Frank Hines
barn.”

“Aw, you're kiddin’, You, a strange
, shoot these?”

“1 certainly did."

“You're a fresh kid. You never killed
these — never.
e a liar.
c him, Red. Go or

You take

him on."

The smallest of the country boys
stepped out. Ernest put the birds down
nd before he could get his jacket olf,
felt a stinging wallop. He fought back
just as he was then, and was soon flat
on his back with the others jeering. Red
ап oll with the others. Ernest continued
down the road with thc birds. From
that moment on, he was determined to
box as well as he could shoot.

est soon realized that the music
room he so disliked could be put to a
more cheerful use. There were frequent
arguments with his classmates.

“Come on over to my house and we
can settle it quietly," he used to say.

When the group arrived it would take
only a few minutes of scouting to see
where Mother and our various sisters
were. If the coast was clear, the par-
icipants entered the music room by the
side door from the backyard porch.
ny smuggled in the boxing gloves,
water pail and cloths. These were im-
portant for even one-round bouts, but
most challenges went three, so there was
plenty of time for each contestant to
show his stuff.

Great care was taken to keep these
bouts secret from our parer h
had a horror of physical violence. When
only a boy he was once chased into his
own kitchen and brutally beaten by a
bully right in front of his moth
Grandmother Hemingway would not
low him to strike back, so strictly did
she hold to the Biblical admoniti:
about turning the other cheek. Di
Ernest’s high school y father
lost face on at N occasion [the
basis for Ernest’s story of 1925, The
Doctor and the Doctor's Wife] by
ing an honorable stand when physically
challenged.

s.

57

58

My Brother, Ernest Hemingway (continua)

‘The music room became Ernest's pri-
vate solution to the problem of bullies
nd multiple opponents. Our parents
must have had some inkling of what was
going on. But they wisely chose to ig-
nore it, thereby avoiding edicts that
would almost certainly have been broken.

Later, when Ernest saw an advertise-
ment for boxing lessons in a Chicago
gymnasium, he got Fathers permission
хо sign up. The very first day he got his
ose injured by Young A'Hearn. It
didn't discourage him. Long after, he
told а friend, "I knew he was going to
give me the works the minute I saw his
eyes,

"Were you scared?” asked the fri

4.

"Sure. He could hit like hell."
“Why did you go in there with him?”
"E wasn’t that scared

The new house was ouly five pleasant,
elm-shaded blocks from the Scoville In-
stitute, as the Oak Park Public Library
was called. Ernest was not an early re
er. When learning, he preferred to make
up his own stories to go with the pi
tures in the books. But once he settled
down to finding out what the books said,
he made up for lost time. 4

i ad Harper's ma;
arly favorites, The family ha
practice of saving these
bound as volumes to be kept at Winde-
Ernest read Richard
ng Davis and Stephen Crane. He
icularly enjoyed reading Kipling,
Mark Twain and R. L. Stevenson.

Visits to the library were frequent
ble. Ernest adventure
d n science. Even
at Oliver Wendell

a
ng them

ad valu loved
fiction,
during grade school
Holmes Elementary, a block from home
—he read constantly, though his eyesight
was poor. By the time he was 10, he had
developed definite myopia, Our moti-
er's own vision was seriously defective.
She realized that the combination of
heritance and eyestrain had poorly

xt to th

equipped Ernest for the paths of schol
ship. Yet he absolutely refu

ed to wear
s. Mother often found him deeply
sorbed in readi lovely day.
Go on ouside and pitch some bascball
with the boys. Hear the g down
by the school?”

"Aw, Mother, I pitch like a hen,”
he'd say and go on reading.

Ernest went through the Oak Park
Township High School
at far objects

without gl
aud bright Alter. gradu:
tried to enlist in the
tionary Forces, but was
because of defective sight. Years after
the war, after putting in serious
on paper work, he allowed himself to
be fitted with glasses. Even then he re-
fused to wear them during social осса-

American
turned down

rs

si

ns, He continued to squint until the
Thirties, when the need to see finally
overcame natural vanity.

In the early years,

c-

day target pr

tice the high point of the weck
at Windemere. Without transportation
there was no chance to get to church

dwing those summers. If a missionary
were present, a prayer service was held
with singing, which w at the chil-
dren enjoyed. Sunday was
observed as a day of rest and entertain-
ment.
After 5
wait impati
finally say, “How about a

dinner, everyone would
atly until Father would
itle target

tice?
Hurray!” everyone would shout.
Shooting meant excitement and the

smell of burnt powder, Our father was

lly great wing shot. He could hit

s he showed us,
they have only about as much meat as
the end of your thumb and it would
take dozens to make a pic. He never
allowed anyone to kill for sport alone.
The meat always had to be used. We
had clay pigeons for targets, With a
hand wap, and later a spring wap. the
younger children were allowed to throw
the disks toward a nearby hill, well away
from the house.

Everyone was taught to shoot. Our
sisters all learned the feel and recoil of
shotgun before they were old enough
to hold the weapon alone when fir
Ernest was a good wing shot b
time he was 10. Each child worked up
to being allowed to hold and shoot
“Daddy's gun." It was a triumph we all
shared long before reaching adulthood.

Ernests first gun was the 20-gauge
single-barrel shotgun given him on hi
10th birthday by our Grandlather Hem-
ingway. The gun was fine for both birds

nd rabbits. As a gift it cemented the
fondness between our grandfather and
Ernest, who loved to hear his stories
about coming West in a covered wagon
when he himself wa
father Hemingw

the

volunteer. Ilinois
and learned and
al about battle
bout the unpleasant

understood а
tics as well
ies of war.

The other of Ernest's two early idols
s Great Uncle Tyley Hancock. А won-
1 been a gun
the Middle West while
ng was still legal. He cn-
joyed drinking whiskey, fished wherever
conditions were best, lent his fly rods to
Ernest, and taught the boy fly-fishing
techniques that even our father did not
know. Most wonderful of all, he had a
walrus mustache and һай sailed around

w
derful marksman, he

salesm
market hu

the world three times by the age of
seven. Uncle Tyley Hancock had seen
the wonders of the Pacific
oceans, and other far places.
later he recalled them to whet the wan-
derlust of another boy whose
autical experiences. ha
mited to the waters of Walloon Laki
During his teens, Ernest slept out
the open away from the cottage аз often
possible. Since his daily chores had
mushroomed to a full work schedule,
he was allowed more freedom with his
nights. Father had purchased Longficld
farm across the lake. He hired a chee
ful backwoods farmer named Warren
imner, who lived nearby, to handle the

and Ind

Warren and Ernest planted. ave-
ut and walnut trees,

1 apple ab
apples. These not only h
id transplanted, but trimmed, pruned
and fertilized. The hay had to be cut.
raked and gathered. Father believed Er
nest was just the boy for these tasks.
Ernest loved to “make hay” because
it gave him a chance to develop his
muscles and to compete with the other

damson plums and c
d to be planted.

pitchfork wiclders. But the other tasks
were painfully monotonous. Early in his
ming career, he was caught

times sprawled in le of
tee, lost in the fiction of far places and
great adventures, "After that, all 1 was
allowed to take across the :
copies of Father's Journal of the Amer
ican Medical Association.” he recalled.
But he gained some medical knowledge.
strengthened his muscles, and had
plenty of time to think during those
long. hot summer days.

Though Ernest worked hard at sum-
mer ns, he never ran away from
home or let his family wonder what had
happened to him. Such incidents h
been freely reported by biographers and
magazine writers. Ernest always sent
post cards, telling of birds and game he
had seen, even on overnight hikes down
the Illinois River and up to Lake Z
rich, Wisconsin,

nest's knowledge of guns served him
well while he was still in high school
He took genuine delight in organizing
the Boys’ Rifle Club. This group got
its start while Ernest was editing an
issue of the weekly newspaper Trape
зо! to fill this space.” he figured. And
soon he had dreamed up the new and
A similar organization

Шу existed and it always r

exclusive society
for girls
ceived plenty of space and publicity.
Listing himself and half a dozen
friends ay members, Ernest proceeded to
invent great deeds of prowess. The scores

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My Brother, Ernest Hemingway (continua)

chalked up by the Boys’ Rifle Club were
high enough to make most amateur
marksmen blanch. "Members." of coi
had the inside story and were all sworn
to secrecy. The club's activities were
never investigated. There was no prob-
lem until the end of the year when the
officers were asked to submit pictures
for the school annual. At that point.
Ernest pulled his final spoof. He grouped
his members, in the fashion of photo-
graphs of the day, and took a prominent
position himself on the extreme left.
Each of the remarkable riflemen held
a shotgun — a fact that slipped past the
editors and sponsoring teachers and re-
mains to this day a fitting finale to one
bit of Hemingway legend.

Ernest took his high school English
and wied io
write his best about the things that
stimulated him. By his junior year he
had written four pieces that the faculty
Considered material for Tabula, the
school's literary publication. He was then
а reporter for the Trapeze. In his senior
year, he was chosen to be one of the si
Trapeze editors. His constant competi-
tor, older sister Marcelline, was another
of the paper's editors.

со

positions as а challenge

Ernest originated a high school hun
column after the manner of Ring
Lardner, then considered the hottest

columnist in the Chicago
ing the Lardner attitude and the slang,
he made the basically dull column т
terial seem fresh. The year 1917 was one
Hantry, patriotism and high-flown
doings. The world was ripe to be saved
for democracy. Ernest's shrewd eye saw
of the fine points in the comedy of
t was high school society,
complere with high, stiff collars. Marcel-
line seemed to him the embodiment of
the sanctimonious social belle, and
E ticularly enjoyed aiming barbs
at her. He also invented an "anti-Pro-
hibition party” and once reported that
some family silver belonging to a mem-
ber of the Trap Shooting Club had
changed hands as a result of wagering
mong the members.

During that final year of high school,
Ern more material for English
n that the faculty advisors
thought was Tabula quality. One Tabula
sketch described God as “having
flowing beard and looking remarkably
like Tolstoy.” He wrote two Indian
stories, tales of violence based on his
knowledge of the Ojibways up in Michi-
These were published in Tabula
as well.

And he turned out other
that had nothing
While goin

rge,

ly writing
with school
th

to do

serious fiction. ft w
our sister Sunny. ap-
nest as the official family

of this early.
turned over to
pointed by E
repres ve at the time.

Though the Hemingway family's
finances were in solid shape during
Ernest's high school years, his own lack
of ready cash was social handicap.
Our father had been raised frugally. He
believed the path to Hell was paved
with easy money, so he transferred. cash
into the bands of his offspring by as-
signing definite tasks at low, prefixed
rates. At no time did Ernest's income
from the family during his high school
years exceed 25¢ a week — a tight budget
even in those days. It took canny man-
итеп to afford the occasional date he
did have with girls like pretty Caroline

Bailey and Lucille Dic
But Ernest suffered another social
ap which he considered worse

n lack of cash. It shouldn't have hap-
pened to a country bumpkin, much less

toa brill reporter and athlete.
In these early years, our parents, with
stern Victorian guardianship, forced

rest to act as social escort for his
sister Marcelline, an arrangement dis-
tasteful to cach of them as an
ight of free choice.
Ernest did manage to save some
rom his summer work at Wa
On the farm, Father arranged all wo
with Ernest on a contract basis, with
plenty of time and perspiration going
into the completion of any specific task.
But he did not insist on unremitting hard
labor. He valued vacations too much to
be blind on this point. So Ernest had
long weekends between tasks and oc
casional time out for days of trout. fish-
g over on Horton's Creek, а three-mile
walk from the farm. There, just at dusk,
he caught a record rainbow trout by the
old dock on the west side of the bay
where Horton's Creek emptics into Lake
Charlevoix, He entered the fish in com-
petition and learned for the first time
the grand feeling of winning a sports-
man's prize.

He got to know every foot of the
creck. from the marsh where it opened
onto Нопопъ Bay on Pine Lake up
through the deep pools and open woods
to the d: nd the open fields, the
bridge, and finally the very difficult p:
of the stream in the tamarack swamp
where most fishermen get lost for the
day within half au hour.

Ernest's friend Jim Dilworth lived
at Hortons Bay. His home became a
convenient second home for Ernest. It
was one of several refuges he took when
the lively, ad overwhelmingly
female domination mere
him down. At that time Marcelline and
Ursula were eager Campfire Girls. Sunny

ment on the

followed their lead later in а round of

cookii sewing. costumemaking and
general hilarity. So did Carol, who was

four years older than 1. As
unplanned-for male child arriving when
Ernest was already a junior in high
school. I was at first regarded as a furthe
embarrassment, rather than a welcome
break in the female tvranny. Ernest was
sent on an overnight hike to Lake
Zurich when I was born

Tt was hard for Mother to handle six
childre the
ones to look after the younger and tried
to keep to a minimum the number of
fractures of etiquette. Whenever there
was a serious emotional crisis she rushed
to her room, drew the shades and de
dared she had a sick headache. Havin,
her wishes crossed always produced а
crisis, and there were hundreds of them
hile we childien were growing up.
Father's practice kept him busy back
in Oak Park, but even when he could
get away to Windemer
tain amount of time practicing medicine.
He was the only doctor on the lake then.
And there was an Ojibway Indian camp

completely

. So she delegate older

he spent а œr-

at the abandoned sawmill less than two
miles away. These Indians were the
poor of the arca, owning no land and

seldom holding jobs for
all the big timber had been logged
out. They had regular emergencies —
stabbings, broken bones, serious infec-
tions. Ernest often went with Father on
these calls. Not only did he admire
many of the Ojibways, he learned a lot
about emergency medicine under prit
tive conditions

One of the first t
using his knowledge of emergency medi-
cine, he was the patient. Maybe that was
a good thing. Out fishing in the boat
with Sunny one day, Ernest got a fish-

long. since

es Ernest tried

hook caught in his back. “Cut it out.
he commanded and began bravely
whistling.

г Oinbones. I just can't,”

Sunny said.
"Cut it out.” Ernest insisted grimly.

“A small, clean cut is better than a large

tear.
Fortunately,

Sunny didn't have the

heart to use the knife on him. They
made it back to Windemere without the
hook tc ny fesh out. At the cot

tage, our father pressed the tip of the
hook up through the skin. broke it off
withdrew the rest, and dabbed the punc
ture with iodine.

fter high school graduation, Ernest
wanted to go to war more than any-
thing in the world. But he knew he could
not get Father's permission to enlist
ht away, Father absolutely forbade it
t meant a definite delay. In our

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My Brother, Ernest Hemingway ООО,

family, when something had been for
idden absolutely, it meant anywhere
from a few days to possibly months of
delay.

All summer, between work and fish
ing trips, our parents continued urging
Ernest to enter Oberlin College where
some of the family had gone, or to choose
ay other college, Ernest used the time
to think, to question and to make plans
After talking it over with personal
friends, friends of the family and finally
the family itself, Ernest decided to go
to Kansas City. There Father's brother
Tyler had married into the White family
ng money in the lumber
iness. More to the point, Unde Ty
had gone to school with Henry Haskell,
prominent on the editorial ма of the
Kansas City Star. This really good news-
paper had
Midwestern waini
Ernest wanted experience
dom. The Siar could provide both, if he
could get the chance to show his ability
And Uncle Ty came through. He liked
Ernest and wanted to see him working
on the Star. He did not care about the
boys journalistic career. But there, at
least, the family would know where he
was, And Ernest had declared himself
dead set on writing and positively against
higher formal education.

In Kansas City, Uncle Tyler's inwo
ductions gave his job application a push.
In those days, everyone hired by the Star
month's probation, New cm-
ployecs cither swiftly mastered the style
sheet, wrote as much as was assigned to
them, and stayed cheerful about
they went skidding out on their back-
sides. dt w ng
ground and st d every healthy
cub reporter who came ncar the paper.

“I hit it lucky,” Ernest told me y
later, "Because the people there liked
to sec young guys get out and de
broke my way quickly, like in
scd to go out with the

was on

cars

s just. police report

chance to learn what the help
ht, as well as how they did th
jobs. My luck was a big fire. Even the
firemen were being careful. And I got
inside the fire lines where 1 could sce

what going on. It wa
story . .." Ernest paused and

short laugh. “Sparks fell all over every-
thing. | had on a new brown suit that
got burnt full of holes. After Т got my
information phoned in, I put down 515

on the expense account for that suit
Yd ruined. But the item was turned
down. It taught me a hell of a lesson.
Never risk anything unless you're pre

pared to lose it ce
that.

But one of the most important benefits
of his Kansas City newspaper work was
the passage of time. It softened Father
attitude against Ernest’s going to war.
After his bei away from home four
months as a self-sufficient young police
reporter, Ernest's going off to the war
in Europe did not seem a certain way
for him to get killed. After Christmas,
ther changed his attitude. Ernest was
to go if he could get one of the
services to accept him.

By February of 1918, Ernest had
learned finally and definitely that his
eyesight was not good enough to let
him enlist in the American Expedi-
uonary Forces. He had talked with
others on the Stars editorial staff. read
Il the news dispatches, and decided
that the American Red Gross Field Serv-
ice would give him the best chance to
sce the most action.

Ted Brumback, a recent addition to
the Star stall, had previously been in
France for six months with the Red
Gross. He way older, less sure of himself
physically because of an eye accident,
and even more of û romanticist: he wore
a beret. Charlie Hopkins. another Star
man, and Carl Edgar, a friend of Ernest's
from Pine Lake who worked in Kansas
City, caught the enthusiasm. At the
end of April, all four signed up and left
Kansas City, heading for New York by
way of Michigan so as to get in
tout fishing before leaving for Europe.
They sailed on the 5.5. Chicago of the
Compagnie Général Transatlantique.
During the 10-day voyage to Bordeaux,
Ernest’s stateroom was filled with visitors,
for on the door he'd placed a large sign
reading Chambre de Chance. М great
many dice were rolled and their numbers
noted before the lighthearted group de-
barked and caught the train for Е

Ernest got his first look at Paris while
the city was bei shelled. Then his
gioup, Section Four, was sent on to Italy
where it was soon Бей ed to help th

pletely — remember

some

near Milan. After that there were weeks
of frustrating inactivity near the front
but safely back of it, where Section Four
had replaced another unit. Barracks life
on the second floor of a former linen
mill was frustrating, though Ernest
the others enjoyed havin
by to swim in.
Wangling a cl
Cross canteen in the I
there was more action, Ernest took off.
He made friends with the commander
that area and at last got his chance
to be actually in the trenches. After
nearly a week of nosing around, distrib-
uting cigarettes and chocolate, he was

Red
ave sector where

се t9 Operate а

Jearning firsthand how it felt to be under

distributing these sup-
plies up forward, during the carly-
morning hours of July 9, a mortar shell
lobbed im very close. ОГ the four people
nearest its point of impact, Ernest wi
the least seriously hit. One man w
killed ii tly. Another lost his legs.
The third was badly injured. Ernest
picked the injured man up and carried
him to the rear. While doing this, he w
hit twice by machine-gun bullets. But
Ernest made it back to an aid station
with the injured man on his back, Then
he fainted.

All of
sion, were from the knees down. This is
how he told it to the family, All accounts
to the contrary are interesting. mainly
for their elaboration, Hc was not emas
culated by a war wound. He was not hit
287 times in the groin. Nor was he a
ket case.

He was certainly hit hard and danger-
ously and came out of it well. He spent
the next three months in hospitals,
ting back in sl than 20
of mortar shell were removed fra
legs. By the time Ernest actually reached
home, more than six months later, it was
widely believed that he was one of the
most severely wounded Americans in the
entire war.

Ernest enjoyed the situation
mously. He was as convinced as anyone
that the Great War that
would end all wars. And more than most
of those daring young veterans, he was

st

nets wounds, on this occa-

pe. More

enc

the war

was

determined to make the most of the
glory. For the family was still less than

reconciled to the fact that he refused to
go on to college. But knowing the family
attitude about hiding any flicker of light
beneath a bushel, his letters home be-
came classics on how to write comical
private material for publication.
The October 5, 1918, Oak Leaves ran
the following stor
Dr. C. E. Hemingway, whose son,
Ernest M. Hemingway, was the hero
of a fine Red Cross exploit in Iraly,
as told in a issue of Oak
Leaves, has received a letter fr
North Winship, American consul at
Milan, Haly, praising the courage of
the doctor's son and announcing his
intention of keeping an суе on him,
And from Ernest, in the hospital,
comes the following letter:
“Dear Folks: Gee, Family, but
there must have been a great bubble
about my getting shot up. Oak

recent

m

Leaves and the opposition came
today and I have begun to think,
Family, that maybe you didn't ap-

preciate me when 1 used to reside in
the bosom, It’s the next best thing

My Brother, Ernest Hemingway (continua)

to get

ng killed and reading your

say there isn't
anything funny about this war, and
t say that it.
use that's been а bit ove:
worked since General Sherman's
time. but there have been about
eight times when I would have w
comed hell, just on a chance that it
couldn't come up to the phase of
war I was experiencing.

“For example, in the wenches,
during an attack, when a shell makes
a direct hit in a group where you'r
standing. Shells aren't bad except di-
you just take chances on
ments of the bursts, But
when there is a direct hit your pals
get spattered all over you; spattered
is literal.

“During the six days 1 was up in
the front line trenches only 50 yards
from the Austrians I got the ‘rep! of
ing a charmed life. The ‘rep’
onc doesn't mean much
ving one does. | hope I have

t. I would

as

one. That g sound is my
knuckles striking the wooden bed
пау.

Well E can now hold up my hand
«b say that I've be shelled by
high explosives, shrapnel and gas:
shot at by tench mortars, snipers
and machine guns, and, as an added.
traction, an aeroplane machine-
gunning the line. Гуе never had a
hand grenade thrown at me, but
rifle grenade struck rather. close.
Maybe I'll get a hand grenade later

Now out of all that mess to only
get struck by a trench mort;
machine gun bullet while adv
toward the rear, as the Irish say, was
fairly lucky, What, Family?

“The 227 wounds I got from the
trench mortar didn't hurt a bit at
the time, only my feet felt
rubber boots full of watei
water), and my kneecap was acting
queer. The machine-gun bullet just
felt like a sharp smack on the leg
with an icy snowball. However, it
spilled mc. But 1 got up again and
got my wounded into the dugout, 1
kind of collapsed at the dugout

“The Italian 1 had with me had
bled all over me and my coat and
pants looked like someone had made
cumant jelly in them and then
punched holes to let the pulp out.
Well, my captain. who was a great
pal of mine (it was his dugout) said,
"Poor Hem, he'll be R.LP. soo:
Rest in peace, that is
fou see, they thought I was shot
thru my chest, because of my bloody
coat. But I made them take my coat

ike I had
on (hot

and shirt off (I wasn't wearing any
undershirt) and the old torso was
intact. Then they said that I would
probably live. That cheered me up.
any amount.
1 told them in Italian that I
wanted to sce my legs, tho I was
afraid to look at them. So they took.
oll my trousers and the old limbs
were still there, but sec, they were a
mess, They couldn't ligure out how
I had walked. 150 yards with such a
load. with both knccs shot thru, and
my right shoe punctured in two big
places: also over 200 flesh wounds.
Oh,’ says І, in Itali:
tain of n А
they ай do it. It is thought well not
to allow the enemy to perceive that
they have captured our goats.” The
goat speech required some masterful
al ability but I got it across
and the

went to sleep for a couple

“Alter I came to they curried me
stretcher three kilometers back
to a dressing station. The stretcher

arers had to go over lots, as the
rails shelled
а big one would

out of it. Wheucy
come,whe-
they would lay me down and

"My wounds were now
like 227 little devils driving
into the raw. The dressing м
had been evacuated during the at

so | lay for two hours in a

ble with its roof shot olf. waiting

nee. When it came 1

ordered it down the road to get the

soldiers that had been wounded first.

It came back with a load and then
they lifted me in.

“The shelling was still prety
thick and our batteries were going
off all the time "way back of us, and
the nd 250s going over

cc

bi;

with a noise like a
the

› Then we'd hea
burst back of the lines. Then shri
would come a big Austrian shell
nd then the crack of the burst. But
we were giving them more and I
ger мш than they sent.

"hen a battery of field ;
would go off just back of the shed —
boom — boom! Boom — boom! and
the 75s and the 149s would
pering over to the Austrian lines.
And the star shells going up all the.
ume and the machine guns going
like riveters — tata-tat-tat.

“Alter a ride of a couple of kilo-
mete 57
t a dressing station,
where E had a lot of pals
the medical officers. They gave me
a shot of morphine and antitetanus

in an Ita

unloaded me

serum and sha
28 shell fra,

“Then th
bands
me

ved my legs and took
ents out of my legs.
did a fine job of
nd all shook hands with
id would have kissed me, but
I kidded them along. Then I stayed
five days at a field hospital and was
evacuated to the base hospital here.
sent you that cable so you
wouldn't жопу. I have been in the
hospital a month and 12 days and
hope to be out in another month.
The айан surgeon did a peach of
an operation on my right knee
joint and my right foot: took 28
stitches, and assures me tl T will
be able to walk as well as ever. The
wounds all healed up clean and
there was no infection. He has my
right leg in a plaster splint now,
so that will be all right.

“I have some snappy souvenirs,
he took out at the last opcra-
tion. I wouldn't really be comfort
able now unless I had some pain.
The surgeon is going to take the
plaster off in а week now and will
allow me on crutches in 10 days. 1
will have to learn I

“This is the longest letter 1 h
ever written to anyone and it says
st. Give my love to everybody
asks about me and as Ma Pet
gill says, "Leave us keep the home

fires bu uu

By October 23, the Chicago Evening
Post had picked up the story, asserting
that Ernest had been “shot to pices,
while working in a frontline trench
when a shell exploded that “buried
his com, ion under a trench mortar,
The story ran a full column.

ve

hat no one in America knew then

was that Ernest had fallen desperately
in love for the first time. Shortly after he
was transferred to the field hospital owt-
side M nurse arrived. thei
ty at the American
Red Cross Hospital in М ете Er-
nest was operated on and recuperated
from his wounds, Later she had the 40-
patient ward at the American Army
Hospital where she was sent to he
the flu epidemic in P:

She was Agnes H. von
graduate of Bellevue Hospi New
York City. She had joined the Americ
Red Cross New York, but her pass-
port had been held up for a time because
her father was German born, theugh he
had become a naturalized American citi
zen and had since died. This prevented
her from sailing for Italy wi
group of Red Cross

Miss von Kurowsk:
of humor. a

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My Brother, Ernest Hemingway (continued)

ter of days she and Ernest developed an
emotional bond that grew as the weeks
went by and they talked out past inci-
dents in their young lives and reveled
in the moments when they could be
alone.
tnie was an unruly patient in some
s, but he had great popularity with
all the other men paticnts, and. drew
friends from everywhere," she told me
years later. “I on night duty for
quite a while, and he was there off and
on for months while his legs healed. He
was often trouble with the directres:
Miss De Long, for his closet was always
filling up with empty cognac bottles.
Miss Elsie MacDonald, her assistant, was.
his special friend and always took his
part.” “Gumshoe MacDonald,” as Ernest
called her, had been head of the Nurse:
Infirmary at Bellevue

“Later I was transferred to Padua and,
later still, to Torre de Mosta on the
Livenza." Miss von Kurowsky said. “In
Milan he wrote wonderful letters to me
while I was on night duty, and sent them
downstairs to the nurses’ quarters by one
of the other nurses. When he came to
see me in Padua he limped in on a cane
and was covered with medals. Some of
the men I was tending then laughed be-
though he had obviously been

cause,

alks and the

Gamble of the Proctor and Gamble firm,
wanted Erie to be his secretary and
travel around Europe with him. He had
a villa in Sicily and wanted to visit
Mallorca regularly. 1 advised Ernie to
go back home and get to work. I was
afraid if he stayed over there he'd be-
come a bum.

"I remember that whei
to go to the races in. Milan —
jaunt away from the hospital — we had
to hurry up and sew wound stripes on
his uniform jacket before he would ap-
pear in public. The races were one of
the few places we could go for amuse-
ment and the Red €
free, so we all went quite oft
ter, when Ernest asked
rry him she deferred ing, say-
g she would write him on the coming
weekend. When Ernest got her letter he
found he had been turned down. Agnes
older and the
decision was hers to make. Her refusal
hit Ernest like a second mortar shell,
and he reacted violently though he'd
been given the word as calmly and gently
as possible. It was a difficult time for
cach of them. In bitterness Ernest later
rote to Miss MacDonald that he hoped
when Agnes returned to the States she

nsw.

pointed out that she wa

would on the gangplank and bust.
all her goddamn teeth." Agnes later
s engaged to officer, but

wa

Ernest confided to а friend, Howell
Jenkins, that he felt terrible over her
unhappiness but had tri
the memory of her with booze

years later, when Ernest and his first wife
took a walking tour through northern
Italy, Егис wrote a fond letter to

Agnes telling her how much the country
reminded him of the happy times they
had spent together at the end of the
war, and what a truly wonderful person
she was. In their separate ways, cach of
them had made the best recovery possible
from that serious early romance. His
bitterness gone, Ernest remembered
Agnes in the creation of Catherine Bark-
ley of A Farewell to Arms.

nest was mustered out of the Red
Ecos while still in Europe. It took
nearly a month to get back to Oak Park.
His return there was anticipated with
much the same excitement that stirred
the entire state of Tennessee as the resi-
dents there waited for Sergeant York.

“The night that Ernie came home
from the war a moment in family
history. Our two youngest sisters were

allowed to stay up. All the lights in the
house were on. Out in the dining room,
hot chocolate was served and nobody
said a word about holding off on the
marshmallows. Ernest stood
kissed and bà
bors came. hurrying as the word spread.
1 was hoisted up onto his shoulder and
Carol. the next youngest. insisted on
being lifted up, too. It was pretty
glorious stuff being kid brother to the
guy who had personally helped make the
world safe for democracy. And 1 was not
the only one who saw him in that light.

On February 1, 1919, the Oak Parker
had an interview with Ernest listing his
enemy contact as “wounded three times
when he went with a motor truck into
the front lines to distribute cigarettes
and block chocolate to the soldiers. In
no man's land, he was at an observation
post when a big shell came in and burst,
hitting him and killing two Italian
soldiers at his side. This felled the young
hero, deeply wing shot in both
knees. As soon as he was able to crawl,
however, and still under fire, he picked
up a wounded man and carried him on
his back to the Italian trenches, despite
the fact that he was knocked down twice
by machine-gun fire, which struck him in

ic
the left thigh and right foot. In all, Li

tenant Hemingway received 32 45-caliber
bullets i ad hands, all of
which have been removed except one in
the left limb which the young warrior is

пру
his limbs

al to foster as а souve
r does not deprive him of
this novel keepsake . . . Lieutenant Hem-
i submitted to having 98 bullets
extracted without taking an anesthetic.

inclir

His only voluntary comment on the war

ready

that it was great sport and he
to go on the job if it ever happens a

Though his voluntary comments may
have been limited, Ernest managed to
p a straight face while letting the
stories grow. He allowed his modest
mask to be lifted from time to time and
almost every time some new glory
disclosed. It was a splendid triumph for
the young man so recently regarded by
his family as an irresponsible gray sheep
who would not settle down.

During those first months that he wa
home save a wonderful party
for Sunny and her friends. Old-timers at
Oak Park still remember it. He brought
a captured. Austrian star-shell pistol and
more than a half-dozen shells down
from his room. He seemed as uncor
cerned about the legality of shooting
such a weapon in the heart of Oak Park
as he was about the danger of it, Out i
the back yard he raised the muzzle of
this great pistol with its footlong barrel
and {gauge bore.

est

ne arced into
the sky. Five er a great white
light burst out and slowly, ever so slowly,
drifted down over on Grove Avenue.
The next shot allowed for more wind-
age, By the time he had fired тей, blue,
green and white lights, the still burning
star shells were landing back in our own
yard. Two of them burned small holes
in the grass and were glecfully stamped
out. The neighborhood kids were greatly
impressed. So was everyone in our
family. Ernests luck was running so
good then that no other fires were started
the area. The empty shells, almost
twice the diameter of 12-gauge shotgun
shells, smelled deliciously of burned
powder for years afterward.
But Ernest was under in
sure about his uncertain future.
1 harbored definite

sing pres-
Our
hopes

denly show a keen interest
"sensible" way of life. But if
Ernest had begun a lege
up to — one that would never be so easy
that it would be less than a challenge.
Not all of Ernests wounds were
physical. Like hundreds of thousands of
other soldiers before and since, he had
received some psychic shock. He w
plagued by insomnia and couldn't sleep
unless he had a light in his room. To
his friend Guy Hickok he described how
he felt when the mortar shell exploded.
“I felt my soul or something coming

as

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My Brother, Ernest Hemingway (continued)

right out of my body like you'd pull a
silk handkerchief out of a pocket by one
corner. It flew around and then came
back and went in again and I wasn't
dead any more.”

The older bartender in 4 Clean Well-
Lighted Place knew something of that
feeling. Nick Adams says in Now I Lay
Me, “If I could have a light I was not
afraid to sleep, because I knew my soul
would only go out of me if it were
dark."

In those first months Ernest’s welcome
home had all the genuine reverence due
a national hero, within the confines of
Oak Park. At home he was enshrined in
his third-ioor room. The steep climb
could not have been easy for him, but
it probably helped to strengthen that
trick knee. And in his room he had
war souvenirs, pictures of Europe, maps,
uniforms, guns, bayonets, medals, an
unexploded hand grenade, and а secret
bottle to pass around to friends who
came to visit. On rare and wondrous
occasions I was allowed to follow the
clumping footsteps up the back stairs
to the third floor. I watched in awe while
Ernest and his friends handled the guns,
sighted them out the windows, snapped
their actions, and asked questions. Be-
sides the Austrian starshell ol he
had brought back an A n Mann-
licher carbine with a straight. pull bolt.

‘That's a sniper's rifle," he told me.
“I killed the sniper who was using it to
pick off our troops from up in a tree."

It baffled me, young as 1 was, that he
only bothered to tell me these marvelous
stories when he had other friends
around. But he gave me a shiny medal
with a portrait of King Victor Emmanucl
on it, which hung from a red-and-green
ribbon. And for a long time I relused
to go out of the house without that
medal pinned to the front of my shirt.
I was the only kid I knew whose brother
had been in the war in Italy, and 1 had.
the medal that could prove it. In those
days Е didn't know the only American
units in Italy were Red Cross units.

The actual combat decorations Ernest
won, a silver medal and a bronze one,
were kept in а velvetlined case upstairs.
The silver one had been presented to
him by the Italian King. It was only
shown to friends who had seen the
other trophies. Later Ernest gave it to
a local girl of great beauty.

Our family апа Ernest's friends soon
began observing Ernest's daily life with
difference. It did not ease Ernest's
mood of rebellion to find himself being
moved around with the air of long-suf-
fering patience some families use with
difficult young men. Our father switched
from being fascinated with Ernest's war
wounds and hospital experiences back

astr

to urging him to “go have those ton-
sils tended to!”

Ernest had been bothered with sore
throats frequently during his high school
days. These might have been caused, it

was thought, by the infections lodging
in the tonsils he had half amputated
with a stick when he was a child. Sore
throats were a regular annoyance. Final-
ly, Father got him to go to his friend
of medical school days, Dr. Wesley Ham-
ilton Peck, an eye-car-nose-throat spe-
cialis, to have the tonsils properly
removed. Immediately after the opcra-
tion Ernest had a serious throat infection.
The irony grated on Ernest for years.
“I nearly died when 1 had those tonsils
out— after surviving the damned war.
In the 40 years since the operation he
was plagued with more sore throats
than ап average opera star. But he took
them with considerably better grace,

Tht first summer after the experience
of being alone and near death was
a time of personal triumph and hu-
miliation, one of violent emotion. Ernest
savored the delights of roaming afoot
through the woods. He loved the smells
of pine needles and new-mown hay, the
fresh-caught trout laid in ferns and the
sound of cowbells carrying far on the
Im evening air. He was like a mal
that has traveled far and returned to
the place where he'd been raised. find-
ing reassurance that things werc as hc
remembered them and that this was
truly the place.

Strict parental restraint was behind
him, though Mother and Father had
not completely faced that fact. Ernest
as a personality, a former lieutenant
in the Red Cross. As ап ex-newspaper
reporter and ex-officer, with the snob-
bery of combat and wounds, Ernest felt
he had lived more deeply than his fel-
low men. He was moody and bored,
and he had not yet decided what to do
about it. What he liked best was to see
old friends, go fishing, and get away
from people who had no personal knowl-
edge of experiences such as he had re-
cently gone through.

In between fishing trips that summer,
Ernest wrote a lot. He wrote what
scemed good to him. When the summer
ended, he decided to stay on and wi
some more. He had never before been
able to stay in Michigan during the fall,
when the hunting was best. He was
eager to experience the fine autumn
storms, the grouse shooting, and the ap-
proach of real winter on the lonely lake.
Most of all he looked forward to the
seclusion he would have when the rest
of the family left for Oak Park.

Ernest worked hard on paper at
Windemere during the autumn months.

But nothing he wrote that summer or
Tall hit the market. Fach manuscript
bounced for one reason or another,
which was doubly discouraging because
of our disapproval of his chosen
field. Fortunately, he had sympathetic
friends in Petoskey. Through Edwin
“Dutch” Pailthorpe, Ernest met Ralph
Connable, the head of Woolworth's
stores in Canada. Connable had planned.
to take young Pailthorpe to Toronto
with him; when there were compli
tions Ernest was suggested as an alter-
natc to tutor Connable's son. Ernest was.
interested, particularly if Connable
would agree to introduce him to somc-
one on the Toronto Star, where he
knew he would like to work.

So, in the winter of 1919, Ernest and
"Dutch" both went to Toronto where
Mr. Connable introduced Ernest to
Gregory Clark, feature editor of the
Weckly Star magazine. Clark explained
what the paper was interested in buying,
what it paid, and how to get his copy in
It was a free-lance opportunity. With
this opening, Ernest wrote news copy
again, saw his name in print, and sold
enough material to feel he was earning
a living. During that winter and spring
he sold 15 articles for a total of less
than $150. But the articles kept appear-
ing during the spring, summer and fall.
Writing independently and getting
money for his copy gave him confidence.
Tt wasn't great. But it was better than
trying to sell to magazines that would
not buy what he produced.

By the spring of 1920, however, Ernest
ain longing to be in northern
Michigan, outwitting the local trout with
both natural bait and flies. He delighted
in the many places there where the eye
could move over lots of country without
seeing a sign of man anywhere. And it
was the time of year that he loved best.
So he came again to the rivers and
streams and the woods and wild life of
the northern end of the lower peninsula.

п this summer of his coming of age,

Ernest finally fought openly with our
parents. As is usual in such contests, it
ended in a draw. Both sides acknowl-
edged misunderstanding. On the surface
the quarrel was smoothed over, but
underneath nothing was ever the same
in, and cach side realized it. Self-
righteousness was the order of the day.
And while misunderstood artists and
writers are the norm, Ernest is the only
one I know who, having already shown
talent, courage, humor and a genuine
affection for his family, got formally
drummed out of the home just after his
215: birthday. Mother and Father man-
aged to carry it off with a magnificent
show of soli - They not only did

7

72

My Brother, Ernest Hemingway (cornea)

it—they congratulated each other on
the stand they had taken when it was
all over.

Ernest was staying with friends over at
Horton's Bay when the family — Father
had stayed behind — arrived at Walloon
Lake the first week of June that summer.
Since Ernest was unemployed — free-
lance writing could hardly he called
self-employment when the returns are
so small — һе was expected to help get
cottage life rolling, as long as he was
arby. That was the least a young man
could do. It was not a lot to ask; on the
other hand, what rankled Ernest was
that the family would not consider his
writing as work.

At first Father was cautious in reacting
to Mother's complaints. On June 11 he
wrote: “Dear ones at Windemere: Hope
Ernest has been over to help уой...”
On June 13: “I will write to Ernest this
afternoon, Hope he has been over and
helped you June 16: “I had a letter
from Ernest this morning's mail. He
expected to go over and see you soon . . ."

On July 2, Father got another doctor
to take over his patients and came to
Windemere for two weeks. While he was
there, the situation ripened fast. Tired
and knowing that he by no means had
l the answers to life's problems, Father
was worried. He was baffled by Ernest's
refusal to settle down and frightened to
think of where further independent be-
havior might lead.

Back in Oak Park after an uneasy
vacation, he sent Mother a letter dated
July 22: “. .. I think Ernest is trying to
irritate us in some мау... I have written
him that I wanted him to get busy and
be more self-supporting and respectful.
and leave the Bay and go to work down
Traverse City way. I will write [a letter]
to him and enclose it herewith for you to
read and hand to him. Keep up your
courage, my darling. We are all at work
and very soon he will settle down or
suffer the loss of his friends the way he is
fast using them up. He will have to move
into new fields to conquer... Read [my
letter to] Ernest enclosed! If he has gone,
seal it and stamp it and mail it to him!”

July 26: “My Dear Gracie: I have just
received your letter written Saturday
the 24th and am indeed sorry for you
l hope you have handed Ernest the
letter that I enclosed for him, advising
him he must move on and get to work
and stay away from Windemere until
he is again invited to return . -.”

The passage of time was valuable in
this hocdown. On August 27, our long-
suffering father wrote from Oak Parl
I had a very nice letter from Ernest
today, written yesterday in Petoskey. He
says he been fishing with Sam Nickey
nd had some good times, and had some

wonderful fishing. He surely feels as if
he had a great injustice done him at
Windemere. I do not in any way discuss
the matter with him. I am glad he has
cooled off and again writes to his father,
who will always love him, and will con-
tinue to pray for him to be an honest
and unselfish and considerate Christian
gentleman and loyal to those who love
him..."

Our mother was not so ready to be
reconciled with her wayward son, how-
nd on September 2, Father wrote:
... Lam glad to receive your letter this
morning with the copy of the letter you
wrote to Ernest [ordering him to leave.
Windemere]. That is a masterpiece. I
will always prize it as the right concep-
tion of the Mother's part of the game
of Family life. Keep up your courage,
my darling, as I know you recover
from this summer's shocks. It is а long
session of the family's existence, and
we must be brave. There are relatively
few storms in our sea of life as com-
pared to many you and I know, if you
only stop and count your blessings.”

Another letter came from Ernest later,
and Father wavered even more in his
belief that all at Windemere had been
as represented to him. On September 15
he wrote to Mother Т continue to
pray for Ernest and believe that God will
soften his heart and that we all shall
again be united in love. If you falsely
accused. be sure to beg his pardon,
even if he had made many mistakes. For
false accusations grow more sore all the
time and separate many dear friends and
relatives . . ."

And by September 19 Father was feel-
ing somewhat more piqued with his ab-
sent wife [still at Windemere] than with
Ernest. “.. . I wrote to Ernest last night
and hope you will invite him over to
help you pack up. He is stronger than 1
am and can do all that is necessary. Love
him, my dear, he is our boy and we must
always love and forgive each other . . .”
at was how the big rift came and
passed. Years later, on being shown the
long letter formally drumming Ernest
out of the family’s summer home which
our mother had written for his birthday,
I was surprised. With all the emotion and
mutual recriminations, anyone would
think some dreadful sins had been
committed. Actually, Mother did some
mighty belaboring of his lack of courtesy
and gainful employment, enumerating
all the ways he had changed since she re-
membered him as her dear little boy,
x some trivial actions she deemed
worthy of censure, and commanding him
to leave Windemere, not to return unless
ally invited. Few affronts to pe
sonal dignity could top that of holding
a ceremonial dinner on a 21st birthday,

specific

while getting ready to slip the guest of
honor a letter asking him to kindly leave
the family premises.

It was this break that enabled Ernest
to write as truthfully as he did abou
what he knew, including our parents and
their reactions to stress, in the years fol-
lowing. He could be indifferent to any
criticism that he had violated the right
of privacy. Without the break, he could
not have done it.

hough the feud was over, Ernest re-

mained emotionally as well as legally
of age. He would have nothing more to
do with family lodgings. That fall he and
Bill Smith headed for the Near North
zo where they both had
They moved in with Ү. К. Smith
and his wife, who had a large apartment
on East Chicago Avenue.

The Smiths spent their summers at
Horton's Bay, and Ernest had been a
friend of Y. K.s young sister Kate i
earlier days. The Smiths had many
friends in the writing world; through
Y. K., Ernest met Sherwood Anderson.

At the Smiths’ apartment Ernest also
met Hadley Richardson, whom he mar-
ried the following September. Hadley
vas a tall, well-formed girl with a Brit-
ish look about her. She had studied
piano for ycars. That winter she had
come up from St. Louis to visit Kate.

“The moment she entered the room,
Ernest said afterward, “an intense feel-
ing came over me. I knew she was the
girl 1 was going to marr

That winter Ernest got a job editing
the Cooperative Commonwealth, a folksy
house organ. He was an associate editor
at first and did a lot of features and hu-
man interest articles which the publica-
tion needed. After his apprenticeship on
the two Star papers, the work came easily
to him. [t was his first job in Chicago
and paid him $50 a week, which was not
bad. It gave him time to write on his
own, too. He sold more features to the
Toronto Star. His magazine writing still
did not sell, but he was learning more all
the time, and he was just past 21.

Best of all, he was financially inde-
pendent from our critical parents. As
during the previous winter, he was liv-
s in an establishment operated by
somebody else, but this time he was
supporting himself and saving a little
money as well.

1t didn't take more than a couple of
months for the sweet settling down to.
become unsettled again. The Common-
wealth job palled. Saving went slowly
and time went fast and he had big plans
he wanted to get on with. In April he
wrote to Father, then in Florida blowing
his ngs in what was to become the
real estate bubble, saying he wanted to

av

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g ™”_

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73

74

My Brother, Ernest Hemingway (continued)

go to Italy next year. More than just get-
ing back to Europe, Ernest wanted to
land a job that would pay his expenses
over and allow him to get around once
he ded. He was dickering with the
people on the Toronto Star. And in that
summer of 1921, a great many things
worked out well for him.
nest and Hadley decided to get mar-
ried that summer. And they did not
want the fuss and formality that would
go with a ceremony back in her home
town. Ernest was strong for Horton's
ү, close to Windemere, and Hadley —
alled “Hash” by Ernest — liked the idea
of spending some time in northern
Michigan after the wedding.

It was a really beautiful wedding.
Everybody said so. The big elm trees
that grew along both sides of the road
through Horton's Bay were well dusted
by end-ofsummer traffic. The wedding
party assembled up beyond the store
just before four o'clock on that Scptem-
ber 3 afternoon. The single white spire
of the small Methodist church stood
back from the road in a clearing.

Hash looked like an angel, her bridal
radiance covered with considerable flow-
ing white veil, as she came up the aisle.
‘Then came Ernest, the debonair war
hero, my personal idol— but with legs
moving from side to side as well as for-
ward. His heavy white serge trousers
really had a serious case of shivers. It was
the first time I had ever seen uncon-
cealed shaking, and it baffled me. Then
suddenly the kneeling part was over, the
organ's vibrant strains filled the church,
and everyone milled around laughing
and congratulating everyone else and
hurrying out to the lawn for picture-
g. 1 was relieved to sce that Ernest
was “well” again and that the shaking
had stopped.

Alter their honeymoon at Windemere
Ernest and Hadley moved into a small
runent on the Near North Side of
igo. Our parents entertained brief
hopes that a wife was what he had
needed all along to help him conform
to the social pauern of the Chicago
suburbs. But late that fall the newly-
weds closed up their apartment to go to
Toronto and straighten out plans for
Europe. Father was helping with the
baggage. When he came down to the car
where I was waiting, I knew something
was wrong. He shoved some boxes into
the back of the car and climbed behind
the steering wheel where he sat for a
moment shaking his head in bewilder-
ment.

“Those young people,” he spluttered.
“Do you they were cooking
their eggs in? Well, 1 won't say it." The
car bucked out into the traffic at a great-
er speed than usual.

Sherwood Anderson had come back to
Chicago after months in Europe. He was
full of anecdotes and gossip about the
literary movement there and gave Ernest
several letters of introduction. As a rc-
turn gesture, Ernest and Hadley went
over to Anderson's apartment one cve-
ning just before they left, carrying a
knapsack of canned goods as а gilt for
an established writer settling down
again. It made for good fecling all

round, and Anderson told about it
years afterward, when they no longer
saw each other.

The arrangements with the Toronto
Stay were finally made, and Ernest and
Hadley were able to go to Furope as
they had hoped. though without a salary
for security. Instead, Ernest was to file
dispatches by mail, be paid space rates
for everything the paper used, and be
paid expenses incurred in getting the
stories. This meant financing them-
selves for the first few weeks, and play-
ing it low and slow until they got to
Paris, where they would set up head-
quarters. The arrangement kept the Star
from riski anything, but it allowed

Ernest great freedom to work on his own

ng whenever he was not working
on special articles for the Star for eating
money. With the money he had saved,
the plan was workable. Living was cheap
in Europe then, if you had dollars to cx-
change. Both Ernest and Hadley were
delighted at the firm commitment and
made plans to get to Е soon as
possible.

nce а

T headed for postwar Europe with
a beautiful wife, letters of introduc-
tion, writing assignments lined up, and
enough money ahcad to insure a few
months of inexpensive living was the
fulfillment of a young writers dream.
Ernest already thought of himself as a
writer as well as a newspaper corrc-
spondent. A news story from Charleyoi
during his honeymoon had described
him this way. The word could haye come
only from Ernest or а close friend. He
had written reams of material, but he
had so far sold only to newspapers.
The mid-December voyage across the
North Atlantic was not easy because of
high winds and head colds. But it was
fun. Hadley was in great demand be-
cause of her piano playing. Ernest boxed
three rounds with Henry Cuddy, a Salt
Lake City middleweight who was al
headed for Paris with fights scheduled.
described as the real champion
in Ernest's corner, sponging him off
between rounds and cheering him on.
Emest was given the decision in one
shipboard match. And Cuddy, impressed
by his excellent showing, urged Ernest

to consider fighting professionally in
France. This was the kind of praise that
delighted Ernest most.

"They landed in Le Havre and reached
Paris three days before Christm In the
Hotel Jacob they took living quarters
and Ernest arranged for a small room on
the fourth floor where he could work
completely alone. Settled at last, they
were both promptly laid low by colds
and tonsillitis.

By the first week of January, Ernest
wrote that they were looking forward to
a small apartment on the rue
Cardinal Lemoinc. Therc Hadlcy could
have a piano and work on some Scria
She was excited by Paris and loved just
being there. In her delighted letters to
our family she described in amazement
the complete dinners that could be had
for seven or eight francs, then about 60,
and the breakfasts of marvelous col-
fee with hot milk and crescent rolls that

At that time Paris was again
as a haven for artists and writers, as it
had been in spurts over several centuries.
The Americans and English living in
Paris then soon came to know each other
as they would in Soho or Greenwich
Village. Their friend Sherwood Ander-
ure, well-published Midwestern
been in Paris carlier in the
nest and Hadley had been
thoroughly briefed on the outstanding
characters before they arrived.

They soon met Sylvia Beach, who ran.
the Shakespeare and Company bookstore.
Through Anderson's introductions, they
got to know Gertrude Stein, Alice Toklas,
Ezra Pound, Lewis Galanticre and some
other serious workers, as well as dozens
of fakes and pretenders.

During their first three months in
Europe, Ernest made one short tip to
Switzerland. He brought back enough
material to turn out thick envelopes of
feature articles. At the end of March, his
Toronto office asked him to go to Genoa
to cover the European economic confer-
ence. This turned into a two-month job,
and further solidified his status with the
paper, where his by-lined articles began
to appear daily. The Star upped his
status to that of foreign correspondent
nd began paying him $75 a week plus
expenses.

Ernest was feeling very good about his
newspaper work. At the conference he
had met Mussolini, Lincoln Steffens, Max

п vogue

son, a mı

Beerbohm, Max Eastman and others.
Back in Paris and laid up with another
sore throat, he wrote cheerfully that May

Day w

5 quiet, although the Comrades

had shot a couple of policemen. He told

of meeting Lloyd George, Chicherin and
Litvinov, and said he hoped he would
be going to Russia for the paper very

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My Brother, Ernest Hemingway (continued)

soon — a trip that he was never to make.

He complained of the rotten weather —
rain always depressed Ernest — but de
scribed the countryside around Pari
with fields full of big black-and-white
magpics walking along the plow furrows,
and said he'd seen a crossbill on one
walk. He was impressed with the forests,
bare of underbrush. With Hash he had
hiked 40 miles through the forests of
Chantilly and Compiègne, seeing deer,
wild boar, foxes and rabbits. They һай
eaten а meat pie of wild boar with car-
Tots and onions and mushrooms in a fine
brown crust and Ernest was looking for-
ward to good bird shooting in the fall.
Of the rebuilding of the towns of eastern
France, Ernest commented that the new
French architecture was ugly.

‘Three weeks later, Ernest and Hash.
headed for Montreux to go trout fishing
th Ernest's friend, Major Dorman-
Smith. They planned to walk over the
St. Bernard pass and down into Italy,
before go з. He said the
country around Montreux was exhilarat-
ing. They h p au Moine,
a tricky, steep height that allowed them.
to coast down the snow fields by simply
sitting down and letting go. The lower
valleys were full of narcissus, and he said
that just below the snow line they had
scen two fine martens.

In July of that year, Ernest and Had-
ley went off on a long trip through Ger-
many with Bill Bird of the Consolidated
Press and his wife. They were bent on
fishing and getting feature material for
magazines. They were moving out of the
city’s heat in the most pleasant way pos-
sible, and catching many trout on the
way. From Triberg Ernest wrote the
family about the wonderful time they
were having, with Hash catching three
good trout the first time she fished, and
he and Bill steadily taking numbers daily.

‘That summer Ernest continued writ-
ing the stories that seemed important.
He got down some of the strongest im-
ns he had of northern Michigan.
also learning from Gertrude
in, with whom he talked over his
work regularly, about the publishing
ventures of several people who were de-
termined to start small magazines, He
was doing some astute listening. It
seemed to him that these m 5
might bring recog
than late in life.

hat fall the pressure of work kept
Ernest and Hadley apart for several
weeks. The Star ordered him to Constan-
Unople where a Turkish attack on the
Greck army in Thrace was expected.
‘The situation could have started another
large war, and the assignment was id

for a young writer who wanted to know
more about violence.

Before leaving, Ernest had wangled an
terview with Clemenc the former
French premier who had personally
killed many men in ducls. Though he
obtained valuable statements and quotes,
the Star would not use the piece. Ernest
was so angry he welcomed a chance to
get away from feature interviews, even
though it meant being away from Had-
ley.

Before he left for

Frank M.
Paris to let hi
terial for INS under the name of John
Hadley. Mason agreed to pav expenses
on it. This gave Ernest more money,
for he was able to file twice as much.
1 on the same crisis.
d the freedom to decide where
he wanted to go and to maneuver his
there. The armistice talks in the
city were not very interesting to cover.
But the fighting and the evacuation of
cities were. Other correspondents were
оп the scene and also military observers,
who knew a great deal but, of course,
could write nothing of what they knew
for publication.

Ernest. made friends quickly with the
people who had the most information
id were free to s long as they
were not directly quoted. He skipped
the interminable wrangles about high
politics, conceding that both sides were
being manipulated in a struggle for con-
trol of the oil of the Middle Fast. But he
wrote some wonderful feature material
on the inhabitants, the places where they
lived, and what was happening to their
lives during this fight over oil.

Following the armies west through
Thrace, Ernest got to know the horrors of

mong agrarian people in a mech-
anized age. Moving through troop-occu-
pied territory, he finally reached the
areas of civilian suffering. What he saw
and the horror he felt later gave him
material for scenes which shocked many
reader. But his observations gave him
additional conviction that to write truly
was the most important thing to do in
a lifetime. He had known missionary
zeal and fervor at work within our famil:
He was convinced that, for him, a better
way to do something about human соп.
ditions was to show these things as clearly
as he could so that men elsewhere would
be incensed enough to take action. It
the beginning of a credo for him.
er years he developed it to the
status of a moral responsibility.

Whether outraged over some interna-
tional event or over a personal conflict,
he used to sum up his sense of immediate
involvement with, “If you're any damned.
good at all, everything is your own

[итКеу,

damned fault.”

When Ernest got back to Paris in
November, he and Hadley made up for
time los while he had been away. |t
was a wonderful season to be in the City
of Light. But he was soon given another

ignment. The new job involved
digging news out of a very difficult sub-
ject — the Lausanne peace conference.
As one who had actually seen the prob-
lems of Greece and Turkey, Ernest was
ideally equipped for writing background
material.

Through Hank Wales of the Chicago
Tribune, Ernest landed a second spot
as lcgman for Universal News м
the conference. This was valuable be-
cause Swiverland was an expensive
country in which to work. The Star paid
ever expense accounts it OK'd, but
fter their submission. The
“foreign” press was being used by cach
delegation to the conference as a public
relations outlet, No reporters were
trusted for off-the-record — interviews,
which made digging difficult. The results
were disappointing. Though everyone
sensed what was going оп, no one could
make statements and k them with
documentary proof.

Bill Ryall of the Manchester Guardian
taught Ernest a great deal about political
maneuvers. Ryall was a former infantry
officer who knew how the British Forci;
Office worked, He understood the hu
motives, including the cold, calc
drive for power behind many a bland
gesture. Writing as William Bolitho, his
first two given names, Ryall showed the
world the depth of his understanding.
He thought for himself and necdled
others into doing the same thing. Ernest
reasoned with him, drank with him, and
became his great admirer.

up Ernest's papers, his short stories
rt of a novel he had been working
on for a long while. Packing the manu-
scripts into one suitcase, she took a
smaller bag of personal things and left
the apartment, heading for a holiday
with her husband in Switzerland. She
got there, but the baggage did not. The
h the manusc
was stolen in the railway station in Paris.

Ernest did everything within his
power to recover that suitcase. He had.
no luck. The thief, probably unable to
read English and most likely disap-
pointed that the loot was hard to sell,
may have destroyed the contents as a
worthless haul. Ernest finally had to ac-
cept the loss. Later he said it was the
hardest thing he had had to do in his
life, up to that. point.

After the holidays, Ernest wrote a
series of character sketches of the various.

JE before Christmas, Hadley gathered.

and pa

78

My Brother, Ernest Hemingway (continued)

personalities at the Lausanne conference.
He depicted the Turks, the Russians and
their secret. police, the Italians and their
Fascist show-offs, and particularly Mus-
solini. Then he and Hadley went down
to Rapallo to talk with Ezra Pound.

The poet introduced Ernest to Robert
McAlmon, another American. McAlmon
had a small printing press and had just
published the first of Pound's Cantos.
McAlmon had been briefed on Ernest
and was interested in his work. It was an
incredibly sad moment when Ernest had
to explain that almost all of his work
had been lost. There remained only a
few poems and pieces scattered around.
Bat he and McAlmon talked well. They
liked each other and figured something
good would yet come of their meeting.
Later that year it did.

n March, the Star set him planning a
series of stories on the Ruhr and what
the French occupation was

After the Ruhr seri
into work on his own fiction, reconstruct-
ing from fragments some of the work
Jost at the time the suitcase disappi
An arrangement for McAlmon to publish
Three Stories and Ten Poems, his first
book, was under way. And Bill Bird had
him pulling together sketches and stories
for a volume to be called In Our Time,
That summer Ernest corrected proofs
while working on new material.

In June he wrote to thank Father for
the sporting magazines he sent regularly.
Ernest said he and Hadley both read
them in bed and that they made him
want to get out on the Sturgeon or the
Black or some other good northern river
to fish.

He said he and ra Pound had
watched Battling Siki, a wonderful
Negro Ernest believed would be a world
beater if he would only stop training
n the cafés. He said he was looking
forward to seeing more fights— if only
the rain would end. It making Paris
‘entirely disagreeable” for him.

He told Father he had lived with a
bunch of bullfighters while he was in
п and predicted that the experience

would make some very fine stories. He

had wanted to go in as a picador, but
union rules would not allow it at that
time. Nevertheless, he said that if he
and Father were ever some place where
there was a bull he would show him
some of the stuff.

Late in July of 1923, McAlmon, at
Dijon, in eastern France, had printed
and bound the first copies of Three
Stories and Ten Poems, It was a small

edition of 300 copies. But it was a book,
and it was for sale to the public. Now,
almost 40 years later, each copy of this

edition is valued at several hundred dol-

lars or more. The Library of Congress
keeps its copies in the Rare Book Col-
lection.

When the book came out, Hadley was
some six months’ pregnant. In order to
insure skilled medical care and either
US. or Cai onship for their
coming child, they decided the shrewd
thing to do was head for Toronto at the
end of August. There Ernest believed
he could talk the Star management
into a job on the daily paper.

By mid-September Ernest and Hadley
were comfortably relocated in Toronto.
From there they spread the good news.
Hadley explained to our parents that
she and Ernest had decided to let the
two families know only after making a
safe passage, so that they would not
worry, It had seemed the best way to
keep them from feeling anxious since
there was nothing anyone back home
could do to help.

Hadley produced a fine, healthy son
on October 10, 1923. They named him
John Hadley Nicanor Hemingway. At
the time Ernest was on his way back
from Montreal where he had covered
the visit of Lloyd George. While both
families rejoiced in the birth of John
(later nicknamed Bumby) and in Ernest's
settling into "a good job" on this side
of the ocean, Ernest himsclf was miser-
able.

"The paper's assistant managing editor
was out to break the spirit of every
prima donna in the newspaper business
and he considered Ernest a definite
prima donna. Emest’s friends had long
before been transferred to the Weekly
Star where there was less unpleasantness
than on the daily. Ernest looked for-
ward to a switch himself. If it didn't
work out, he planned to climb off the
merry-go-round before it got him down.

"The actual birth of son had done
little to modify the apprehension of be-
ing a father he had voiced months
т to Gertrude Stein in his often-
quoted comment, “I am too young." To
our parents he wrote that the baby, with
his squawling, was a nuisance and chat
he supposed there would be plenty of
yelling for the next couple of years.

‘The weather was rotten а
pressing and so was the country. He re-
membered that the summer before he'd
been out on the Marne shooting crows
and had shot а pike in the river with his
.22 automatic pistol. In the fine open
country of Thrace he had shot more
than 20 quail in one day with a 12-gauge
double. He longed to get back to Spain;
Gali had the best trout fishing in
Europe, and Spain was the best country
— though he thought almost any place
would be more pleasant than where he

was. It had been a mistake to return to
Canada, he felt, and he wanted to pay
for his mistakes and move beyond them
as quickly as he could.

After a blow-up in the office he
chopped all ties with the Toronto Star,
and with Hadley and young John he
caught the boat from Montreal to France
Hadley agreed with Ernest that the most
logical thing for them was to get back to
where living was inexpensive, friends
more expansive, and his second book, /n
Our Time (Paris. 1924, a limited edition
of 170 copics), was due for publication in
a matter of weeks. By now, Emest was
betting completely on himself and on his
ability to survive by creative writing. He
felt that if he did what he wanted to do
as well as he could, the results would
justify the belttightening means.

Once in Paris, they found an inex-
pensive apartment at 113, rue Notre
Dame des Champs, where Hadley said
“a carpenter makes the sawdust Пу
down below and Ernest keeps the keys
of his Gorona flying on the floor just
above.” He had to get out a lot of work
in a hurry, for the savings from those
four hectic months in Toronto would
have to stretch until there were new re-
turns on his writing.

By April they had established their
routine. Describing family life, Hadley
said the baby slept all day dressed for
outdoors in his bed right by the big
French window. He came to meals with
pink checks and laughter. For his six-
month birthday they'd invited his god-
parents, Gertrude Stein and Alice Toklas.
The baby had been presented with rub-
ber animals and a beautiful silver cup
for his orange juice. Then the adults had
gone to the dining room and had oysters
before dinner and white wine for toasts.
To reassure Mother and Father on
Bumby's welfare, Hadley reminded them
that Gertrude Stein had been an obstet-
rical surgeon — a Johns Hopkins gradu-
ate — and that she came over every few
days.

She said that Ernest was making a
great name for himself among literary
people and that Ford Madox Ford, edi-
tor of the Transatlantic Review, who
taught Joseph Conrad to write English,
had told Ernest, when he was complain-
ing that it took a man years to get his
name known, “Nonsense! You will have
a great name in no time at alll

This is the first installment in Leices-
ter Hemingway's biography of his broth-
er Ernest. The second installment will
appear in January.

this year!”

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understand you

Willie, I

“Well

THE YOUNG MAN MET THE GIRL in a Longchamps bar; her office was in the same buildi the 17th
floor. The bar had been decorated for Christmas since Thz iving — everything in N k had.
‘There was a draft from the revolving door and the girl kept her coat around her оше. 9 е had
bought the coat in the Village and it looked a little Villa

income tax man this afternoon," the young man said. “He's got a place in Florida and he

said there wasn't anyone there right now and I could use it. So I got to
thinking — would you ud to go down to glorida 195 Gaari ? We
m

f ir М fiction By WALT GROVE
SQUARE CHRIST

in which the course of true love runs a crooked path through beat bohemia

PLAYBOY

82

about plane reservations.”

"I'm sorry, I can't," the girl said. The
waitress put the martinis on the table,
on little paper napkins.
ten, this is probably the only
chance I'll have all winter for a long
weekend. We could leave tonight and
have at least part of tomorrow there.
They won't care if you're not in your
office. Nobody cares what you do around
Christmas. We can spend Christmas in
Florida and get back in time for work.”

“No, really, I can’t,” the girl said.
She obviously cared something for the
young man, because she was trying hard
not to hurt his feelings. “My sisterin-
law expects me to spend Christmas with
them. I promised to take care of the
kids so she can get some rest. I told you,
she’s pregnant again.”

The young man drank his martini.
“АП right, you promised,” he said; any-
one could understand that. “But Christ-
mas is only one day. Would you care to
fly down before?”

“Tm sorry, 1 can't," she said.

“Why not?”

She looked uncomfortable. “I'm going
skiing with some people. Its been
planned for а long time.”

He nodded shortly. “OK.”

“Listen, I told you,” the girl said,
lowering her voice, and leaning closer
to him. “I'm not going to sleep with
you,”

He looked as if that had been the last
thing he'd had in mind; actually, he
had been thinking about little else. “Did
I say anything about that? What did 1
say? I invited you to Florida, didn’t I?
Isn't that what I said?”

The girl took a deep breath. She
looked a little guilty and somewhat em-
barrassed, but not too guilty or embar-
rassed. She wasn't that kind of girl.
“John, I don't think I'm a very good
girl for you. I'm really по! going to
sleep with you. I think you ought to find
another girl."

‘That made him angry, bu was im-
possible for him to tell her again how he
felt about her, especially in Longchamps.
He said, “Want to have dinner some-
where? Patrissy's?”

“I can't. I have things to do tonight,
before I leave.”

He drank a second martini. Wash her
goddamn hair, he was thinking; wash
her goddamn underwear and stockings,
and then iron, for Christ sake.

“Why don't you ask Rosa?" she said
suddenly. "She's not doing anything.
She'll be here alone.”

The young man did not answer that
question. “I'll help you find a cab,” he
said. He held her coat while she put her
arms into the sleeves. They went out
the revolving door. A cold wind was
blowing down Madison Avenue. He
helped the girl into a cab, then handed
the driver two one-dollar bills.

“Oh, I didn’t mean for you to

“No, из OK, Ag. Goodnight. I'll
call you."

He walked back into Longchamps and
stood at the bar. The Christmas present
he had planned to give her was still in
his pocket. He knew he would never
give it to her, and that made him feel
crummy. He drank four martinis and
realized he was getting drunk: he wanted
to lean forward, rest his head on the
bar and sleep. He paid the check and
left, In the cab on the way uptown he
fell asleep. The driver shook him awake.

“You OK, fella? You make iv”

“Sure, fine,” he said. “Fi He un-
locked the front door of his house and
stepped inside, into the smell of wet
paint and fresh plaster. The house was
in the 80s between Second and First
Avenue and he had bought it partly as
an investment. The two top floors had
been converted to apartments, one
rented for $250, the other for $300. Even
so, it made him nervous to think how
much money he had borrowed. He had
to be careful about money; he had re-
sponsibilities. His clothes came from the
sixth floor at Brooks and he had paid
only $1055 for the Jaguar he drove; he
had found it through an ad in The New
York Times.

He dropped his overcoat on the floor,
on the litter the plasterers had left. The
parlor floor and basement were being
made into a duplex and he was trying
to live there while the work was being
done. He went carefully downstairs and
found a cold bottle of gin in the refrig-
erator.

At 3:30 in the morning he suddenly
awakened. He had gone to sleep sitting
in a chair and he was bone-cold. All the
lights were оп. The glass had slipped
from his hand and shattered on the
floor. He had been holding a cigarette
between his fingers and it had burned
down to the filter tip. The bottle of gin
was half empty. Shaking with cold and
nausea, he fell on the sofa and covered
himself with a blanket.

The next day at 10:30 the telephone
rang. He could not get up to answer it.

At noon the doorbell rang, then some-
one began pounding on the front door.
"The sound echoed through the empty
floors until he felt he was trapped inside
a bass drum. He managed to get up-
stairs, to the door. Hy Kaplan was stand-
ing on the steps, wearing a Chesterfield
and a bowler, carrying gloves.

“Christ sake, look at you,” Hy said.

John went back downstairs, to the
sofa.

Hy stood over him, “You need a
drink.” Hy took off the Chesterfield and
folded it neatly over the back of a chair.
He poured a Scotch and soda for both
of them. “Don't try to come in today,
the shape you're in.”

“Thanks, Hy. I don't know why —"

"Don't thank me, buddy boy. Thank
Sigmund Freud.” Hy's cheeks were rosy,
his eyes bright with vitality. “I had one
of the most expensive psychoanalysts
you can buy in this town. Doctor Karen
Homey, 50 bucks an hour. And one
thing I learned, if nothing clsc — you'll
never find everything you want in one
woman. They aren't built that way.”

John took а deep breath.

"Sure, I know what you're thinking.
How my wife and Mama keep a nice
kosher home for me up in Riverdale.
How they take care of my kids, see they
get to school on time, call the docor if
they're sick. And you're thinking if I
got ‘business’ I stay overnight at a hotel
and call up some broad that's busting
her drawers to get into TV. And in your
books that makes me a real genuine
mumser, doesn’t it?”

“Hy, I have never —"

"Мо, you listen. It's morally wrong,
sure. I know it and you know it and
everybody knows it. But, it works. It
works, buddy boy. My wife's happy, kids
are happy, Mama's happy, and Pm
happy.” Hy finished the Scotch. "I know
a girl named Iris. Gorgeous knockers.
Want the number?”

“It wouldn’t do any good. Гуе tried
that.”

Hy picked up the Chesterfield and
bowler, and gestured toward the boule.
"Don't pickle your brains."

“No. I'm through getting drunk.”

“In that case, I'm off to spend the
afternoon with a talented but unknown
young actress from Death Valley, Ne-
braska, or somewhere." Hy grinned. “It's
the Yuletide season, buddy boy, and old
Santa's coming. He really is.”

Hy let himself out the front door.
John stood in the shower and let hot
water beat on the back of his neck.

Before John Andrew met Aggie Mul-
holland he felt this had been the story of
his life: He had married a girl whom he
had always known; first they had а small
apartment in the Village, then they had
a baby. John worked for an ad agency
and their friends were not Village types
but young marrieds like themselves. By
the time their little girl was two years old
their friends had started moving to the
North Shore, to Westchester and Con-
necticut. John had started going to an
analyst and so had his wife, and what-
ever they had once had did not come
running back. He moved into a small
hotel and spent sleepless nights worrying
about the staggering doctor bills. One
day a friend said, “Why don't you try
writing some crap for television? I'll call
Hy Kaplan and tell him you're coming
around."

Eventually John Andrcw became the

(continued on page 167)

modern living

HOSTING

FOR THE

HOLIDAY

LET THE GUESTS DO IT: Snugly ensconced in the host's home оп o wintry afternoon, our party crew savors the culinary,
gastronomic and esthetic pleasures of a self-prepared international repast par excellence. Friends in foreground get in
their shash-licks at the grate indoors (wisely fueled, started and burned in the fireplace till glowing and smoke-free),
charcoal-broiling skewered morsels of marinated porterhouse steak, green pepper, onion and mushroom assembled from
surrounding platters. Mistress chef, meanwhile, performs the pleasant ritual of tossing a bowl of salad—dressed to the
greens from a choice of herbs, oils and vinegars arrayed on the sideboard—as the host picks up a plateful for delivery to
the hungry loungers across the room. Next he'll pass the porcelain cups at left, toast the holiday season in hot sake, and
for dessert, bring forth a big crystol bowl of Brandied Peaches or Nectarines from which the guests may help themselves.

THE INFORMAL LATE SUPPER: Far from the buzz of traffic and restaurants, our smoking-jacketed host greets the lost
arrivals for а leisurely Act Four to an evering ct the theater. After plying them with their choice of cheer—perhaps а
steaming mug of hot buttered rum—he'll invite them to join the others, who've already begun to feast on the festive holiday
collation easily prepared а few minutes before. There's still plenty for all comers: Baked Clams Casino (broiled cherry-
stones with pimiento and anchovy butter), Avocado Solad with Lemon Dressing, hot buttered finger rolls, Gambler's Eggs

(a blue-plote version of scrambled eggs, served on toast and garnished with a tart sauce), Shrimp Jambalaya (bubbling
in the red casserole), an inviting platter of sliced turkey, ham and tongue—and quantities of fresh-brewed coffee to top it off.
The final curtain: lights low, conversation muted, show tunes on the stereo, snifters of hand-warmed brandy on the hearth.

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holiday gatherings. As alternatives, PLAYBOY has planned a quintet of holiday jollifications designed to lend
festive variety to your seasonal entertaining.

First is the cocktail party, intended for the host with a host of friends and a taste for the festivities short
on duration but long on diversion. Next is the buffet, a bounteous spread of unusual food and drink for the
host who wants to offer the most to the largest number with the least expenditure of time and energy. Then

comes Let the Guests Do It, a casual affair involving an intimate group of friends in the pleasures of preparing
viands. Penultimately, we present the informal late supper, an after-theater gathering wherein the
(continued on page 88)

its ow
host serves up a succulent short-order collation to be салеп by firclight. And last, but

THE FORMAL DINNER: With its patina of time-honored tradition, this classic social gathering is the apogee of elegance
combined with fun in holiday entertaining. It's an occasion calling for not only the finest in potables and viands, but in
accouterments as well: yav'll want hand-blown crystal, silver, bone china and damask napery to grace the table in addi

to your formally attired dinner companions (all, save companions, may be rented for a nominal fee). Here, ct the close of
an epicurean nine-course feast punctuated superlatively with a succession of vintage wines, seven guests look on admiringly

by flickering candlelight. Soon after this, the ladies may wish to

as the hast himself brandy-flames a cascade of fresh fruit
retire to the living room far demitasse and liqueurs while the gentlemen—suffused with that benign sense of well-being which
follows a meal of superb quality—remain behind for the unhurried and expansive ceremony of cognac, coffee and cigars.

PLAYBOY

88

HOSTING (continued from page 86)

certainly first in ceremonial importance,
is the classic formal dinner, a black-tie
occasion on which the host of discrimi-
nation and unstinting hospitality offers
his guests an evening of impeccable
elegance. All are gala fétes accompli,
designed both to evince and evoke the
spirit of the season.

THE COCKTAIL PARTY

It's not known for sure who invented
the cocktail. Some maintain it was an
Aztcc princess called Xochitl, renowned
for her potent cactusjuice potatjons;
others swear it was a Yonkers tavern-
keeper's daughter who first plunged a
cock’s tail feather into a glass of grog
and used it as a swizzle stick. Fo whom-
ever was really responsible for its in-
vention, we owe a double debt of
gratitude: certainly for the joys of such
libations as the martini, but most of all
for providing the raison d'étre for one of
the Great Ideas of Western Man: the
cocktail party. As the spirit — and the
spirits—of the holidays rise, the social
ritual of the cocktail party can create
a mood of relaxed congeniality. The
extra measure of advance care you'll
vest in your cocktail party will
1 with interest at evening's end,
as your gratified guests depart with re-
freshingly sincere compliments.
st thing you'll want to decide on
is your guest list. You'll want to exercise
judgment in mingling business and
social contacts, single and married
friends, close comrades and casual ac
quaintances, talkers and listeners, etc,
taking into account occupational inter
ests, educational backgrounds, artistic
tastes, political and philosophical per-
suasions, intellectual prowess, wit, dis-
position and interpersonal involvements.
The ratio between males and females
should stick fairly close to 50-50. By all
means, include at least one but no more
than two energetic raconteurs who can
be relied upon to enliven the proceed-
ings. And if the party is a large one,
garnish the group with one or two
young ladies selected primarily for face
and fuselage.

Invite your very special guests first;
three wecks in advance is suggested. If
they can make your chosen date, you
can then send out the rest of the invita-
tions with equanimity. R.S.V.P. should
be the rule, both to underline the im-
portance of the occasion and to dis-
courage guests from bringing uninvited
friends. Whether printed or handwritten
(we prefer the more personal and gra-
cious feeling of the latter), each note
should state explicitly not only the date,
time (six to cight is usually the best),
and place of the gathering, but the ex-
pected mode of dress.

Hawever vivacious the throng, no

cocktail party will be worth its salted
ииз without a prodigal supply of
timulants. Most mixing manuals and
party guides advise four drinks per guest
as adequate for the average soiree; since
Christmas comes but once, etc., be liberal
and plan for a salubrious six apiece.
Allowing 17 drinks per fifth (using the
standard I14ounce shot measure), five
fifths should see a dozen imbibers through
a six-drink evening with a comfortable
safety margin. For a crowd of 24, eight
fifths should do nicely. Fhe exact quan-
tities of each kind of booze you'll need,
of course, will depend entirely on which
drinks you elect to serve.

These party-size recipes — each enough
for 24 to 30 healthy drinks — will offer
guidance in determining the amounts of
each ingredient to order for the most
popular cocktails. Mix in advance and
refrigerate. Ice only as served.

Manhattans: 1 quart rye (in the East
— bourbon or blended whiskey west
of the Alleghenies) y pint sweet
vermouth, 6 teaspoons bitters. Stir
with ice, strain each drink over
cherry.

Martinis: 114 quarts gin, 16 pint dry
vermouth. Stir with ice, strain each
drink over olive or pearl onion, add
lemon twist if desired.

Old Fashioneds: 1 quart rye (or bour-
bon or a blend, as for manhatans),
6 teaspoons bitters, 24 lumps sugar,
6 splits club soda. Muddle sugar
lump, dash bitters, 1 jigger soda in
each glass, add ice cubes, 1 jigger
booze, twist in lemon peel, garnish
with cherry, cocktail orange.

Daiquiris: 1 quart light rum, juice of
12 large limes, 1% cup sugar. Shake
with cracked ice till frosted, strain
into chilled glasses.

In many cities, neighborhood liquor
stores will deliver cases of booze (and
often the glassware and ice to go with
it) and take back—and credit you
with —unopened boules the day after
your party. Ask your regular dealer
about this inexpensive insurance against
running out.

As a seasonal touch of munificence
for the occasion, we recommend that you
plan also on brewing up a bowl of
Swedish glögg, hot toddy, mulled wine
(complete with that showy bit of busi-
ness involving a red-hot poker), or better
still, one of these original PLAYBOY
punch bowls each designed to provide
cheer for 24:

Luau Punch Bowl: Mix 21/4 cups coco-
nut syrup, 214 cups lemon juice, 3
cups lime juice, in blender for one
minute, pour over ice in bowl, add
contents of one 3Bounce jar bran
died pineapple wedges, 32 ounces
cold light rum, 3 quarts cold club
soda, and stir well.

Hot Wassail Bowl: Heat 3 fifths dry
sherry, 1 fifth brandy till hot, not
boiling; pour into bowl with seg-
ments 3 baked apples (sprinkled
with brown sugar and broiled till
brown), strips of peel from 4 or-
anges (studded with cloves and
broiled); mix well.
The edibles offered should tantalize,
not tranquilize, the taste buds. But don't
rely on those unimaginative, plebeian
barroom staples — pretzels, potato chips,
popcorn and peanuts. The livelier spirits
of a holiday cocktail party call for the
opulence and piquancy of more than or-
dinary munching, so do like so:
"Terrines
Stilton cheese with port
Liver paté
Lobster páté
Corne d'Abondance
Westphalian ham rolled around port
du salut cheese

Smoked turkey rolled around water
cress

Smoked salmon rolled around diced
scallions

Canapés Muscovite
Lobster meat, anchovy fillets. skinned
and boneless sardines, sliced hard-
boiled eggs, salami, etc, garnished
with parsley, paprika, pimiento,
sliced olives, etc.

Hot Hors d'Oeuvres
Crab meat wrapped in bacon, broiled

оп a toothpick
Beluga caviar in miniature patty
shells
Meat balls,
toothpicks
Chilled camembert cheese strips,
breaded and French fried

Spanish Melon Cubes wrapped in Pro-
scutto

Celery Ribs stuffed with Páté de Foie
Gras, Chopped Trufle topping

Preserved Dates stuffed with Candied
Pineapple

Assorted Nuts: almonds, bra:
cans, filberts, macadamias, etc.

Whether bedecked in bowls and chaf-
ing dishes on your groaning board, or
served with style and flourish from capa-
cious silver platters, this pLaysoy-planned
array of chef-d'oeuvre hors d'oeuvres
should bring equal delight to eye and
palate. As an added kindness to your
cocktail-carrying guests, all have been de-
signed exclusively as finger food — no
forks, plates, dips, sauces or anything
of the sort needed. The pátés, corne
d'abondance and canapés Muscovite are
served оп a variety of neutral-favored
carriers such as melba toast and cocktail
crackers; the meat balls, sausages, melon
cubes, broiled crab meat and fried cam-
embert strips are speared on toothpicks;
the caviar is offered in miniature patty
shells, available at any patisserie; and
such tid as celery ribs, dates and nuts

(continued on page 197)

cocktail sausages on

, ре

SPACE OPERA fiction By RAY RUSSELL The following communica:

tion was recently received in our morning mail, along with the usual stack of letters from readers, writers, literary
agents, et al. There was nothing particularly unique about the contents of the missive — in fact, it was quite
typical of letters from professional authors — but the substance on which it was written was of a metallic nature
and was slightly tingling to the touch. The secretary who copied its contents, so we might read it without eyestrain,
claimed the letter had a way of “flickering” (her word), by which she meant vanishing and reappearing "as if it
didn’t want to stay here.” This was obviously an excuse to cover a messy job of typing, and the secretary is no longer
with us. Neither is the original letter: it seems to have been lost or misplaced. This is just as well, since it was not
intended for us, anyway —a fact we deduce from its mention of prior correspondence (we have had no prior corre-
spondence with this person) and also from the fact that the envelope was addressed to the editor of some foreign
publication called Man About Mars. We are reproducing the letter here, as a curiosity, after having anagramized
the names of people and places out of respect for their privacy. — THE EDITORS

the galactic exploits of zoonbarolarrio feng

DEAR SIR: YOUR LETTER was most appreciated, but I am very sorry you did not like Vixen of Venus. Too melo-
dramatic, you say, and today's readers will have nothing to do with melodrama.

But, my dear sir, life itself is flagrantly melodramatic! The lady I described in Vixen of Venus is an almost
literal transcription of an actual lady 1 encountered there in my travels. However, that is water under the bridge,
as you Terrans say.

My purpose in writing to you again is to sketch briefly an article I would like to do for you. It is completely
factual, though I fear it may strike you as extravagant. A deep-dyed villain figures prominently in the piece; also
a lair maiden in distress; not to mention a righteous, retribution-dealing father right out of the admirable Victor
Hugo of your own culture. And, yes, I'm afraid there will even be a tricky twist ending.

If you have read this far, perhaps you will read further. The proposed article, which we might call The Star
of Orim, concerns a scries of fascinating events that occurred in my own galaxy, 75/890 (I trust you have no edi-
torial taboo against foreign settings). The chronicle begins on the planet Orim, and our antagonist, the war lord
Zoonbarolarrio Feng, accompanicd by a beautiful young lady who hates him—it would (continued on page 92)

VENSE.
By LARRY SIEGEL

- playboy's PA

Merry Christmas, friend of ш
Off to uplift whom чен a NE.

ith pack on back, gs qm: pe
E for some emerging nati
Angola, Congo, Guinea, К
Bearing quinine, Siu 2n
Bless your patriotic fervor; cu

I were a mankind ser А

es must find his own Frontier—
But ea

I'm for womankind this year-
"m

Lovely lady of sweet eighteen,
So pure and delicate of mien
"Т the season to be jolly,

To sip the wassail hang the holly.
You're so endowed with nature's riches,
Your untouched Wealth excites, bewitches,
Come join me now by hearthside here,
The fire and Tug invite good cheer

We'll talk of love and all its facets,

= While You, my dear, unfreeze your assets.
=

TO A ЄШЄК'$
ROOMMATE
I wish you season’s joy complete,
I wish you happiness.
I wish you Christmastide replete
With health and all success.
І hope your future's warm and bright _
And dream-come-true embossed.
But for tonight—yea, every nighi,
I wish you... would get lost! 257

it AT ŞaNTaê | / ! т У

3 e s
(from his account executive)

Y
ORNING -AFTER T

ga MENAGERIE

Welcome. bright red ae
Good morning. pur le ста
Hello there. friendly кш e

lease let me hs 2 C
1 ır partners,
Song Де is in flower:

1 WS
But wait until the room slo

To sixty miles an hour.

A
down K

You come on strong mirthwise,
But you overproject girthwise.

PLAYBOY

92

SPACE OPERA

be well to establish this immediately —
are discovered in a magnificent Orimese
palace. To point up their relationship,
we might haye them leaving a bedroom
together. They make an oddly contrasted
pair as they walk through the high-
ceilinged, luxurious rooms of the palace.
Feng is an enormous man — massive and
powerful, with thick black hair and
beard; his eyes are like an eagle's and his
nose is a formidable promontory that
looks well on the coins that bear his
likeness. In his black tunic and red robe,
he is indeed an imposing figure. The
girl is his complete opposite: she is small
and slight, with fair skin and with hair
red-gold as a dying sun (I'm sorry, but
there is hair like that, you know, espe-
cially among the Orimese). Her young
body is covered only by the most gauze-
like pale blue silk, cut in a pattern that
leaves much of her smooth skin exposed.

Feng is in a good mood. As they walk,
he chatters amiably in his rumbling bas-
so. “Conquering your planet has been
rich in rewards. Not only do I capture
the most brilliant scientist in the galaxy,
but I find that he has an extremely
beautiful daughter. A double prizet”
"This speech is reconstructed, and if the
exposition is too crude for you, I can
smooth it over in the finish.

As they approach the laboratory, they
are saluted by two slender officers in the
skintight black uniforms of Feng's per-
sonal guards. One of them opens the
door. Feng and the girl enter a huge
room of glass and metal where a small
forge glows and platoons of test tubes
and retorts bubble and hiss. Ac the end
of a long aisle, a gray-haired man si
a high stool and looks at a glea
piece of metal in his hand.

Feng walks up to him and the girl
follows. "Ihe black-bearded conqueror
greets the scientist with condescending
joviality. “Good evenipg, Torak," he
booms. “What have you there?”

The old man ignores Feng, looks past
him at the girl. “Vola,” he whispers
gently. “Vola, my child.”

The girl's voice is faint and husky.
“You look tired, Father. You work too
hard.

"You, my dear — how are you?”

She lowers her eyes. “I'm all right.
Don't worry about me.

Feng laughs. "That's right. Don't
worry about her. She's in good hands.
Now then, Torak: how soon will the
project be finished

“It is finished, my lord,” Torak an-
swers in a lifeless tone, and holds up a
flat piece of metal cut in the form of a
four-pointed star.

“This —" asks Feng, “
new metal?”

“The new metal. The invincible metal.
Yes, this is it.”

ng

this is it? The

(continued from page 89)

ng chuckles. “I can see you've made
it into the shape of the star of Orim,
the symbol of your people, eh? A very
clever comment, "Forak — but your reb-
el's propaganda is wasted on me. I fear.
Here, let me have that." He snatches the
metal star from Torak’s hand. “I shall
notify my entire staff to assemble here
immediately. The tests will begin at

"Of course," Feng smiles. “You didn't
think I would take your word for it, did
you? Why, for all I know, this shiny new
stuff of yours might collapse like tin foil
in a baby's fist. Nothing would please
you more, would it" He laughs again.
"No, my friend. I am not such a fool.
I have not conquered almost the entire
galaxy to be finally outwitted by a rebel
scientist. This metal shall be thoroughly
tested, I assure you. And my own sci-
entists shall conduct the tests.” Feng's
eyes grow suddenly sharper. “If it is all
you claim it to be, then the last strong-
hold in the galaxy shall yield before me
— the planet Klor!”

Now, somewhere in through here we
will have to sandwich the information
that, for years, Feng lad been looking
forward to the day when the whole gal-
axy would be his. Slowly, planet by
planet, he saw his dream coming true,
but always the planet Klor resisted his
mighty navies. Perhaps in a footnote we
can remind your readers that Klor is a
world almost completely under water:
шом of its people are fishlike depth
creatures, And Feng's engincers had
despaired of building amphibious ships
versatile enough to fling themselves from
the base-planet, Sarg, across the black
emptiness of outer space, and down into
the watery depths of Klor. Such ships
would have had to be made of metal as
light as spaceship alloy and yet pressure-
resistant to heat and cold and radiation.
But back to our scene in the laboratory:

The scarlet-robed emperor grasps the
metal star and repeats, “Yes, the tests
will begin at once.” He turns and strides
out of the room.

When the door clangs shut, Vola
buries her face in her father's chest and
breaks into uncontrollable weeping. “Oh,
Father! It's been so horrible! That man
is a beast—a filthy beast!”

Torak’s hands clench as a father’s in-
dignation rises in him. “Vola, be brave.
It will not last much longer. We must
both be brave.”

Vola pulls herself away and collapses
onto one of the benches. She sighs. “Not
much longer? Who are you tying to
deceive, Father? You know as well as
I do that we will be Feng's prisoners as
long as we live.”

“Or,” Torak’s voice takes on a strange
resonance, “as long as he lives.”

She shrugs. "Whats the difference?
Feng is strong and healthy. He has the
vitality of a demon: 1 know . . . He is
not ready to die.

“Often, death comes when it is least
expected.”

"The girl looks up. "What are you
talking about, Father?"

He turns to her and his old eyes are
aglow like embers. "Courage, my dear,"
he says. “Trust me.

As you pointed out in regard to Vixen
of Venus, dialog is not my strong point.
I realize thi perfectly willing to
do the piece in straight reportorial form,
should you so desire. However, since I
have begun my outline in this style, I
shall continue so:

Sparks fly in the darkened laboratory,
as a group of dark-goggled men recoil
from terrific heat. A powerful ray is bom-
barding the small, starshaped piece of
metal. “See, my lord!" says one of the
men. “The upper side of the metal is
white hot, while the underside —"

"Yes?" hisses Feng.

“The underside is cool to the touch!
Incredible! Your captive scientist has
achieved perfect insulation.” He turns
off the ray and they all remove their
goggles. “That concludes the series of
tests, my lord. This piece of metal was
subjected to powerful explosives, searing
acids, atomic radiation, great pressure,
and now — withering heat. Nothing af-
fects it! It is completely impervious.”

Feng smiles. He tums to Torak. “My
congratulations. You have not failed me.
You shall have an honored place in
the scientific hierarchy of my empire.”
Abruptly, he turns to his chief engineer.
“Great quantities of this metal must be
produced and made into the spaceships
you have designed. You will work with
Torak. I shall expect you to begin to
morrow. And remember, gentlemen: the
conquest of Klor means the conquest of
the galaxy." He walks away as the scien-
tists and generals bow. At the door, he
turns to a figure in the shadows. “Come,
Vola,” he says. (We can play down this
sex element if you wish.)

During the next months, I orak forces
himself to be oblivious to his daughter's
tears. While she struggles in thc arms of
Feng, the scientist supervises at found-
ries where ton after ton of the molten
new metal are poured from monstrous
blast furnaces. Captive slave-workers from
the far reaches of the galaxy labor day
and night until they drop from exhaus-
tion and are whipped into consciousness
again. And often at Torak’s side is the
exultant Feng who slaps him on the back
and praises him.

As soon as the sheets of metal roll from
the foundries, they are rushed to the
shipyards where, already, the armada of

(continued on page 207)

after the faculty party, one heady draught released the beast within

HENRY HYDE, PH.D., assistant professor of sociology, had for precisely one year
suffered a violent and unrequited craving for the wife of a faculty colleague
at Merryweather College; and here it was, Christmas Eve again, the annual
eggnog fest, the anniversary of the onset of his unhappy hunger. His prey
stood blonde and breasty, gaudy, apathetic, peering with great violet eyes
into a foaming cup while Claude Revanche, of Romance Languages, spite
fully abused prominent statesmen.

Hyde wiped off his nog-mustache and insinuated himself between his
beauty and little Claude, who was the kind of freak that attended parties
to talk to his wife, for so she was.

Revanche said, with the unction of a hamlet minister: “Weez and I agree
that X, Y and Z are probably inverts.”

“Probably!” said Hyde, robustly, so that he could roll his eyes from
Claude to Louise, and hence from her bust to shin. His right arm, carrying
the glass cup, drifted against her soft, bananalike left.

Revanche screamed outrage. Hyde’s secret was out and he helpless. The
lounge of Webster Hall was congested with faculty members, wives and
offspring, and a dozen students, holiday holdovers, in basic black: the latter
all girls, since Merryweather was that kind of school. And before the great
fireplace, into which three Cossacks could have ridden without colliding,
stood the president, Gifford T. Cudahy, hard back toward Yule log, noble
face toward surrounding sycophants, arctic eyes looking over them at Hyde
—whom, Hyde happened to know, he disliked profoundly. Exposed, ex-
posed! Hyde ranted to himself, maintaining contact with Louise and taking
forever to hear that Revanche's rage was directed, (continued on page 140)

93

Pele see Ore,

94

a ae
"- ¢ se d â

TU, A

"That's all very well for you, but what do I hang onto?"

WALL STREET/ó: MONTE CARLO

By J. PAUL GETTY the speculator in common stocks has no more chance
than a roulette player, but the investor has the house odds on his side

SIZABLE FORTUNES HAVE BEEN MADE and are being made by individuals who invest their money
in common stocks. I, myself, have made many millions by investing in them, by buying common
shares on the stock market. I own certain shares today that are worth as much as 45 times
what I paid for them a few years ago.

Yes, common stocks can prove highly profitable to those who buy them — to those who
choose them carefully and consider them as investments. І would not, however, recommend
that anyone spend a penny on stocks for purposes of speculation. I cannot hold out much
hope for those who buy stocks in companies about which they know little or nothing on
the basis of a tip. Such people expect to make a killing — but instead, they are lambs
leading themselves to the slaughter. "That, in my opinion, just about sums up the situation
insofar as speculation in general and stock market speculation in particular are concerned.

If purchased wisely, selected common stocks are excellent investments. But they should
be bought for investment. The stock market is not a gambling den. Nonetheless, it might
be said that speculators bear somewhat the same relationship to investors that roulette players
bear to the owners of a casino. Speculators — like roulette players — are simply gambling, hoping
that they'll guess right and hit a lucky streak. Investors, like casino owners, sit back calmly,
coolly and confidently, knowing that the house odds are working inexorably in their favor.

To put it another way, the former are betting on the weather, while the latter are banking
on the climate. The weather is notoriously temperamental and changeable. At best, it can
be predicted only within certain limits and only for very short periods in advance. The
climate, on the other hand, follows an established and predictable pattern year after year
and decade after decade. It takes only a single, sudden freak storm to wipe out the speculator.
‘The seasoned and sophisticated investor handily rides out even protracted spells of foul weather,
because he has made allowances and provisions for them in his long-term calculations.

Unfortunately, it is difficult to impress these truths upon people who are mesmerized
by the idea that they can reap immense profits through in-and-out speculation in common
stocks. Even more unfortunately, those most prone to fall into this trap are usually individuals
with limited savings or capital who can't afford the losses they almost invariably incur.

I know of countless incidents that prove the financially suicidal folly of random speculation
in stocks. Typical — and telling — is the story of one of my former employees, a man PI call
George Baker.

George Baker was a likable, industrious man of 32 with a wife and two young children.
One day in 1950 he came to me and asked for some advice.

"Туе got about $5000 in my savings account, and my wife has just inherited $10,000 from
an aunt," he explained. “I'd like to buy stocks with the money, and I thought you might be
willing to give me a few hints.”

I have never considered myself an investment counselor, and I told Baker as much. I
suggested that he consult a professional investment counselor, but he pleaded with me to
advise and help him.

I don't like telling other people what they should do with their money, but George Baker
was so earnest and persistent in his entreaties that I finally agreed. I suggested that he consider
investing his money in two stocks: A, an industrial stock and B, an oil stock. Both were under-
priced in relation to the earnings and realizable assets of the companies that issued them. In
addition, the companies were even then embarking on expansion programs, and their future
prospects appeared extremely bright.

"Both stocks seem to be excellent buys," I told George Baker. "If you purchase them
now — at prevailing prices — you'll very probably make quite a bit of money on them in the
next several years.”

То my surprise, Baker's face fell, and he looked terribly disappointed.

“But I want to make money quickly,” he protested. "I don't (continued on page 110)

© ere езе е авзаввваевввз зене ввзвввезееввввзөзәзөзөзөөәвөөөөөө а

$eevesesesososesossscosccsccosescscsososasososesososcenosceocoo

oer eee eer eerie rr rrr errr errr er errr ere rrr errr rr
H

jou.”

“ое been saved, thank

eee cece cece ecco ене зе зазевевазевөзөз өзө ө»

“No, Fred, it’s pretty quiet here. As you
know, Stanhope and Company canceled all
Christmas office parties two years ago."

КИТТЕР ЕЛЕН

“Santa Claus is on his way, Miss Bowers.
Tell me, are you a good girl or a bad girl???

$eeossesssssessessosecssovsecceccenvocccee

D—————--9-————— EM

H
H
H
H
H
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H
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.

IDIIIIII———wwv————

Pesssosessccnessoocscessescsosososesesesesesesseooce

“Open your mouth and close your eyes."

sesssssssosocssoscnscsocccceseoceseseeosososovesceve

“Christmas, of course, is really
a rat race for us Don Juans.”

eessssssssssoscossseensossosovssoseooveeeonssccoseseceossocesoseseseeveecoseqoeroresopeseseoneeececeorceoe

“. . .and still another memorable Christmas dinner, I recall, consisted of
Consommé Madrilene, Gigot D’ Agneau еп Croute, Bouquet of Baby String Beans,
а certain Miss Dominique Tyler, and two magnums of Bollinger °36...°

Peessevonevessoosesesecsosssesssooseoveeceoeceseooceceseseceseeseesessoseveverecosepevvveseseeseveeevene

101

she
f [0018
through,

the агт @

parachuting
playmate
lynn karrol
is our heavenly body
Jor december

IF YOU'RE LOOKING for a girl with both feet on the
ground, look elsewhere, for December's air-borne
miss, Lynn Karrol, is smitten with the life aloft —
at least part of the time. She’s a lissome 22-year-
old ex-Pittsburgher transplanted to Manhattan,
has held a pilot's license since she was 16 and has
recently taken up the exhilarating sport of sky-
diving (she’s logged nine jumps so far). Miss
Karrol’s somewhat singular avocation has not
been plucked out of thin air: her father owns a
small flying field on the edge of Pittsburgh and
Lynn returns there several weekends a year to
perfect her technique. When she isn't hitting the
silk, she's donning it—as a fashion and tel-
cvision model, Lynn
acquired her man-
nequin's poise at a
Pittsburgh finishing
school; after graduat-
ing, she stayed on to
teach her newly ac-
quired social skills
(make-up, styling,
speech, etc.) to fledg-
ling models. Our
richly endowed (35-
22-35) airess doesn't
always have her saf-
fron coiffed head in
the clouds: she'd love

to use her growing
number of modeling credits as a springboard to the
movies. Lynn suspects that a film contract might
put an end to her skydiving diversions. Until
then, however, she'll rate as our favorite fall girl.

Playmate Lynn Karol makes the switch easily from glamorous
high-fashion model sipping c Tom Collins to jump-suited
skydiver—all the while remaining captivatingly feminine.

MISS DECEMBER

High-flying Lynn does

her jumping from а Cessna 150,
wears o serene smile

as a pretty preface to taking
off on another skydive.

The Karrol form looks well-nigh
perfect as she starts

her spectacular descent

toward terra firma.

PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES

A new organization has been formed, called
Athletics Anonymous, When you get the urge
to play golf, baseball, or any other game in-
volving physical activity, they send someone
over to drink with you until the urge passes.

Our Unabashed Dictionary defines window
dresser as a girl who doesn't pull down the
shades.

A friend of ours who is a nut on classic auto-
mobiles bought a car a few weeks ago that runs
entirely on electricity, and he paid $10,000 for
it — $5000 for the car and $5000 for the exten-
sion cord.

Bobby's mother had been away for a few
weeks and was questioning her small son about
events during her absence.

“Well,” said the boy, “one night we had an
awful thunderstorm. It was so bad that I got
scared, and so Daddy and me slept together.”

“Bobby,” said Babette, the boys pretty
French nursemaid, “you mean ‘Daddy and 1'"

“No, I don't," exclaimed Bobby. “That was
last Thursday. I'm talking about Monday
night.”

Some girls get a lot out of a dress, and leave
it out.

The suburban couple, middle-aged and mar-
ried for very nearly 22 years, were out for the
Saturday-a{ternoon ritual with the grass, the
bushes and flowers. He was putting Vigoro on
the crab grass and she was pruning the rose

bushes, but somehow their minds didn't seem
to be on their work. The wife seemed espe-
cially discontent and was mumbling under her
breath about something; then, quite unexpect-
edly, she stalked over to where the husband
was standing, examining at close range a tree
fungus on his favorite elm, and gave him a
short kick to the ankle.

“Ow-ouch!” exclaimed the husband, seizing
the bruised appendage. “What the hell did you
do that for?!”

“That,” she said, stalking back to her rose
bushes, “is for being such a lousy lover!”

"The husband thought about this unexpected
attack for a minute or two, then he turned and
— just as resolutely as she had a few moments
before — stalked over and gave his wife a swift
and well-placed foot to the behind as she bent
over, about to pluck an American Beauty.

“OW!” she wailed. “You brute—why did
you do that?”

“That,” said he, returning to his elm, “is for
knowing the difference!”

The guy who first said, "You can't take it with
you,” had probably never met an old maid.

Our Unabashed Dictionary defines stalemate
as last season's girlfriend.

An old fraternity brother told us about a gaj

an undergrad girlfriend of his pulled off last
semester: She disguised herself as a boy, joined
TKE and the authorities never found out
about it.

“Wait a minute.” we objected. “If this girl
joined a fraternity, she would have had to
dress with the guys and shower with them.”

"Sure."

"Well then, someone must have discovered
she was a girll”

"Probably," said our friend, downing his
drink. “But who'd tell?"

Carol was furious when she came home unex-
pectedly and caught her Harry in bed with a
lady midget.
You promised me two weeks аро that you
would never cheat on me again," she stormed.
Harry shrugged his shoulders and murmured
airily, “Well, as you can see, I'm tapering off.”

Heard any good ones lately? Send your favor-
ites to Party Jokes Editor, PLAYBOY, 232 E.
Ohio St, Chicago 11, Ill, and earn $25 for
each joke used. In case of duplicates, payment
goes to first received. Jokes cannot be returned.

“Don't ‘Ho-ho-ho’ me, you dirty old man!!”

PLAYBOY

по

WALL STREET ыа» page 95)

want to wait for years to make my profits.
I thought you'd be able to tip me off
to something really good — you know, a
stock that'll go up in price fast . . ."

1 could see that it was useless to reason
with Baker. He didn't want to invest.
He wanted to gamble his money in the
hopes of getting rich overnight.

The Korean conflict had just begun.
Some stocks were dropping, while others,
given artificial impetus by widespread
predictions of materials shortages to
come, zoomed in price. George Baker
reacted in a manner characteristic of
most speculators. He bought stocks which
he believed were “going sky-high.” For
a time, his shares did continue to in-
crease in value, Whenever we met during,
those next few weeks, he gave me what
were almost pitying looks. It was obvious
that he considered me stupid and short-
sighted. It was clear that he wondered
how anyone with as little imagination аз
I possessed could ever have become a
multimillionaire. Then, the inevitable
happened. The overinflated price bal-
loons of the speculative stocks burst.
George Baker lost not only all his con-
siderable paper profits, but also the
major portion of his original $15,000.

What if he had invested his money in
stocks A and B and held them for the
10 years between 1950 and 1960? Well,
taking into consideration dividends, stock
splits and the increased value of the
shares, he would have quintupled his
original investment. And, he could have
done as well or even better with other
sound growth stocks, had he bought
them in 1950 and held them as invest-
ments until 1960.

George Baker lost his money, but he
had not been swindled or robbed by con-
fidence men or tricksters. He had cheated
himself of the opportunity to make a
large profit over a period of time because
he was obsessed. with the idea of getting
rich quick. Getrich-quick schemes just
don't work. If they did, then everyone
on the face of che earth would be a mil-
lionaire, This holds as true for stock
market dealings as it does for any other
form of business activity.

Don't misunderstand me. Lt is possible
to make money — and a great deal of
money —in the stock market. Bur it
ht or by haphazard
buying and selling. The big profits go to
the intelligent, careful and patient in-
vestor, not to the reckless and overeager
speculator. Conversely, it is the specu-
lator who suflers the losses when the
market takes а sudden downturn. The
seasoned investor buys his stocks when
they are priced low, holds them for the
long-pull rise and takes in-between dips
and slumps in his stride.

“Buy when stock prices are low — the

can't be done overni

lower the better —and hold onto your
sce " a highly successful financier
advised me years ago, when 1 first started
buying stocks. “Bank on the trends and
dont worry about the tremors. Keep
your mind on the long-term cycles and.
ignore the sporadic ups and downs . .

I've found that this, in a nutshell, is
the secret of profitable investment
common stocks. | have bought stocks at
low — often rock-bottom — prices, resisted
the temptation to sell them for quick
profits and held them through the years.
Some shares 1 bought during the Depres-
sion are worth 75 and 100 times what
1 paid for them.

Great numbers of people who purchase
stocks seem unable to grasp these simple
principles. They do not buy when prices
are low. They are fearful of bargains.
They wait until a stock goes up — and
up —and then buy because they feel they
are thus getting in on a sure thing. Very
often, they buy too late — just before a
stock has reached one of its peaks, Then
they get caught and suffer losses when
the price breaks even a few points.

Typical of these people is an acquaint-
ance of mine with whom I had lunch
one day in 1955. We talked about many
things — including the stock market. Dur-
ing the course of the conversation I
happened to mention that the X Cor-
poration's shares were selling at 414, and
that I thought the stock would go up
in price.

By late 1957, the stock stood at 1114.
I later learned that my acquaintance had
kept his eye on the stock for two years
and. when it reached 1114, he finally
decided it was safe to buy and purchased
several hundred shares. He watched hap-
pily while the stock climbed to 1314 in
the next six months. Then there was a
dip. X shares fell to 10 and stayed there.
My Johnny-come-lately acquaintance sold
out and lost money. Those of us who'd
bought early held on, for the securities
were worth more than twice what we had.
paid for them. Eventually, the stock rose
again, going up several more points to
reach another fairly steady price plateau.
Today, it's around 15 — and those of us
who bought early are holding on to it
firmly. I might add that we've also col-
lected satisfactory dividends on the stock
through the years.

Many individuals consider themselves
investors, yet they view stocks as things
to buy and then sell quickly when prices
go up a point or two. Now, this sort of
stock dealing is fine and proper for a

floor trader who is, after all, a profes-

sional and who may be in and out of a
stock а dozen times in the course
of a single day. That is the floor trader's
business. It is uot, however, sound invest-
ment as I believe the average nonpro-

fessional should understand investment.

As I sce it, the average person should
consider the purchase of common stock
as the investment of surplus capital for
the purpose of earning an annual return
on that capital and of eventually in-
creasing the capital as much as possible

The average individual begins "invest-
ing” by opening a savings account ог by
buying insurance or annuities. He usu-
ally graduates to buying Government
bonds. Later, when he is more exper
enced and sure of himself, he may decide
to invest in common stocks. If and when
he does so, he should follow certain defi-
rules for his own protection and
benefit.

1. In the main, the average investor
should consider buying only such com-
mon stocks as are listed on a major stock
exchange. There are many good reasons
for this. Many unlisted stocks are worth
less, bogus shares peddled by fly-by-night
companies. Even when the unlisted
stocks are | ate, the buyer often
finds that he is "locked in" with his in-
vestment. It is frequently difficult to sell
an unlisted security.

The person who buys or sells listed
stocks can always be certain he is paying
— or receiving —a price that is fair and
bona fide to the extent that it has been
set by buyers and sellers according to the
law of supply and demand in a free mar-
ket place. The same cannot always be
said for unlisted stocks, which may be
pegged at artificially high prices or, in
some cases, have no value at all.

2. Common stocks should be purchased
when their prices are low, not after they
have risen to high levels during an up-
ward bull-market spiral. Buy when every
one else is selling and hold on until
everyone else is buying is more than just
a catchy slogan. It is the very essence of
successful investment.

History shows that the overall trend of
stock prices—like the overall trends
of living costs, wages and almost every-
thing else — is up. Naturally there have
been and always will be dips, slumps,
recessions and even depressions, but these
are invariably followed by recoveries
which carry most stock prices to new
highs. Assuming that a stock and the
company behind it are sound, ап in-
vestor can hardly lose if he buys shares at
the bottom and holds them until the inev-
itable upward cycle gets well under way.

3. Withal, the wise investor realizes
that it is no longer possible to consider
the stock market as a whole. Todays
stock market is far too vast and complex
for anyone to make sweeping generalized
predictions about the course the market
as such will follow.

It is necessary to view the presentday
stock market in terms of groups of stocks,
but it is not enough merely to classify

(continued on page 187)

AT
THE
PRESENT

splendiferous gifts galore
to sleigh him
come christmas

A sumptuous sledful of imaginative Christmas gifts. Left, top to bottom: teak umbrella stand, by Maison
Gourmet, $22.50. Walnut bar with refrigerator, formica counter, storage compartment, by Springer-Penguin,
$550. Center, top to bottom: double-action sander, with three-position removable auxiliary handle, by
Cummins Power Tools, $49.95; 4" drill with geared key chuck, by Skil Corp., $18.95; 14-hp portable jig
saw, by Wen Products, $44.95. Lightweight kangaroo leather golf bag with hidden umbrella-holder, $160;
matched set of 13 tourney woods and irons, $244.50, all by MacGregor. Right, top to bottom: Diplomat
Foursome trav-L-bar, with six 8-oz. tumblers, six 2-oz. shot glasses of polished aluminum, chrome mixing
spoon, bottle-and-can opener, corkscrew, stain-resistant Mylar tray lid, by Ever-Wear, $24.95. Pole-mounted
walnut and brass three-way speaker system pivots 360 degrees, has crossover network, volume control,
by Lords Electronics, $109. Left to right: AM-FM 9-transistor portable auto radio, has push-button controls,
by Sony, $79.95; 3-band short-wave AM 8-transistor radio, with dial light, by Hitachi, $79.95; Ovation
8-transistor, portable AM-FM receiver operates on flashlight batteries, by Bulova, $79.95. Wicker double
hamper trimmed with leather, brass and hemp, contains gourmet assortment, by Berkshire Farms, $100.

PLAYBOY

112

A pleasantly pushy female helps deliver a full complement of Christmas treasure
guaranteed to make easy sledding of your lady fair's master plans. Clockwise from
one o'clock: PLAYBOY's fetching Femlin, $7.50, flourishes aloft our favorite bunny-
emblazoned four-in-hand, black on muted shades of gray, brown, navy, red, olive, $5,
Playboy Products. Our Christmas wool-gathering garnered these cold-weather accou-
terments: left to right, Swedish wool pullover, $26.50, matching cap, $3.50;
Icelandic-patterned multicolor wool cardigan with hidden zipper, $32.50; Bavarian
hand-loomed wool zippered cardigan with contrasting trim, $27.50, matching cap,
$3.50; all by P.&M. Distributors. Perfect for travel reminiscences or top-level sales
meetings: 580 console model Executive Projector in walnut cabinet, holds 60

slides in spill-proof tray; F/2.8 45mm lens projects mirror-reflected image on

13%” x 20" translucent screen; remote-control unit on 10-foot cord allows

forward and reverse cycling, remote focusing, contains a pointer light;

four-position automatic timer can be set for 4- 8- 16- or
32-second intervals, by Argus Cameras, $400. A superb
helpmeat is this contemporary design forged
stainless steel 11-piece steak knife and carving
set, slicer, carver and fork, with hollow-ground
stainless razor-steel blades, in lined cowhide
zippered case, by Plummer, $49.50. For the
happy huntsman: Deerslayer lightweight
16-gauge shotgun for rifled slugs, with peep
sight, recoil pad, sling, by Ithaca, $125; light-
weight automatic-loading, center-fire .308-caliber
rifle with detachable box magazine, rotary-action
bolt-lock, by Winchester, $155. For sitzmarkers and
schussboomers: Red Blizzard combination skis,
lacquered laminated wood with Kofix plastic bottoms,
steel edging, $85, attached Eckel bindings, $16; Eckel
steel poles with racing rings, $14.50; Innsbruck double
boots with speed lacing, $32.50; glare-killing
amber-tinted plastic racing goggles, $2.50, all by
Р.&М. Distributors. Herewith an extra-elegant

carving equipage: silver-plate roast carving cart

with cherry-wood base, has movable plate rack,
carving-knife shelf, cast aluminum cutting plate,
vegetable or gravy warmers, twin alcohol or Sterno
heating elements, by Iron Gate, $2000. For the most
automatic do-it-yourself moviemaking, a Leicina 8mm
electric-eye motion-picture camera with reflex viewing
and focusing systems; motor driven by miniature battery,
controls exposure automatically, with adjustable forehead
rest bar, folding hand grip, leather carrying strap, by

Leitz, $267. Attached is Q-Beam, a 650-watt quartz motion-
picture flood lamp with built-in safety, needs no fuses, has
adjustable hinged folding camera mount, provides constant
color values for 16 hours, by Acme-Lite Manufacturing
Company, $22.95. Above the guns: for company cookery,
an eight-quart earthenware marmite with copper and

brass stand; alcohol or Sterno heating element

has walnut handle, by Bazar Francais, $49.50.

113

A brace of snow belles follow their leader with a Flexible Flyerful of new booty. Clockwise from top:
Selectric 11-inch rigid-carriage electric typewriter is world's fastest, uses spherical typing element with
six interchangeable faces, has automatic paper feed, by IBM, $395. Toast-colored vicuna vest with
gold-finished pewter buttons, four pockets, crest-patterned pongee silk lining, by Hylo, $100; on either
side, African hand-woven vests, by Sidafro Imports, $30 each; brown alligator four-compartment
pocket secretary, by Rolfs, $35; brown double-sided crocodile belt, by Countess Mara, $36.50.
Citizens' Band Transceiver, has automatic volume control, illuminated slide-rule dial, controls for
tuning, squelch, on-off, volume, by Regency, $124. Atmos Heritage perpetual-motion clock, by

Le Coultre, $125. Left to right: matte chrome ashtray, $10.50, teak and matte chrome lighter, $14, and
silent butler, $9, all by Maison Gourmet. Chef-Mate all-in-one mixer, juicer, coffee grinder, sharpener,
blender (only latter shown), by Casco Products, $119.95. Merry '01 full-size working replica,
air-cooled, two forward speeds and reverse, starter, sealed-beam headlights, directional

signals, pneumatic tires, top (not shown), by Berkshire Sales, $1895. Top: Montague 20-oz.

hollow fiberglass big-game rod with stainless-steel, chrome-plated guides,

stained-ash butt, by True Temper, $47.50; Ocean City sailfish
reel with forged brass one-piece spool, Bakelite side plates,
by True Temper, $25. Below: light-action 6'-foot

hollow fiberglass rod, by Garcia, $27; automatic
spinning reel with two spools
of different line capacity, by
Garcia, $39.95. Nylon one-
suiter, by United Luggage,
$42.50; two wool blankets

in cowhide carrier,
by Loyal, $25.

PLAYBOY

116

louse

“Uh, Mary... we're playing get-acquainted games in the other room...”

MODUS BIBENDI

article BY ALEC WAUGH a potatious peripatetic proposes that as it is with
people, so it may be with nations: by their drinking customs ye shall know them

“WILL SOMEONE TAKE ME TO A PUB?” So ran the refrain of one of G. K. Chesterton’s happiest ballades. I
have often quoted it to myself when the Madame Secretary of a lecture club has displayed for my admira-
tion the cultural and civic ornaments of the community whose elite I am to address that afternoon. The
library, the swimming pool, the oratorium, the cathedral, the park are potent proofs, no doubt, of a
high standard of industry and social consciousness, but I should get a clearer insight into her fellow
citizens if she would take me to a saloon and I could observe how they relaxed.

A nation reveals itself in its drinking habits. The various airlines — American, Asian, European —
vie with one another in their advertisements to explain what is that “little something,” that treasured
secret that makes them different from and superior to all other lines. I have flown by most of them, and
they are all the same; identical in service and routine, with the quality of the meals and comfort deter-
mined by the class you travel — first, tourist or economy. In one respect only have I found any difference
among them: the kinds of drinks they serve and the way in which they serve them. In no other way, if 1
were taken onto an aircraft blindfolded, could I guess under which flag I flew.

A wim, brisk hostess is at your elbow with an order list. “Would you like anything to drink before
your lunch? Beer, gin and tonic, sherry?” Britain is taking care of you. A small tumbler is put upon
your table, a trolley is wheeled down the aisle. “Cinzano, Dubonnet, St. Raphael?” Where else but in
France could you be? A highly salted herring canapé bites your palate, a small cold glass smelling
of aniseed is set before you. Ah, Scandinavia! There is the rattle of ice on aluminum. “Martini or man-
hattan, sir?" This is the U.S.A. The invariable "delicious, complimentary meal" will follow, but you
have your map reference.

We are the products of our soil and climates — mentally, emotionally and socially; our natures
are determined by the degree of latitude on which we live; so are our drinking habits, which are the ex-
pressions of those natures. There are basic differences among the Latins who are wine producers, the Eng-
lish and Germans who are beer producers, and the northerners — the Scandinavians, the Scots, the North
Americans — who hit back against the cold with spirits. Wine drinkers as a general rule drink during
meals; whereas the advocates of beer and spirits drink before and after meals. The sidewalk cafés of
France and Italy are expressive of a wine drinker's way of life, just as the Third Avenue saloon fulfills the
demands of the man who escapes shivering from Arctic cold, throws quickly upon his stomach a short sharp
shot of fire, then as warmth revives him looks round for company among other orphans of the storm.

Between the beer drinkers of Germany and England there is a difference imposed by climate. The
German summer is very hot; its winter is very cold and its rooms are appropriately heated. England,
the beneficiary as she is the victim of the Gulf Stream, is neither frozen in winter nor baked in summer.
Central heat is for the most part a superfluity, and tropical-weight clothes are rarely needed. Clammy
is the definitive epithet, and Fnglish draft beer is an admirable antidote to that. Indeed, only in England
could it be drunk at all. It is flat and tepid and American GIs were very properly warned against it when
they crossed the ocean. But in England it is rarely hot enough for one to need cold beer. On the few
occasions when it is, tepid beer can be exceedingly unpleasant, particularly during austere periods of
rationing when the brew is denied its fair share of malt. 1 remember returning to England from
America in the summer of 1948. It happened to be a torrid day. There was (continued on page 134)

117

"Twas the night before Christmas and all through
the duplex
Justa valet was pressing (a glen plaid with
blue chec!
The nylons were hung by the chimney with ea
C.O.D. from I. Magnin’s (the bill was still there).

The boys home from prep school all snug in their beds,
While visions of Marilyn danced in their heads.
And Mumms in her Bergdorf and I in my Saks
Lay in Louis XIV (whose first name was Max).

When up in the penthouse there arose such a clatter

] summoned the butler, asked, *What was the matter?"
l ran through the room in a 40-yard sprint,

Pulled up the venetians and leaned out to squint.

The moon on the sidewalks of chic Sutton Place
Gave the color of liver to the old doorman’s face.
When what to my wond'ring eyes did appear
But a Mercedes-Benz pulling up in high gear!

With a cute little driver so lively and quick

І knew “twas the chauffeur of Jolly Saint Nick!
More rapid than Jags, his convertible came

And he whistled and shouted and called it by name.

“Now Stupid! Now Junk-Heap! Now Bucket of Bolts!
Look out for those taxis! (Those drivers are dolts!)
Look out for the porch! Look out for the wall!
Whatever you do, Mercedes, don’t stall!”

As strollers "fore taxis and buses do fly,

He hit a poor cop and knocked him sky high.
Then up to the duplex the convertible flew,
With a trunk full of toys and St. Nicholas, too.

And then in a twinkling lik st-driving heiress.
He slammed on the brakes and parked on the te
As I drew on my Homburgand was turning around
Down the stone fireplace Santa came with a bound!

He was dressed all in cashmere from his head to his foot.
Abercrombie & Fitch was stamped on each boot.
He had a Hathaway shirt—and was looking quite dudie

As he took genteel puffs on a meerschaum Kaywoodie.

His Cavanagh hat and bright Argyle socks

Matched the fur on his suit which was ermine, not fox.
His beard was white mink—a right jolly old elf

And I laughed at his spats, in spite of myself.

But a look at his tie (shantung and in red!)

And I wished that I'd stood all snug in my bed.
He spoke not a word but went straight to his work
And drove Sardi’s caterer fairly berserk.

He ate like a demon as he trimmed up the tree—
Pheasant, hors d'oeuvres and lobster gelée.

Ina fine linen hankie he blew on his nose,
Sucked in his tummy—up the chimney he rose.

His driver snoozing, a lovely young dame.

She woke with a smile when he called her by name.
Come Gina, Bambina, it’s time for linguini—

But first to the Stork Club, a real dry martini.

He saw me and hollered ere he whizzed out of sight—
“PIL bill you next month for my labors tonight!”

pictorial

WONDERFUL AND EXCITING things have happened to PLAYBOY during
its eighth year of publication. We count among them hefty increases
in circulation (now guaranteed at 1,150,000), advertising linage and
revenue; the launching Of SHOW BUSINESS ILLUSTRATED, the most im-
portant new magazine of the past half-dozen years; established plans
to expand the Playboy Club operation to 50 major cities throughout
the world. The year's dramatic capper was provided by a signed con-
tract with Tony Curtis to produce and star in a film based on the
PLAYBOY operation, scheduled for shooting this coming spring. Curtis
will play Editor-Publisher Hugh Hefner, the man behind it all.

With so much to celebrate, some very special salute to our Eighth
Anniversary seemed called for. Hefner decided on a gala house party.
He had the perfect setting for it — the Playboy Mansion, a magnificent
house in the center of Chicago's Near North Side. And what could
be more in keeping with the spirit of the occasion than inviting a
dozen of the magazine's most dazzling pin-up beauties, the Playmates
of the Month, to be the guests of honor for a weekend frolic.

‘The girls arrived on the scene one wintry Friday afternoon from
near and distant corners of the country: Manhattan mannequins
Sheralee Conners (Miss July 1961) and Carrie Radison (Miss June
1957) flew in from Gotham, as did Latin Quarter lovely Elaine Rey-
nolds (Miss October 1959); from Hollywood came movie and TV
actresses Delores Wells (Miss June 1960) and Kathy Douglas (Miss
October 1960); heading East from California, too, were Teddi Smith
(Miss July 1960) and Christa Speck (Miss September 1961), who was
so entranced with Chicago she decided (text continued on page 125)

PLAYMATE HOLIDAY
HOUSE PARTY

playboy invites a dozen of its past pin-up

favorites to a weekend anniversary celebration

Above: Piaveoy Editor-Publisher and party host Hugh Hefner ushers a
pretty quortet of arriving Playmotes past the ormor-guarded entronce to
his boronial main living room. From lovely left to radiant right: Delores
Wells, Sheralee Conners, Christa Speck, Kathy Douglas. Already on hand
for the weekend festivities are Joyce Nizzari, clutching her poodle (o
most fortunate bundle of fluff named Pumpkin P. Dog), and ponytailed
Teddi Smith. Far left: host Hefner takes his glamorous house guests on
a top-to-bottom tour of his opulent digs situated in the heart of Chicago's
Near North Side, points out some of the intriguing features of the invit-
ing free-form pool—water temperoture kept of a constant body-soothing
82 degrees, polm trees growing from islands in the center, a hidden cove
(dubbed the "Woo Grotto” by Time mogazine) behind a shimmering
waterfall, o subsurface bar whose outsized picture window affords the
bibber a skindiver's-eye view of deep-six doings. Left: hoving completed
a turn obout their host's mansion—a lengthy jaunt—o packet of our favorite
Playmates relax in the Red Room, one of the several guest rooms they
occupied during their weekend stay, get a chance to unpack their clothes,
phone home, compore careers and partake in that mysterious pastime,
girl tolk, before the weekend Anniversary celebration shifts into high.

Friday night, Hef escorts his dozen Playmates to the Chicago Playboy Club. Above: the stunning entourage savors
the steak dinner and lively show in the Penthouse. Below: оНег the show, ће girls gother in the Playmate Bar
for conversation and libation. Left to right: Elizabeth Апп Roberts, Joyce Nizzori, Teddi and Joni Mottis ore
flonked by Bunnies and bockdropped by Playmate photos. Several of the house-portying Playmates are now

Playboy Club Bunnies. Right: Fridoy drows to a quiet close as the pipe-ond-slippered host exploins the intricacies
of his elaborote stereo rig to Kathy and Susie Scott, while (1 to r) Liz, Christa, Carrie Radison, Elaine Reynolds,
Joyce, Sheralee, linda Gamble, Joni ond Teddi pass the popcorn ond sip hot toddies beside the roaring fire.

comingly nightgowned, trim the ceiling-
high Christmas tree in anticipation of the

forthcoming holidays. Below: Teddi, July
1960's silver-tressed Playmate and last
December's cover girl, adds her awn dis-
tinctive ornamentation to the Yule tree.

Left: Saturday is launched in leisurely fashion as the girls indulge in the luxury of
breakfast in bed. That's Delores in foregrcund sampling scrambled eggs; Carrie and
Christa are in background. Host Hefner, off for conferences at ће PLAYBOY offices, has
given the Playmates the run of the house, promised that they will be undisturbed.

Above: putting their promised privacy fo good use,
the girls spend the afternoon haurs having a splash-
ing good time as they take to the warm pool au
naturel, as unencumbered as though they were on
© remote tropic isle. Right: well-tanned water sprite
Christa, September '61's Playmote, is given a playful
push poalward, shows the glow of year-round Holly-
wood sun-worshiping. Belo a school of frolic-
some, finless mermaids les girls cavort uninhibitedly
beneath the water curtain covering the entrance to
the hidden gratto, wind up delightfully drenched.

in the luxuriously tiled two-tier steam room adjoining the pool, Joyce, Elizabeth and Teddi are drowsily draped in languid, soothing
before they become parboiled, the girls will take an invigorating shower near at hand. Bottom: a pair of ultralovelies loll under the
ultraviolet lamps (a timer shuts them off automatically when ће girls are "done") in the sunroom 'twixt the pool and the steam bath to keep
their year-round tans in shape. Their torsos are tossed on o vibroting table that tones up body muscles, in this case a quite unnecessary benefit.

to give up bank clerking in Los Angeles and stay on as a Windy City Playboy
Club Bunny. Up from Miami came Joyce Nizari (Miss December 1958) and
westward from Pittsburgh jetted Linda Gamble (Miss April 1960). A trio of Chi-
cagoans were close at hand to fill out the royal roster— Elizabeth Ann Roberts (Miss
January 1958), who attends pre-med school in Chicago, Joni Mattis (Miss November
1960) and Susie Scott (Miss February 1960), both of whom are Bunnies at the
Chicago Playboy Club.

The girls put in an carly appearance in cager anticipation of a weekend that
would culminate in Saturday nights king-sized wingding. The house — with more
than 40 rooms and a round-theclock domestic staff —is a Chicago showplace just
a few blocks from the Playboy Building and Chicago Playboy Club. It has been the
scene in the past of memorable parties thrown for staffers of PLAvBoY and snow
BUSINESS ILLUSTRATED, ad and communications execs (text concluded on page 209)

125

126

Left, top to bottom: o pre-porty respite finds Corrie Radison enjoying o cigorette; she and other Playmates relox in the guest rooms ofter
their оНетооп swimming session and before getting dressed for the gala evening that lies chead—a night-long house porty in their honor.
PLAYBOY Associote Publisher A. C. Spectorsky tête-ò-tête with October ‘60 Playmate Kathy Douglas as the festivities get under way. Joyce,
Hef and Teddi toke time out from o three-woy conversation 1o sample the tempting hors d'oeuvres. Right, top: Delores Wells does some
gentle jitterbugging with the host, exchonges quips with visi

g screen stor Tony Curtis. Curtis will portray Publisher Hefner in the Holly-

wood movie Ploybey, which goes before the cameras this coming spring. Right, cbove: hip comic Mort Schl, one of a lengthy Who's Who
of show business celebrities who regulorly moke the party scene at Hef's, shores the line for the bountiful buffet with Joni and Susie.

f
r
|
|
f

Above: the party suddenly takes a musical and for the warse as a discordant
quartet of Playmates takes aver the bandstand during a musicians’ break and knocks aut some
musical nonsense for nondoncers only. The girls are wildly enthusiastic but woefully atonal.
Right, top ta botam: Hef shares a laugh with Joyce Nizzori, Mort Sahl and ather guests
as he shows them a trap daor in the main living-room floor which reveals the “seduded"
canfines af the Wao Grotta below. Bathers Linda, Liz ond friend, after swimming through
the waterfall inta the cave, discaver by an averhead glance that they are by na means alone.

Left, top to bottom: the party progresses swimmingly around
the pool's less formal environs. A bevy of bikinied Playmates
токе а spectacularly quick entrance to the underwater bar via
a fireman's pole. A simpatico couple is framed in the subdued,
subterranean lighting of the bar as Playmate Joni Mattis pauses
between potables far a wee-hour phone call, Publisher Hefner
and Playmate Christa Speck speculate aver the sudden defla-
fion of а rubber pool toy, discount the possibility of sharks.
Above: сз the party draws to an end, the main living room

a colorful conglomeration of suits—ivy, Continental and bath-
ing—and cocktail gowns. Spotlighted an the living-raom dance
floor are swim-togged Playmate Elizabeth Ann Roberts and
Playboy Club entertainer Chico Randall in a sprightly past-pool
Lindy; behind them, end evidently dancing to the scund of dif-
ferent drummers, are flower-bikinied Susie Scott and bright
new camedian Jackie Gayle, a standout performer an the
Playboy Club circuit. Right: the evening's festivities reach a
romantic multileveled finale as couples watch swimmers through
the bar's picture window or dance cheek to cheek to the soft
strains of a muted combo upstairs in the main living room. The
candelabra cast their shadows onto the oak-paneled walls as
the couples sway to the haunting melody of The Porfy's Over.

man at his leisure maxim's of paris: neiman sketches

Maxim's lush decor, red velvet walls and magnific

the bon vivant’s paradise in the city of light

MAXIM'S, just off the Place de la Con
corde at 3 Rue Royale, is one of the
world's famed dining establishments and
a cherished mecca for affluent cogno-
scenti everywhere. Founded at the turn
of the century, the restaurant still retains
all the flavor of an era long past — with
massive convex mirrors, velvet-covered
walls, paintings turned golden with the
years. An unobtrusive orchestra can be
heard faintly above the wellbred talk
and tinkling laughter of the ladies and
gentlemen present (at one time, only
actresses and well-born mistresses were
considered decorative enough to be ap-
propriate dinner companions at Max-
im's). Amid the rose-hued Victorian glow
of the main dining room, peripatetic
PLAYBOY artist LeRoy Neiman and his
date took dinner of a Friday night (when
formal garb is obligatory). “We started
with un dry— pronounced ‘dry’ and
meaning, of course, a dry martini — but
you want only one, lest your taste buds
become immune to the cuisine prodi-
gieuse that is to follow," relates Neiman.
"] ordered Caviar Volga and, for the
young lady, Belons Fxtra— small, pun-
gent oysters — and we went on to, respec-
tively, Crème Vichyssoise Glacée d'après
M. Diat de New York and Créme Mar-
igny. As our entree, we chose the Tour-
nedos Marsan Déglacé à l'Armagnac, in
which the Armagnac is poured over the
beef fillets and immediately burned off,
along with Asperges Vertes de Louris
and Pommes Soufflées. We'd consulted
Bernard, onc of the four sommelicrs of
Maxim's, for appropriate wines: a white
Haut Brion '5 with the caviar and
oysters, a red Chambertin '55 with the
Tournedos.

“When we were ready for dessert, we'd
achieved a state of gastronomic euphoria.
T ordered a bottle of champagne, Perrier-
Jouët '52, to revive us during the Soufflé
Glacé aux Framboises (iced raspberry
souffié), a spécialité de la maison.”

Not long after, the orchestra changed
its pace and the strains of a soft cha-cha
brought couples out on the floor. “At eve-
ning’s end,” Neiman concluded, “it was
easy to understand why Chez Maxim's
has retained its reputation as the ulti-
mate in luxurious elegance, and why it

continues to draw together the fellow-
ship of bons vivants.”

[у]

A GASCON REWARDED

Ribald Classic A new translation from La Fontaine’s Contes

A CERTAIN YOUNG cascon, having boasted of possessing a young damsel who had no use for him
at all, was justly punished for his boasting, as you shall see. The world is always ready to believe
the worst of a beauteous maid, and the Gascon’s false words found eager cars wherc'er he went
in the village, much to the poor damsel’s dismay.

Phyllis, as she was named, rejected the Gascon with tossing curls, and ofttimes was not at
home to him at all. Frequently, on seeing his approach, she would slip out of her house and
stay with her neighbor, Chlorise, until the boastiul boor had gone on his way.

Now Chlorise had a husband, Eurilas, some 40 years her senior, and a lover, Damon. There
you have the cast of this little drama. Witness now the punishment of the Gascon.

One day at the hour when he was wont to call, Phyllis donned a gown which left her lovely
white shoulders bare and her full breasts almost completely exposed. She had brushed her hair
until it shone like the sun of Provence. Her perfume would have seduced the village cur

Upon entering, the Gascon could scarce believe his eyes. Feverishly, he sat down beside
Phyllis and began to enumerate and extol her beauty and grace as only a Gascon can. His hands
caressed her fingertips, his eyes caressed her bosom. For full an hour he praised the ivorylike tex
ture of her skin, the fires of passion smoldering in her eyes, and the rosy succulence of her lips.

At length, Phyllis began to yield under his assault. The Gascon’s lips sought the succulence,
and his hands groped for what his сус» had carlier possessed.

But suddenly Phyllis pushed the Gascon aside and said, "If thou wouldst truly win my
favors and my bed, wouldst aid me in a plot which my neighbor, Chlorise, has conceived to
outwit her sly old husband?”

“I would! I would!” cried the Gascon without a second's hesitation.

“Hear, then, what thou must do,” continued the maiden. “Tonight when Ew
husband, is preparing for bed, Chlorise will let thee into
her house. Thou wilt wear a nightshirt and wilt get forth-
with into bed. The old man is a fool in the bedroom,
accomplished at snoring and nought сіз, and when he
feels thee next to him ће will believe it is his better half
and will sleep away the night while Chlorise spends it
with Damon.”

As risky as the scheme sounded, the Gascon would
have slept with Satan himself if afterward he could
have slept with Phylli:

Night came. The Gascon entered the bedchamber of
Eurilas and Chlorisc and slid down under the quilts of
the large bed. Presently old Eurilas entered the darkened
room and took his place beside the trembling Gascon.

All night long the young man lay awake, afraid to
move, terrorstricken lest he cough or sneeze, fearful
that his very breathing might betray him. He took up so
little room on his side of the bed that one could have
slipped him into a scabbard. A hundred times at least his bed partner turned over in his sleep,
and once the Gascon fancied he felt the beard of Eurilas brushing the back of his neck with
every snore. But the worst of the young man's fears was that the husband might awaken, be
seized with an amorous whim and demand his connubial rights.

When the first cock announced. the coming dawn, the Gascon was limp with terror and
lack of sleep. Phyllis had promised that Chlorise would come to take her riba in bed before
the old man stirred.

Suddenly the chamber door banged open, and in walked Chlorise with Damon at her side,
each of them bearing a torch and talking and laughing loudly.

‘The poor Gascon crossed himself, for he knew his final hour had surely come, He turned to
old Eurilas to beg the old man’s forgiveness and plead for mercy. But to his eternal dismay he
found that it was Phyllis who had spent the night beside him, having taken the place of Eurilas.

Laughing, she leapt from the bed and stood with Chlorise and Damon, and the three of
them howled with glee at the boastful Gascon who had lain all night with his beloved and had
done nothing but tremble with fear.

‘And the young man sat in bed speechless, his fright transformed into frustration, as Phyllis,
to salt his wound by showing him the pleasures he had missed, let her nightgown slip slowly to
the floor.

— Retold by D. Taylor Brook

dee

PLAYBOY

134

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(continued from page 117)

a cricket match at Lord's and 1 went
ight to it. I was thirsty. I ordered a
half pint of bitter: its lukewarm bouquet
was redolent of chaff and dust: only the
dignity of my surroundings prevented
me from spitting it upon the floor. But
on a winter's day, seated before a fire, in

taproom, there is little better than a
tankard of draft beer that has been
cooled but not chilled in a publican's
cellar: nor is there anything much better
on a bland August evening, under an
apple tree, in a garden. Anyhow, it suits
England.

The difference between the English
and Germans is illustrated not only by
the taste of their different beers but by
the atmospheres within their inns. The
ns are intensely musical: they also
like being organized: thev relish athletic
rallies and massed parades. The English
are competitive individualists. Where the

Germans sit round a table, emptying
steins and singing songs, the English en-
joy quiet games like darts, shove ha
penny and dominoes. The atmosphere
of a German beer garden is faithfully

reproduced in the East 80s in New York.
and an extremely cosy atmosphere it is.
too. In January 1939. feeling certain that
war was imminent, I returned to Europe
from New York by a German ship, the
Hansa, long since sunk. I wanted to re-
mind myself before the curtain fell of
how many pleasant things there were in
Germany. One evening there was а Ra-
varian party, with the crew dressed in the
national costume, It was very gay; it was
hard to believe that within seven months
friendship between a German and a
Briton would have become impossible.

т Ger-
many is even more famous for its wines
than for its beers: we make а mist: n
thinking of Germany exclusively in terms
of its beer gardens. There is the Wein-
stube, too, those dark litle rooms, with
grape sign hanging over the door,
the twilight of a pancled peace
you sip cool, clean wine out of long

But it must not be forgotten th

stemmed glasses. For close now on a cen-
tury, the world has been distraught by
the contrast between what we love and
what we hate in Germany; would it be
too fanciful to suggest that all we cherish
most in Germany, her poetry, her music,
her philosophy, spring from the Wein-
stube and that the noise, the regimen-
tation, the ostentation spring from the
beer garden, dearly though,
we love it? The beer garden and the
Weinstube —is there a conflict there?
Perhaps that is stretching an argument
too far. Bur is any country more divided
within itself than Germany, and does
amy country present two such different
ways of drinking?

In France there is no equival
the Weinstube; the French take

its best,

for
ne

with their meals and they take their
meals at home. It general custom for
a man to go home to lunch. There was
no restaurant Paris before 1765; and
restaurants did not begin to flourish
until the revolution made the supply of
servants scanty. The sidewalk café, a re-
sult of the intreduction of coffee into
France in the middle of the 17th Cen-
tury. was essentially a place where you
drank coffee. Until then, France had
nly known the auberge, the traveler's
n. Coffee appealed to the French tem-
perament, but Louis was distrustful of
the café; he feared it as a center of sed
tion, just as Charles II across the Char
nel, in spite of Catherine of Braganza's
addiction to tea, regarded the coffee-
house with suspicion.

Both the calé and the coffeehouse
survived their monarchs’ strictures and
their separate fates are indicative of the
dilference between France and England.
"phe sidewalk café has retained its pri:
tine character. The French go to cafés
before and after meals; to drink coffee
and eat a pastry in the afternoon, to
sip an aperitif before dinner, to take a
cordial with their coffee after dinner, The
calé became an extension of the home,
or rather, an alternative to the home.
The Frenchman's home is a moated for
ress; it is easier for a stranger to gail
admittance into a Turkish harem. With-
out the café, life would be very dreary
for the Frenchman; he must have som
where to sit and watch life dri by
Socially, in the 19th Century it devel-
oped into an ancillary of the salon, cach
café having its own clientele, each café
becoming the center of its own political
hd esthetic creeds. George Moore, ar-
riving in Paris in the 1880s, found hi
university, his education —emotion:
and artistic — in the Place Pigalle,
the Nouvelle Athénes; the young Ame
ican today finds his equivalent in Mont-
parnasse, in La Rotonde and Les Deux
Magots.

The fate of the coffcchousc in Eng-
land was very diferent. The English-
man’s home may be his castle, but its
dhe stand open. While the English inn
tempted to be a home from
home, the London coffeehouses became
clubs, White's and Brooks’ and Boodle's,
where far less coffee was drunk than port
and brandy, where cards were played for
extravagantly high stakes — and did not
ах Beerbohm write in his essay A Club
in Ruins. "It had been more than a
home; it had been a refuge against man
homes; it had been a club"?

The English pub, on the other hand,
has retained its pristine character as a
home from home. The history of the
English pub is indeed the history of
England. It was not until the dissolu-
tion of the monasteries that inns spread
over England — although it was from an
ın that Ch. ns set off lor
Canterbury. Before Henry VIII's quarrel

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PLAYBOY

136

with the Pope, country inns were not
needed, travelers put up in monasterics.
But under Elizabeth, road travelers
needed safety and comfort for the night.
Monarchy was concerned that the inn
should retain that essential status, and
not become a shelter for the spread of
dangerous, heretical ideas. Charles II en-
joined in his Tippling Act that the inn

should be "a place for the receit, relief,
lodging of wayfaring people; it is not

meant for the entertaining and harboring
of lewd and idle people to spend and
consume their time and money in lewd
and idle manner." But the inn survived,
fulfilling an essential need of the Eng-
lish character.

"The urban pub, in particular the Lon-
don pub, has become a microcosm of
English life, which logically combines
democracy with class distinctions. We,
Britons, are all subjects and equal under
the Crown, but we recognize differences
between ourselves, differences that are
exemplified by the English pub. In a
Public House there are three bars— in
order of status, public, private and sa-
loon — catering to men and women of
different income groups and different
social standing. The prices and amenities
are different. You enter by separate
doors, but the wooden divisions between
the bars do not reach the ceiling; the
same roof is over all and the publican
and his staff move without hindrance

round the inner circle from one bar to
the next.

The architectural heyday of the pub
came in the middle of the 19th Century.
"The Victorian gin palace, with its efflo-
rescence of applicd ornament, its elabo-
rate brass rails with their triple gas
burners, the decorated plate glass sof-
tening the glare, the embossed wallpaper,
the Corinthian capitals, the rich mahog-
any was for the slum dwellers of the
day what the movie palaces were to be
to a later generation. The “home from
home” become grander than any-
bodys home. In a higher degree than
ever before the heavy swells of the day
could, under the incrusted ceiling, pre-
serve their anonymity — the small half-
opened windows, pivoting on vertical
axes, the mahogany framework of the
saloon bar protecting the perpendicular
drinker from impertinent scrutiny.

The old English inn was essentially
an alehouse; and that it has remained,
in spite of the changes that have been
forced upon English habits by the ca-
prices of their rulers’ forcign policies.
During the Hth and 15th centuries Eng-
land owned Aquitaine, and the noble
wines of Bordeaux flowed onto English
tables. Then there was a change toward
the sweet heavy fortified wines of Spain
nd of Madcira, which proved an effec-
tive antidote to the chill, damp cli
"The age of port began when Wi
ange's hatred of Louis XIV of France

“Do you accept traveler's checks?”

encouraged him to place exorbitant
taxes on French wines and spirits and
lower the tariff on wines from Portugal.
But beer has always been the national
drink in England.

It was beer for the most part that the
American GI drank during his exile
across the water, and in spite of its un-
expected taste most ex-Gls, when they
return with their families to England,
make straight for the nearest village inn.
More than one of them on his return
from the wars, when asked about the
English, replied, “There can't be any-
thing too wrong with a country that has
an institution like the village pub." It is
the answer that most Englishmen would
soonest hear; a Frenchman would equally
like to hear it made about the sidewalk
café and a German about the Weinstube
and the beer garden. We are content to
stand or fall by the congeniality of our
drinking habits.

The foreign countries that I have
loitered in are as vivid in my memory
for their drinking habits as for thcir
landscape, architecture, climate, ways of
dress. I recall Martinique as much for
its rum punches as for its green and
towering mountains, over one of which
there always seems to be a rainbow cury-
ng, and for the long flowing dresses of

its womenfolk, the scarf over the shoul-
der, the handkerchief knotted into the
the staple drink

hai points, Rum
of the West Indies; every punch is made
оп the classic formula “one of sour, two
of sweet, three of strong and four of
weak,” but the basic taste of each island's
rum is different. My personal belief in
the superiority of Martinique rum is
founded on the fact that its punches
are prepared more simply, require less
sophistication, than those of any other
island except Barbados. In Fort-de-
France, you sit at a rickety wooden table
in the shade, looking out across the sa-
хаппа to the white statue of Josephine,
ts sentinel royal palms; you order
ch, specifying that you want old
not white rum; a waitress will set before
you a bottle of rum, 2 couple of limes,
a glass of syrup, a red-brown earthen-
ware pitcher that has cooled, through
evaporation, the water it contains. You
mix your punch yourself, by the classic
formula; the lime, the syrup, the rum,
the water. Two punches sipped slowly
send you to lunch in an anapaestic
mood. Whenever I travel in a French
ship, I order a rum punch at noon. The
flavor of that rich, swect, powerful liquid
carries me back to Martinique.

Japan is the country of formal cour-
tesies. On my first day in Tokyo, I asked
the director of the British Council
against the committal of which solecisms,
which breaches of etiquette, I should be
most on my guard. He replied, after
deliberation, “Never be impatient, never
be angry. Impatience and bad temper

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are things which the Japanese do not
understand." The drinking habits of the
Japanese confirm this excellent advice.
To most tourists, possibly, the tradi-
tional tea ceremony serves as a symbol
of the country's way of life. It is cer-
tainly elaborate and picturesque, but it
is lengthy, and I found the thick green
fluid that I was eventually invited to
sip most unpalatable. I felt about the
tea ceremony in Japan much as J felt
about the kava ceremony in Fiji.

That, too, is an experience no visitor
should miss. I doubt if any male, other
than a Fijian, could be stimulated phys-
ically by a Fijian belle. Her shoulders
|, her ankles thick, her features
heavy and her black hair sticks up on
end as though it had been trained by
a topiarist. Yet when she is arrayed for
the kava ceremony, in bright clothes
with her face painted, she does not have
the bizarre attraction of a Mardi Gras
grotesque. And the ceremony itself is
not unimpressive, with the chief dip-
ping something that looks like hemp
into a bowl of water and wringing it
out into another bowl which he proffcrs
with formal courtesy to his guests. But
the brew itself has a dirty, gritty taste;
morcover, it is completely ui
The Fijians themselves find it as inv
orating as the English housewife does
her moming cup of tea, but I suspect
that the lack of warmth T felt for the
people of Fiji was the result of my in-
ability to appreciate their kava. Indeed,
had Japan had nothing more invigorat-
ing than its tea ceremony to offer, I am
very sure that J should not have returned
there within 13 months. Mercifully it
had a great deal more to offer: its sake
and its geishas,

The Japanese are experts at manu-
facturing articles that resemble their
American and European originals. They
produce whiskey and champagne that
look as though they had come from the
Highlands and from Épernay. and which
if used in moderation have no deleterious
effects. But the hot rice wine, sake, is the
true vin du pays. The small whiteand-
blue decanters in which it is presented
and the small shallow white-and-blue
cups out of which it is sipped are in
accordance with the customs of its peo-
ple. Sake is very light. It is not a dis-
tilled spirit. You can drink a great deal
with impunity. A glass holds very little.
This allows the ritual of innumerable
refillings to be performed without trepi-
dation. I attended my first geisha party
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137

PLAYBOY

138

needs. The final memories of а geisha
party are, or should be, vague, but I
know that I felt well next mor ning, and
I still carry in my luggage the small
whiteand-blue sake cup to remind me
of the happy hours I spent in Tokyo,
Kyoto and Osaka.

There is a kinship between the drink-

ng habits of the Japanese and Danes,
though no two drinks could be less alike
than aquavit and sake. My memories of
Copenhagen y warm. 1 spent the
whole of a recent winter there. Hotels
are empty then, but though January and
February are mot tourist months, for
Copenhageners that is “the season,”
when the ballet and opera are in resi-
dence and the court is at Amalienborg.
There are no friendlier people than the
Danes. In London, New York and Nice,
I manage to half lose my temper three
or four times а week; someone or some-
thing contrives to irritate me, but after
1 had been а month in Denmark I real-
ized that I had not lost my temper once.
It was not that I had become gentler-
natured, but that the lighthearted tempo
of Danish life precluded irritation.

In some ways the Danes are a formal
people. There are certain courtesies that
you must not neglect. You should never
arrive as a guest without flowers in your
hand or without having sent flowers
lier in the day. And when you next
mcet your host and hostess, you must
not forget to thank them for their hos-
pitality almost before you have said any-
Clear, pliant windows | | thing eke, charming and gracious rules
Wonititearoncracke | | that it is well to absorb young till they

become second nature. Equally gracious

are their drinking customs. Beer and
schnapps are the country’s produce.
Schnapps is taken at the beginn
the meal with a highly flavored hors
d'oeuvre, raw herring preferably. It is
very strong, so strong that it must be

| | drunk ice cold. Two small glasses will
suffice. You must never drink schnapps
1 unless you are toasting somcone or being
add extra windows! toasted, but you must never toast your

E S| | hostess; injudicious or illintentioned
i= | | guests might force her to drink more

Pockets—inside and out— | than she might consider prudent. The

toasting in schnapps is а half stage in
for extra room. gallantry; you raise the glass; your cyes

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Others $3.95 up
-.. all plus tax.

smile, Every newcomer to Copenhagen
is given a lesson in the ritual of drink-
ing schnapps. For me the heart of Den-
mark is in that ritu

If one is out of sympathy with the
drinking habits of a country, one is un-
likely to feel in tune with it. Fiji was
an unlucky place for me not only be-
cause of the kava ceremony. Hospitably
though 1 was cherished during my three
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the bars, by the end of the third day I
was beginning to wonder why 1 had
met so few women; in dub after dub
1 had found males, young and elderly
and old, standing coatless at a bar, pour-
ing cold beer down their gullets. I
inquired if there was a dearth of mar-
riageable females on the island. No, no, I
was assured; most of the men, even the
youngest ones, were married. Times had
changed in the islands. Malaria had
been stamped out; phrases like the white
man’s exile and the white man's grave
applied no longer. Air conditioning and
air transport had solved a hundred prob-
lems. Men married young and brought
their wives out with them.

Where are those wives?” I asked.

At home; cooking, looking after the
children.”

"Don't they ever come her

“Not often.”

I was puzzled for a little, then I under-
stood. Fiji is administered by the British
Colonial office in Whitehall, but its
white population is mainly from Austra-
lia and New Zealand, and the custom

f "the hour's swill" had becn imported.

It is a custom unique to Australia. Bars
open early there, at 10:30. They remain
open through the afternoon, but they
shut at six. Males, therefore. when their
offices close at five, go straight to their
favorite bar and, standing shoulder to
shoulder, gulp cold beer that has a nine-
percent alcoholic content, hastening the
pace and volume of consumption as si
o'clock approaches. They then staggei
out into the cool evening air. In New
South Wales the custom has recently
been modified and bars reopen at 7:15,
so that a wife has been given a sporting
chance of getting her claws into her hi
band’s shoulder.

No one is certain whether this regula-
tion was imposed out of deference to the
puritans, the publicans or the politicians.
The puritans for obvious reasons; the
publicans because of the cost of labor,
the reluctance to run a sccond shift; the
politicians because they wanted to get
the manual laborer to work on time
and fit next morning. The hour's swill
» for the uninitiated, an intimidating
experience. It is something that he should
not miss; but its transportation, even in
a modified form, even as a corollary, did
not heighten my enjoyment of
should have preferred more females at
the bars and fewer males.

I spent two thirds of World War I in
the Middle ypt, in Lebanon,
in far Baghdad, mostly among Moslems,
to whom the use of alcohol is forbidden.
But in Lebanon, Moslems and Chris
tans alike drink arrack. Arrack is а
generic label. The Lebanese variety is
distilled from grapes: it is white with a
tinge of blue; clouds when you pour
er on it, It tastes of aniseed — it was

з"

in Beirut that I acquired a taste for
Pernod. An insidious drink, it was for-
bidden to troops during the war, and
Arab street vendors made high profits
out of the sale of spiked oranges, into
which arrack had been injeaed. If you
do not eat while you are drinking ar-
rack, you become quickly drunk; that is
where its danger lies. It must be handled
with circumspection. Morcover, it leaves
а coating of powder round the stomach.
You may wake in the morning after an
arrack evening, thinking yourself recov-
ered but feeling thirsty, You gulp a
tumblerful of water and you are drunk
n. The water has mixed disastrously
with the powder, on an empty sto

Arrack demands leisurely dri
‘There lies its charm. In cafés it is served
with mezé, four or five dishes of hors
d'oeuvres, olives, cheese, ham, radishes.
At an arrack evening with a Lebanese
family, you will spend three or four
hours consuming four or five glasses of
arrack, with fresh dishes of hot appe-
Lizers, sausages, cheeses, small birds, bc-
ing presented cycry half hour or so.
More than once, at ап arrack evening, I
have been too interested in the conver-
to cat cnough. At Western cock-
parties, out ef regard for my weight,
1 careful to ration my consumption
of pre-prandial canapés. In Beirut, chat-
tering away, lifting my glass periodically.
I have become suddenly and alarmingly
aware of the ceiling revolving to mect
the floor. But a couple of quick mouth-
fuls of food have restored my equilibrium.

The tempo of arrack sipping is in ad-
mirable accord with the leisurely tempo
of the Levant, Lebanon has been for
many years a French sphere of influence:
the vine has been tended carefully and
many sound pleasant wines have been
produced there, but for me arrack is the
key to the country. 1 spent a congenial
winter and early spring there in 1942,
and it was a happy day for me in 1950
when I landed early on a May morning
at the Damascus airport and drove across
the Bekáa valley to Beirut. I was sur-
prised at fust and disconcerted by thc
number of new buildings that I sa
around me; would I find it very changed,
too changed? Then in an unredeemed
slum arca, acrid upon my nostrils, came
the stale smell of last night's
heart exulted; I wa

From Lebanon

home ара
п 1942 1 crossed the

desert to Baghdad. Engaged there in
counterespionage, one of my chief prob-
lems was my ignorance of the Arab
way of life. I needed to understand the
kind of man whose activities I
watching. Speaking no Arabic, I resorted
to a familiar practice. Wearing civilian
dothes, 1 would sit in an Arab café,
watching, over the top of my newspaper,

was

the hooded Moslems, who would sit
motionless for hours, upright in their
hard rectangular wooden settles, sipping
at their coffee; alone or silent for the
greater part, but when they talked,
elaborating what they had to say with
graceful, evocative, deliberate gestures.
Dignified, impassive, unhurried, they ap-
peared to be utterly detached from the
radio that blared above their heads and
from the traffic of the street outsid
the movements of their hands suggested
mastery, power, firmness when they did
resort to action. The men who were
names to me upon a file became less
strange, less foreign when I was back
in my office reading an agent's report
on them.

Whenever I go to a new country, one
of my first requests to the friend or guide
who is showing me the sights has been,

le; but.

se take me to the equivalent of an
sh pub." How I wish that in the
days when I was a publisher I had com-
missioned an anthropologist to compile
a study of the world’s drinking habi
What a valuable book it would have
been; what a pleasant assignment, too,
for him. How he would have enjoyed
his research. Now and again you run
into a fight in a bar, but for the most
part human beings are at their best
there. Did not a poct say—

Whoc'er has travell'd life's. dull

round,

Where'er his stages may have been,

May sigh to think he still has found

His warmest welcome at an inn.
But is that a cause for sighing? And need
the round be so dull, if there is an inn
to round it ofP

"I see a policewoman wanting to get
something on a poor old gypsy who
is only trying to make a lousy buck.”

139

PLAYBOY

140

PROFESSOR HYDE

s before, at the alleged inverts in high
places.

Hyde's elbow suddenly touched noth-
ing but enervate air. Probing, he <
some eggnog. “Aw, I got your shoes,
said to Revanche, and as his unsuspect-
i looked down, he turned fur-
tively to smile some obscure message at
Louise and adjust his range. She wei
away. The pleated skirt refused to con-
firm his sense of her rear end's slow,
heavy roll; he parted with the Japanese
on their idea of the sensuality of loose
clothing. She made for the fireplace
nd Warren G. Harding-Cudahy within
his ring of the Ohio Gang: nasty young
instructors, an effeminate poet-in-resi-
dence, the sinewy Sappho who coached
in field hockey.

‘The one gain was in also getting rid of
Revanche, who had been peeved by the
slop on his toecap, all the more because
Louise had left before he could clean it.
off and he must follow: he broke off in
mid-venom and left without a by-your-
leave. His basic Americanism constantly
showed through the French vencer, which
owed only to his father’ n emigrant
Pole, having passed briefly through Paris
in 1911; the original was Revantsky.
After two drinks Claude was wont to
sweeten and give confidences. He had
found Louise behind the necktie counter
of an Indianapolis department моге
when he was teaching at a tiny denomi-
national college in that region, but when
sober he refused to confirm or deny the
rumor, started by himself, that she had
waited on tables in а roadhouse. How-
ever, the other wives held Louise's air of
sullen torpor as supporting evidence for
the racier version, and the Reyanches
were unpopular with everyone but the
Hydes— Hyde's wife, a Merryweather
umna who had been taught here to
pull down vanity, having an addiction
to outcasts.

Hyde believed that he himself when
drunk became tigerishly resolute. He w:
very limp at present: the eggnog, mixed
by Frau President Cudahy, was heavy
only on the nutmeg. He licked the dregs
from his cup and was made uneasy by
the reflection of a tongue like the rubber
tool with which his wife scraped plates.

He had formally decided to kill him-
self, if Louise gave him no hope, before
12 midnight, having added the extra
hours — this fete would end no later
than 10— out of romantic bravado. He
1 broken his wristwatch in some re-

cent pique. The clock on the mantel
high above Cudahy was fixed on some
long-passed afternoon hour at which the
fe

g team had perforated Vassar's, A
essy-haired student conveniently threw
hand to mouth and retreated a foot from
some, to her, provocative remark made
by a dowdy cohort, so that Hyde could
sec the table clock between them. Nine-

(continued from page 93)

thirty, an ugly Swiss thing all carved
birds, gift of one Marge Partridge, Capt,
WAG, BA "51; а harpy, he remembered,
who in private consultations always
stank of the gym. Captain Marge, we
who are about to die salute you. He
demonstrated with his empty cup, and
luck, in a shafting mood, caused Lank
Locks to see the gesture and come to
him as if in summons.

Students at faculty parties were habit-
ually drunk on water, This specimen,
one Nan Schine,
class in Social Pathology
haps related more closely t
the subject matter, though Hyde saw
criminal inclinations everyone who
opted for the course.

The cruclest greeting he could give
her, and so he gay s: "Miss Schine,
how lovel:

Hair like kelp, dress hanging as if it
still rode the rack some Puerto Rican
trundled through a Seventh Avenue gut-
ter, she gave him back measure for me
ure: “Thank you!" Adoringly. He never
'd to attract the creeps. This one was
very rich, being the sole issue of a fat
illiterate who owned trans-American
chain of coffee shops—called, in fact,
Collee Shoppes — where Hyde could tes
tify, the essential ingredient of all dishes
was a ll, hard. black foreign object
and the milk always curdled in the dark.
venom referred to in the corporate name.

Miss Schine's smile was the wirework
of an expensive, incompetent dentist.
She chorded: "I'm doing my homework
ight here!”

Leave it to her, pathetic conformist,
to use the jargon introduced by Cudahy,
who worked in violent reaction to his
“progressive” predecessor, sun-tanned,
ousted Roger Whelp, who had unwit-
gly hired a representative of the So-
viet foreign office to lecture on Biblical
literature (Job turned up as the resident
of an underdeveloped country smarting
under the imperialist lash). A spy of a
chauvinist organization sponsored by a
senile Texas millionaire was taken on
at midyear for the course in marriage
relations, and shortly thereafter for-
varded a dossier to Fort Worth — on
Whelp, not Lermontov— and before
you could pronounce “Friedrich Engels,”
the board of directors showed Whelp the
door and flung his tennis racket after
him. As to Lermontov, he had kept his
job—even, it was resentfully whispered
over the ugly little sausages in the fac-
ulty cafeteria, was to be promoted.

Anyway, with Cudahy research
returned to the homework of traditional
American girlhood, just as his own tide
was now president and not the chancel-
lor of Roger Whelp, or Adolf Hitler —
a disjunction which Cudahy sometimes
failed to n in his faculty talks.

And what Miss Schine meant was a

project which Hyde, secretly an outlaw,
had assigned his students for the Christ-
mas holidays: 2000 written words each
on Unorganized Prostitution in Ameri
can Society. Hyde, to himself at least,
had meant it literally, knowing his
safety, for your typical undergraduate —
which, in spite of all, Miss Sch

Her angle was how tele пег.
were mere procurers for the sponsors’
products, and, balancing her un;
figure on first one ballet slipper then the
ty isses had thre
sequins at each hinge: her celery neck
E enpearled. and from clavicle to
shank her person ran flat as а boy's—
that is, with no recommendation at all
she insisted on making an oral report
here and now, notwithstanding Hyde's
desperate counsel that mo significant
thinker since Socrates had shot his wad
in speech

Nine thirty-five, said the timepiece of
sweaty Marge. Miss Schine's friend, а
student he did not recognize, hung by it
and peeped sideways at them: of course
i
wearing a skirt so tightly plastered to
her fat bottom that you could see the
ridge of her under-armor. Instead of sui
cide, Hyde decided to murder a host of
other people and throw acid in Louise's
face... Miss Schine had, to all appear-
ances, concluded. He said splendid, splen-
did, and she melted like maple walnut

next — her

love with him, too, being acned and

high noon and dripped all over him. He
the

never knew from one moment to
t where his masochism mig!
him; he helplessly was about to invite
both girls to Christmas dinner with the
Hydes, and was saved only by the chil-
dren's chorus, led by Mrs. Cudahy jab-
bing the air with a forefinger, starting
God Rest Ye Merry Gentlemen,

All styles of midget, they were lined
two wobbly parallels before the case-
ment windows. Miniature Brooks Broth-
ers were the boys, buttoned down and
vented, but the girls were all hollyhocks
or rare birds. Hyde recognized his daugh-
ter, seven, legs bowed, in the front line.
His 12-year-old son, an undersized but
formidable bully, in the second: the
tense set of Leonard’s right shoulder
and the wince of a plump pink maide
between him and the audience suggested
what harassment he was up to sub rosa.

Good rest yeem airy gentlemen, let
nothing hue this May: Leonard's lips
were clenched as if he had to do some-
thing, but this was sheer fraud, for he
had ample nerve to do that, if he had
to, in public. Sestina Hyde, on the othe
hand, opened her small red hatchway
down to the tonsil scars and belted out
the old carol as if it were а bawdy
roundelay and she а sailor full of cheap
wine. A vulgar trick of nature, which
Hyde saw through the stained central
pane in cach window that reproduced
the Merryweather coat of arms with its
bar sinister, suddenly ejected a fall of

“Why can't he just go out and buy some Christmas cards like everyone else?"

141

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snow like the bloated soap chips they
used, he understood, on TV, and he
wondered whether a handyman had
been posted on the roof t0 open a hop-
per at this point — he had forgotten for
а moment that Whelp was gone and
Cudahy in.

Hyde had been stud much more те.
cently than was represented by the two
rolers: by the Christmas tree (Cudahy
1 brought back green, and balls of
many colors, and at the apex, instead
of Whelp's Great Seal of the UN, stood
an armed angel with cotton hair, a kind
of blanched Mau-Mau) stood his wife,
and in it groped her most recent produc
tion: rounded-headed, bellicose twins of
three, boy and girl. Nicolas & Nicole.
And she, Patricia, narrow-hipped as a
lad, short-haired, androgynous, she was
the type of wife that certain suspect
movie actors eventually take at 47 or 50,
except she had no money of her own.
Today Pat wore а navyblue jumper,
like a Girl Scout working on her merit
badge in carpentry, and her sole decora-
tion was a copper abstraction at the
neckline, a piece of antijewelry, and be-
low it an antibosom, cunningly arranged
to be as flat by art as poor Miss Schine's
had been ironed by nature

For G. S. Kreiss our slaver .. . Hyde's
sour ear detected Leonard's alto cleverly

corrupting the hallowed old lyrics:
19th Century, Dickensian father would
have beat such a boy blue and packed
him off to a boarding school run by
sadists, Pecksniff Hyde smiled across to
his wife, who merely looked back in the
level way that was protocol at these
gatherings. Unobtrusively he indicated
the twins at their dreadful work beneath.
the tree — they had begun to assault the
lower ornaments and Nicolas had his
corrosive gaze fastened om the fattest
tinsel rope, the pulling of which would
spin the tree like a yo-yo and fell the
entire assemblage. Pat produced the
modem-dance shrug she had been taught
here at Merryweather a decade and a
half earlier-

Hyde shifted red eye to Loui:
Revanche, for whom he had determined
to die. She stood in all her zaftig vul-
garity near the pansy poet, who had
been imported from England for
year in the Crabb Chair in Contem
porary Verse: one Alto Shawm, who kept
a Siamese cat and execrable
manners to everybody ebe. No dangei
there, And then to her left. of course,
impotent litle Claude. But behind
them. statesman Cudahy was not attend-
ing to the music, dirty old man, but rub-
bing his unrighteous jaw as he checked
the trim of Louise's calves. Hyde could
fancy a private colloquy in which the
president said: “Now, my how
would you like to be Mrs. Head of th
Department? Splendid, now just let
mesa

Or something like that — Hyde's rea-

onc

showed

dear,

son was fast vanishing, and he took no
trouble with his fantasies, Nine forty-
five. Mrs. Cudahy signaled for anothe
carol, neighing in holiday euphoria
Nine fortysix. Midnight had been set
as the absolute deadline, but Hyde now
found himself yearning for an earlier
sure everybody to bed in the Hyde
home except paterfamilias, who would
then be free to draw a high bath and
submerge his head. Put out the light.
and then put out the light! He was
himself both Desdemona and Othello.
Like all people who could read and
write, Hyde was naturally craven, but ex
perience had shown thathe came through
in extreme situations where the moral
was clear: once when he left а roadside
diner and saw a big swarthy man vomit-
ing on the left rear wheel of his automo-
bile, without reflection Hyde ran fiercely
at him and drove him off. Another time,
urban glowering
‘d along

on an bus, when a
Negro, mutterin
the aisle clearing. straphangers [rom his
passage, Hyde stood his ground at the
centerpost. " ‘Scuse me,” said the colored
man, and even sucked in his big belly to
slip by without touching.

But as to sex. Hyde's trouble was this
the kind that attracted him was always
inconvenient and thus impossible of
heroism. Like уройу. he had no
morals in this area but many scruples
He wished to put the horns on his best
friend — which in spite or because of.
Claude was— but he could not risk a
rejection by Louise, for all parts of
whom other than her body he had enor
mous contempt. (Te was certain she had
ess, and more besides, in a

bberish, sı

ж.

eve

been a w
roadhouse.)

At one and the same time an atheist
and an usher at the Dutch Reformed
hurch, Hyde saw himself usually and
his wife always in commercials of typical
young couples choosing deodorants and
colored toilet. pape
he had been pressured into buying [or
his children and ex post facto justified
as socially healthy because it worked off
aggressions. The slavering beast lurked
under this façade, which was so dense
that Hyde in his sober moments realized
Louise probably had no hint of his yen;
indecd, almost hoped she did not, for if
he knew anything of women she would
1 fail to submit to him while at the
same time lording it over her husband.
She had the look of a person who lived
in a void and wished to populate it
only with certain dull hatreds. He had
directed perhaps 10 words at her in
the course of their acquaintance — even
“hello” and “goodbye” were always put
to Claude —and once at dinner in the
Revanche home, five of them had been
exhausted on “Louise, where is the bath
тоот?" It was when she gave him tit for
tat. of course symbolically, at last year's
Christmas party — during the carols,
fact, and in a fragrant whisper: “Henry,

on the television

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143

PLAYBOY

144

where's the lide girls’
galled, he knew he must know he
Biblical sense.

Mter the holidays he had to read
themes, and then it was end-of-term and
examinations, not only for his students
but his own children, who were being
educated publicly and grievously needed
was a disciplinary problem
rd was lorever threatened to
be held back а year for gross inadequacy
in every area of learning and conduct
Nest c ing vacation.

room?” — that,
in the

nd he was
П
g and din
one large endosure
impossible for either living or cating —
and paint the others a deep sewer-ar
Soon occurred summer, when he st
home а wetk to prepare new readin;
lists and then returned to t
the hot

ing rooms, makin:

h through

irls on the crash
pro which
followed fall. and no sooner did you
see October than it was the day before
Decer T

nonths for the

m. Hard on the heels of

twelvemonth. ever
Friday night Pat sprayed her hair with
the kind of cologne they are always giv-
ing out samples of with hand-lotion pur-
nd came to bed in а pajama top.
She had nor added a pound of flesh since
they were married. In Hyde's fantasies
he frequently bit Louise's solid shoul-
der. Though a rationalist. he was a great
mystic, believ that surely all those
quanta of passion transmitted by hi
into the ether. could not fail to str
the proper antenna.

Now at last the caroling was done,
d Hyde's dwarf. fiends him
while Mrs. Cudahy oozed a few parting
ds of holiday sentiment from
mouth that seemed to be gummin

chases, i

m
e

ran to

wo

good

didn't

Y you wear your
snarled

Leonard, punchi:
father in the jacket pocket which carried
the cigarettes — although ло frustrate
him Hyde often switched them from
right to left sides, he never mised, un-
less something more fragile was in the
other. "You don't think enough of me,
hey?

“OF you!”
parent nor

snorted Sestina. “A male

Шу gravitates

toward the

that true,
she cc

isn’t

1 ratio,
yet in school
alphabet.

Yes, said Hyde to himself he gri-
ced down upon her pigtails, I suppose
L would drown Leonard first, if it came
to that. Aloud, he suggested: “Now, you
friends run
We must d

“I go under protest,” Leonard warned.
here is a girl whom I wanted to stay
and hurt, and you know what host
does when not vented.”

“Indeed I do,” Hyde, hiding his
clenched fists. “But you see, we all have
some, not just you

“м
"bec
from

айо:

d get your coats.

e is worse,” Leonard replied,
ise, you see, my father is in fight
role.” Nevertheless, he swag-
gered olf toward the cloakroom, about
four feet high but all bone and muscle
"You do prefer me, don’t you, Henry?
crooned Sestina, running her hand over
the back of his in what she believed a
fewhing manner, und sending up the
odor of licorice though her mouth was
clean. Ah, there it was, an amorphous
black mass stuck in the hairs of his fist
She retrieved it directly, simply tore it
away.
I could eat you up,” he answered,
and showed her the teeth with which to

“Oh, come now, Lucr

ia, do give us the recipe!”

do it. Wincing with both pains, he saw
Louise Revanche, in a coat with a great
out of the doakroom

у collar, comu
and collide with the entering Leonard,
whose burr-head made a trinity with her

Neither disliked the encounter.
Leonard displaying an abominable sweet-
ness. of which since he hoarded it while
spending his spleen he had a goodly sup-
ply: Louise, who was not in fact a
mother, becoming one in fancy. She
squeezed the boy and rumpled what hai
he had. and — what was the litle wretch
doing? Hyde started toward the
Nicolas leaped for the tinsel, caught
and brought down the Christmas tree

The Hydes had erected а
own on a giddy end table
room; it was scrawny and sprayed white,
and when lighted looked like the ghost
of Below it Pat had
stacked the Christmas gifts against open
ing time next morning, but as Hyde pre-
dicted, the children would have none of
wadition. When the family got home
that evening, Leonard stormed the table,
with Sestina and the twins close behind,
and all disappeared in a blizzard of
bright paper and ribbon.

The boy emerged carrying the wet
diaper doll meant for his sister. To
Hyde, he said: “This is a pretty piece
of aggression on your part.”

Pat, at whose door could be laid every
one of his neuroses, usual up-
ariously amused. She threw herself,
th a bovishness beyond Leonards,
omo the foam-rubber for which
Home-Workshop Hyde had crafted. the
You know

1 tree of their
n their livi

п old woman.

sofa

plywood 1
that's Sestina’s gift.

Then what is mine?" he cried, “This,
this, this?” One by one he tore packages
from the hands of his siblings and held
them alolt.

The w
Hyde turned aw

d giggled.

s ran crying to their mother.
ch curdling
at the sight of Pat simultaneonsly indi-
cating to all four that they were not
rejected. As he slunk upstairs he heard
nt shout: “A chemis-
у , oh thank you!”
(When in fact Hyde had himself pur
chased his son's gift after much thought.)

Naturally, Hyde was frustrated in his
plan to drown in the tub: they had only
one bathroom and by the time all five
predecessors had. used it and gone olf to
bed, there was по hot water left. One
ht wish to perish in agony but never
comlort, which would obscure the
Therefore he dallied there, look-
the mirror at his hazel
rimmed with crimson, until stealthily
listening at a crack in the door he heard
five regular suspirations from various
points off the hall: they every one had
fallen instantly to sleep, induding Pat,
who п old flannel nightgown
stained with cough syrup and buttoned
to the neck.

. his stom

ses

wor

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Hyde stole downstairs in darkness.
hugging the staircase wall so as not to
touch the creaky median surface of the
steps. He had forgotten to bring matches
and barked his shin thrice on as many
articles of furniture. But quickly enough
he found the ghostly Christmas tree
which the reflection from a stree
made a living presence, and beneath й
one of the gifts, taking which he went to
the kitchen and turned on the overhead
light without fear of discovery. This
business had been made necessary by
Pats outlawing all toxic medicaments
from the bathroom cupboard, lest the
children drink iodine, say, and turn
black. There was no proper poison in
the house; even the garden classics, like
the arsenical weed. killers which are re
sponsible for as many liberations as the
state of Nevada, fell under the ban.

But resourceful Hyde had thought of
Leonard's chemistry set, and now broke
it open upon the lip of the sink. seized a
number of vials ac random. dumped their
powders into an exjell glass, sloshed
in some the tap, and —
He checked the dock on the stoves su
perstructure, which indicated 10 minutes
of 11: 70 minutes early. Thirsty from his
rashness, he swallowed half the cloudy
potion in a single gulp. It was mildly salt
and had a faint odor of public swimming
pool.

Hyde staggered to the kitchen table,
which he had made from a flush door
and wroughriron legs purchased in kit
form from a back page advertiser in The
New York Times Magazine and never
truly finished — there was a host of tiny
air bubbles in the varnish, which should
have been rubbed down with steel wool
— and hurled himself into a grubby ply-
wood chair from the same source but
which had never been painted at all
He regretted not having drawn up а
will bequeathing the children to the
sociology laboratory and Pat to the
bage man, а hairy cretin she thous
peculiarly well adjusted t0 his environ
ment

The clock sounded a sharp pluck
when its hand reached 11 and passed the
alarm gadget used to time eggs — inci
dentally ducing Hyde as to when Pat
е breakfast, three hours alter he deliv
ered the twins to nursery school. The
also reminded bim he had been

lamp

water from

noise
dying for 10 minutes without marked
detriment to himself. Indeed. he felt bet
ter by the second z hard yet not
tense. Therefore he was not at present
expiring, the launching of the inquiet
soul into the smoggy void. but if not
why not... The manufacturers of Leon
ааз gift would hardly stock a child's
chemistry set with lethal powders. .He
tied to be exasperated by his folly but
failed. such were his rising spirits. Striv
ing to be down-in.the: felt
with all 10 fingers that he was grinning
strangely. Another piece of news to his

owi

nouth, he

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145

PLAYBOY

146

hands was a harsh, pumicestone beard,
hough he had shaved at 6:30.

He got to his feet and lumbered about,
new clumps of latissimus dorsi muscles
forcing his arms akimbo. It was then
that, approaching the window, he saw,
in an advance [rom the yard outside, the
simian figure of the aforementioned
garbi n, whom he had always con-
sidered a primary enemy though never
having exchanged anything with him be-
yand monosyllables on how to separate
dry refuse from wet. Hyde fell into
barba crouch, and his advers: fol-
lowed suit. They stalked each other until
they came visis at the glass. Hyde
had never before quite appreciated what
an ugly swine the man was, with nose
„ a black stubble of
emery cloth and gloating, feral cyes, not
to mention liule animal ears lying close
to his head. He muttered ап imprec
tion; the enemy's lips did as well. How
long was it, nostril to nostril with u
hateful face, only the cold glass between
them, before Hyde understood he was
snarling at his own reflection?

Yet unquestionably it was also the
image of the garbage man, whose name
was Scallopini. Some kind of transfer-
ence had taken place which Hyde, a
man of reason, did not immediately un-
derstand but was laboring over. Inter-
esting work was being done in Psych
concerning the effect of chemicals on
emotions; the old analysis stuff of per-
son-to-person was being fast outmoded.
He must call Dr. Fowler soon with this
new data, meanwhile observing the effect
of hi ion on societal re
tions, which in extension could be seen
as relevant to his own area of scholarly
commitment, with many ambivalences
in between. Namely, what was more
promising for Social Pathology than
Hyde's psyche in Scallopini’s Neander-
thal body?

At this point he received a g
surprise, for being a man of mind he
could hardly assign fundamental im-
portance to a mere change of physique:
he had also got another will, ostensibly
Scallopini's, which was at marked. vari-
ance with his own. How ebe explain,
following hard alter his tentative out-
line of the structure of the problem in
hand, the deep negative which rumbled
through his rib cage and was verbalized
Diis

pores big as dime

ter

as
Scallopini’s face, in the glass, showed

a brute grin, winked malevolently, and
offered a hoarse, coarse suggestion that
made Hyde, in the portion of the soul
sull his own, blench. Yet now that it was
established he would not dic, at least
tonight, he had no option but to
tremulously and be dragged by
lopini out the back door and into
the ісу night — in. which, strangely, he
was not uncomfortable though dressed
only in pajamas and robe, which were
at once too long and too tight on Scal-

not

ted the backyard atolls of en-
crusted snow as if they were so many
scatter rugs. Out the driveway, past
e's garageless car, which sat quietly
g under the drip from the eaves,
up the silent street where the windows
of some houses were still modestly afire
with the season, others were black, and
street lamps guttered over guttered slush.
How often had Hyde made this wip in
the brothel alleyways of his imagination!
He was breathless now; Scallopini was
not, and fairly flew ing the wind in
his hairy nostrils, circulating it within
his pelted chest, and scratching his un-

shaven cheeks with a furry hand.
The Reyanche home lay five blocks
north, one west. Scallop

Hyde arrived
there within three minutes, bounded
across the front yard, and pressed their
beard against a window in that corner
of the living room known to Claude as
his study area. And there he sat, back to
them, little head round as an orange.
malignantly grading bluebooks. He had
chieved an evil celebrity with the stu-
dent body by making his holiday observ-
nce a midterm exam, given on the last
day before vacation. Watching the little
swine wicld his maidenly red pencil,
Hyde at last and at once fused com-
pletely with his captor, who now breathed
furiously through a distended nose and
clawed the brick wall. Soon he found
the aluminum downspout and swarmed
up it like a gibbon.

Crouching before the left front dormer
window, he saw Louise Revanche in her
boudoir. She brushed her honey h
and wore a negligee all lavender s

nsi

ality. Black underclothing was strewn
bout in the most aphrodisiac insouci-
ance. He made the glass squeak with his

n and
murmuring
; Sandy

paw. She came i
opened the м

imediately to hi
dow,

wry provocation: “Merry Nm
Gi

" He bounded in.
Trotting homeward in a nimbus of
sent scent, Hyde experienced a brief
depression as he began to separate from
Scallopini. For one, hc grew cold in his

ү

some retrospective cowardice — wha
he had slipped from the rainpipe and
coccyx? At the corner he

ng with superficial wounds.

Yet these negat tions were the
mere condiments, so to speak, in his gen-
eral dish of well-being. He had had and
was done with Louise, nobody the wise:
all adversaries in

so to speak, one |
Claude, of cours
Cudahy, his own
thought of Leona
and eve delightful irony, over
himself: irony because he had not c

actly been his own man, delightful be-
cause he had prevailed.

As he entered the driveway, only a
vestige or two remaining of the savage
who had earlier traversed it going the
way, here and there а wire whisker
limp, a fang losing its edge. Hyde
had almost completed his retransforma
tion, from sanguinary to sanguine, quite
а gain over the onetime hopeless Hyde —
that is, it was definitely not a return to
the same old self. He had plans, plans,
plans, which were stimulated by а poign-
ant recollection that in the character
of Scallopini he had been as ready for
murder as love. Louise, who apparently
played grande dame with her wash-can
paramour, had been alarmed.
could strike
‚ marauding,
sh without a trace:
Scallopini! He anticipated visit-
ing a reign of terror on. Merryweather
and environs, Fiend Strikes Again .. .
Home Ec Teacher Assaulted . . . Col-
lege Prexy Throttled . . . Garbage Man
Released When Outrages Continue
Though He Is Jailed. (In a necessary
affinity with his double, Hyde refused to
fantasy a m i
simply by being Scallopini
himself sufficiently on the trashma:
Louise had given him reason to believe
was affectionate, ingenuous and non-
criminal.)

With such splendid hallucir
and a thirst more grievous than e
Hyde, the scholarfelon, that rare man
of mind who practiced what he observed,
that Lord Acton who tended toward the
corruption he hypothesized, climbed his
back st: and entered the kitchen. His
current weakness of body, exaggerated
by the memory of recent strength, sud-
denly upset а fine equilibrium of flesh
and spirit, and he went all the way,
asking: Why сусг stay just Hyde?

The room looked as before. The ceil-
ing globe burned: the open pedal-can
showed an eggshell and an apple peel,
which the Scallopini would eventu-
ally cart off; the chemicals were still
broadcast on the sink top — could Hyde
recall his formula? But meanwhile he
had half his original mixture to go on.
The glass still stood on the plywood
ble — oh yes, it was there yet, but now
quite empty

The stove-clock, which he h;
for mid
sounded a remote, evil buzzer, |
dentists drill entering the pulp. W
abrous of body, clean of face,
spent of passion yet feverish for more,
Hyde heard a series of unspeakable grunts
issue from the corner near the refrigei
tor and knew, long before he turned his
eyes there, that his time was up.

Leonard, transformed into a ferocious
little ape, dropped a b nd leaped
for his father with murderous paws.

He had access to powe

s. violati

without warn
and v

l reset

wht, reached 12 sharp and
ike a

wet,

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nostalgia By CHARLES BEAUMONT laughter was the sound we

made for those four decades when america led the world in comedy

opay, there

s probably nothing the world wants or needs more than an
epidemic of laughter. Laughter is the sound a nation makes when it is
proud of its past and confident of its future. We made that sound not so
very long ago. We made it and we exported it to the four corners of the
earth, creating thereby an image of the United States as the capital of joy
and merriment, a happy-go-lucky, fun-loving country of clowns who pre-

ferred pie in the face to pie in the sky, exploding cigars to imploding
bombs, and the boff to and above all things.
aders of the Free World.

obliged therefore to act with dignity. But beneath our juridical

Now, of course, we are the solemn Li

robes is a jester's suit, and let no one forget it. Let no one

forget. either, that the world laughed with, not at, us in the

wonderful, wacky years when we wore that suit openly. honored by

bsolute т

its signification of our tery of screen comedy.

Of course, we didr

‘t invent the form, nor were we its sole practitioners; but we were responsible

for its development into an art and for most of its greatest moments. Until the advent of “talki

we were universally accepted as the absolute and supreme creators of film humor, not only without
rs. And no wonder. We had the best dire

gagmen, the best comics and no less than three authentic geniuses.

ors, the best

peers but also without serious competit

The geniuses are gone: dead, retired or in exile. So are the comics. It is generally thought that

their breed is proliferating, but that is incorrect. The men we call comics today — Mort Sahl, Lenny
an Winters, et al. — are highly skilled enterta
no sense comics, for the response they seek from their audiences is not laughter but understanding.

And while it is true that they do manage to fetch an occasional guffaw, it is also true that not a si

Bruce, Shelley Berman, Jonat

ners; but they are in

ha
one of these clever, caustic, cynical, disillusioned young men could have got himself hired a
assistant gatekeeper when comedy was in flower. No value judgment is involved. Stand-up comed

ans
are neither better nor worse than true comics; they are simply different, as an ichthyologist, say, is
different from a

isherman.

The true comic, of course, must be seen to be disbelieved. Unreal, insubstantial as a shadow,
apart from humanity and above its petty course, he thrives — as did the first comic and god of all

joy. Pan — in the country of dreams, which is an international,

nierracial, mterdenominational and
о surprise, then, that he throve as never before or since in the
age of the silent motion picture. In his new incarnation he chased across the world, kicking down
barriers en route, breaking into the private heart of ever

wholly nonexclus

ive community. ?

human who

w him; and it is our

pride that he made his home America.

Look at him now; forget the present and look at him: Pan’ andchild thrice

[E

removed, Tartar-mustached, uniformed, helmeted, seated high on the bucking back of a car that never
ted, іп a world that never was, pell-mell on his way to glory. See how he wrestles manfully with the
wheel and keeps his eyes on the road, to no avail: the ridiculous squad car

е

aroms from curb to

curb like a thing possessed, smashing store fronts, uprooting hydrants, leveling the population,
The fact that those attentive eyes are crossed in а manner unique to ophthalmology would seem
to pertain to the vehicle’s erratic flight, but remember, this is the world of comedy, where only
the abnormal is normal. Look at the car itself. Surely no control is possible over a machine whose
сошроп The wheels, disdainful of
g the lenders to flap in a desperate effort to leave
the body. The windshield, already reduced to a glassless frame, flies off, taking with it the helmet

of another of Pan's descend

nis have scarcely a nodding acquaintance опе with anoth

their axles. wobble and pivot frantically. causin

ants. Turning to follow the course of his headpiece, the divine Cop fails

10 observe а lowhanging wee branch which is approaching fast. Pow! It sweeps him aloft and

deposits him in the midst of a vegetable pusheart, staffed by a volatile Italian who promptly whips

a stiletto from beneath his apron and pursues the luckless victim up a nearby alley.

Now back to the squad car, which still contains a gigantic overload of Cops. Watch as it careens

around a sharp turn, mounts the curbing, runs a few yards along the sidewalk, scrapes some of its
cargo off onto a striped awning and plunges back into a maelstrom of traffic — headed the wrong

Way on a one-way street.

The inevitability of disaster! Gesticulating wildly, the Cops clang their alarm bell and weave
through the onrushing cascade of automobiles, miraculously avoiding collision after collision as

they hurry to the scene of some imaginary crime. In a breathless moment the vehicle spins crazily

around another corner and leaps like a frolicsome colt toward a railroad grade crossi

ng, where it
coughs, shivers and stops, in the exact center of the track.

And what's that up ahead? The Limited, of course — black smoke boiling from its stubby stack,
white steam h

sing from its sides,

Neither the alpha nor the omega of screen comedy, the Keystone Cops have come to symbolize

the form. as the picture of a quiet, Ivy League-suited young man standing on a concert stage may

be said to symbolize current American humor. The Cops flashed across comedy's horizon as a kind
of cosmic afterthought in the creation of film pantomime, Yet, though they disappeared like any

bright meteorite. their principal activities — violent, almost mayhemic assault; perpetration of lese

majesty on any figure of dignit

and the chase, invariably devastating. inevitably catastrophic — were

an encapsulation of the format. Other, individual talents brought wry, sardonic, satirical or pathetic

refinements, but the Cops and their madcap machinations remain as spokesmen for the period.
What is little known, even to those who are rediscovering movie comedy's great past through
such television programs as Silents, Please, is the fact that certain films were drawing hysterical

Imost two full decades before Sennett's

laughter

ele of uniformed dolts ever mounted the back.

PLAYBOY

152

The first of
И time — de-

step of their tired Model Т
these —and the first of
rived its effect from a simple function of
nature: the sneeze.

Although not destined as а comic m
terpiece, the dignity-destroving film clip
shot at Thomas A. Edison’s studio (The
Black M. in 1895 rates as the grand-
daddy Adam. The brief episode did no

1 Ott. one of
process of
ching an involuntary oronasal blast.
It would have remained in obscurity
with hundreds of other minute reels for
the company's peepshow Kinetoscope
had not the transition. from these one-
Viewer-atatime machines to projected
exhibition been made shortly thercalte
The explosive snort, albeit without the
t of sound, afforded а change of
pace for audiences alr

more than to record F

Edison's employees. in the

аш

bene

tire of shots of br

derfully real and sii
* The Sne howls of
laughter, and film humor was begun.
The fist comedy with a "plot" fol-
lowed soon afterward when the Lumicre
brothers produced an interlude entitled
Teasing the Gardener. lt was simple
minded and primitive but, for the times.
nothing short of an epic. The scene is a

you need anything...

Its Christmas, madam -

Howers until she encounters a hose. She
at it for a long moment, then, gig-
gling, jumps upon it with both fect,
shutting off the water supply. As the sur-
prised gardener peers at the nozzle, the
little girl steps off the hose — with results
that kept audiences in stitches all around
the world.

The names of the principals in this
first film comedy team have been lost
to posterity, but the splosh of liquid
full in the u! lace introduced
a "turn" to be followed devoutly by
hundreds of comics in thou
to come.

Another sequence filmed the same
year, similar to Teasing the Gardener
but contain newhat more depth
of characterizat d heaviness of plot,

suspectin;

ds of reels

ng 50

was Robert W. Paul's The Soldiers
Courtship, In this one a uniformed
young man and a nursemaid are shown
in the act of pitching enthusiastic but
discreet woo. They are on a park bench.

An old lady appears. She sits down on
the bench, F

reasons she be-
close to the idyllic couple.

d hi:

obscure

gins to cdg
Annoyed, the soldier

up. abruptly. Th

irl stand.

sear tips, the old lady

ge

und, and the bench.

ped to the g
bles on top of her. THE кх
It sounds cruel, but it was not. for
old lady wasn't real except. insolar
as she represented reality. As with all
film humor to follow. the action of The
Soldier's Courtship took place in a world
of ils own making. The same scene en.
countered in the real world would have
embarrassed and appalled all those who

laughed so freely

This apparently brutal method of
arousing audience reaction stemmed, of
course, from the similar efforts of a
legion of stige comics who had been
belting cach other with inflated pigs
bladders and pairs of bed slats (the
slapstick”) for a century or
The latitude of film technique,
however, gave not only freedom of move
ment but virtually free rein to the use
ol props which could not be emploved
on the reasonably tidy stage. Thus stage
1 screen comedy methods were di-
vorced forever

Actually, few of the established legiti-
mate clowns of the time ever auempted
the The
names, who had sharpened their acts
long period of years. simply could
hot countenance “posing for the flickers”
and displaying their talents in exchange
for the few paltry dollars a week offered
by the сапу producers.

The millions to be poured into the
judusury and Wansferred to selected bank
accounts were not even suspected when
America’s first film comedy star waddled
before the cameras. in 1910. A portly
itimate actor who longed to play ro-
ic leads, John Bunny mastered the
t ol pantomime because he had been
told that this accomplishment, added to
his hippopotamic bulk, would make
him an ideal clown. Good natured. pli
ple and quite talented. Bunny brought

transition to celluloid. big

over

Dickensian sort of character to the
minuscule Vitagraph motion picture
company in Brooklyn and soon cata

tion to world re-
ihe movies had
lobe in a kind of
ment tidal wave. People loved

pulted the characteriza
nown, At that
ready swept the
entert:

pictures of all kinds, but especially
Bunnys. His halfsad, half-ridiculous
lace, Micawber's if it were anyone's,

led out of 150 onc- and two-reclers
and brought untold joy to the land.
Less concerned with joy and more de-
voted to assault with intent ta commit
great bodily harm were Al Ch and
Mack Sennett, a couple of embryonic
tycoons who managed to develop ап
most magical rapport with the audi
ences of the day. Sennett, the discoverer,
employer and mentor of all the slap.
stick stars except Keaton and Lloyd,
was unquestionably a genius—to every
one but himself. He never laid claim to
any particular skills other than an i
herent sense of the ridiculous and the
conviction that whatever made him

istic

laugh was bound to make the average
man laugh, too. Though Christie’s pro-
ductions occasionally rivaled Sennett's.
the Keystone fun factory must be rated
as the single greatest source of motion-
picture amusement ever in operation,
thanks primarily to the screwball vision
of its proprietor.

А stage-struck, expatriate Canadian
steelworker, Mack Sennett was playing
the rear end of a two-man comic horse
when movie fame beckoned. The gesture
arrived in the form of an invitation to
act before the camera of D. W. Griffith.
director of small but growing reputa
tion in New York. Se
opportunity, but it was no bold step

nett leaped at the

calculated to cut him off from the legiu-
mate stage. Tt was simply а temporary
answer to a permanent problem: poverty.
Inasmuch as he was almost chronically
unemployed and subsisting on free lunch-
counter snacks at the time, he was in no
position to turn down any job, however
remote its connection with show business.

Such carly experiences with penury
may fairly be said to have made Sennett
the colorful and contradictory figure he
became. Where money and monctarv
lues were concerned he was hopelessly
inconsistent. He would think nothing of
paying thousands of dollars a week to
writers who never wrote, or of firing
bricklayers who fell a half-dozen short of
the daily quota of bricks. He would build
а tower from which to spy on the entire
company and then, the next week, outfit
and staff an entire studio for a star who
would not even let him inside the gate.
These traits, and a host of similar idio-
syncrasies — plus his fantastic record. of
producing over 1000 hit films — make the
Ki

„ of Comedy one of the most en-

chanting figures of this shadowy domain.

In 1912. when Mack persuaded two
bookmakers, Charlie Bauman and Adam
Kessel, to refrain from tearing his head
off in lieu of payment for a hundred-
dollar bad guess on the relative speed of
a group of thoroughbreds — and, indeed,
to further extend him $2500 to form
Keystone Productions — there were in.
existence seven accepted types of come-
dies. Foremost was the Chase; then came
the Trick Photographic Film, the Knock-
about, the Dramatic Farce, the Domestic
or Social Comedy, the Satirical Comedy
and the

toon Im. Sennett was to
lump all of these categories together in
many combinations as possible in each
and every epic, thus creating а new art.

Rule number one of the art demanded
that life's portrait be painted with a
brush a yard wide on the end of a 10-loot
handle. However, contrary to popular
belief, Senneu never had а wild, every
thing goes philosophy. He insisted that
his superficially chaotic burlesques pro-
ceed from believable premises. Motiva
tion was the kev to Keystone. The clowns
«ould do anything that came into their
heads so long as they were properly, or

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even improperly, motivated

Parody was also big at the fun factory
Го Sennett, conventional stage plays and
motion pictures (particularly of the heay
ily dramatic variety) were not only fair
but fine game. In keeping: with the con-
cept tl
the more serious
nal work, the more ridiculous and simple.
minded the parody. Such titles as The
Sea Squawk. Uncle Tom Without a
Cabin, East Lynne with Variations and
The Battle of Who Run suggest typical
irreverence. Tillie's Punctured Romance
the first full-length feature comedy and
the vehicle which established Marie
Dressler as a comedicnne of the highest
rank, did much to propel Charlie Chap
lin, Mack Swain, Fdgar Kennedy, Char
ley Chase and Mabel Normand along the
road to fame. It was merely a takeoff on
Miss Dresslers highly successful stage
play, Tillie's Nightmare, in which she
had introduced the grand old tearjerk
d. Heaven Will Protect. the
Working Girl.

t comedy is the satire of tragedy,

ad complex the origi

ing bal

The story of how this howler came to
be is typical of the methods by which
movies were made in the Golden Age
Sennett was determined to produce a
feature-length comedy. Everyone advised
him against it. He refused to listen, He
hammered and badgered and hectored
his partners Bauman and Kessel, the ex-
bookies, until— with grave misgivings —
they agreed to ante up $200,000 for the
production. Of course, Sennett had no.
script. He had no ideas, Tt fact, he now
had nothing but two hundred grand and
а vague determination to launch. Marie
Dressler as a Keystone star. He hired the
ictress at the then fantastic salary of 52500
a week: then he ordered his "scenario de-
partment” to create а suitable piece.

The thought of sustaining
through six reels was a powerful narcotic
for the “writers.” They attacked the
problem with gusto but, after a week,
pronounced it a hopeless
proposition, Sennett was undisturbed
ling his two top-bracket gagmen into
a hotel room in downtown Los Angeles,
the Chief had a case of iced champagne
delivered, then locked the door and put
the key in his vest pocket.

“Have all the champagne you want,
boys.” he said, good-naturedly. “We
don't leave this room until we get a
story for Marie Dressler.”

Thus inspired, and with three bottles
still to go. Craig Hutchinson. the senior
member of the team, came up with the
moneysaving idea of using the story line
of Miss Dressler's recent stage hit. Around
that absurd and tingled plot the Sen-
nett gagmen and actors wove a rich
tapestry of humor that has kept the film
in circulation for 46 years. solely on its
merits as а laugh-getter. Issued at the
is D. W. Grifhth's Birth of a
Nation, Tillie can be shown for sheer

а chase

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entertainment, while the Griffith master-
piece is primarily of historical interest.
That Birth was the great trail blazer and
a work of creative genius is undeniable
bet only the [anaticallv faithful could
argue that it has nor dated to the point

ef quines. Tillie. of course, was
quaint to begin with.

As was Sennett, also to begin with.
Always monev-conscious. he was one of
the сапу suncseekers who flocked to
California on the excuse of less rain —
more production. In pressuring Bauman
and Kessel into the move from New York,
he rashly promised that he would have a

completed comedy in the can within a
week after landing in Los Angeles. Tuk-
ing Mabel Normand, Ford Sterling. Fred
Mace and а cameraman named Pathé
Lehrman with him, Senne debarked
from the cross-country train ride and
walked right into a Shriners’ parade.
The sureet was clogged. Passage was im-
possible. To a leser man, this would

© been an inconvenience: to the
Comedy King it was a blessing

Quickly estimating the dramatic pos-
sibilities, the newly arrived director-
producer dispatched his minions in all
directions, instructing them to return
with any props they might think of.
Meanwhile, he and Lehrman set up the
tripod. Within minutes, the cast rc-
assembled. Pathetically attired in a shawl
and clutching а most realistic baby doll,
Mabel Normand flung herself into the
parade under orders to “embarrass those
Shriners! ... Make out that you are a
poor, lorn working girl, betrayed in the
big city, searching for the futher of your
child!

Mabel made out magnificently. "[She]
put on the comicalest act you ever
clapped eyes on," Mack reported later,
“pleading, stumbling, holding out her
by — and the reactions of these good
and pious gentlemen in the parade were
something you couldn't get in six days
of D. W. Griffith rehearsals. Men were
horrified, abashed, dismayed. One kind
soul dropped out and tied to help
Mabel.

"Мохе in, Ford" 1 told Sterling.
Ford leaped in and started а screaming
argument with the innocent Shriner
who didn't know he was being photo-
graphed to make a buck for Keystone.

The police moved in on Ford and Ma

bel Ford fled, leaping, insulting the
police, and they— God bless the police!
— they chased him. 1 helped the camera
man and we sot it all The Shriners
were good, but the best scenes we nabbed
were the running cops. | never got
their names, but if there are any retired
members of the Los Angeles Police De-
partment who remember taking part

in that incident, let them bask in Lime:

They were the original Keystone Cops.”

Senn
stop at their hotel but went directly to
a previously rented studio. There they

tt and his menagerie didn't even

shot cnough additional footage to
some sense to the parade scene and had
their first one-reeler in the can, not in
the promised week, but in a day.

In his first year of operation in the
studio at Edendale, a long-since absorbed
suburb of Los Angeles, Sennett issued
140 comedies. These one- and two-reelers
cost about $25,000 each and returned
$75,000 to $80,000 in the 1914-1918 pc-
od. Humor was a vital part of the
motion.picture business then, so the only
i to Keystone's fortunes were the
ad inspiration.
tion was largely in the
fertile minds of the comics themselves.
"Writers" abounded at Keystone and
were treated with great respect, even
being permited their own secluded do-
main; but for many years they were for
bidden to go near pen, pencil, paper or
typewriter—on threat of instant dis-
sal. Their job was to dream up story
lines and supplementary bits They
needed nimble minds and India-rubber
bodies for, as noted, they never actually
wrote (male secretaries were considered
adequate to that secondary task) but,
instead, pitched their brain storms, usu-
ally in the presence of Sennett, his clowns
and his directors. With as many as six
hardy scriveners writhing and pratfalling
to illustrate thei is not surpris-
ing that insanity lurked near the surface
in every two-reel skein of celluloid.

Yet those early screenwriters did not
complain, and on the whole it may be
observed that theirs was a better and
more rewarding life than that endured by
most of the current membership of the
Writers’ Guild of America. Despite the
ignity of their position,
gagmen enjoyed unique
so, this “miscellany of wags,
bonded together by the loose camara-
derie of contempt" (in Gene Fowler's
rds) liked each other. Nowhere could
а happier. or zanier, group of employees
be found. However, they did reserve one
objection. It was in the area of diet. The
Keystone lot was the first to maintain
its own cafetería. It was well stocked
with provender, but the waitresses were
strictly forbidden to serve the scenario

sandwich and a glass of milk during
icheon. “Eating heavy stuff makes
them logy," said Sennett, "and they go
to sleep, or if they don't go to sleep they
get dopey and don't know what they are
talking about." To further discourage
noontime food intake, the Chief located
his lunchroom at the top of four flights
of stairs, of which every fourth step was
missing entirely. To prevent scurvy and
malnutrition in his literary hirelings, he
served "tea" in the afternoon. This
tiffin was originally scheduled at four
o'clock in the Boss’ office but gradually
it extended until, at last, long shadows
from the nearby hills were cloaking the
stages in darkness at teatime, Concluding

the repast, Sennett would announce:
Vell, boys, now that we've eaten, we
can do some more work" — and the lov-
ing crew would be kept busy until mid-
night.

The Boss was also a demanding task-
master when it came to his product.
He exercised two kinds of quality coi
wol on hearing the "story" and on
seeing the finished print. “He could be
persuaded to try anything once,” re-
ports an ex-Keystone gagster, “but if he
didn't laugh when he saw it on the
screen, look out!

Gene Fowler described the process of
judgment. “In the coffinlike projection
room, there were three rustic benches,
such as might be found in a backwoods
church, Mack had a large rocking chair
for himself and sat, one leg tucked
under him, li a half-Buddha, He
clasped his hands over his belly and
analyzed his product. When a gag
failed to make Mack laugh, the men
automatically deleted or reshot that
piece of business. If he did laugh, they
made a note of that, too, for if Mack
Sennett laughed, they knew that ap-
proximately 10,000,000 Americans would
howl. His taste was the most infallible
audience barometer in the history of mo-
tion-picture burlesque. He never missed.”

Fowler, faithful chronicler of the
lives of Hollywood's gamicr and more
succulent denizens, goes on to an inter-

; personal character evaluation of
of Comedy, whom he cher-
ished. "Beneath the odd and fantastic
didos of this brooding keeper of the
downs and despite his suspicious mood:
his penchant for baths, for champagne
with corned beef and raw onions. the

truncated Panama hat and his pon-
derous but intense love for Mabel Nor-
mand, his literary shortcomings and
educational poverty. his liberality with
temperamental people on the one hand
and unyielding taskmasterlike behavior
on the other — beneath these evidences
of muddled majesty, one feels rather
sees evidences of a compelling
simplicity of purpose, a tenacious,
strong, driving power that made him
the Napoleon of the cap and bells. In
his almost primitive soul there existed
the average man's instinctive dread of
destiny and innate yearning for revolt
... Perhaps he had the greatest sense
of the ridiculous of any man of mode
times.’

The Keystone Cops are fixed, chasing
through the consciousness of every
moviegoer, including those who never
saw them. We know Tillie’s Punctured
Romance, But what of the rest of the
madness? What, actually, was the flick-
ering, two-dimensional idiocy spawned
by this legendary Custard College Dean
over the years? Idiot dust now, most of
it. Crumbling clips. Flashes of memory.
Bits and pieces, unhappily — although
it was Walter Kerr who advised a young
er to build his castle on sand, if he
nted it to last. The human mind is
the great even-temperature. preserver:
legends keep forever in its dark va
‘The plots of those revered fr
hilarious in retrospect, are far too fr
to afford any amusement or insi
the telling. They powder away under
analysis. Yet а look at the performei
their work and the social climate in
which they operated provides an utterly

w

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157

PLAYBOY

158

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nd. almost tactile, picture of
that phenomenal time.

The first of the individuals to poke
his head above the bubbling mass of
wrestlers, cops, old women, са circus
entrepreneurs, acrobats, ju prize
fighters, dogs, lions, geese and chimpan-
aces that populated. Sennett's. Edendale
plant —and the first to demand billing
plus a sizable increase in salary — was
Ford Sterling, lor years the “Chief” of
the Keystone Cops. Sterling had created
a “Dutch” comic in vaudeville and con-
tinued it in the Keystone flickers, but
it was his inspired direction of his uni-
formed subordinates during their con.
tinual exigencies that won him public
acclaim and placed him above specialists
like Hank Mann and Chester Conklin.
Sennett. unwilling to part with his
friend and cohort, upped the comic's
salary to $250 per week when $125 was
tops. However, the inevitable interview
came. Sterling announced that he was
quitting. Sennett went to S400. Ster-
ling demurred. Grabbing a salary that
was really far beyond his authority as
studio head, the King named $750, with
no options in the contract. Sterling
leaped like a ballet dancer and threw
his hat in the air. “Yippee! So that's
he cowed. Sennett

ет»,

what I'm worth!

s worth and what
neces-

replied that what he w
were not
but that
he Chief”
hell!

he was being olfered
ily the same thing,
it was nice to have
with the firm. “Stay.
roared. "I'm still leavin

stay
Sterling
~ I just wanted
to find out what 1 can get somewhere

els

The stars departure (into eventual
obscurity) left Sennett looking for a lead
comic. Hank Mann suggested a British
entertainer whose name he couldn't re-
member. After some conversation, Sen-
nett vaguely recalled having scen the
little fellow in a performance of Fred
Karno's 4 Night in а London Music

Hall, which was touring the country
Wiring his New York associates to look
for

a comedian named pman or
npion,” he forgot the matter.

Chaplin was found and offered $125
per week on a vcar's contract. His salary
from Karno's operation was then 1
and 350 per weck. The offer
‚ therefore, quite tempting; vet it
smelled of danger and risk. Fellow
trouper АШ Reeves resolved the dilemma
with a bit of advice. “That's 25 quid in
real money,” he said, and Charlie reached
for the pen.

Working with veterans like Arbuckle,
Mack Swain, Charley Chase, Slim Sum-
merville, Hank Mann and Al St. John
at the fevered pace of the Keystone one-
reclers caused the timid, shy
litde comic to vanish. His frst film,
variously titled A Busted Johnny, Trou-
bles and Doing His Best was highly in-
auspicious. In fact, as Sennett commented

tween $
К

almost

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Pat

later, "No matter what we called it. the
film was а flop.” IN THE

‘The character burlesqued by Chaplin
in the initial handful of releases was WINTHROP
that of a traditional British Kop. His
garb, ап oxford-gray cutaway, checked TRAOITION
waistcoat, batwing collar, polka-dot tic

p OF

and top hat, was the same he һай cm-
ployed on the stage. Unhappy with his

own performances and the fierce com-

petition from the balance of the com-

pany, he began experimenting with

costumes, on the theory that clothes

make the clown. First he borrowed а

pair of the outsize Arbuckle trousers

Then he filched Ford Sterling's old

shoes. Within minutes these items, plus THE TRIUMPH
derby and cane, were assembled into а

ridiculous but magically unified ensem-
ble—and the screen's greatest figure. tomorrow. ,, with hand stitched
the Little Tramp, was born front. Slips on easily, yet

In a tryout of the new character, con hugs the foot .. . thanks to
ceived to fit the costume, Chaplin jogged
over to a hotel lobby set and made like
а drunk, Chester Conklin, who aided
and abetted the transformation, tells
about this sncak preview:

“He got his foot caught in the cuspi-
dor. His cane betrayed him and tripped
him up. The mustache wiggled like a
abbit's nose. A crowd gathered. Mabel
and Ford and Hank and Avery and
Arbuckle were laughing at Charlie. We ALSO WINTHROP JRS. FOR BOYS
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Тһе characterization was, of course, an
instantaneous success. Chaplin's Charlie
the Tramp became the most distinctive
comedy figure at the Edendale lot, di
minutive alongside such giants as Ar
buckle and Swain. yet in a way bigger
than any of them.

Relying more on his own instinctive
timing and the insertion of bizarre ac-
tions than on the established Keystone
h he had always found alien
ste), Chaplin appeared only once
» a piethrowing orgy (Dough and Dy-
namite), never with the Bathing Beauties
and seldom in an auto chase. “He was
always a fugitive,” Sennet remarked,
adding: "A furtive fugitive.” From his
10th picture forward, the ex-music hall
pantomimist — about whom everyone had
had serious second thoughts — received
writing and directing credits, which re-
veals the personal stamp he set upon
even his carly efforts.

The fürs 11 Tramp comedies (also
starring Mabel Normand) brought the
acterization through its first impor-

tant phase. Sennett felt that nothing араай. EE E EOS NUR MEE
new was added afterward. "Though in EES YE iD E SD
a ed. Use

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as the main characteristics.” In Her
Friend the Bandit Charlie plays an im:
postor who visits Маре» fancy mansion
nd, out of frustration, tears it apart. In
Mabel's Busy Day Charlie gets drunk in
а saloon and steals hot dogs from a poor
girl who operates a small sidewalk stand.
He bankrupts her. In Mabel's Married
Life he staggers home in an alcoholic
daze and is defeated in a boxing match
with a dummy. A Gentleman of Nerve
shows him sneaking through a hole in
a fence, for the purpose of watching an
auto race; after managing to get sev
innocent people arrested, he winds up
as a thief. Preceding W. C. Fields by
many years, Charlie got laughs in His
Trysting Place by threatening to strangle
a baby. Nowhere could a cockier, pluck-
ier, more sadistic, violent, criminous and
totally uninhibited clown be appre-
hended in that period.

As the characterization grew, however,
many of these traits were smoothed out,
eliminated or combined. Taking his cue
from the great French comic Max
Linder (who graciously denied that he
ad ever taught “Charlot” anything),
Chaplin added the quality of wistfulness.
Jt was the final touch. Sennett offered
his star one-half of his own one-third
interest in Keystone, but Charlie de-
ed. He moved to Essanay Studios in
ting at an incredible $1250
per week. A year later he commanded
10,000 per we nd a bonus of
$150,000 per year from Mutual, becom-
z the highest paid theatrical performer
in the world.

The Little Fellow's subsequent rise to
the highest peaks of artisuy is known to
all It should be remembered, though,
that his first home, Keystone, his foster
father, Mack Sennett, and his fellow
orphan inmates were all vital factors in
the creation.

Surprisingly, it was a woman who set
the wacky tone of the day. Irrepressible
madcap Mabel Normand, who looked
like the standard innocenc-eyed heroine
and behaved like a female Keystone Cop,
was (in Sennett’s words) "our mainstay.”
She taught Chap! his first turns. She
thought up gays for all the other comi
She threw the first pie, in ап ad-lib se-
quence, opening the way for a million
sticky laughs. Once she jumped into a
Take 22 times in order to achieve the
right effect. Working hard, playing hard,
living for the Edendale fun house and its
insane product, she was the very spirit
of comedy.

Her chapter in the history of slapstick
opens with the blazing succession of Key:
e lifters, with Chaplin, Ben
Chester Conklin and Fatty Ar-
buckle, and closes on a tragic note: her
involvement in the William Desmond
‘Taylor murder of the Twenties.

Molly-O, an ambitious feature con-
cocted by Sennett’s gagmen, or scenarists,

stone mort

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on the shelf, ready for release,
when Taylor — а motion-picture director
more for his amorous adv
than for his cinematic
th by person or persons unknown
Mabel and Mary Miles Minter were
among this gentleman's last visitors. Al-
though no accusations were leveled, the

i s sufficient to bring down

ures

alents — was shot

the wrath of the self-appointed guardians
of the nation’s mot Sennett was
aw Moily-O, losing half

a million dollars. Mabel, described by all
who knew her as the kindest, sweetest.
most lovable person in the business —
Mabel, the bright, апу incarnation of
fun — was drummed out of pictures and
propelled toward a hard and early death.

The need for extreme discretion was

pointed up by this incident, but the
clown mask is not so casy to slip off.
Most

of the public relations problem
gged the of the silent com
stemmed from their wholesale zest
ing and the ready acceptance, by
friends, of anything they might
¢ to do. The need to top one’s previ-
ous performance, whether in public or
private, pushes a certain type of actor to
the heights, Conversely it can drag him
to the depths. АП the great film clowns,
with the exception of Harold Lloyd, sul-
fered private tragedy and public abuse.

Surely none suffered more than Roscoe
tty” Arbuckle. He was a big, jolly.
mischievous man who played big, jolly,
mischievous men on the sere The
world loved him. His peers bowed to
him as onc of the greatest comedians of
all time. It is not recorded that he had a
single enemy. Yet onc night's indisac-
tion destroyed him and his image and
his memory. It happened the St. Fran-
cis hotel, in San Francisco. Arbuckle was
hosting another of his well-known open-
house parties. Girls were present, includ-
ing a sturdy Hollywood hopeful named
Rappe. The newspapers de-

five feet, seven inches tall, who weighed
135 pounds . . . about as virtuous as most
of the other untalented young women
who hı ing around Holly-

s, picking up small parts
зу they could.” In the course of the
party the actress suffered а "pelvic dis
turbance.” Within a few hours she was
dead.

The courts tried Arbuckle for man-
slaughter and judged him innocent. The
great world public, howevei not so
lenient. Roscoe's fans condemned him.
No longer was he the funny fat man who
filled their hearts with joy. Now h
an obese, gross, lecherous monster whose
lustful bulk tore the insides out of an
innocent young girl.

It was onc of the blackest, ugliest pages
in show business history. Fatty Arbuckle
was driven out of motion pictur

was

two decades of success and fame, the jolly
clown — mentor to Keaton, innovator of
thousand priceless
deli;
ned to disgrace, obscurity and n
Years later. when the scandal had faded,
Roscoe tricd a comeback. But the mem-
ory of mobs shouting obscenities at him
in the name of reform stifled the big
man’s urge to play the buffoon; and
when we might have been treated once
gain to his art, the clown was dead.
Buster К. Чу was almost as
great. His fans never deserted him, Now,
because of his activities in television, he
is probably the most familiar of the
silent screen comics. Yet he had a 20-ye
long bout with obscurity and desp:
The poker-faced, уса, loose

age and sagging jowls from the poke
faced, basset-eyed, loos four-yea
old who was knocking them dead
1899. The youngster worked into his р
ents’ act by becoming а heckler. Shortly
afterward he joined his father in
nd-tumble robatic
gave great pain to the Society lor the
Prevention of Cruelty to Children, if not
to Buster. So adept at avoiding fractures
did the pair become that the elder Ke:
ton often forgot that his son was not an
oddly shaped missile to be thrown about

rough-
that

at will, On one occasion he actually used
the child as а weapon, hurling him into
the audience at a third-row cutup who
had become obnoxious.

This tender training, plus an inborn
sense of comic effect, supplied The Hu
man Projectile with all the necessary
attributes for slapstick films. When the
family act broke up, he went to work at
the Colony Studios in Brooklyn, owned
and operated by the newly independent
Fatty Arbuckle.

Buster's debut was made in an /
buckle epic called The Butcher Boy.
His fast moment of glory comes as he
enters the county store where most of
the action takes place. Fatty and Al St
John, the proprietors, are engaged
(naturally enough) in throwing bags of
flour at each other. Buster walks acci
dentally into the line of fire. He takes
a bag full in the face. His blank expres
ion following the assault is such а con
trast to the fevered eyeball-rolling and
mouth-twitching of the other comedians
that an extra dimension has be
brought to insanity. Throughout the
film— during which he must remove a
quarter from a full pail of molasses and
endure the bite of a mangy hound —

Keaton maintainshis carved-from-granite
calm. Once established, this deadpan
became his trademark. No one ever man-

e.»

2

q^

“Now, don't get those two butions mixed up.
This one sets off five hundred inter-
continental ballistic missiles, and that one

lights up the White House Chr

таз tree.”

161

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The late James Agee, also belatedly
appreciated, described Keaton’s face as
ranking almost with Lincoln's аз an
сапу American archetype, hauntin:
handsome, almost beautiful.” Once it
was so. Buster's carly movies reveal him
as a sensitive-featured young man, with
many of the same elements of inner
pathos and compassion that distinguished
Chaplin. Like Chaplin, his characteriza-
tions depicted the victim of circum-
stances rather than the gossoon who
violates propriety. Hence there was a
certain nobility and grandeur to his
clowning.

The Deadpan was frequently as funny
and inventive as the Tramp, occasionally
more so. Yet even Keaton’s stanchest
fans will admit that he lacked the great-
ness of Chaplin, if only because of the
агу limitations of the froven-faced
as a chal
throne, it was Buster

acter. Still, if there ever w

lenger to Charli
K

Не was a natural jester but he was
(and is) a serious student of humor,
also. Tension /Growth of tension /Release
of tension was his formula, and it saw
him through some of the funniest movies
ever made, notably The General (тє
cently revived for television). Go West
and The Navigator. He was called a di-
rector, but he didn't direct, He chore
ing role

ographed and danced the lead
in over а hundred screen ballets, any
one of which would intimidate the
Moiseyev Company

The exacrobat scorned the use of
doubles and so suffered more bruises,
abrasions, contusions, black eyes and
fractures (including а broken neck) than
ll the other comics put together. Bus-
ter’s sight
physical contact between man and ob.
ject. In one nwo-recler he dives from
a high board into a swimming pool,
misses the water and crashes through
the tile coping. In One Week he as
sembles а prefabricated house in а com-
pletely hopeless fashion, steps outside
the misplaced door to admire his work —

almost always relied upon

and falls two stories. Yet Keaton. was
capable of subtlety. too. His well-paced,
wellthonghtout pictures were amalg
of the loud and the soft, the wild and
the pensive, the obvious and the subtle.

With the advent of sound, Buster
came under the acgis of MGM and its
youthful production supervisor, Irving
Thalberg. Unwilling to assign the vet
eran comic his own unit for fear other
stars would demand similar dispensation,
Thalberg unwittingly started Keaton on
his long downhill slide. “He thought
he was doing the right thing,” Buster re
calls. "And you couldn't say he was
stingy. I got as many as 22 writers for
every script. But that was the trouble
Everything had to be on paper." The
organization idea, dominant in Holly-
wood today but only beginning then,

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stifled Keaton’s sense of sponu
With "help" from everyone at the studio,
he soon retreated into frustration and
inactivity. Compounded by a matri-
monial disaster, his fortunes declined to
a point where he was happy to accept
work at $100 per week in the studio
where once he had commanded $200,000
per year. Some bits in big films and a
willingness to try the fledgling medium,

V, brought the great Deadpan back to

his admirers, in small but thoroughly
enjoyable doses. He is not the star he
used to be — that would be impossible,
in any case — but neither is he a pathetic
relic. As one of Hollywood's senior citi-
zens, who made the most difficult transi-
tion imaginable without losing either
his hope or his sense of values, Buster
Keaton treasures the plaudits of his fans
and their affectionate memory of thc
“little man with the frozen face who
made them laugh a bit long years ago
when they and I were both young.”
г others there was no transition at
ies" spelled the end of many
g ers and the beginning of the
end of an entire age.

Suddenly there was no more call for
Larry Semon, a direct descendant of
Dan Leno and all the great flour-faced
European clowns; for Harry Langdon,
the bewildered babe-in-thewoods with
the survival instincts of an Apache; for
cross-eyed Ben Turpin; bumbling Andy
Clyde; indestructible Chester Conkli
no call at all for the prancing, dancing
mimes whos

silent frenzics convulsed
the world. The expression of Every-
man's distrust of his environment and
his defiance of fate through the lifted
eyebrows and waggling backsides of
shadow-figures ceased to be. The new
talking toy called for not a new ex-
pression necessarily, but a new method.

Semon, who died the year sound was
fully adapted for the screen, had actually
been in retirement for a number of
years. But if he had tried to find em-
ployment in the profession at which he
acknowledged master, it is cer-
n that he would have failed. The
barrier was understandably oak-strong
at the time, In the embryonic develop-
ment of sound film, dubbing had not
been perfected. Therefore, all scenes
were required to be shot complete with
whatever sound effects were desired in
the finished print. The sound camera,
noisy in itself, was necessarily shrouded
and limited in movement. The sets, ac-

cordingly, were small and totally sealed
against random decibels. So action —
the heart of comedy— was circum-

scribed. And this alone, without the
other limitations brought by sound, was
enough to kill the knockabout, Key-
stone type of movie.

Classic motion-picture slapstick strug-
gled to stay alive. Harold Lloyd fought
the coming revolution with a serics of
silent masterpieces, any one of which

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PLAYBOY

164

should have been adequate to stem the
flood of words. Chaplin delivered his
finest gifts. Keaton, at the peak of his
powers, tossed off one brilliant comedy
after another. Indeed, йош be said
that the threat of extinction spurred
ly practitioners of the art of
mirth to their greatest accompli
ments.

"The vear it died, slapsi
at last truly an art.

h-

k comedy was

Of course, film comedy, in the broad
and unspecialized sense, did not die.
While most of the great mimes vanished,
a new breed of comics sprang up. They
were not clowns in the classic sense. nor
purely cinematic creations, but a num-
ber of them were highly talented and а
few—only а few—managed to be so
funny that it appeared, for a little while,
that а new art was in the making.

The two real geniuses of this transi
tional period came very close to merging

silent and sound techniques, an impo:
sible blend. Sound creates the illusion
of reality: slapstick requires the reality

of illusion. Nonetheless, Stan Laurel
d Oliver Hardy made the attempt,
and in so domg contributed a special,

peculiar and altogether wonderful form
of humor.
The comics were first brought to-

wether by a leg of lamb. Laurel, once
understudy, was directing
silent comedies for Hal Roach when it
happened that Hardy, who pursued a
gastronomical hobby, suffered third-de-
gree burns in the process of cooking a
Tamb and was forced to miss a scheduled
film appearance. Laurel substituted.
Roach liked the bit and suggested that
the two team up in forthcoming produc-
tions The magic of the combination
was at once apparent.

After establishing themselves in the
soundless flickers, the delicate hippo
Hardy and childlike Laurel moved

Ac-

smoothly imo the new medium.
counting for the transition, Laurel
“We had decided we weren't talking
is and of course preferred to
tomime like in our silents So.
as little as possible —only what.
to motivate the things
we were doing. If there was any plot
to be told we generally would have

chiefly for the effects and after a while,
we really liked sound because it em-
phasized the gags and eventually we did
more talking than we had intended.”

Even in their final efforts Laurel and
Hardy depended upon the “kaleidoscope
of visual images" rather than spoken
humor, which ought to have made them
misfits, but didn't. Whoever saw the two
of them struggling with a crated piano
up an impossibly steep stairway; or de-
vouring an invisible dinner in the man-
sion of а madwoman; or strutting along
both, plus a
in the same pair of
trousers — whoever watched Laurel react
to perplexity with his hair-mussing
scratch of the head and baby-wrinkled,
verge-oF-weeping-hyste e, or Hardy
in his ponderous yet graceful attempts
to salvage human dignity from the most
absurd situations — whoever laid eyes on
the colorful, lovable pair work,
ushed with comedy at its finest.
агау, known to his friends alwa
Babe. is gone. Laurel, in poor phy
health but mentally sound, lives in a
nta Monica,
ant to report that,
though he remembers the past fondly
and vividly, he is primarily interested in
the future.

A man who claimed to h
without a future was W. C. Fields, one
of the funniest and most enigmatic fig-
ures in motion-picture history. He made
his debut as the Ringmaster in Tillie's
Punctured Romance but, paradoxically

“Mona! You thought of everything!”

— for he was at heart a mime—he did
not achieve renown until after the ad-
vent of sound. Although people remem-
ber him best for his sly, insouciant
minorkey carny barker's drawl, his finest
moments relied not upon sound but
ght. He lacked Sennetr's innocence — in
t. frequently he appeared to be paro-
dying the style of his mentor — still, he
put the Keystone touch in most of 1
wild extravaganzas, And they were wild.
The bulb-nosed misanthrope simply
progressed by a nebulous story line from
one improbable situation to the next,
rding with Olympian contempt
ul plotting and attempted log
petitive products. His people and
their activities: the inventor of a pmc-
tureproof tire who flattens all the cas
ings on a police car by gunfire, under
i ion it is his test vehicle; the
me hunter who is terrified by
ad creature and runs from
pair of tame lions; the pool shark who
is forced to play with a corkscrewlike cue
— these and other grotesque characteriza-
tions, presumably disparate. all blending
nto опе dumpy, suspicious, ill-tempered,
dishonest, cowardly and somehow mag-
nificent fool. No one ever claimed that
iekls was lovable. But no witness of
his almost nightmarish humor could
deny that he was a great comic.
Equally great, and very definitely out-
growths of the sound period. were three
brothers who were born with the gift
of madness and a sense that the world
was a laugh: the brothers Marx. More
than merely a team of comics, Groucho,
with his suggestive, reductio ad absurdum.
eyebrows, 1 idiot bent-kneed, slump-
shouldered walk and his habit of saying
whatever happened to be on his mind.
Harpo, the nike angel-devil, and
their foil, Chico, combined three sep
е schools of comedy into a spicy,
meaty, sometimes unidentifiable porridge
remembered well by all who love film
almost no sweetness
They were not quaint
x nor appealing. Often they
were obnoxious. But always the

humor. There wa
to the brothe:

nor charmi

were

funny: and if there was a certain desper-

ation to their lun.
only becaus stined to be
the last of the great destroyers, the Tast
recognizable link to old-time slapst

After the

e. There were comics and funny
to be sure, but they were a
adition, following no pat-
tern and achieving little art. The Ritz
Brothers, Joe Penner, Hugh Herbert,
Leon Eroll, Joc E. Brown, Eddie
Cantor, Olsen and Johnson, and others,
frequently hit high standards: but
somehow they all seemed out of con-
text. Their humor gradually grew tame,
controlled, almost polite. And in time
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The

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Bob Hope, et al., w
ng. It was the feeble twitch of a dying
nt.

Now we have exactly two clowns, and.
they are lost, out of time, out of step,
and aging. Danny Kaye, an artful ex-
hibitionist, be; well but, like Keaton,
was soon crushed by the Hollywood
machinery. The gigantic, Technicolor,
wide-screen bushel baskets under which
he is obliged to hide the light of his

re uniformly zesless and unre:
ng. Red Skelton is with us, but
irit, which is just as well. The
able Red never was meant to
films. Stepping back centuries
aldi and the white-faced jesters,
ists аз an anachronism and a re-
minder, in semihuman form, of a past
art.

‘There are no others. Slapstick is
from the American screen, brutally пи
dered by sound, growing sophistication
and a wonderful, but undistinguished,
toy called the a ed cartoon. OF this
subart Gene Fowler commented: “It
preserved and accentuated a thousand-
fold all the illusions of slapstick. The
pen was mighuer than the bed slat. By
the reise of a few thousand strokes
of the cartoonist’s quill, a whole animal
kingdom of stars came into being and
had immortal existence . . .”

Mickey Mouse, Donald Duck, Bugs
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amental, suffered no stains of public
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(continued from page 82)
assistant producer for a 30-minute show,
а Western titled The Drifter. Hy was the
producer; he had created the main cl
acter and established the format. Tha
past September John had lunch with a
literary agent and as they were parting
the agent had said almost apologetically,
"Say, I've got a writer who can really
write. I don't know if he can do any-
thing for you. But. [ do know he needs
the dough.”

“Send him
talk to him!

The next afternoon John's secretary.
said Mark Sawtelle was outside, Sawtelle
was small, Southern and unborn-looking;
he had on an ancient green tweed jacket
and worn-out sncakers— his white eye-
lashes were thick and gummy and he had
a sinus condition.

“You've эсеп the show?" John said.

Sawtelle took a filthy ra
No.”

ound,” John said. “ГЇЇ

g from his

pocket and said, as he blew his
nose.

Then ГЇЇ give you some scripts.” John
opened a desk drawer and began shoving
mimeographed, stapled-together

across the desk. He leaned back in his

chair and stared out the window at
lower Manhattan. It was almost five
o'clock and a heavy rain was lalling.

“The format is fairly simple. The Drifter
is a cowpoke who is alw:
He never has
a horse, a saddle, a blanke

ys between jobs.
АП he has is
and a little

y mone

grub. And his gun, of course, but he

never kills anyone with it. His rope is
the weapon, or tool, which he uses to
capture the antagonist and tum him
over to the marshal. But the most im
portant thing about the Drifter is that
he is always headed for a new job.

better job. He believes that the grass on
the other side of the hill is greener and
the show proves it is, in a very special
way.” John tapped his pencil on the
desk. “Just as he is about to strike it rich
we put him in conflict with a person or
group — families are pecially if
the children are sick — who want exactly
what he wants but who could never win
in a suuggle against him. For instance,
in one of our most successful shows the
Drifter was dying of thirst when he
found а water hole. It was а small water
hole, barely enough to save his life, But
lying beside it was a mother collie with
pies. She could feed them only if
she had water. She had crawled to within
a foot of the water hole and collapsed
Both the mother collie and the Drifter
had to have that water. So what did the
Drifter do?"

“Drank the water, shot the dogs, then
ate——""

"No. no. He picked her up in his
arms. He carried her to the water hole.
She was too weak to drink. He filled his

od, e:

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168

own mouth with water — but he didn't
drink any of it, he spat it into the mouth
of the mother collie. And in that way
and in only that way did he get his rc-
ward. A dog's love and affection, th
money can't buy." John smiled. “Th
you'd like to try onc for u:

“Well, PH uy,” Sawtelle
there was no hope in his voic
a deep bre:
to Hurley's and have a beer?

John never drank with writers, it was
no help in getting the kind of scripts he
needed. But it was raining and he had
nowhere to go except his apartment. He
went to Hurley's.
awtelle drank three m
two-three, and sai
party in the Village

John knew Sawtelle was getting tight.
He thought it might be easier to go to
the party and let someone else take care
of Sawtelle, if it came to that. They took
а cab down to Bleecker Street
ment was full of people and the gin and
vermouth and the ice were already gone.
Then he saw the girl.

She was sitting in a chair in the corner
of the room, her fect tucked under her.
She had the coolest face that John had
ever seen. Then she suddenly turned
and looked directly at him. He felt
something like a shock.

but
He took
h. "Why don't we go down

said,

tinis, one-
to go to a

“Sawtelle, who is that girl
"hat bitch? Don't have anything to
do with her. You should see some of the
things she sleeps with

John thought Sawtelle was drunk and
i i "Oh, come on. In-

Sawtelle took John across the room,
nd leered.
couple of

stopped in front of the gi

"Hear you moved in with

dykes and their great Dane.
"Screw you," the girl said distinctly.
Sawtelle giggled and walked away.
“I'm sorry," John said. "Hc didn't tell

me your name,

ie Mulholland.

John sat on the edge of the coifec

might be literar

to get Mark to do a script for the s
You know his work?”
The girl looked at him briefly, then
glanced away. “That fag,"
“Oh, is he?” John
didn't think —
"Oh, God!” the gi
He's one of my oldest fr
John had to smile. She w
square.
ner?
The girl glanced at hi
amused. "I won't sleep with you,"
said.

1, surprised, “1

"Gee, Marshal, he must have been
one of the good guys!”

Other girls, at other times. could have
used that gambit and John would have
reacted. differently — with aion or
even boredom. But she made him smile
“Just dinner, then?
she said. "When I'm ready to
leave. I'm not ready to leave yet.”
It was П o'clock when they left the
partment. It raining. She tied a
scarf around her hair and, as he held an
umbrella over her, he put his arm
around her shoulders. They could not
get a cab, so they walked to a restaurant
south of the Square and ate clams and
lasagne and drank white chianti. She
told him she wrote a column for a
zine: cosmetics. She wasn't

azines.
"Listen," she said abruptly. "Would
you like to come to dinner Saturday
night? One of my oldest friends hasn't
n married long. Nobody thinks itll

It was unexpected and, u
he felt Hatered. “Га di
much."
John Andrew had been invited for
dinner and so Saturday night he dressed
s he would for dinner in Greenwich or
Old Westbur suit, sober tie, black
shoes, The young fathers he had once
pushed baby carriages with on Saturdays
n Washington Square were older, and
their wives were older and they had
climbed higher toward the rich pr
center of the Luce spiderweb. АП of
them had a place in the country, all of
Damn
shame, nice guy 1 . And on week:
ends at Westport and at Hastings John
Andrew had been introduced to women
d unfortunately died,
nds had for some obviously
insane reason left them, to women who
were brilliantly successful and at last
getting aro John
drew had been “thrown together" quite
a lot.

(Aggie Mulholland speaks here: Oh,
God! How square!)
Saturday night Aggie had on blue
jeans, а femininelooking blouse, and
she wore no shoes; her feet, as all bare
feet in New York apartments become,
were black on the bottom. Sylvia, whose

папсу was beginning to show, wore

id а Ralph had on
g wood all day
y , they had
Not like the shore. You could go
year round, you know? Fortunately, they
left early.

John and Aggie sat on th
had a goodnizht beer.

"Listen, there's something I want to
tell you. E know it's going to sound kind
of out, but I wanted. to tell you.” He
paused, he wanted to get the words ex-
спу right. “A long time ago, about the

xpectedly,
e that

very

1 to martiag

in Pen

à place

sofa and

time I stopped being analyzed, shortly
before the Civil War, I had a dream.
І was standing at the foot of a staircase
with a wooden banister and a girl was
sliding down it. She , oh .. . about
18 or 20. She reminded me something of
my daughter and a little of Joan Loring.
Did you see her in Come Back, Little
Sheba? Anyway, she was dressed in a
very old-fashioned dress and when she
slid down the banister I told her not
to, she might fall. She just laughed at
me, then slowly flew around the room,
like Peter Pan. My analyst said ever
body's androgynous. Everybody's got
indrogyne, and that's what makes а re-
lationship between a man and a woman
possible. A man has an androgyne and
he expresses it by having a relationship
with a woman who's like that. Well,
you're more like her than апу

Aggie looked at her hand:
you're sentimental.”

“Well, 1 don’t know. I do know I have
sentiments.”

‘ou don’t even know me. You don’t
know anything about me. I don’t think
I'm capable of a relationship like that"

He put his hand on her shoulder, on
her neck. He thought she was beautiful,
that the soft line of her jaw was lovely.
He loved the rising, falling inflections
of her voice. He thought the way she
walked with her knees slightly bent was
the sexiestlooking thing he had ever
seen. It amused him when she talked
dirty; he knew she did not have the
emotions that make dirty words dirty
Well, an objective observer might have
said her face was a trifle too long, her
upper lip a bit thin; that she slumped
and did not stand erect (in her own
words she'd always had a “skinny little
ass”); and that she was both obscene and
profane in her speech.

But John loved her; and he told her
all about it.

Oh, God! How square!

On John's 31st birthday Aggie took
him to dinner, to celebrate. That made
him feel good — no one remembered his
birthday, except his parents and his
daughter who had obviously been re
minded by her mother.

They met in the bar at the Brittany,
they were late and had to wait for a
table. Standing at the bar they had sev-
ral drinks. When they sat down they
had just one more, before the snails.
They drank Charmant with frogs’ legs
Provençal and had stingers with the cof.
fee. When they went outside to get a
cab it was cold and John put his arm
around her; riding downtown she leaned
against him, sleepy with food and drink.
The cab stopped and she said,
might as well come up for a beer.

He followed her up the stairs, waited
as she took a key from her handbag and

“John,

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unlocked the door. She dropped her coat
on the sofa and suddenly yawned. John
put his arms around her. She leaned
against him, relaxed. He put his hand
under her chin and kissed her. kissed
her mouth and her ear and neck.

“That beautiful face," he said.

She smiled, then yawned again, "FH
you a bee
No. I'll get them.”

He went to the kitchen and took two
cans of beer from the refrigerator. Be-
fore he opened the cans he wiped the
tops carefully with a paper towel: that
was the way she did it. When he went
back to the living room she was not
there,

He heard the sound of water running
in the bathroom. Instantly he was ale:
Well, by God, he thought. Of course, it
was his birthday, but .

She came out of the bathroom wear-
ing a long-sleeved, high-necked flannel
gown. He saw her only briefly
walked from the bathroom, then passed
from his line of vision on the other side
of the bedroom door. The girl in the
dream! She was dressed like the girl in
the dream! He remembered. It hadn't
been ап old-fashioned dress. It had been
1 nightgown! He heard the bed sigh.
hn?”

she

He walked to the bedroom door, a can
of beer in cach hand. “Want a beer

‘Oh. no. I've had too much to drink
already.”

He sat beside her and put the cans of
beer on a bedside table: he took her as
arefully in his arms as a beginning
golfer gripping a club. He kissed her
mouth, the lobe of her beautiful ear,
her neck — her freshly scrubbed neck.
He rubbed his face across the solt flan-
nel of her nightgown where her breasts
lay.

"Ag, I love you,” he said. He was
choked.

She did not push him away. nor move.
But something changed, very suddenly.

"Listen, I didn't mean — I was sleepy,
that's all. I've got to go to sleep, John."

What he had thought had been very
far from the truth. The beautiful soft
piaure that had been in his brain and
heart shattered; fragments lay on the
floor bleeding, in agony, calling to him;
ish like

save us, save us, don't let us pi
this!
I'm going right to sleep, John."

After a second he said, “Well, I'll just
finish this beer.”

The blanket was pulled up to her
chin and there was no make-up on her
lace. She looked like a clean litle girl
telling her father goodnight. Goodnight!
Goodnight! See you in the morning!

"Listen, John, I don't think I'm a
very good girl for you, I mean, I can't
sleep with you. It isn't that I don't like
you or anything like that, or that I

Уке ком iN Russi

PLAYBOY

172

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wouldn't
But, 1 сап

Seconds later she was asleep, breath-
ing lightly. He turned out the lights and
went home.

The next day Sawtelle walked into
John’s office. It was the end of the
the end of the ccn, and John's head
hurt He got up from his desk and
closed the office door.

Sawtelle leered. “Togetherness?

“I want to ask you something.”
was embarrassed. “If you don't w;
answer, OK. It won't make any diffcr-
ence as far as money is concerned. You
can still write for the show."

"Sure, I'm queer" Sawtelle said.
"Thought you knew. What's the matter,
FBI been around?"

“Be serious, This is

njoy it 1 don't mean that.

John

nportant, It’s

Sawtelle cocked his head.

"Do you know if she's . . . well, if
she's got anybody:

"You mean sleeping with.”

"Well somebody she's interested
enough in, although maybe she hasn't
got around to it yet."

Well. it's not. you, obviously."
telle lighted a cigarette, blew smoke out

Saw-

his nose. “I don't know. I never really
understood that girl. We grow up to-
gether in this little old Southern-fried

town, she was just another little old
Southern-fried girl. Of course, her
mother and father hated each other's
guts, but so what? My God, my old man
shot himself, She went to college in Con-
necticut. I didn't even know she was in
New York until one night I ran into her
in the White Horse with a beat poet
and some colored fags who were hi
She was with them but she wasn't pare
of it, you know? She's never part of any-
thing, really, always on outside,
staring. Listen, you ever read The Call
Gil:

"The call girl?

“Now, thats not what I mean. But
you notice the way Ag dresses some-
times? She wears blue jeans —and they
are men's work pants—and a girl's
blouse. Well, in this book one of the
whores did that and the good doctor
uid it was due to her indecision about
her role in Ше, whether she wanted to

the

be masculine or feminine, aggressive or
passiv
John shook his head. “Ар а very

positive person, in her
opinions."

"Hell, I don't know. I'm pretty sure
she had a fairly miserable affair once,
though. I'm pretty sure I know the guy.
I think all she got out of it was an abor-
tion. І wouldn't be surprised."

John pinched the bridge of his nose
with his thumb and forefinger; he was
very tired.

"Oh, 1 fell in love once,"

very positive

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е ¢ CENSORSHIP 2 Q
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can't see in others? Does censor-
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Read the penetrating answers—in
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JENN ia
stra roam.
бим Mond

i, art

said. “Indeedy-do, ! did." His voice was

quict. 71 in the Army of the United
States of America, friends, and I fell. So
they shipped me out of that celestial
city — Open Thighs, Indiana — and sent
me far away to Mookoo Chow Gow-
yoke, Cantonese style, And 1 cracked.
You've heard about rotten fruit, haven't
you? My brain case split open in the
heat of the tropical sun. That's how 1
got out. Psycho." He smiled. "I
back once, back to Open Thighs. Shi

tholic truck drive
s about two ax handles broad in the
er, But she'd kept my letters. She'll
probably sell them for a mint some
— alter I'm dead

John was staring at him.

t is the most miserable, the most
useless feeling in the world. The gre
est waster of human energy and emot
1 know, To fall in love is to destroy love.
And, remember, you heard it here first,
Papa-san, Someday 1
be embedded in the very chair wh
my bony

went
4
and

ied a

a bronze plaque w

rse now resi

‚ Conseque

tly,
L can only recommend to you the peace
of Hurley's, the solace of the dry mar-
tini."

Instead John went home. He sat with

a pile of scripts in his lap and a pencil
is hand, but her image floated b.

telling him he was sq
And, Jesus, he felt square.

For a while John did not see Aggie
and he found a certain amount—and
kind — of peace. He began accepting
dinner invitations from old friends
again, in Pleasantville, over in Rock-
land County. They asked him what the
hell he'd. bes "They introduced
him to unattached females they had
dredged up from the bottom of the yo-
ho-ho. On urd: John ed with
his daughter in Central Park: they fed
squirrels and they fed elephants, too.
He sat with her in the Palm Court and
watched her point to the pastries she
preferred. She five years old and
ппу into the powder room
cret mission, hers alone. She

n doi

ate éda

1 pressed a napkin to her
lips to remove chocolate. John drank
martinis and watched and thought: I
love you. I love you.

Зоте on. doll Let's go over to
Schwarz’ and case the joint. Let's go
down to Rosemarie de Paris and lay in
i fresh supply.

“OK,” she said. "But let's skip."

John skipped with his daughter down
the steps of the Plaza ss Fifth
Avenue and into Schwarz’.
the only way to travel.

Thanksgiving day John was in bed
with the flu, а pitcher of water, aspirin
and Kleenex. Most of the day he watched
the flickering image on the picture tube
At five o'clock he went downstairs and
put a kettle on the stove and made a

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PLAYBOY

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hot toddy. It cleared his head. Then the
telephone rang.

"Christ sake, why didn't you fell me
you were in town?" Sawtelle said. “I
thought you and Hyd taken those
whores down to Miami."

“I couldn't go. I came down with the
flu.”

Well, Christ sake, can I do anything?
Come over and give you an enema? Hold
your head while you puke?”

hanks, Mark. I'm better now."

"Well, let's get drunk, then. Come on
over."

Sawtelle had become successful and
had moved from the cold-water flat on
the lower East side. He lived in a new
building in the Village with Danish
tal, $5000 worth of hi-fi, and a huge

c

bar.

John rang and Sawtelle opened the
door. “Man, you're in time. The creeps
just came down from Harlem with the
pot.

John stepped inside and saw Aggie.
She was sitting on the floor with a glass
beside her, leaning against the wall, lis
tening to a Presley record. She had on a
big bulky sweater and she had taken off
her shoes.

John made himself speak to everyone
else in the room before he finally sat
down on the floor beside her.

“How are you?" she said.

"I've got the flu."

"Oh, I'm sorry."

He took her hand and held it: she
made him tremble, but he didn't care if
she noticed. She's my androgyne, he was
thinking, and it's only right that we sleep
together —she's just being a goddamn
recalcitrant female bitch about it, but
somehow, some way, by God, 1 am go-
ing to seduce her.

When Aggic was ready to leave, John
took her home.

“I'm sorry I can't ask you in, John.
I've got a friend staying with me. Rosa.
She’s just back from Europe and she’s
sleeping on the sofa. 1 told you about
her.

He frowned; he did not remember.

“Oh, she writes those dirty books.
Olympus Editions, You remember the
one I gave you? She's lived in Europe.

“Oh, yes.” The book he had looked at
had been about two girls who had bred
cats: a third gir] had been involved

“John ... some of us are going to
Sylvia and Ralph's. In Pennsylvania?
Would you like to drive out Sunday?”

“Td like that very much," he said, re-
peated his goodnight, and walked firmly
to Sixth Avenue, to a cab, home, a firm
man with a firm purpose: Sunday he
would take her to bed.

Sunday was an unscasonable day, a
warm day. The sun shone on the bare
tree limbs and dry fields of New Jersey
the assistant producer of The Drifter

s

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headed west, shifting gears in accordance
with the laws of his tachometer and
blowing his nose on Kleenex. He wa
prepared to spend a day in the countr
as а guest. In his picnic hamper was
cooked ham, two fifths of Beefeater gin,
a bottle of Noilly Prat, a carton of cigar-
etes. Sylvia and Ralph's house was old
and it could have been handsome, but
Sylvia and Ralph were casual to the
point of sloth. The paint had peeled and
the exposed siding had weathered silver
gray. The great front door sagged open,
weak in the hinges.

John stopped the J
body home?

No.

He carried the picnic h
house. Seyeral damp-looking logs hissed
at him from the ficldstone fireplace. The
house not only smelled of wood smoke,
but of kerosene and wet. He walked out-
side and surveyed the barn — in ruins, of
course —and the weed-grown fields.
There was no one in sight, not even а
cow. In the far distance a red kite was
pasted against a thin blue sky-

A girl walked slowly around the barn.
Her lipstick was pale, her eyes dark and
luminous, and her hair looked as if it
had been arranged by the wind. She wa
wearing a brilliant red sweater, the top
four buttons were unfastened. When she
saw John she smiled inunediatel
came toward him bouncing cnerg
and holding out her hand.

“You are John Andrew, are you not?
OF course, you must be. I am Ro
Santulli.” She spoke with a s
she gave him the no-nonsens
of the European woman.

My God, what breasts, John thought.
“You're Rosa?”

ОГ course. It says it o
certificate. Do you demand |
She was smiling.

And she had written that book — th
y. dirty book. "You didn't write tha
John said.

She chuckled. "Did I not? Listen, I
will tell you. 1 went to the office of the
publisher and he said to me, "Rosa, we
need а book about two girls who are in
love with the same girl, and so forth.”
And so I went home and wrote it exactly
he said, putting in much so forth, and
he paid me well.”

That v ctly the way it was done
in television; a format was established, a
writer followed it, ewarded.
with adequate amounts of bread. But not
the dirty-book business! John had always
thought that was inspired.

"Where is everybody?" he asked.

“Th flying a kite. Do you wish
me to take you?"

Га rather have a drink,” John said.

"They went inside and hé made mar-
tinis

It is the only thing I like about
America, the martini.

Hello? Any-

mper into the

di

сха

and was

wrong with America:

“Oh, there is nothing wrong with il
It is me, myself, I cannot express it
accurately. Your Cadillacs, for instance,
are wonderful, but . . ." She suddenly
grinned. "Let us say I like it better on
the back of a Lambretta.”

John realized he was looking down
the front of her sweater: he knew he
shouldn't. After all, she was one of Ag-
gie's oldest friends. "How long have you
lived there?” he asked. “I mean, Ag said
she went to school with you ——*

“Oh, I will explain. My father came

om Italy and married my mother. Her
father had come from Italy, too, but she
ined Gan Raga Reva M dla you
think happened? They had six babies
and got into a great big fight to end all
their fights, which it did. She took the
children and went back to Italy, he
stayed here and became . . . well, not
wealthy, but quite well off. He would
only send me to a university if I went to
n American one. He believed in Amer-
ican education.

“Then you went back to Europe to
live?”

"Yes. 1 return only because of the

death of my fathei

“Oh, I'm sorry,” John
stung.
"Please," she said, shaking her he;

“There were few moi s beside
grave, my friend. He had lived all hi
life like some animal, with much batred.
And what is the purpose of а man's life,
eh? To love a woman, is it not? So he
left everything to one of his universities.
One dollar each to his wife and children.
No, it was not right. And my mother
so poor. ] will not tell you, but to sce
the way she lives would make you sick, T
think." After a moment she added, “And
I am quite poor, of course, but I do not
mind.

"Listen, you come in and see me,"
John said. "Will you do that? We can
work out something.”

She looked at him, and laughed. Then
she suddenly reached out and took his
face between her h "You arc d,
did you know that? All men are not
kind. You would not believe some things
T could tell you. But you are kind, you
are nice and well-mannered.

She leaned forward and kissed him;
immediately she got to her feet and

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175

PLAYBOY

176

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alked to the window.

Jobn walked acros the room, and
glanced down the front of her sweater: it
made him feel like a real sonofabitch —
after all, she had just told him about her
father’s dying. “Rosa, really, is therc any-
thing 1 can do, to help уои?"
he smiled, There was atlection in her
eyes. "You have done it already. But
since you are vous, so thoughtful
of others, the Make me another
martini,"

When Sylvia and Ralph, Aggie, a
blond young man named Jimmie and a
tall New England girl, Dorothy, c ;
cverything changed. The peacefulness of
the late afternoon was gone. Ag picked
up a bottle of Beefeater gin and said,
“Ob, God!" but she did not add Hi
square!; she had a drink. Ralph said it
was damn thoughtful by Christ, and
scratched.

"How was the kite-flying?”

so gen

y

ame

John asked.

"Not enough tail" Ralph said, then
winked. “Not enough tail, boy. There
never is."

Everyone laughed.

“The hell there isn’t,” Sylvia said, and

put a hand on her placid, swollen belly

ss fell
argu-

Peace was gone
the social unpleasantry of five
mentative halfdrunks all trying to cook
at once began. The potatoes Ralph had
placed among the coals— only way, b
God — were burned on the outside,
in the center. ‘The steak was cool, the
ad limp.

“Well, it's quite a drive back,” John
stid as soon as he felt he decently could.
"Sunday-night traffic

No one spoke. Except for Коза who
was properly in a chair, they all lay in
indolent attitudes before the fire.

"What do you think?” John asked
one who would answer.

“Go ahead, John, if you have to
Aggie said; she was obviously prepared
to spend the rest of her life on the
stone hearth.

“Well, Га bette

4

John said, trying to
sound pleasmt. "Lots of work tomor-
row." Then he added, "Certainly been
c" Still he did not stand up and
leave: he was waitin;
"May 1 ride back with you, John?"
Rosa said.

That had not been what he had been
ng for; he had been waiting for
Aggie to ask that, (How the hell could
he seduce her unless he was alone with
her? That was basic) And even though
he knew Rosa was asking him out of
Kindness, so that he would not have to
drive back alone, he was angry with her

perhaps if she had not spoken А
might have.

Driving into the city John and Rosa
did not talk. Once he asked her if she
wanted to stop for coffee; she shook her

n

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head no. There was no place to park on
12th Street. He had to stop to let her
out, blocking traffic.

Would you come in?” Rosa asked.
"No thanks, I'm still trying to kick
this cold.”

Tt became much, much worse than he
could have imagined. Aggie flatly rc-
fused to go to his house, and if he picked
her up at her apartment it was impos-
sible not to ask Rosa to dinner, too. If
he met Aggie uptown, then Rosa was
at the apartment when he took Aggie
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girl cannot be separated from her girl-
friend, if she docs not wish to be, except
by the usc of violence and pl
Society frowns upon
cal force, and society can strip you of
honor and privilege.

John liked Rosa very much, He would
have liked to со!
friends, But all the time? Goddamn, man.
He got to the point where he didn’t care
how big her breasts were, or if he ever
looked down the front of her sweater

gain.

Jolin got out of the shower. He put on
a sweater and gray flannels and had an-
other Scotch. Then he opened a can of
chicken soup and drank some milk and
had an aspirin. It was Christmas Eve. He
picked up the telephone and called
mother and father long distance to say
Merry Christmas. It was six o'clock. John
made a pot of coffee and picked up a copy
of TV Guide. Then the telephone rang.

“John? This is Rosa. Would you care
to have dinner with me this evening?”

He hesitated; he did not want to go
out. He wanted to lie far back in his cave
and listen to the winds howl, “Well,
what time?”

“When you wish. Come now, or come
later

He put on a shirt and a tie, a jacket.
He рш a bottle of wine and a bottle of
gin in a paper and took them with
him. At the florist's on the corner of
Lexington he stopped and bought a
dozen roses.

"Merry Christmas," he said to Rosa,
as he handed her the flowers.

“Oh? So it is. Thank you very much.
Have off your coat. I will put these
in water."
ggie's ghost lay about the room, a
low fog; he walked knee-deep in it and
not without cflort. The scent she uscd
was in the air, in tiny wisps; he felt he
was drowning,

“Make some martinis, John, ch?”
as her kitchen with a dead avocado
plant in a clay pot on the table — it had
grown leggy and she had murdered it
in cold blood by depriving it of water.
And her refrigerator with her beat-up
ice trays, her bottle of vermouth, her

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PLAYBOY

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s pitcher and long-handled spoon.

John and Rosa sat across from cach
other at a drop-leaf table in the living
room, looking down at а Greenwich
Village Christmas Eve street

"E never celebrate holidays" Rosa
said. “They are simply days to me, like
other days. Actually, | hate them a little.
That is because 1 have no family. I
am alone.
You were married, weren't you
Twice. I was munied twice.” She
laughed, then looked at the martini
s. "They were both quite sick.
Who were they
No one you would know, I am sure.
The first was а poct, quite well thought
of at one time. The second. I am afraid,
was merely sick.” She smiled. “Whom
did you marry

gl

“A girl" John said.
Rosa laughed. “I did not expect that
in your case it would be a man, my

friend. Not you

John stared at her
me

She was still chuckling. “Oh, you don't
know, do you? 1 did not think you did,
and that is not so odd either. Well, I
cannot tell you. Let us have another of
these, shall we

Back into the kitchen, Looking at the
blue enameled saucepan with tiny blue
stars on it. Her little saucep:
You are very quiet,” Rosa said.
he said, and
smiled at her. "It's no longer an accom-
plishment to get married. Anybody can
get married. Perhaps a long time ago —
well, say the turn of the century, it was
an accomplishment to get married, in a

al sense. But everything's so personal
пом. everybody's such an individual. It
doesn’t show, though. I mean, we're indi-
viduals but we hide ge itself
doesn’t mean anything. People are much
more concerned about getting divorced,
actually, Did you ever have anyone come
to you and say should 1 get divorced?"
“It is perhaps the age bracket you

are i

He nodded. “Perhaps. But, what I was
trying to say is, there's one basic relation-
ship, one important relationship
everything else is secondary." He

"What do you

Vell, I was thinking,”

soc

dren are fine, But the basic relationship
is between а man and a woman. Every-
thing else is seconda

Rost was smiling at him. She stood
up, suddenly squeczed him and kissed
him. “You are very sweet, I will cook."
ate

wine was pleasant and he was holding
the boule in his hand, reading the label,
when Rosa brought him brandy and
coffee. "John, would you care to watch
an old moving picture on television? I
love the old moving pictures.”

The television set was in the bedroom,
on a chest of drawers. Rosa turned it on.

“Oh, my God. it is William Powell. I
adore William Powel

She lay across the bed on her stomach,
staring at the television set; she was
entranced. John sat beside her and stared
at her buttocks as he finished the brandy
and colle; not only had
breasts, she had nice buttocks, too. He
lay back on the bed and looked at the
ceiling. He had begun to think, to im-
agine how it might be.

"Want some whiskey and sod
asked politely.

"Perhaps а small one," Rosa said. “It
is not good for my complexion if 1 drink
too much."

When he returned from the kitchen
he lay across the bed beside Rosa, That
way they could put their glasses on the
floor, drink from them, and watch tele-
Vision. She put her arm across his shoul-
ders, then her hand on the back of his
neck. He felt sleepy and comfortable
and ready.

He made himself one more drink and
walked back to the bedroom. Rost had
turned off the television set. She wa
lying face down on the bed. He lay
beside her and put his arm around her
and kissed the back of her neck. She did
not sir. Oh, hell, she's Aggic’s best
friend, she probably doesn't know what
10 say to me, he thought.

Alter moment he picked up his
Setting late.”

Oh. I did not think. You will be able
to get home? Oh — you could stay her
You could sleep on the sofa.

I'd better go home."

She took his coat from
helped him into it.

“Thanks, Rosa,” he said.

I am very glad you enjoyed it.

Oh, the hell with it, he thought. He
put his arms around her and kissed
her, hard. She said, “Oh!” with her eyes
closed and dug her fingers into his
He kept kissing her, very hard.

let's sleep together.

She pushed him away, shaking her
head. "No, I do not take men from other
women, It would not be a good idea.”

He took a deep breath and let it out:
he nodded several times. “Yes, you're
right. It wouldn't be. I'd only make
things more confused.” He glanced cas

she lovely

he

glass.

the closet,

ually down the front of her dress. “But
it’s a goddamn shame."
“Goodnight, my dear," she said. “Try

to sleep.

Christmas afternoon John visited his
daughter. The living room of the apart-
ment was strewn with the evidence of
orgy—giit wrappings, empty Lord &
Taylor boxes, toys, clothes and candy,
ashed Christmas wee decorations,
When John arrived the dog had made a
ness beneath the tree and it was being
cleaned up.

John’s daughter cooked for him on the

some kind of nut?!”

“What are you, anyway.

179

PLAYBOY

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. “Where'd you get the
‘father’ bit? No, I have to go now."
"Oh, you're always going. Can't you

No. Your mother has people coming."

"Yes" she said resignedly, and looked
back at the boncs of a fifth Christ
scattered on the floor. She would never
have a fifth Chri again, nor a fifth
she was growing old, old. She
I might as well watch television,

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She walked with him to the elevator.
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John went downstairs in the elevator.
The doorman smiled and said, “Merry
Christm

“Merry Christmas,” John вай

At home he took off the suit he had
been wearing and pair of

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1 pile of scripts.
Shortly before six o'clock the phone
rang.

‘John, this is Rost. Would you care
to hear some music? I have tickets, given
jend who is singing.”

1, Rosa. Thanks very much, I've
è оГ scripts to wade through.

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ment in her voice. "I am so sorry you
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Crazy, man, crazy! This
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simply seems to be no one in town who
Cannot yon go? I do not want to
ket.
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id not have to read the scripts
15 now. Where is this place?
Perhaps Га better meet you.”
John did nor really enjoy Gregorian
chants. The audience was small but dedi

а long week-end. BUT IT
REALLY WORKS. Attach

cated. the auditorium large and drafty.
Rosa listened, rapt. John tried to keep
from shifting in his seat. When it wa
over he lighted a cigarette while they
were still in the auditorium, holding it
cupped in his hand.
"Did you enjoy it, John?”
"Very much," he said, polite]
She laughed. “You did not enjoy it at

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all, 1 know you did not. What would
you like to do now? Oh, I know. 1 am
very hungry. Are you hungry, too, by any
chance? We will go downtown and I will
cook you scrambled eggs.

It was after they had climbed the stairs
to the apartment, taken off their coats,
and he was standing in the kitchen with
a glass in his hand that he suddenly real-
going to happen: Rosa
nged her mind. He knew she
had; it was in every movement she made,
going [rom refrigerator to stove to sink:
in every gesture, the way she looked at
him, everything.

John the scrambled. eggs:
talked, but he had no idea what she
She went into the kitchen for coff
when she came back he took her wrist in
his hand — it was a very thin wrist. sur-
prisingly — and pulled her into his lap:
their heads were almost on a level, hers
slightly above his. He kissed her. It was
like holding a fluttering bird in his hand
- . . the soft hurried erratic beating of
feathered wings. She said. "Oh. my dear.
Oh, John. Оһ:

They walked with their arms around
each other into the bedroom and sat on
the edge of the bed. Her dress fastened
with a row of little cloth-covered buttons
at the back of the neck.

o, I feel too shy for that," she said
softly. "You get into bed first. I will go
into the bathroom.”

John took off his clothes and put them
on the back of a chair. He closed the
door to the living room. Rosa came out
of the bathroom; it was black in the bed-

Rosa

room. "Oh?" she said softly. "A little
light?" She opened the door to the living

room a trifle, A wedge of light entered
the room. She had on a housecoat. He
ched her walk to the bed. She turned
her back to him, took off the housecoat.
and very quickly slid under the blanket
They found each other. She
ng, "Oh. yes. I have wanted it,

beside him

was s
too.”

When he finally pulled away from her
he lay beside her looking at her eyes
looking back at him. He thought, my
God.

She reached out to hold him. “You
will not go very far from me, you will
not stay away very long.”

“You changed your mind.”

“Oh, Lam going . T will never be
back. No one will ever know about this.
It is an idyl, something perfect. Docs not
cvery human being wish for such an
idyllic time, which he can at least a
ways remember? Oh, let us not talk. I
want only to feel, to feel you.

He pushed back the bedclothes so that
the could scc her.

The next moming when John awak
ened, Rosa was sitting in bed beside him
a blanket drawn up to her knees, read-
ing a book. He reached for a cigarette.
She smiled and put her hand on his

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181

PLAYBOY

182

chest. “Did you sleep well, my dea
He nodded. "Yo
She laughed. “You are so much better
than a sleeping pill.”
He laughed and reached for an ash-

arettes before bre ast. You
will ruin your stomach. I will fix you a
very big breakfast and you will eat and
then | plan to love you a great deal
more,”

Rosa got out of bed without picking
up the housecoat lying on the floor and
walked across the bedroom. John sat up
on the side of thc bed and yawned. The
bedroom door opened and Aggie started
in, carrying a small overnight bag. Then
she saw them both and stopped.

“Oh,” Aggi “Oh, excuse me.”
She walked backwards two steps and
closed the bedroom door.

“Oh, John, my dear, I am so sorr
Rosa said. “I am so sorry for you now,
my dea

John had been thinking: well, that
finishes it. For a second he had honestly
expected Aggie to say. “Oh, God! How
square!” He took Rosa's hand. “It doesn't
matter, really.”

She looked very worried. “Oh, I am
not so sure, my dear. | am not so sure
at all.

"They listened.

"Do you think she is still out there
somewhere in this apartment" Rosa
asked softh

In the kitchen someth
floor and clattered.

"We'll have to get dressed,

He put on his underwe:
socks and shoes and lighted another

g fell to the

cigarette. Rosa came out of the bath-
room, completely dressed and looking
ther formal. She stood h her hand
on the doorknob, looking at him. Then
she took a deep breath, opened the bed-
room door, and walked out.

John stared at his face in the bath-
room mirror. There was probably a
razor somewhere, but he wasn't going to
hunt for it. He combed his hair, knotted
his tie neatly, slipped into his jacket
and picked a bit of lint from one lapel.
He lighted another cigarette and opened
the door.

Aggie had left the overnight bag on
the floor next to the couch; her coat,
handbag, hat gloves were on the
couch. He could smell coffee. He walked
across the living room, into the kitchen;
there was nothing else he could do. Rosa

i g a cup of coffee,
looking out the window at an air shalt
Aggie stood facing the stove and the
coffeepot. They had their backs to each
other.

“Milk and sugar, John

“Please.”
he gave him the cap without loo
at him. “The Times is on the sofa.

Jobn took the coffee cup into the liv-
ing room and sat at the table. He opened
the Times.

Aggie came ii
to oller you juice.
haps he would care for an egg,”
Rosa said. from the kitchen,
lowed. “Would you care for

Aggie asked.

S

with a glass.

“I forgot

thank you," he said

his is fine.

“As a matter of fact, Mr. Green,
you're descended from Robert E. Lee.”

nd sat on the sofa. Aggie sat down
across from John, at the table,

He read the Times. “Quite a storm
they had out West, Thirty inches.” He
finished the coftee. "Well," he said,

standing up.
Rosa took his coat from the closet a
held it for |
“Do you
ggie asked.
‘Oh, no.

xd

nt more coffee, John?

{о thanks,” he said. "Got to
run." If I can just get out the door, he
thinking. He slipped 1
the sleeves of the overcoat and said,
"Thank you,” to Rosa politely.

Rosa nodded, and stood with
hands folded.

I'll see you to the door,” Aggic said.
It was exactly six feet down the hall to
the door, the only door leading to the
outside world. She walked ahead of him
and opened it.

Thanks again for the собе

“Tm glad you liked it.

Jol ed downstairs to the street.
He didn't know whether to laugh or cry.
He hailed a cab.

"Take me home," he said.

"Be elad to. Where do you 1

her

he said.

John sat in the living room for a long
time with his overcoat on, holding his
with his right hand, and trying
into the murky future. Eventu-
to laugh; it was the only
he could do, laugh. He laughed
til tears came into his eyes. Then he
blew his nose and mixed a martini. He
thought he could call Hy for lunch; he
could talk to Hy about it and they could
laugh together.
The telephone ran,
“John, this is Age
He suddenly felt very weak in the
small of the back, as if somcone had hit
him in the kidney. "Well, hello."
‘Are you doing anything for lunch?
He did not want to see her, not so
soon; he would not know what to sav,
how to act. "Would you like to meet me
at the Bistro?” he said. "One o'clock or

“I'I see you then.
He c 1 his mart to the bath-
100m. He showered and put on a suit he
had worn only once before, to a funeral.
He had another martini to give him
strength and then went to the Bisu
She had not arrived, and he was glad.
She came in suddenly and stood be-
hind him. She had not bothered 10
change her clothes, she had on the same
sweater and skirt, There was something
odd about her hat, as if she had put it
on hurriedly, rushing, then forgotten
she was w it. She looked upset,

angry and nervous and tearful.

‘Ul get а table,” he said quickly.
The headwaiter took them to a table.
John ordered martinis. She did not take
off her gloves, and they did not look at
each other.

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"How about some snails?” he said.
thank you
The páté is usually good."

"I'd like another drink, please.”

"They had another drink.

She took a deep breath. "The snow
was so crappy we couldn't ski. Nobody
could ski in that crappy snow. So Е came
baci

he said, and anyone heari
sound of his voice and not his words
would have thought that Aggie had just
lost a dear friend.

“Why, John?" she said suddenly. “Oh,
1 know it’s none of my business and
you don't have to tell me. I'm embar-
rassed even to ask. And Tm not blaming
anyone or anything. I don’t mean it was
wrong. But could you tell me why?

He scarched his mind for an honest
"Well, these things happen,” he
last. “Particularly — well, partic
ly when people are alone, who 1

That isn’t it." He looked at the table.
“It... it just happens, It might not
be what a person wants, in a lot of re-
spects. But it happens. We can't keep
from it sometimes.
She was trying hard to control her-
self. “Do you—do you know what it
looked like to walk in and sec you? She's
one of my oldest friends, and you . . .
do you know what it looked like, Joh
or how it made me feel?” She began to
weep.
“Hey,” he said.
“Well, goddamnit,”
voice broke.
He put some
“Come on, Ag.”
As they walked out of the rest
to the sidewalk she put her face
his am; she wasn’t being affectio
she was hiding. A waiter ran after them.
"Your coat, sir. Your change, sir.
"Keep it," John said, taking his over-
nd flapping it at a passing cab.
When he sat beside her she collapsed
gainst him, hiding again. He pur h
arm around her, "Want to go home?"
"Oh, no. She's there.”

she said, and her

table.

money on the

“Do you want to go to a friend's?”
"Oh. God no."

“Ag, where do you want to go?"
She did not answer.

п Second and
т. "I'll point out

the house."
She collapsed on the sofa. He took

her shoes off, her coat and bat and
gloves. He covered her with a blanket
wd sat beside her and chafed her

hands; they were cold, cold.
"Would you like some soup?"
No.
“Anything? Want me to shut up and
leave you aloi
“А martin

he said in a small sick

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voice. “I want to get drunk and pass
ош and never come to again, ever

He made a very dry martini and she
sat up to take it from his hand. He
watched her drink it in one long series
of swallows. She was headed str ht for
the bottom of the boule. Oh. no, he
thought, uh-uh.

“Aggie, you listen to me,” he said.
"You said you couldn't. You've got no
right to act like this. You tokl me you
couldn't. Why, if youd wanted, it
could've happened on my birthday."

“I couldn't then!" she snapped at
him. “I couldn't."

Imagination is aloof from the con-
crete, it is speculative and fits like
blind bird in barren treetops. The cat
sits below, as real, as ready, as solid as
the stalk of a hunter. Many things have
existence. Sight. seeing. The suddenness
of his skinny shanks, the way he sat on
the side of the bed. his stupid surprised
face. And Rosa nude toward the bath
room. Intimate, intimate! Imagination
cannot trace the sounds of passion. A
bedspring, a pillow, hair, ointments,
cries. Imagination never finds what is
not, and thinks isnot means never-will
be. Imagination, speculation, thinking

- all fall apart in front of is and flee.
Leaving her alone, all alone with the
ks of love on the bed-
clothes as if a field mouse had darted
over а snowbank at night, unseen, un-
heard, unknown

John picked Aggie up in his arms.
"Ag, raise your face and kiss me.”

Her eyes were closed; she scarched
for his mouth. a blind woman feeling
her way on a dark night.

“I tried to tell you, Ag. But you
wouldn't listen. All you ever «aid to me
was no. No. 1 can't, 1 can't — that’s all
you ever said. But what I said was true,
I love you.”

He carried her into the bedroom and
closed the door behind him with his
foot and sat down on the bed, holdir

unmistakable tr

her in his lap. Her eyes were still closed.
she lay against him with her mouth
fastened to his neck. He unbuttoned her
sweater and tossed it aside. “This should
have happened a long time ago." he said

He made her stand up and he un
zipped her skirt, pulled her slip over

her head; he took off her underwear and
stockings and picked hey up and put her
on the bed, When he came out of the
bathroom she was lying exactly as he had
left her, waiting.

He took a package from a bureau
drawer and put it on the pillow beside
her. “Merry Christmas, Ag."

Her cyes were half-dlosed. their color
deeper than usual
the softness of the bed she murmured,
"Oh. I forgot. ГЇЇ call her later."
“Wh
"Rosa. I want to wish her Merry

Christmas.”

as his knee sank into

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PLAYBOY

186

“Hes in the fur business!"

WALL STREET

(continued from page 110)

them as, say. crafts, and
so om. This is am cra of constant and
revolutionary scientific and technological
changes and advances. Not only individ-
1 firms, but also enüre

judged as to their abi
with the needs of the future
vestor has to be certain that neither the
products of the company in which he
invests nor the particular industry itself
will become obsolete in à few y

In the early part of the century,
farsighted individuals realized that auto-
mobiles had more of a future than
buckboards, that automobile-tire manu-
facturers stocks were better investment
bets than the stocks of firms that manu-
factured wagon wheels.

The trolley-car industry was a good bet
— until trolley cars began to be sup-
planted by buses. Airplane makers who
insisted on producing nothing but c
vas-covered planes after the day of the
alkmetal airplane dawned had litle fu-
ture. Today, the manufacturer of jet or
turboprop transport planes is much more
ly to stay in business and make
money than one. say, who insisted on
turning out uimotored airplane:

It is indeed surprising that so many
investors fail to recognize business situa-
tions only slightly less obvious than these
dated or larlerched examples. They will
buy stocks in faltering or dying firms and.
industries ignore tempting oppor
tun to companies and in-
dustries that cannot help but burgeon as
time goes on.

4. It follows that the investor must
know as much as he possibly can about
the corporation in which he buys stock.
The following are some of the questions
for which he should get satisfactory an-
swers before he money:

a. What is the company’s history: Is
it a solid and reputable firm,
it ple, efficient and
management?

b. Is the company producing or
dealing in goods or services for which
there will be a continuing demand in
the foreseeable futu
c. Is the company in a field that is

not dangerously overcrowded, and is
in а good competitive position?

4. Are company policies and opera-
tions farsighted and aggressive without
calling for unjustified and dangerous
overex pansion?

c. Will the corporate balance sheet
stand up under the close scrutiny of a
critical and impartial auditor?

I. Does the corporation have а
factory earnings record?

Have reasonable dividends been
larly to stockholders? If divi
dend payments were missed, were there
good and sufficient reasons?

s to buy

vests h

h. Is the company well within safe
limits insofar as both long- and short-
term borrowing are concerned:

i. Has the price of the stock moved.
up and down over thc past few years
without violent, wide and apparently
inexplicable fluctuations?

j. Does the per-share value of the
company’s net realizable assets exceed
the stock exchange value of а common
stock share at the time the investor
contemplates buying?

Whether he wants to invest 5100.
51000 or $1,000,000 in commo
every investor should
before he buys stock i
cach and every question can be answered
Yes, then he can feel quite certain he
will be making a safe and smart invest-
ment by purchasing the shares — pro-
vided. of course, he follows the other
rules for wise investment.

I repeat that I personally believe that
selected — and 1 want again to empha
size the word selected — common stocks
are excellent investments. There are in-
numerable fine buys on the market to-
у. Among them are many stocks issued
by companies with
two, three, four and even more times
greater than the stock exchange value of
their issued share

What does this mean to the investor?

LECTRIFIES

PHOTOGRAPHY?

m al XY rporation has realizable
assets with а net value of $20,000,000.

At the same time, it has 1,000,000 shares.
of common stock outstanding and the | with the Electric-Eye
stock is selling at 510 per shi The

arithmetic is simple. The $20,000,000
net value of the company's realizable
assets is double the total $10,000,000
value of its outstanding common shares.
hus. anyone buying a share of the
XYZ Corporation's common stock at $10
is buying 520 worth of actual, hard assets.

Such situations are not ne:
аз one might i
shrewd, seasoned investor tikes che time
and trouble to seck them out. Occasion-

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зсо PARK AVE. єс. NEW YORK 10. м Y.
curred in 1921, On January

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187

PLAYBOY

188

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price being paid for crude oil by pur-
chasing pipeline companies stood at
$3.50 per barrel. Without warning. the
price suddenly broke, plunging to $1-

[per barrel within 10 days. The market

continued to drop, and independent oil

producers were receiving far less for their

crude than

t cost them to bring it up

out of the ground.

The Minnehoma Oil Company. a pro-
ducing company in which ГА bought a
substantial interest and ol which I was a
director, was especially hard-hit by the
staggering break in crude-oil prices

Now. Minnehoma Oil was not a small
lis assets
wells, equipment. tools

or a poor firm. leascholds,

produc

counts receivable, and so on— were
valued at more than $2,000,000. Desp
all this, when the board of directors met
on March 21, 1921, ло decide what
should be done to ride out the crisis. we
learned there wasnt enough. actual cash
in Minnehoma’s till to meet the firm's.
current. operatin

The company’s immediate cash require-

expenses.

ments were estimated at $50,000. This
sum would tide it over the next 90 days,
during which time certain accounts re-
ceivable would be collected and emer-
gency retrenchments— induding deep
Cuts in directors and management sal-
aries — would sharply reduce operating
cost, Meanwhile, the 550,000 had to be
somchow obtained — in cash. The only
practical solution was to borrow the re-
quired money from a bank.

In other, blunter words, Minnehoma
Oil Company, а firm worth over 52,000,-
000, was in desperate need of a 90-day
bank loan of 550,000 — an amount equiv-
alent to less than percent of its
assets. The directors voted the necessary

authority for borrowing the sum from
the Security Fist National Bank on a
90-day, Gi-percent note. The loan was
obtained quickly — and. 1 might add, re-
paid promptly. Minnchoma ОЙ came
through the price-break crisis with flying
colors, and went on to make excellent
profits and. рау sizable dividends.

This, 1 admit, was an exceptional situ-
ation brought about by a sudden and
unexpected business slump. Nonetheless,
1 think it illusuates my point, The fact
that a corporation is temporarily short
of cash should. not. necessarily deter an
astute investor [rom buying its stocks.

The professional or experienced semi-
professional investor has lile in com-
mon with speculators who hopefully play

the market when prices are spiraling
The veteran investor objectively looks
for bargains in growth stocks — which he
buys and holds, and from which he gen
erally reaps handsome profits over a
period of years.

As I've said before, he banks on the
climate — and makes all necessary allow-
ances and. takes all. precautions so that
he ear

Inc

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that such financial storms are not сам
by professional investors or Wall Street
financiers. They are brought about by
speculators, amateurs and the impulsive
— and frequently totally irrational — buy-
ers and sellers who stampede to get in on
a good thing or to get out from under.
There is still a lingering misconcep-
tion that the small or amateur investor
is at the mercy of the big investors and
the Wall Street financiers. This might
have been the case in the dim, distant
and unlamented days of Jay Gould, but
nothing could be further from the truth
today. No ruthless, rapacious Wall Street
tycoon can rig the market or corner the
stocks of an entire industry these days.
For one thing, all stock market trans-
actions are closely regulated by such
highly efficient and potent watchdog or-
ganizations and agencies as the Federal
Securities and Exchange Commission —
the SEC. For another, the common stocks
of most large corporations are owned
by thousands and tens of thousands of
individuals, organizations. mutual fund
groups, and so on. "Big" investors sel-
dom own morc than à comparatively
small percentage of a large corporation's
common stock.
If anything, it is the professional in-
is at the mercy of the specu

It’s time you tried

KAYWOODIE

vestor who

for full smoking pleasure
lator and the amateur — at least in the - 4 3
sense that the latter categories of stock | е == «== Without inhaling

buyers and sellers set the pattern for | What do you want in a smoke?
the market. Mildness? Flavor? Relaxa-
The professional investor. purchases | tion? You get all 3 from Kay-
stocks on what might be termed a scien- | Woodie—without inhaling.
tific, or at least a cerebral, basis. He Kaywoodie is like no other
alyzes facts and figures objectively snakes ДЫ ber DN
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purposes of long-term investment. He is, | why it always smokes mild,
in effect, banking that the stocks he buys | cool and sweet. And to fur-
will increase appreciably in value over | ther insure mildness, the
the next few or several years. exclusive Drinkless Fit-
It is the emotional nonprofessional

ment screens tars and
investor who sends the price of a stock

irritants.
түр зуу л itn deas гуна ane tere || Moa OSE ЕНЕНЕ СЕ
or less short-lived spurts. A politician's

a pipe—until you smoke
speech, an ivorytower pundits pro-

Kaywoodie.
nouncements or prophecies, a newspaper
item or a whispered rumor — such thir
are enough to trigger wildly enthusiastic
buying sprees or hysterical orgies of pan-
icky selling by thousands of self-styled

investors
no choice but to sit by quietly while the
mob has its day, until the enthusiasm or
the panic of the speculators and non-
professionals have spent themselves.

The seasoned investor does not allow
temporary fluctuations in stock market
prices to influence his decisions to
great extent, Usually, he waits
prices return to approximately the levels
at which he wants to buy or sell. He is
not impatient, nor is he even in a very
great hurry, for he is an investor — not
а gambler nor a speculator.

People often ask me what specific ad-
vice
have various amount

The professional investor has

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ndividuals who
— $1000, $10.000,
5100,000 or even morc — to invest in com-

I would give to

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mon stocks. My answers are always the
same. Whether I had $100 or $1,000,000.
to invest, I would consider buying only
such common stocks as are listed on a
major stock exchange. І would apply
the rules and tests I've enumerated and
select the soundest and most promising
growth stocks.

And, I might add, I would certainly
ignore the advice of promoters and the-
orists who peddle harebrained formulas
or secret. methods for making huge and
arket. There
has been a spate of How to Get Rich
Overnight books in recent years. Sea
soned financiers and investors laugh at
them — or rather, they feel only pity for
the gullible individuals who follow the
"advice" contained in such tomes and
almost invariably lose their money

Bur, all such formulas and secret meth
ods aside, there are many opportunities
to make money in stocks today. ] per
sonally believe that some of today’s best
securities bargains are to be found in
oil stocks. A shrewd investor who takes
the time and trouble to investigate the
arket thoroughly before he buys will
find that there are many oil companies
that have net realizable assets worth two
or more times th

quick profits on the stock

stock exchange value
of their common stocks. Such shares arc
excellent buys. for they have fine pros
pects for future growth and. in a few
years, should be selling at considerably
higher prices than they are at present.

І do not mean to imply that there
aren't similar situations and equally good
stock buys їп other sectors of business
and industry. 1 am, however, basically an
oilman, and it follows that I should keep
much closer tabs on oilstock situations

than I do on other industries.

When I recommend selected oi] shares
for investment, I am doing nothing more
Чап stating my own personal opinions
and preferences. And, while I feel that
1 am а seasoned investor in securities,
1 hardly consider myself infallible.

It is always well to remember that
common stocks аге not the only things
in which one can inyest his money and
hope to see his cap
while it is earning a regular return for
him. It is also wise to bear in mind that
there are many people who feel more
secure — and thus are more likely to suc-
ceed — when they invest in such tangible
as, for example, real estate,

increase evi

and not for speculation, The aver

in

dividual who wants to speculate in com
mon stocks might just as well take his
money to the nearest gambling casino
and play roulette or trente et quarante
He'll be bucking just about the same
he would be buck
ing on Wall Street. He'll run just about
the same chance of losing everything he
owns— and of going home flat broke.

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can be plucked up neatly sans vehicles of

y kind.

Most party guides in the direc-
tion of frugality, will tell you to allow
four pieces of food per guest at the aver-
age elbow session. While we've all eaten
the kind of horror d'oeuvre which makes
even this ration seem overgenerous, the
bonnes bouches offered here are among
tocracy of nibbling cuisine: serve
th a prodigal hand, as befits
both their succulence and the season —
make it six per person. If you're in the
mood to whip up 144 such morsels (the
allounent for a gang of 24), you'll find
the wherewithal in any caviarteria or
well stocked delicatessen; if you're not,
simply deliver our menu to а first-class
caterer at least a week before the jollifi
cations, Though they don't publicize the
fact, many of the better restaurants offer
the same service, and will supply you
with a magnificent spread already ar-
тапдей on silver trays

You'll also want to lay in an
supply of such supplementary provi
and paraphernalia as maraschino cher-
s, pitted olives, cocktail onions, sugar
(both cube and finely ed),
oranges, lemons and limes (for pecl, juice

nd garnish), cocktail toothpicks, Coast-
«ав, and at least а dozen packs of cig:
rettes (not ouly your own brand). For a
group of 24, you'll also need two dozen
splits of dub soda and 12 cach of tonic,
gin and 7-Up — depending
upon the dilutive preferences of your
guests. Ice, of course, should abound.
You сап count on two dozen steady im-
bibers going through just under six
70-cube bags. plus two more of cracked
ice if you plan to serve daiquiris or any
other shaker drink. In the mauer of
glassware, you'll find it preferable to
rent it from the or liquor store

the ar
them м

ther th
fine crystal. Four kinds suffice: cockt
glasses, heavy-bottomed glass punch cups
ndled pottery mugs),
nd highball glasse

1 you have no bar in your home, you
may want to consider the convenience
and elhciency of renting a profession
service ta rom the caterci

set it up and cart it as
after the ball is over. But amy steady
rectangular table at least six by three

feet will suffice, covered with several
layers of white linen. It should be placed
centrally along а wall, wherever bibbers
ther with minimum congestion —
bly at the end of the room ne:
est the kitch

1. On top should be you

inged in rows at one end;
your supply of open liquor (spare
boules, along with soda, tonic, cola, etc.
are stored beneath); a bottle of bitters:
bowls of cherries, olives, pearl onions,
cube sugar and the like: and an
of basic bar gear. At the very least, thi

should include a blender or cockti
shaker (cither metal or glass, with screw
top, spout and removable wire strainer):
long
r spoon for measu: ‚ bitters,
an oversize insulated ice bucket,
ze ucks to the fridge; a glass
rod (not metal) for stirring
round-based mud-
sharp bar knife; martini pitcher;
corkscrew; and a beer and bottle
opener.
If you hope to become acquainted
with your guests in any but a menial

etc.

capacity, allow us to discourage now the
serving hors
sh-

notion of your tending ba
d'ocuvrcs, heating punch, empty
trays, washing up or performing
other domestic duty. For a cost that
should be considered moderate in view
of the labor saved and the freedom
granted. the caterer will supply both
bartender and butler in addition to the
food, glassware, bar table, coat rack and
whatever else you may be lacking —
short of entertaining the guests.

the first guest arrives, make
ble with a d
rrival. Since they may not
ach other, offer some sort of bio-
graphical detail in making the introduc-
tion to provide an opening gambit. Do
the same with the next few guests, intro-
ducing them individually to those al-
ready present, informally as you come to
them in passing. After eight or 10 are
circulating, things will begin to get busy;

know с

from then on simply introduce each new
lace collectively to the group. then indi-
vidually to the nearest circle. As the plot
thickens, vou should move graciously
from group to group, keeping the banter
light — and a weather eye for empty and
iceless glasses, drafting strangers and sh
types t0 help you in selecting records a
gently torpedoing too-tight cliques.
The cocktail party is made to order
for mingling old friends and new, not
only because of i l but be-
use the strong spirits consumed libe
ate inhibitions and lower the ba
of restraint. The bane of cocktai
is the mistaken notion that its nice to
have a seat for everyone. Nothing could
be further from the
groups and circulating
gathering its lif the first few а
ivals, who do sit, that may constitute
a listless time for host
this sometimes awkward half hour you,
as host, should lead the conversation in
the direction of some topic you know
to be of interest to th ly arrivals.
Once your pad fills up a bit —and don't
worry about crowding: too small à group
is worse than too large—your guests
can be left on their own, provided
you've prearranged things so it will be
casy for all to get prompt refills. In the
unlikely event. things do not
hesitate to organize party games (xc
pLavwoy, January 1959).
Most of your guests will hi
plans, which will start the ©
the coat rack around 8:30 or nine. To

truth; мапай

guests give this

d guests.

Га

g do

“We've done it, Fairfax — we've come
to terms with life!”

PLAYBOY

198

Study for Library of Congress finds

LEKTROSTAT

hest for cleaning records

“Routine cleaning was accom-
plished by using . . . prior to play-
back or packaging; a sparingly
applied detergent solution with an
applicator of sheared acetate
velvet fibres. *

“Other systems of dust control,
cleaning (such as spray on anti-
static compounds, treated cloths,
dampened synthetic sponges, and

radioactive air ionization) were
tried but did not prove as satis-
factory.”

*Lektrostat Record Cleaning Kit,
Dexter Chemical Corp.

Only $2.00 net at your high fidel-
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Consumer Prod.
Division

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pry loose the inevitable die-hards, how-
ever, you may have to consult your watch
rather theatrically and stage whisper
something about your own er reser-
ions. If even this ploy fails, you
might try either turning off the music or
closing the bar; if one doesn’t do it, the
other should.

THE BUFFET PARTY
Ftymologically speaking. the word
bullet came to English from the French
iture with
lu col-

word for "a piece of fur
drawers for dishes and silver."
loquial usage, it metimorphosed. grad-
ually into а kind of sideboard from
which refreshments are served: today. it
is most widely understood to signily the
social function at which food is served
from а sideboard — with the added no-
tion, picked up somewhere en route, of
selfservice. We prefer to think of it as
а delightful and adaptable mode of in.
lormal dining which lends itself per
Iccily to the mood of the holidays.

Even il your digs and your budget are
smaller than. your heart, you'll be able
to enterin 12 or 21 graciously and
generously with far les help, space and
ne than you'd requ
ble throng at a sit-down dinne
ions should be handled as for
the cocktail party: three weeks’ notice
for kingpins, two lor the rest ol the guest
list, R.5.V.P. to discourage the uninvited,
informal dress explicitly advised.

With edibles serving as the main event
rather than as accompaniment to cock
tails and punch bowls, the possibilities
ave limitless for terning your own bullet
into а memorable g
: the secret ingredient, and
should be used lavishly. €
example, the refreshing appeal of a
smorgasbord buflet with sprats, herring,
lobster and а cornucopian. abundance
of similar Scandinavian. specialties — all
10 be served with iced bottles of aquavit
and piping mugs of gloge

Or perhaps you'd preter the pleasures
of an antipasto table replete with plat-
ters of prosciutto and salami, wed
onzola, mountains of stulfed olives,
to be accompanied with quantities of
Valpolicella and vermouth on the rocks:
or the finesse of an hors d'oeusnes variés
— distinguished with such delights as
liver páté, crepes with roquelort, and
snails, Burgundy style — proflered along
with chilled magnums of vint
1 y even decide to combine
Swedish, Italian and French — cach with
its own special drinks — into one inter
national table. Whatever your predilec
tions, they may be indulged with
educated abandon after a quick study
of the menus which follow. Before Nip-
ping ahead, however, you'll do well to
file away a few pointers on the logistics
and etiquette involved. in throwing a
well-planned buffet.

for

stronomic ocasion.

Imagination

ider, for

ges ol

пе. You m

FOR

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Far less than with the cocktail р:
should you consider the notion of doi
everything yourself, or you will tum
in absentee host. Delegate the work
professional caterer-

As a first step, survey your pad for
available. As with the cocktail
. а group of at least 12 and — in
most average-sized apartments — no more
than 24, seems to turn out most felici-
tously. However, as a sitdown occasion

involy the breaking of bread as well

as the con

greater intimacy than the cockt
— thou ned to entertain
a relatively large number of guests. For
this reason. the selection of а balanced
1 compatible guest list should be
undertaken with

Next on the agenda: conduct
ventory of your furniture, serving equip-

ment and the like. If you don't own w

vou need. rent first-rate equipage from
the caterer, along with the staff to set
it up. At least a week before B-Day. de
liver our recommended menu to this
same worthy — ог to some obliging т

iurant. whose cuisine vou i
à count of guests expected.

The food should be attractively
ented around one or two of the ma
attractions suggested below, Follow the
procession of dishes with vour eye. and
he certain that cach is arranged in the or
der of the guests’ progress down the table
— linen, dishes and silver at the head,
ice before gravy, bread before butter,
and so on.

Ata buffet for 12, the guests ordinarily
carry their plates, silver and. napkins 0
collee tables set up by the butler duri
serving: or to individual stack tables, If
you're planning a larger and more for-
mal buffet, the silverware and napkins
should already be set up at places on
1 tables complete with can
. goblets, salt and pepper shakers
nd the like
the guests arrive, and everyone
is scattered) comfortably around the
apartment chatting and sipping cock
tails passed by the butler, vou should
announce dinner to the nearest group
As host, of course, you must be the List
in line.

1 cover

BUFFET MENU

Major Attractions
Fresh Fruit Arrangement.
Whole Smoked Salmon
nithficld H
Whole Smoked Turkey
table hold
П be able to accommodate а
triumvirate of such gastronomic monu
ments without pretension, overcrowding
or a sense of imbalance. At a smaller
bullet. however, one or possibly two
pièces de résistance will be all the board
сап bear with ease and appeal.

To look аз Lucullan as possible, the

а bullet for 24 or

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PLAYBOY

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fresh fruit arrangement should feature
a large pineapple as an axis around
which to place such fruits as apples,
limes, oranges, bananas, straw-
d great Bacchic bunches of
grapes both purple and white. Whole
smoked salmon glazed with anchovy
butter is the classic buffet showpiece
showy affair it is. The whole
baked ham and turkey are also tradi-

al at such functions and are more
practical for gatherings of 12 or 94.
Glazed and decorated, they can be

bought in gourmet emporiums; but
again. the caterer is a better bet. At the
table, they should make their appearance
firmly anchored on
wooden platter, pari
flanked with the appropriate utensils,
(Asterisked entries arc our own inven-
tions or оп well-known gusta-
tory themes. Recipes for them may be
found here or in The Playboy Gourmet.)

a sturdy spiked
ally carved

d

aviation

HORS D'OEUVRES VARIES

Cold
hrimp Canapés with Curry Butter
*Crab Meat Ravigote Salad
Pickled Mushrooms
Mackerel in White Wine

Liver Рие

Hot
"Crepes with Roquefort
*Snails, Burgundy Style
igneis, Chive
The pickled mushrooms
Ravigote salad should be served in
apacious bowls; the other cold dishes on
platters; hot foods in chafing dishes.

SMORG ASBORD.

Cold

Rolled Herrings
Herring in Dill Sauce
Herring in Cream Sauce
Danish Sprats

Raw Relishes: celery,

olives, etc.

ld Stuffed Lobster
g Salad
Cucumber in Sour Cream
Cheeses: Gjetost, Primula

dishes, black

Hot
Swedish Meat Balls
® Mussels au Gratin
һ Brown Beans
AIL but two of these splendid Scan-
dinavian specialties are obtainable in
canned and bottled form at the nearest
cayiarteria, and often fresh in Swedish
and Danish groceries. Each item should be
arrayed individually in the appropriate
receptacle: herring dishes, lobster and
cheeses (ан imo hefty half-.pound
wedges) on serving platters; salads and
Is and
els in a

Swed

sprats in bowls or turcens; meat
beans in chafing dishes:

casserole over a warmei

nd mu:

For tippling accompaniment, we sug-
gest hot Swedish glógg in thick-handled
pottery mugs, passed on trays by the host
or a domestic; and bottles of bone-cold
beverage.

ANTIPASTO

Cold

Sliced Prosciutto Ham

Genoa Salami

Sardines

Anchovies rolled with capers
pimientos

Caponata

Peperoncini

Jardiniere Veget:

ind

Gorgonzola cheese
Radishes, scallions, celery hearts, cu-
cumber sticks, stuffed olives

Hot

* Baked Clams with Oregano

“Crostini of Italian Cheeses

*Stuffed Mushrooms Rockefeller

All of the cold offerings can be
garnered in one visit to a neighborhood
Italian grocery or delicatessen. Apropos
alcohol, you may want to skip the stand-
ard coc and do as the Romans do:
serve a currently fashionable aperitif,
such as Negronis (Vs Bitter Campari
Aperitivo, 14 gin, V4 Italian vermouth;
shake well with ice and strain into a
il glass) or Americanos (V4 jigger
Campari Aperitivo, Ys jigger
Italian vermouth, squeeze of lemon rind,
cracked ice; serve with or without dub
With the food, wy Valpolicella,
a red wine from northern Мају; and
after cating, serve Grappa, a delicious,
clear distillate of grape skins.

After-dinner coffee should be self-
served in standard cups from an urn on
the sideboard— the Kind that's fitted
with a spigot; or at à more formal buffet,
passed by the butler in demitasse cups.

LET THE GUESTS DO IT

"Ehe novel notion of a Let the Guests
Do It party for six or eight may be
more your cup of cheer. Guests are in-
vited to join the host in the fun of
cooking — by skewering and broiling the
own shish kebab over a
sideboard brazier; by sautéing the tempt-
ng ingredients for Sukiyaki in an elec-
tric skillet or chafing dish: by dressing
their own salads from an assemblage of
ails, herbs, spices and vinegars: or, some-
what less ambitiously, by spearing bread
chunks with long-handled forks and
dipping their own bite-size helpings from
already prepared cheese fondue sim.
g in a chafing dish.
casual scene — informally аг
head — for the

cock
Bitter

morsels for the

an
meri

Strictly
ranged by phone a week
kind of crowd that prefers the coi
the hearth rug to the proprieties of the
dinner table, this sort of soiree can bring

fort of

out the chef in anyone. With fireplace
warmly aglow, diners sprawl about on
couches, cushions, rugs and chair arms,
merrily sampling their own creations.
"The three party menus which fol-
low—cach designed to involve your
ests as much as possible in the en
jovable folderol of preparation — will
demonstrate how a further fillip can
псе the originality of your own self-
service shindig: a onemation ethnic
theme sustained from entree to dessert.
It might be most fun to pick the one
whose cuisine you and your social circle
know least well. If you wish. of course,
you may combine suggestions from all
three. Each recipe should feed a crew of
eight.

JAPANESE MENU
Sukiyaki
Skewered Beef
White Rice
Hot Sake
Brandied Peaches or N
The more exotic ingredi

yaki are obtainable in cans and jars at

most gourmet specialty shops or fresh
at any neighborhood Japanese grocery:
recipe and cooking instructions are
given in most modern cookbooks. To
pare this subtle and ancient dish for
g of chef-diners, have the raw

nd Vegetables

on a large lacquer tray n electric
skillet or a chafing dish. You make the
ch and let your guests prepare
own seconds. Piping-hot steamed
should wait nearby in a covered
bowl and porcelain boules of warm
sake with a supply of cups should be
tered about the hin easy
ch of the seated eaters. Suggestion:
have chopsticks available

The broilmg of Skewered Beef with
Vegetables is an equally pleasant bit of
business. About half an hour before the
guests arrive, marinate 4 pounds of inch-
thick porterhouse or shell steak (cut into
bite-sized cubes) for 20 minutes in 2
tablespoons dry mus-
tard. 2 minced onions, 2 teaspoons pow-
dered ginger, 4 cloves minced garlic, 2
tablespoons sugar, 4 tablespoons
and 14 teaspoon black peppe
arrange the morsels on а platter and
set it on the sideboard with threc other
plates of wherewithal: 2 pounds of fresh
medium-size mushroom caps, four g
green peppers cut into 14
and the drained contents of 2 on
jars of silver onions. After the g
rive, repair to your terrace or firepli
d get the charcoal g nap
large hibachis: transfer them to the
еа only when the last trace of black
has disappeared from the glowing coals.
On wooden or metal skewers you let
your guests impale alternate tidbits of

room wi

cups soy sauc

Then

“Memo to the Christmas Office Party Committee:
Congratulations, et celera, et cetera,
signed B. J. Wilkens.”

A Bevy of Beautiful Dates

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beef, pepper, onion and mushroom to
broil over the charee When things
begin to quiet down around chafing dish
and hibachi, bring forth — for dessert —
a big crystal bowl of Brandied Peaches
or Nectarines.

ITALIAN MENU
*Vermicelli with Eggplant апа An-
chov

*Vcal Scaloppini à la rravnoy

Asti Spumante

Biscuit Tortoni

Espresso

Anisette

Vermicelli with Eggplant and An-
chovies, as robust and succulent а рама
dish as you're likely to savor this side
of the Via Veneto, can be prepared with
ease an hour or so before the fun begins
and kept warm in a casserole over а chal-
ing dish flame. The paisans simply spoon
it up for themselves, sprinkle with par-
mesan from an adjoining bowl, and dig
in — with bibs, if necessary, but without
ceremony.

PLAYBOY'S variation on a theme by
Scaloppini goes like so: as a preliminary,
cut 3 pounds of Italian veal cutlets,
pounded thin by the butcher, into about
24 pieces, sprinkle with salt, pepper
and sage, and arrange on a platter beside
two electric skillets on the sideboard or
dinner table. In individual small bowls
around it, place 1 pound thinly sliced
fresh brooms, 4 big green peppers
cut into Linch squares, 2 thinly sliced
Spanish onions and 14-inch crosssec-
tional slices from 2 large peeled cucum-
bers. In a saucepan back at the range,
combine one 1034-ounce can beef gravy,
1% cup tomato juice, 1 cup chicken broth,
Ya cup dry marsala wine, 14 cup minced
parsley and 2 tablespoons minced shal-
lots. Bring to a boil, simmer 5 minutes,
pour into a small casserole, and place
over a heater beside raw and veg
tables. When the last strand of vermicelli
has disappeared, heat the electric skil-
lets to 300° and add 2 tablespoons each
of butter and oil to both. When the
butter has melted, convene a delegation
of guests and let them pop everything
into the pans for sautéing. When the
meat is brown and the vegetables have
just turned tender, give them the nod
to add the marsala sauce. After 5 minutes
of simmering, give the signal for the
rest of the crowd to queue up: the main
event is on.

While they're serving themselves, un-
cork a pair of chilled bottles of Asti
Spumante — a rich and earthy sparkling
Italian vino, palate-perfect with Scalop-

ini — and pour glasstuls for the plate-
carriers to pick up. For a final dolce,
nothing could be simpler, tastier, or
more suitable than Biscuit Tortoni all
around, followed by steaming demitasse
cups of espresso. For the crowning touch,

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PLAYBOY PROOUCTS

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Chicago 11, Illinois

Playboy Club Keyholders:
Please specify your.
Key number when charging.

203

PLAYBOY

break out a decanter of anisette, and
toast the scason.
SWISS MENU.

*Shrimp and Ham Fondue
Swiss Neuchatel

Vanilla Ice Cream with Brandied
Cherries

Madeleine Cookies

Though it asks nothing of your guests

in the way of preparation, Fondue is
probably morc fun to cat than any other
doityourself delicacy. Everyone rubs
shoulders around a community chafing
dish while impaling wedges of French
bread on long forks, twirling them in
the melted cheese until thickly coated,
stowing them away on the spot, then
demanding more.

Heres how for eight hungry fork-
wielders: Pour 24 cup Rhine wine into
chafing dish over direct flame. When
hot, add y; pound diced boiled ham, 2
pounds small cooked shrimp (peeled
and deveined), 1 teaspoon garlic
powder, 1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce,
1 teaspoon dried dill, y teaspoon celery
salt and two dashes cayenne pepper,
ing well. Then add 2 pounds Swiss
ruyére cheese cut into inch cubes,
and cook until melted, stirring fre-
quently. Add 4 tablespoons kirsch, lower
flame, and begin dunking.

Caesar Salad, we'll grant, isn't Swiss,
but it tastes so good with Fondue and
lends itself so perfectly to the pleasures
of self-preparation that we suggest it as
a part of the Swiss menu.

You'll find that a couple of bottles

of chilled Swiss Neuchatel. an ebullient
semisparkling white wine, will go a long
way toward dissolving whatever inhibi-
tions may have survived the cozy infor-
mality of the Fondue«lipping scene. For
dessert, simply set out a heaping terrine
of Vanilla Ice Cream and flank it with a
plate of Madeleine cookies and a bowl
of Brandied Cherries, Your guests will
take it from there,

THE INFORMAL LATE SUPPER

Its 11:20 р.м. You've just emerged
with your date and three other couples
from the theater, and you're all head-
ing toward your place for an informal
late supper. You bundle indoors, un-
swathe, mix up a batch of hot buttered
тшп, and get your late supper under
way with the striking of a match under
a pair of chafing dishes. Ensconced in the
and informality of your own
digs— windows frosted of а winter's
night, logs roaring in the fireplace,
Christmas tree aglitter — your friends can
conduct a post-mortem on the play while
you prepare at the sideboard or dining
table a short-order holiday collation as
effortless as it is epicurcan:

warmth

INFORMAL LATE SUPPER MENU

*Hot Buttered Rum or Mixed Drinks

Avocado Salad with Lemon Dresing

Baked Clams Casino

* Jambalaya

Platter of cold sliced turkey, ham and
tongue

*Welsh Rarebit or Gambler's Eggs

English Ale

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*Strawberries Smetana

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All of these wee-hour savories have
been chosen not mercly for their com-
patibility, but for the ease with which
they can be either partially or wholly
prepared ahead of time and for the free-
style casualness with which they can be
eaten wherever the diners find them-
selves most comfortable. Hot Buttered
Rum —a grog of light and dark rums
spiced with cinnamon and cloves — сап
be swizzled up on a hot plate or in a
chafing bowl in a jiffy. The salad con-
sists of nothing more than sliced avo-
cados on a bed of lettuce with a wedge
of lemon, squeczable to individual taste.
Baked Clams Casino, though rightfully
among the aristocracy of the hors d'oeuvre
domain, can be turned out in 10 minutes
by any cook who knows how to follow
directions: for eight hungry souls, have
your fishmonger open three dozen cher
stones; keep them refrigerated until you
are ready to prepare them, then loosen
clams and insert a nugget of anchovy
butter (a mixture of three tablespoons
butter with one-half teaspoon anchovy
paste) in shell beneath each, Top bi-
valves with finely chopped green pepper
and canned pimiento, cover each with
a piece of raw bacon, set clams on а layer
of rock salt in a shallow baking pan,
and broil three inches from flame for
five to seven minutes, turning bacon
Serve in shells, garnished with

once.

Jambalaya, that monumental Creole
potpourri of fowl, ham, shrimp, sau-
sages, celery, onions, garlic, rice, white
wine and seasonings, can be cooked well
in advance, then simply reheated and
Jadled out at the witching hour from a
Dutch oven over a tabletop warmer. The
delicatessen-bought cold cuts can be ar-
ed on serving plates, covered with
one of the adhesive plastic wrappings
to keep them moist and relegated to
the fridge till the appropriate moment.
inger rolls, obtainable from any well-
stocked bakery, can be opened and
buttered ahead of time; five minutes
a slow oven while the other dishes are
heating will do them to a turn. Welsh
Rarebit, the best-known of all chafing
dish delights, lends itself perfectly to the
ritual of preparation at the table. Or,
if you prefer, Gambler's Eggs (scrambled
eggs with barbecue sauce on toast). For
accompaniment, you'll want brimming
tankards of cold English ale. And as a.
culmination for the meal, Strawberries
Smetana—a mélange of fresh or frozen
whole strawberries marinated in liqueur,
dolloped with sour cream and sprinkled
liberally with brown sugar. An ever full
pot of piping, freshly brewed coffee
should stand at the ready with a supply
of hefty cups, for inclusion in the linger-
close of the evening.

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THE FORMAL DINNER

For the host who would do his holi
day entertaining in the grand manner,
the formal dinner is nonpareil. Among
the critical ingredients, in this more
than any other party, are the guests
themselves. The intimacy of the formal
dinner — ideally a gathering of eight,
large enough to be companionable, yct
small enough to retain a fecling of rap
port — calls for a certain homogeneity

of disposition. You should invite people
vou already know and like and who
already know and like one another.
They should be people who take pleas
ure in the dress and rituals attendant
on this traditional rite. Three weeks is
minimum notice for invitations. They
may be handwritten, always a gracious
touch: or printed formally. In either
case, of course, black tie should be indi
cated. Eight-thirty or nine is a civilized
hour to specify as starting time.

If a professional serving staff is un-
necessary at the Let the Guests Do It
party and informal late supper, and de-
sirable at the bulfet and cocktail soiree,
it is obligatory at the formal dinner
Hire at least two servants from а
petent caterer — one to cook, one to
butle,

Unless your bachelor pantry stocks a
complete set of formal dinner service
for eight — about 200 pieces in all — you
should arrange for the rental of china,
silver, crystal, and damask table linen.
Next, survey your dining area; if your
ible won't seat eight comfortably, the
caterer will find you one that docs — and
dining chairs to go with it.

As a festive finishing touch for the
table, ask your florist to arrange an at-
tractive centerpiece of holly, pine cones
and poinsettia. On the mantelpiece, or
atop a bookcase, a few more seasonal
sptigs are entirely in order; and on the
front door, of course, a wreath of ever-

reen,

It will be wise to call in your faith-
ful family retainers carly to familiarize
themselves with the layout of your
kitchen, pantry and dining area, and to
discuss schedules for the serving of both
xockuils and dinner. If your apariment
e dining room, by all means
take advantage of the arrangement by
serving hors d'oeuvres and libations in
the living room. And when the butler
announces dinner, your guests can en-
joy the charming ceremony of watching
the door open to reveal the finished
table: candles

com-

has a sepa

ablaze, silver agleam,

linen spread, centerpiece arranged,
service plates in place.

As host, you lead the way and your
date, who at a formal dinner acts as
hostess, brings up the rear. She sits at
the foot of the table, you sit at the
head. The woman guest of honor, if
there is one, sits on your right; the male
guest of honor sits on the hostess’ right

Men and women are alternated; mar-

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232 E, Ohio St. * Chicago 11, Illinois

Playboy Club Keyholders may charge.
to their Key numbers.

206 ;

ried couples, usually out of mercy, are
customarily separated.

"The woman on your right is served
first, and so on counterclockwise around
the table; as host, of course, you will be
last.

FORMAL DINNER MENU

Fresh Beluga Caviar on Ice Pedestal

Fresh Pâté de Foie Gras with Trufles

Celery Hearts Stuffed with Stilton
Cheese

Toasted Almonds and
Nuts

Champagne Cocktails

Macadamia

Clear Green Turtle Soup
Amontillado Sherry
Baked Fillet
emme
Gewuerz-Traminecr

Pressed Mallard Duck

Wild Rice Croquettes

Baby String Beans, Beurre Noir
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Heart of Palm and Avocado Salad
Fines Herbes Dressing

Cascade of Fresh Fruit in Pineapple,
flamed
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Assorted Cheese Tray
Petits Fours

Demitasse

Assorted Liqueurs and Brandy

For your Champagne Cocktails, two
magnums should do the job nicely. For
holiday kicks, however, see if your dealer
can get hold of а 104-ounce jeroboam
instead. It won't last any longer but
its air of prodigality is more festive.

At the close of the meal, you give the
sign for leaving the table simply by lay-
ing your napkin down beside your plate
and starting to rise at one of those odd
moments when everyone scems to stop
talking at once; or by finding an opening
and giving some such cue as “Are we
ready for coffee?” If your apartment is
laid out that way, you may even want
to indicate to the girl who is acting as
hostess that she lead the ladies into the
other room for demitasse and liqueurs
while the gentlemen — suffused with that
benign and expansive sense of well-being
which follows a holiday meal of superla-
tive quality and unhurried serenity
stay behind for brandy and cigars. Like
the evening, for which it administers the
crowning touch, this ancient ceremony
should lend a special kind of pleasure.

But be the occasion black tie or no
tie, “the pleasantest of all ties is the
tie of host and guest” —a philosophy
first voiced by Greek sage Aeschylus and
urbanely echoed in these rLaruoy-perfect
holiday hosting plans.

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SPACE OPERA

(continued from page 92)
amphibious destroyers is growing. Feng
himself supervises the construction of the
largest of these, his flagship. His escutch
con, the flaming sword of Sarg, is deeply
etched on its gleaming prow; rich drap-
етіс and costly furniture — the loot of a
thousand plundered worlds — are carried
aboard to embellish his cabin. It is only
а mater of months (incidentally, I am
g Earth time throughout) before thc
Hcet is finished. Poised and sparkling in
the sun, the ships stand ready for em-
ation.

Feng and his highest officers stand on

a great platform, repeating a ritual that
has taken place before the conquest of
each new planet. Martial music blares
from 2 phalanx of glittering horns. The
people of Orim cheer—with Sargian
guns at their backs—as Feng, resplend-
ent in his battle armor made completely
of Torak’s new metal, declaims his cus-
tomary ritual speech. (I have a copy of
this, for verification.) His big, rough
voice thunders over the loudspeakers in
phrases heavy with emotio:

u

ism and
light on logic. Often "the glorics of
Sarg” and the greatness of “our sacred
galactic empire” are spoken of, but no
attempt is made to define or examine
these terms. Feng emphasizes the impor-
tance of conquering Klor, the last re-
maining planet in the galaxy which still
struggles in “a barbaric darkness unil-
luminated by Sargian glory.” He tells
why he has ordered not only his generals
but also his eldest statesmen and savants
to accompany him in his flagship on this
mission: "Tt is fitting that the chicfs of
the Sargian Empire be present at the
momentous conquest of the last planet.”
The speech ends with the mighty excla-
mation, “On to Klor!” and the trumpets
drown the unenthusiastic applause.

On the gangplank of his flagship, Feng
pauses and turns to Torak. “Ороп my
return, you shall be decorated lor your
services to Sarg. And you, Vola” — he
smiles at the unresponsive girl — “be pre:
pared for a night of revelry on my re
turn. These missions of conquest never
fail to excite my blood, and although the
waterdwelling females of Klor may turn
out to be lovely,” he winks knowingly at
his generals, “I fear that, as proper enter-
tainers to an emperor, mermaids may
have certain . . . disadvantages. Eh?” He
laughs at his joke (too coarse for your
readership?) and enters the flagship, fol-
lowed by his gencrals and key statesmen.

Soon there is a terrific roar and a se:
ing blast of rocket-fire, as the fleet shoots
upward and dwindles to a swarm of tiny
specks in the clear blue sky of Orim.

During the months of the voyage, the
green wine of Sarg flows freely in the
imperial flagship. Feng toasts his empire,

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PLAYBOY

208

his generals and himself. Не toasts
Torak, he toasts Vola, and he toasts the
nearly forgotten women of his youth.
He sings ribald Sargian ballads and he
swears fantastic oaths. All this can easily
be expanded into several page:

At length, the armada approaches Klor.
As his flagship hovers above the flooded
planet, Feng draws his jeweled ceremo-
nial sword and points dramatically to the
objective. His voice roars through the
intercoms of every ship:

"Attack!"

Down they plunge, the flagship lead-
ing. Cleanly, Feng's ship cuts the surface
of the water and his fleet follows, creat-
ing a series of immense splashes and vast,
ever-widening ripples.

Through the transparent dome of his

marvels at the exotic weeds
nd pouting giant fishes of Klor. Tri-
umph sings in his veins

Then, suddenly, the cries of startled
men reach his cars. He turns and his

agle's yes bulge with shock . . .
If we do this as a serial, what better
place for a break? But that is up to yo
of course. And now let me quickly limn
the final scene, which takes place back
on Ori
Torak drops a four-pointed metal star
into a glass of liquid. It floats slowly to
the bottom. He turns to his daughter
who is gazing pensively out of the labo-
ratory window. Tenderly, he asks, “Is
anything uoubling you, my dear?”
There are tears in her сус. "I was
thinking of the people of Klor, that's

all.

Torak smiles slightly — for the first
n many, many months. "I wouldn't
ıs on them, if I were you

time
spend my tea
In fact, 1 see no reason for weep!
all.”

ng at

“You don't? Father, how can you say
that?"

‚ grimly, "will never

“If not you, who?"

"What do you mean?"

"And never again will he subjugate
an entire galaxy. By this time, the ar-
mada should have reached Klor,” Torak
verifies this by a glance at his calendar.
“Feng is dead.”

Vola fears for her father's sanity. She
is silent as he continucs: "Dead. Floating
in the waters ol Klor, with all his officers,
his ministers and his navy."

He looks up and secs the fear in her
face. "No, my dear. I'm not mad. You
sce, I created a very wonderful metal. A
metal both light and strong, resistant to

ion. A miraculous
лап. He tested it
put my metal

Yes, he

thoroughly.
through every possible test —except one.
One so simple, so basic, that it never
occurred to him. And so he built his

ficet and plunged it into the seas of Klor,
without knowing . . .

Torak turns to regard the glass from
which the metal star of Orim has van-
hed. "Without knowing.” he says, "that
this rather remarkable metal dissolves —
in water."

Now there, sir, even you must admit,
is a natural! And true — сусту word.
But chat is not all — in fact, the greatest
revelation is yet 10 come.

For suppose we say — or, at least, hint
— that shrewd Feng, the galasykiller,
the scourge of 75/890, the man who
never trusted anybody in his life, took
the characteristic, routine precaution of
wearing, under his ceremonial armor of
'orak-metal, a conventional depth suit
(not because he suspected anything spe-
cific, but simply because suspicion was
his natural state of mind); that Feng, in
other words, survived. the disaster?

Perhaps we may even use a title like
Feng Is Still Alive! ox Feng Is Still Alive?
— а time-tested attention-getter. We can
imply that the indestructible Zoonbaro-
larrio Feng, after the demolition of his
navy, made his relentless and lonely way
to one of Klor's few shreds of dry land
—say, the south polar region of Fozkep
—where even now he plots new con-
quests, like your own Napoleon of yore
Elba. You will say, perhaps, that no-
believe such an assertion, and
тее with you,
but what docs that matter so long as
they buy your magazine? And speaking
of buying brings me to the touchy but
unavoidable question of payment. 1 am
in most desperate need of large sums
and would expect your highest rates, on
acceptance, should this article be com-
missioned for your pages. So please let
me hear from you by return warpmail,
since | urgently require every bit of
ready cash I can muster.

Yours sincerely,
Z. Gnet
Forkep, Klor

HOUSE PARTY

from around the country and a lengthy
list of show business personalities. Frank
Sinatra and fellow Clan members Peter
Lawford, Jocy Bishop and Sammy Davis,
]r. have been on hand; Steve Allen,
Shelley Berman, Tony Bennett and Vic
Damone have also dug the Near North
scene; ТУ hossopera heroes Hugh
O'Brian, Chuck Connors and Steve Me
Queen tied up at the Hefner corral: ditto

Stan Getz, Lenny Bruce,
‚ Buddy Rich, Howard Keel
and а host of others. Tony Curtis and
Mort Sahl had bee ted to this Satur-
day's very speci

After the girls had been shown to their

rooms, they were given a tour of the
pre he Playmates were captivated
by Hefner's collection of abstract-expres-
sionist paintings, which includes the
works of such moderns as Pollock. de
Kooning, Tworkov, Resnick and Rivers.
Throughout the house, there is a felic-
i m of the traditional and the

tion of picce of modern sculpture
nd a burnished suit of 16th Centu

rmor. The outsize oak-paneled m;

(continued from page 125)

biting satellites, are stereo speakers in
plexiglass globes. from which emanate
the sounds of a 20-footlong custom stereo
installation,

On the floor below, the visiting Play-
mates got their first glimpse of the free-
form pool and its bamboo dressing rooms,
waterfall-hidden cave (called the “Woo
Grotto” by Time m
room and steam bath. Adjacent to the
pool on a still lower level, they were
shown the subsurface bar that can be
reached, conventionally, by a stairway or,
more directly and delightfully, by a fire-
man's pole whose terminus is cushioned
by soft leather padding. In this bar, with
its low-lit, palm-rond and ti-leaf motif,
guests can take their case on deep
couches that line the walls or observe hu-
man marine life through a picture win-
dow that gives a bathysphere's view of
the pool.

After their tour, the girls relaxed and
hened up in their rooms for the ev
g ahead. That night Hefner escorted
them to the Playboy Club, where they
had dinner, caught the double show

Ere

didn't rub the sleep out of their eyes till
late morning and then luxuriated with
breakfast in bed. Hefner had conferences
at the pravgoy offices and left his Play-
mate guests with the run of the house
and the promise that they would be com-
pletely undisturbed all afternoon. The
girls took advantage of their maleless
surroundings and went native, enjoying
the pool, sunroom and steam bath in
garbless abandon. After hours of swim:
ming, sunning and steaming, they re
turned to their rooms to read, nap and
make small talk, before getting ready for
the party planned for that evening.

Later, at the eighth anniversary fest
ties, the Playmates were joined by com-
ness nabobs
a freewheeling long nights journey
nto day. With a swinging combo provid-
ng the modern sounds for dancing, а
sumptuous buffet supplying sustenance,
and the pool and bar offering liquid di-
versions, the party rapidly gained mo-
mentum. By the time it drew to a close
in the sun-Ilecked hours of the morning,
the main room had taken on a Ma
Gras air, with swim-suited dancers in cas-
ual contrast to the more formally attired
revelers

ny staflers and show bi

the Penthouse and the Library and re-
tumed to their home away from home lt was a memorable celebration of a
for relaxed late-hour hottoddying and memorable PLAYBOY year, a year that
com-popping around the hearth, and — presiged for rravtoy, its enterprises and

ч fr its friends, even happier things to come.

Saturday got off to a lazy start; the girls

room, constructed in England a half ce
tury ago and shipped in sections to
Chicago, has an enormous marble fi
place; 20 feet overhead, hanging from
the beamed ceiling like a quartet of or-

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PLAYBOY

210

Б...
. 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
ў featured in PLAYBOY. For
example, where-to-buy
information is available for the
merchandise of the advertisers
in this issue listed below.

Une this Ine for information about other fen-
red morchandise.

Miss Pilgrim will be happy to

answer any of your other

1 questions on fashion, travel, food
and drink, hi-fi, etc. If your |

question involves items you saw

in PLAYBOY, 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, Ш.

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126

state

IF You WANT something more exotic than
a Stateside vacation this February, we
suggest a flight south to the Caribbean,
where the solacing sun of the tropics can
be yours for the basking. An assortment
of attractive cruises originate in the
islands themselves, providing opportuni-
ties for lazy junketing through warm
blue waters to old, worldly ports of call.
nple is a cruise that

Juan, Puerto
Rico, on a six-day circuit linking nine
beguiling islands in the sun. Three of
the stopoffs are made in the U.S. Virgin
Islands — at St. Thomas and St. Croix
for freeport bargain browsing, and at
St. John where, in a coastal national
park the world’s first underwater nature
trail has been blazed for the benefit of
snorkel and scuba buffs. Submerged
markers lead the wet way over a marine
paradise of sponges and sea fans, anem-

PLAYBOY’S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK
BY PATRICK CHASE

ones and fantastic coral formations along
a water course populated by schools of
multicolored tropical fish. Other profit-
able pauses are made at St. Kitts, Antigua,
Tortola and the French island of St-
Barthélemy; the price a mere $150.

To top off your February wayfaring in
festive style, drop in on New Orleans
during the historic hysterics of Mardi
Gras, The press of out-of-town tripsters
puts space at a premium, of course, but
if you're farsighted, you can get a room
at the top in an elegant hostelry like the
Pontchartrain or the Royal Orleans, ad-
mirable bases for all excursions. At the
French Quarter's Galatoire, Brennan's,
the new Playboy Club and Arnaud's, you
may dine like a roi, then step out for
post-sunset roistering.

For further information on any of the
above, write to Playboy Reader Serv-
ice, 232 E. Ohio St., Chicago 11, Ш. EB

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Evenings that memories arc made of —
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IMPORTED BY W.A. TAYLDR & CONPANY, NEW YORK, NEW YORK » SOLE OISTRIBUTORS FOR THE U.S.A