PLAYBOY

A i robert ruark
Fr d "m james jones

#2 paul gallico

-— ken w. purdy

EE X s harvey kurtzman
~ В

‘ dick gregory

nat hentoff

gerald kersh

jules feiffer
playboy's fall &
winter fashion
forecast by

robert |. green
your 1963 playboy
jazz poll ballot

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Ten reasons One reason

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"They're short. T
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RUARK (right) and friend

PLAY BILL? ^ осо oc тшше we introduce in this issue Little Annie Fanny, an
adult satire strip devoted to the misadventures of a delightfully dizzy damsel

in dishabille. The maddest spool we've scen since the first issues of Mad magazine, Annie was created,
appropriately enough, by Mad's originator, Harvey Kurtzman, and original illustrator, Will Elder. In
this first episode. li'l Annie pans in on the Freudian format of TV commercials. In future issues, she'll
bust into big business, politics, and any other area of human — or inhuman — activity worthy of satire.
Satire no less sprightly but a bit more biting comes From the Back of the Bus, a collection of
blackandawhite photos on black-and-white problems pointedly posed and capriciously captioned by
that standout of stand-up comedians, Dick Gregory, whose mercurial career w: ched in Chicago's
Playboy Club. Gregory was by no means the first hip humorist to get a гілувоу push: The first
national magazine features on Jonathan Winters (November 1955), Mort Sahl (June 1957) and
Lenny Bruce (February 1959) all appeared within these covers, We were also the first to review the
Compass Players (Mike Nichols. Elaine May, Shelley Berman, et al) and the first to feature the
impromptu players of Chicago's Second City. Further, Bob Newhart made his first national television
appearance on Playboy’s Penthouse — but попе of the social satirists has moved faster than Greg
as our preview of his forthcoming book, From the Back of the Bus, abundantly demonstrates. Paint-

GALLICO. GREEN

brilliant background of the
novelist Paul Gallico
PLAYBOY this month with a
terly portrait of The Picture Thieves, whose
bold burglaries bear a striking resemblance to the
s which have plagued his rich
ra neighbors in recent s Although his
ng war story, The Snow Goose, has ove
shadowed his dozen-odd novels and screenplays,
Gallico says he considers his best book to be Love
of Seven Dolls from ich the movie Lili and
Broadway musical Carnival nimbly sprang.

With The Gentleman's Hunting Arsenal, ме
welcome back to PLAYBOY world-roving Robert
Ruark, whose latest novel, Uhuru, returns to the
ne of the bloody Mau Mau crimes witnessed in
of Value. Between books,
al in pursuit of the game

of five continents.
Returning to civilization — and. you'll be well

suited for it h Robert Г. Green's handsomely
sembled Fall and Winter Fashion Forecast — you

ind this issue of rLaynoy as brightly hued with
fact, fiction and femininity (from our cover shot of
Playboy Club Bunny Воппіс Jo Halpin to an

eight page look at The Gils of London) as Octo-
ber's fiery foliage. Leaf through and s

ER (гор) ана KURTZMAN

Festivals Grow Up P. 122

Playboy's Fashion Forecast

F
Girls of London
оніо STREET, CHICAGO I1. ILLINOIS. RETURN POST.

AND PHOTOGRAPHS SUBMITTED IF THEY ARE TO BE
RETURNED AND NO RESPONSIBILITY CAN HE ASSUMED
manen © 1962 py нын PUBLISHING сс. інс
LISHER, ANY SIMILARITY DEIWEEN THE PEOPLE ANE
PHOTO ay ROY mapa: Р. зз PHOTOGRAPHED AT
PHOTOS EY ED ALEXANDER (15). GOREON TENNEY (€)
LARRY GORDON (3). P. 126 PHOTO BY JON FOWNELL.

vol. 9, no. 10 — october, 1962

CONTENTS FOR THE MEN’S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE

PLAYBILL.... = з
DEAR PLAYBOY... 7
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS 33
THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR 65
PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: PETER SELLERS—candid conversation 69

THE PICTURE THIEVES—fiction. PAUL САШСО 74

THE GENTLEMAN'S HUNTING ARSENAL—modern living ROBERT RUARK 79
DRESSING THE PART—satire. __ SHEPHERD MEAD 83
PLAYBOY'S FALL 2 WINTER FASHION FORECAST—al ROBERT L GREEN 85
QUEEN OF CLUBS—ployboy's playmate of the month

PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor 102

THE IDEALIST—sotire JULES FEIFFER 104

MIND BEYOND MATTER—arlicle.....

A LUCKY DAY FOR THE BOAR—hdion
POST-FOOTBALL FETE—food & drink

THE LITTLE CREEP AND THE BIG BLONDE BROAD—fict

ARTHUR С. CLARKE 105
~. GERALD KERSH 107
THOMAS MARIO 109

KEN W. PURDY 111
GIRLS OF LONDON—pictoricl essay... 112
THE THIN RED LINE—fiction JAMES JONES 121
THE JAZZ FESTIVAL GROWS UP—atticle

1963 PLAYBOY JAZZ POLl—jozz
GAWAIN AND THE LADY OF THE PAVILION
FROM THE BACK OF THE BUS—humor

THE SCAVENGER—humor

NAT HENTOFF 122
— 126

-DE TROYES 130

DICK GREGORY 132
SHEL SILVERSTHN 151
LITTLE ANNIE FANNY—sotire HARVEY KURTZMAN AND WILL ELDER 191

PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK—travel PATRICK CHASE 198

HUGH м. HEFNER editor and publisher
A. с. SPEGUORSKY associate publisher and editorial director
ARTHUR PAUL art director

JACK J. KESSIE managing editor VINCENT т. Tagiri picture editor

FRANK DE BLOIS, JEREMY DOLE, MURRAY FISHER, TOM. LOWNIS, SHELDON WAX associate
editors: колы: 1. curry fashion directo, TAYLOR associate fashion editor;
TOMAS makio food & drink editor: PATRICK cuast travel editor: 4. 1
cery consulting editor, business and finance; CHARIS BEAUMONT, RICHARD
СЕНМАХ, WALTER GOODMAN, PAUL KRASSNER, REN W. PURDY contributing editors;
ARLENE HOURAS сору edilor; KAY WILLIAMS editorial assistant: EV CHAMBERLAIN
associate picture editor; BOX BRONSTEIN. MARIO CASILLA. POMPEO POSAR, JERKY VOLS:
MAN staf) photographers: wrin AUSTIN associate art director: PINAL KAPLAN. JOSEPH
Н. PACZEK assistant art direclors; WALTER KRADENYCH, VLLEN PACZEK art assistants;
JOUN матно production manager: FERN HEART assistant production manager =
HOWARD W. LEDERER advertising director; JULES Kase eastern advertising manager
Тони PALL midwestern advertising manager; узелок LOWNES їп promotion di
tor; NELSON Futen promotion manager; DAN савак promotion art director
MUL токын publicity manager: MNSY BUNN. public relations manager: ANSON
MOUNT college bureau; WEO FREDERICK personnel director; JANET гїлїм reader
service; WALTER J. HOWARTH Subscription fulfillment manager; VLDON SELLERS
special projects; komet s. xus business manager and circulation director

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DEAR PLAYBOY

E] avpress РААУВОУ MAGAZINE . 232 Е. ОНО ST, CHICAGO 11, ILLINOIS

A LOOK AT THE LOOKING GLASS
Re the article Through the Racial
Looking Glass by Nat Hentoff on us
poor colored folks: Certainly РЕАУВОХ
has helped draw the curtain of bigotry
in the publishing field when it looks to
a white man to undertake the sociologi
cal analysis of the Negro’s new militancy.
Couldn't James Baldwin, Louis Lomax,
Jimmy Hicks, or any one of the innum-
erable excellent Negro writers
written that article? All of this protest,
howev to no avail PLAYBOY is not
going to hire any Negroes on its ed
torial staff, nor going to increase

have

its utilization of Negro writers for arti-
cles, Our present collective frustrations
at this continuing display of racial preju-
dice which people like the Hentofis take

advantage of аге only drowned
weary disgust for your sudden discovery
of the high dimensions of the race prob-
lem. You and Г will all live to see а
world balance of power tipped toward
the colored people and, furthermore,
some international knuckle-rapping of
the white race. What I am going to en-
joy doing then is writing to all of you
and exclaiming with glee: "Like, man,
you brought it all on yourself. Suffer
But you folks do put out a swinging
magazine. Under the "new colored
order," there will be "plenty good room"
for rravnov. We're just going to have
some colored Playmates occasionally їп
that center spread.

C. Sumner Stone, Jr., Editor

Washington Afro-American

Washington, D.C.

Mr. Stone, meet James Baldwin, one
of your nominees (who, incidentall;
author of an upcoming PLAYBOY article)
and also see Dick Gregory in this issue.

I've heard you were criticized for
ing Nat Hentoff to do this article
ther than a Negro. All I can say is
I've admired Nat for a very long time
nd he is one of the people on whom
1 most depend to help bring these walls
of incomprehension down. If 1 can go
downtown — then Nat certainly can go
uptown. And the sooner we all become
accustomed to walking on this bridge,
the stronger the bridge will become.
James Baldwin
Dakar, Senegal

For the record: PLAYBOY is color-blind
in hiring staffers, assigning arl. photogra-
phy and writing, purchasing creative
work in text or pictures. Our criterion —
in judging people and their work — has
always been and will always be profes-
sional excellence. PtAvBov does have
Negro staffers, has published Negro
writers, has championed racial equality
through its television show, its key club,
and by donating most of the procee
from the Playboy Jazz Festival to the
Urban League for its interracial work.
We have never felt the need to make an
issue of these facts,although we are proud
to have recently been awarded a citation
for our efforts by The Chicago Confer-
ence for Brotherhood and a Good Amer-
icam Award by the Chicago Committee
of One Hundred.

Some of the Negro spokesmen men-
tioned in the article are laboring under
the impression that the majority of dark-
skinned peoples in the U.S. and the
world back their cause. 1 don't. believe
this is true. In fact, if an honest poll
were taken among the nonwhites who
have been acquainted with a number of
Negroes, you would find that a good
percentage barely tolerates the Negro.
Me? I'd rather have nothing to do with
them.

J. Chico Ramos
Denver, Colorado

Congratulations on the excellent
Through the Racial Looking Glass. 1
have been working in various Ci
Rights organizations for the past 10
years, and the article gave me inspiration
to continue working with a feeling that
time is not being wasted. Needless to
‚ there ha пу occasions
when hopelessness, frustration and down-
right disgust Вам nto my atti-
tude toward the work to which I have
devoted so many years. It was ironic to
watch а recent television program deal-
ing with the Peace Corps in 7
At one point, a white instructor was
в white Americans how to get
along with Africans. He went into some
detail about the attitudes and wi
that are offensive to the Afr
Imagine. These young white me
living in the “great democratic U.S.A.”

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18,000,000 black
ad to go all the way
п what is offensive to
black people. 1 suggest that they all
come home and teach some courses on
this subject at some of our un
— starting with the U. of Mississippi
Una G. Mulzac
Jamaica, New York.

ies

Through the Racial Looking Glass de
serves a special word of appreciation
Here at the University of

amd approva

Texas we

are proud of the results of
and thc
ruse we believe
immense future
‚ For the middle
ıt and sure there
lvocates on each side, yet what
а world if either extreme wins. Any fur-
ther reports will be just as welcome.
Bill Bownds, President
University Religious Council
University of Texas

Austin, Texas

r militant actions, strides

ard make us glad hi
this situ
worldwide

tion is of

must bc

1 with much interest Nat. Hen-
tofs article Through the Racial Loo
ing Glass. This is a very discerning piece,
and Г think he is essentially right in his
analysis. I might quarrel with a few
minor details and observations. but
those discrepancies are less numerous
less significant than the points of
ment. Mr. Hentoff has written a
articl

James Farmer, National Director
Congress of Racial Equality
New York, New York

When the July praynoy hit the stands.
the disc jockeys here at the station passed
up the pictorial goodies for the first
time and literally stood in Tine to read
Nat Hentolf's Through the Racial Loo
ing Glass. Aud WABQ. which edito
izes daily on local topics, patted ptaynoy
y. On my own broad.
cast, Coffee. Break, 1 tied
the musical Fly Blackbird with some of
the quotes Hentoff used from Reverend
- Oh yes, Г urged all of the
ıs 10 buy a сору of pLaynoy

music from

husbands—and to pass the
copy along 10 their ministers
Valena Minor Williams

Public Service Director
WABQ
Cleveland, Ohio

Your publishing of Through the Racial
Lovking Glass

an outstanding exam
ple of the truly mature character. of
your magazine and an encouraging sign

Every inch of space in a magazine of

Vioy’s stature devoted to the educa
tion of people in thi
of benefit to a world in chaos.

Howard Allen Cohen
Newark, New Jersey

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PLAYBOY

12

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My heartiest congratulations to Nat
Hentoft for his excellent Through the
Racial Looking Glass. The American
Negro has а perfect right to hatc. or
view with suspicion, any, or all, Ame
can whites. Too few Ате ns have
reached the intellectual maturity needed
to realize that, in the final analysis, there
are only two kinds of people living on
this planet and directing its destiny —
men and women. One aspect of the
"racial question" that is a constant
source of embarrassment to me as а phy.
sician is the double standard. of practice
employed by

ny of my profes-

as second.
thi
nore for the same

patients in the first place
class

tizens, but they also cha
50 to 100 percent
than they charge their white
socioeconomic counterparts. Unthink-
able among professional men? On the
contrar double standard of medical
the
If the leaders of a society
id, how can the masses ever be
expected to lose their emotional preju-
dices?

№. Е. Robinson,
Detroit, Michigan

Congratulations to Mr. Hentoff and
to you, PLAYBOY, for your fine article
Through the Racial Looking G
learned things about my race I had not
been conscious of. You have shown that
you are unafraid of criticism in taking
such a мер and it certainly bas won
favorable comment from many of my
friends.

thy Heard
Los Angeles, California

That article is onc of the most inform-
ative and factual that has been pre
med by your magazine or any other

recently. Ш pre:
the Negro people
«пон ightforward
without any of the buttering-up proc
esses or apologetic tones of so many
i les. More articles about. Né
need to be written in the same
iching tone as Mr. Немо»
Carolyn W. Cameron
Ames, Iowa

is the problems of
nd their resul

Wh

tever the rights and wrongs of
the integration movement by the Negro,
America must soon cease to think in
terms of one particular race. E believe,
as do most Southerners if they will face
up to it, that desegregation is nece
and tight. I say this out of no particular
e — neither
particular,
се

concern for the
е — but. from
п for the huma
Pick Conner

Columbus, North Carolina

love nor h;

grave conce

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PLAYBOY

14

“Everything
I've heard
about it

is true”

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WEN IS
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Nat Hentoff states that former Mon-
roc, North Carolina, М.А. P.

presi-
dent, Robert F. Williams, "was removed
from his position by that organization

for arming Negroes in his city against

white marauders.” Hentoff neglects to

mention that shortly after this action,

Williams was reinstated. Before Williams
amived in Monroe from New York, no

to become N.A.A.C.P.
president in that K.K.K. center. The
militant Williams was willing, and he
buik up the NAACP. in that city.

‘The removal of such a person could not
be afforded.
Jerry DeMuth
Dayton, Ohio

Congratulations on one of the best
ides I've ever read. Somehow I can't
help but feel somewhat of an authority
on the subject: first because I am а

Negro. and second because 1 am one
sixth of the first Negro family to move
into Levittown, Pennsylvania, ш 1957.
sing (so they say) a racial disturbance
because we wanted a larger and better
home in which to raise our kids.

Mrs, William Е. Myers

Harrisburg. Pennsylvani

In view of the fact that your recent
ide on the racial issue strongly Га
vored integration, I think it only
that you give the South's viewpoint
equal space in your maga
Bill Castle

Lake Charles. Louisiana

pravnoy stands for the individual —
for his rights, his freedom, his dignity
and his equal opportunity — without re-
gard for race, creed ar color. We атс as
much opposed to the bigotry that strikes
out at racial and religious groups as we
are to the bigots who burn books and
attempt to censor and oppose all ideas
and ideals that differ from their own.

FOR THE BIRDS
Janet Pilgrim, in answering a letter
I wrote, some time ago. voiced the

opinion that merchant scamen, being
world travelers, could properly be
called "international playboys^ A re-
cent incident indicates to me that. this
isn't necessarily so. About two weeks
ме were on our way from Australia to
Saigon and, after passing through Lom-
bok Strait, we passed very dose to the
island of Bali I noticed several of the
crew studying the shore line through
binoculars as we went by, and 1 natu-

rally thought they were interested in the
young women who were bathing there
Bur upon questioning Шет I discovered
that they were taking a group corre-

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у _ 1963 THUNDERBIRD LANDAU by FORD

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ет: апа check you favorite one ol Ue four
"d asking for CHESTERFIELD.
‘so use à piain sheet of paper on

which you
Ways of ashing fer CHESTERFIELD KING (see entry
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CHESTERFIELD KING Sweepstakes, Bex 629,
ew Vark 45, N. Y.

2. Entries must be postmarked by November о,
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3. Each ertry must be accempanied by any of
ihe folowing: tree empty CHESTERFIELD,
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of CHESTERFIELD KING, or hree pieces of
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Mail to: CH EEPS

PLAYBOY

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PLAYBOY

20

rebellion

contormily?

We're talking about the
growing trend to bourbon—es-
pecially OLD crow. Is it а ma:
movement against conformity?
We think so. The whole point of
choosing fine bourbon is because
of its individuality, its taste—not blandness.

Taste or choice—in whiskey, as in food, clothing, auto-
mobiles, you-name-it—is a way of saying “this is the hind of
person I am.” Today, we are happy to say, the
bland no longer lead the bland. The desire for
definiteness, for individuality, is taking place
everywhere.

The popularity of ого crow Kentucky
bourbon is part of this mass rebellion against nothingness.
This bourbon is as unique as fine French wine.

OLD CROW has a quality of honest smoothness and
character. It has it so much that today more
people buy OLD CROW than any other bourbon.
But OLD crow has always been favored. Andrew
Jackson favored it. Daniel Webster enthusias-
tically called it “the finest in the world.”

Try it tonight. Add only a little pure water
—or “branch” to your glass. Or try OLD CROW in
your favorite drink. Join the mass rebellion
against conformi:

Light-Mild 86-Pooof

DLD

Kentucky Bourbon.

THE OLO CROW OISTILLING CO.. FRANKFORT, KY. KENTUCKY STRAIGHT BOURBON WHISKEY, B6 PROOF

spondence course from the Audubon
Institute of Ornithology and, as part of
their current assignment, were trying to
identify a cert breasted pigeon
that is native D studied the
beach very carefully myself but. proba-
bly due to my lack of interest in orni-
thology, did not see any birds of any
kind. Possibly the bathers һай fright-
ened them away. I think this proves that
at least some seamen are serious stu-
lems and could never be called
“playboys.”

Walter J. Evans
5.5. Frederick Sykes
Kobe, Japan
Brown-breasted pigeons, eh? We think
your seamen buddies were putting you
on, Walter, or is that our leg we feel
being tugged?

WHO SHALL DWELL
Н. С. Neal’s July story on atomic at-
tack, Who Shall Dwell, is excellently
donc. It may overstress the situation,
it is realistic. I hope this helps convince
people that they should have shelters.
W. F. Libby

The discoverer of radiocarbon dating,
an invaluable aid to archaeologists, Dr.
Libby contributed to the development of
the first A-Bomb. He was a member of
the Atomic Energy Commission from
1954 10 1959 when he received the Al-
bert Einstein Award.

Congratul:
Its surprise end
too, аге humai

Stephen L. Hagendorf
Franklin Square, New York

ns on Who Shall Dwell.
shows that Ru:

BUS STORY
Calder Willingham’s Bus Story in the
July issue pleases me, and for once (in
а most perplexing area of appreciati
I think I can say why. We
whole structure of p
closer you get to that id
difficult it is to know wrong from right,
good from evil. All people are pretty
much alike yone is different from
yone else. Both these statements аге
good for the bird to eat the
worm. It is likewise good for the cat to
the bird and the worm to eat the
a ad, it's a writer's job to
throw light on these paradoxes, and the
more light he throws, the better a writer
he is. Bus Storys Harry has plenty of
strength, but in using it with that kind
of brutality he makes it a symbol of
weakness, an almost pathetic statement
of his uncertainty of what he is and what
he can do, and his obsesed desire to
prove it. The girl Margaret, in the same
light, is shown to be more than a victim,
c old Eve responds to the old Adam,

. To my m

Miles Davis played е jazz concert опе x Randy Sparks directs an engaging young

wild May night. Fortunately, it was re- group of authentic folksingers in their de-

corded on the spot for an unforgettable but recording, ‘The New Christy Minstrels.”
jum,

The Brothers Four bring a fresh vitality to folksing: André Previn, with a new
ing. Their enthusiasm is catching in this live per- album full of elegant, easy
formance recording, ‘The Brothers Four—In Person." jazz for piano and orches-

tra, takes you ta the

George Young, in a stun Dave Brubeck, Louis Arm-
ning exhibiton of tech- strong and his band, Lam-
nique, justifies his record bert, Hendricks and Ross and
title, ‘The Greatest Sax- ME Carmen McRae all swing on
ophone in the World.’ 4 опе album, with a musical
E tale of the State Depart-

jonsored jazz tours

Tony Bennett—at a high point of
his career, With this 2-record set,
you can join the audience cheer-
ing

Aretha Franklin mirrors a dozen moods
when she sings. Her new album re-
flects them ali—'The Tender, the Mov-
ing, the Swinging Aretha Franklin.’

This is today's world of entertainment. Enter, friend. You'll

find it warm, inviting, alive. In our wonderful stereo sound,
it’s a world that sounds wonderful on :

солаш шлюз riz миш m u sa

21

PLAYBOY

22

Don't Stir
Without
Noilly Prat

THE EXTRA DRY FRENCH VERMOUTH

The modern dry Martini is more than just a hooker of gin or
vodka. It’s a civilized cocktail made with Noilly Prat French
Vermouth. Why Noilly Prat? Because this classic vermouth
flavor and, above all, extra dry.

is correctly pale, matchless

Never stir without it!

BROWNE VINTNERS COMPANY. NEW YORK, N

SOLE OISIRIBUIORS FOR THE U.S.A

and that’s great. This makes her ready
for sex, but its ignorance and cow
ardice that make her ready for rape. The
cowardice is hers and like all cowards,
she has to pay for it The ignorance is
hers (like certain other afflictions, it's no
crime to have it, but it is to keep it) to
а degree, but far more her parents’, who
obviously spent half a lifetime in
meticulously withholding from her the
real score. So aside from the fact that
this is a well-written. hard-hitting nar
rative, the real bonus is in the chance
Willingham gives the reader to go back
and back, out and up through all th

things surrounding the narrative, all
ppen. If you
mple of the dis-

the things that made it h

ever want a classic ex;

tinction between pornography and erotic
realism, you'll find it in such fiction, by
the presence of such a bonus.
Theodore Sturgeon
New York, New York
Our thanks, and author Willingham’
to Ted Sturgeon, Fantasy Award Winner
(for his book “Мое Than Human")
and prolific spinner of imaginative
fiction exploring the psychological
boundaries of humans, extraterrestrials,
telepaths and disembodied psychic forces.

With the printing of Bus Story, "Ате
ica’s most sophisticated magazine
slipped to an all-time low. Not only was
the story pointless, but also in rather
bad taste.

R. Bruce Crytse
Malibu, California

Garbage, gentlemen.
Donald А. Boates
Great Falls, Montana

Re your Bus Story: How does one go
about commending a magazine for tak
ing what must have been a calculated
risk in publishing a work of the starkest
realism and superior prose with the full
knowledge that the blienose
would be out in full cry? ГА been about
convinced that rLavnoy had lost its
former vigor in going for the safe and
the slick, but my faith is most happily
restored. One story like Bus Story is
woth dozens of tame bits of drivel
"There hasn't been anything as good in а
commercial magazine in years, only in the
“ше” magazines. Hugh Hefner should
feel very great pride in his courage and
devotion to literature. Please do not
use my name if you print this com-
ment. I teach in a public school here
in Chicago and don't want the PTA

on my neck!
(Name withheld)
Chicago, Illinois

Im writing Greyhound to advise them
ıo try to purchase reprints of Calder
Willingham’s Bus Story for distribution,
as а public service, to all young ladies

Shirt by Van Heusen, Defiance slacks of Reigel Cotton Doecord

“How come
you never
get mad
when you're
smoking
a cigar?”

No seat-warming this time. You just can’t provoke a man when he's smoking а cigar. The man who enjoys

cigars enjoys life...and he's not going to take the fun out of anybody else's. Cigar Institute of America, Inc.

23

РЕАУВОХ

24

THE AWARD-WINNING JAZZ
OF AMERICA IS ON VERVE!

HLLA FITZGERALD

Female Vocalist winner of every Playboy Popularity
Poll and the 1962 Playboy All-Stars’ Poll.

OSCAR PETERSON

Piano winner in the 1962 Playboy All-Stars’ Poll.

GERRY MULLIGAN

Baritone Sax winner of every Playboy Popularity Poll
and the 1962 Playboy All-Stars’ Poll.

STAN GETZ

Tenor Sax winner in the 1962 Playboy Popularity Poll.

RAY BROWN

Bass winner of every Playboy Popularity Poll and the
1962 Playboy All-Stars’ Poll.

8 GREAT ALBUMS BY 5 GREAT ARTISTS
EKCLUSIVELY ON VERVE

ium E LLL EE
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On Tour, Guest Soloist:

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VERVE RECORDS 15 А DIVISION OF METRO -GOLDWYN- MAYER, INC.

traveling alone. The subtly sadistic
"hero" of this story is an all-too familiar
character to any girl whose cyes aren't
too badly crossed or who lacks a buck-
toothed, harelip condition. Am happy to
learn that the story, which is my choice
for the annual О. Henry award. is part
of a new book and am lool
to reading Eternal Fire when it is pub
lished next January.
Virginia H. Siechowicz
Fort Lauderdale, Florida

I just read onc of your stories in the
July issue, something about а bus ride,
and to say I was shocked and disgusted
puts it mildly. This type of lit
serves no useful purpose and would

ature

more suitably be found scrawled on a
restroom wall. 1 feel I am no prude, but
I was offended by this type of filth, and
I feel most decent people would be.

J. Е. McCloskey

Los Angeles, California

I have never considered myself a prude
or anything near one, but Calder Will-
ingham's Bus Story nearly made me
vomit, I enjoy your stories when they
concern themselves with the exploits and
dalliances of the mature (or reasonably
ure), but this chronicle of depravity
n extremely poor taste. Fun is fuu.
vive la différence and all that, but
please stay out of the sc

Charles Hotz
Oxford, Massachusetts

As а wellentertained reader for sev-
eral years. and now a subscriber, I wish
to lodge a serious complaint about Bus
Story. Pomography. in such blatant and
tasteless form, shouldn't have a place in
your magazine. Several of us who have
steadily backed your elforts were seri-
ously disturbed by this story's crudity.

м.

T suggest that Calder Willingham try
writing for the movies. Г quit going to
them years ago.

orge Freeman

inta. Barbara. California
You're а little late, George. Willing-

ham has already written the screenplays

for such award-winning films as “Paths of

Glory” and “Bridge on the River Kwai”

What kind of audience do you think
you're reaching with trash like Вих
Story? I've been а рглувоу reader for
some time and I have, in general, liked
what Гуе read. I'm no bluenose — just
an average bachelor, college educated
etc. In my opinion, Bus Story is the most
swinish, degenerate piece of trash 1 have
had the misfortune to read.
Tan Е. Black
Westport, Connecticut
Nothing excuses the printing of trash

how to succeed
without really trying

“TIGER,

slack

Dickies.

PLAYBOY

26

BLENDED WHISKEY • 90 PROOF » 55% GRAIN NEUTRAL SPIRITS
THE FLEISCHMANN DISTILLING CORPORATION, NEW YORK CITY

but we must all recognize that “trash”
describes the quality of the writing in a
story, and not the theme or plot of it.
No particular aspect of personal experi-
ence, no idea, no situation is in itself
taboo or objectionable. We have reached
a state of maturity in this country where
our courts and our literary critics agree
that any subject is permissible, and any
situation can be described, if it is done
with taste and care.

Bus Story by Calder Willingham in
your July issue fascinated me for several
reasons. I'd heard a variety of comments
bout it before 1 came to read it: they
ranged from the infra sniggery to the
ultradisdainful with enough wide flashes
of honest admiration to indicate that
the whole spectrum had been excited.
Then I read it myself, found it strong
and funny and enjoyable — and sat back
to wonder why the hell, at this late
date, Willingham’s stuff upsets people
so much, A h

а Man, as if it portended a Dostoi
unmercifully and savagely kicked in the
face of his second one, Geraldine Brad-
shaw, dismissing it with a line or two —
“, „ „ hurriedly written, careless . . . un-

important Yet Bradshaw, the first
full-length treatment of an only-too-well-
known American female type — the tease

—has one of the finest and most hilari-
ous seduction scenes in literature. No
critic who praised the first book com-
mented on its derived and imitative
material; no critic who damned the
second bothered to note that it was au-
thentic and original and related, through
streams of laughter, to the best of Ma
"Twain. It's this laughter, 1 suppose, that
gets them. You can sweat out the moon-
lit aspects of sex, and vou can shiver
them out. You сап scratch your Oedipus
complexes broodingly and you can mum-
ble symbolic mumbles about the origins
of a perversion. But heaven help you
if you hit sexual practice head on and,
the process let а bit of irony or wit
escape you. One could easily write an
on how sex has been handled in
ican literature. You'd start off with
"The Scarlet Letter, а novel
out the fact of adultery,
which everything germane to
fact occurs essentially offstage. Then
come the phases of “He advanced to-
ward her with mai in his eyes” and
"She fell back. g: ith surrender”

sping
— both followed with an end-of-chapter
blank or a line of asterisks. Later, of
course, you hit the “He fell hungrily
on her red-tipped breasts, covering them
with frantic kisses” and even passages
with conclusions like “Her skirt rucked

up over her knees. ‘Scattergood,’ she
murmured distractedly. ‘Oh, Scattergood,
don't, don’t" Finally, you get thc
phony “tough” sequences, in which an

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27

PLAYBOY

1901, THE PAPER MATE CO, PAPER MATE ard CAPRI, REG. U, S, PAT, OFF.

а chirieHilla
and а”

New York Playboys,

we salute you!

Why? Oh come off it!

It w

s a New York judge who ruled
that a Bacardi Cocktail has to be

made with Bacardi, wasn’t it? It was
a New York playboy who invented
the Bacardi Party, wasn't it? It's New
York playboys who insist no Bacardi
Party is complete without Bacardi

Cocktails on-the-rocks, isn’t it?

Salute you? We bless you!

© Bacardi Imports, Inc. NY. Rum, 80 Proof

author gets a hot scene past the censors
by deftly substituting a skinned knuckle
for an honest and real sexual caress
There is, in the first half of Bus Story
a sexual caress which is a preliminary to
most acts of copulation. It caress
used by almost all men and enjoyed by
almost all women. In Bus Story, it is
described with rightful zest, with wit and
with deep affection for the pathos of
the girl's innocence and the man's dis-
tortion. I deduce that the reality of that
specific caress— barely mentioned any-

where else, hitherto—was frightening
enough to face on the printed page; but
the suggestion tha 11
pleasure was even more upsetting to
people
ary shocks cushioned with wads of psy
chological ref псе. Tonstant Weader
turned back to the reading list
by the local Women’s Club with tears in
his уйше eyes. "There is a right way to
do these things," he wept, "and a wrong
way." ОГ course, Willingham’s hero is
about 15 appetizing as hydrofluoric acid
and that scene in the bedroom of the
rest stop is coldly corrosive. But such
scenes are a fundamental part of this
generation's sexual experience and. con-
stantly
body who has moved
at all freely knows that it is infested with
such bastards, male and female: one 1
either met them and been forced to deal
with them often or, at the very least, onc
has heard about them in great and fluid
detail from their victims or admirei
And sometimes — sometimes, I say — one
may have acted that way a little bit one
self, What I'm saying, then, is that while
Willingham set himself to create а pro
tayonist of especially deep-cut brutality
the actions of this character, as distinct
from his motives, are no more
American life than are motels and movie

it was actu à

ccustomed to having their liter

approved

cur in its private dialogs. Any
about the world

"

ien to

balconies. But more than that, Willing
ham's treatment of such a theme is
part of a burgeoning tradition in the
approach to sex and related to what
Cyril Connolly, in his essay More About
the Modern Novel, calls "the vitality of
America," carefully distinguishing it
from “the grace of England." It is a
tradition of purely male lyricism about
sex, а lyricism of barroom, barracks and
bull session, frequently as harsh as a
boy's first taste of whiskey but straight-
forward and uncompromising always. 1
found this tradition, this new lyricism,
in Willingham's Bus Story, and, as an
American, I enjoyed it and was damn
proud.

William Tenn
New York, New York
Mr. Tenn —among this country's most
respected and prolific authors of cere
brally heady science fiction —is recog

nized as being in the forefront of those

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29

PLAYBOY

30

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social sciences.

PLAYBOY — PRO AND CON
1 often wonder how your conscience
allows you to sleep at night. Do you ever
stop and think of the great harm you
are doing by publishing that filthy maga-
zine of yours? No doubt some of the so-
called ladies that pose for you are picked
up on the street or in some beatnik
joint. For no decent girl would expose
herself the way these girls do.
Mrs. Robert Carlson
Lewiston, New York

For the third year in a row I have
renewed my subscription. However, let
me say that unless certain new and un-
fortunate editorial trends are corrected,
it will be the last such renewal. Sirs, you
magazine is rapidly becoming fat and
fortyish. Too much music, too much
clothes, too much garbage of all kinds
and not enough girls.

Joseph P. Dayton
Sunnyside, New York

my whole life seen such
gazine.

Mrs, LeRoy Wood
Deerwood, Minnesota

It is my feeling that rraynoy is one of
the most abused magazines on the mar-
ket. Too often I hear rrAvsoy lumped
n one breath with its decidedly inle-
rior imitators and even, at times, with
the cheaper pulp magazines that rely
for sales almost exclusively on sex and
sadism, Personally, I buy your mag;
for its obvious points. I am not hy
crite enough to deny that I gaze fondly
on your Playmate every month, to assert
I read only the sophisticated article:
d literary fiction, ignoring the animal
in me. Some defenders of PLAYBOY irri
tate me as much as the critics, for they
assert, knowing that they are lying, that
they hardly notice anything but the in-
tellectual aspects of the magazine. I сап
tolerate these people, though; they do
read Ynov and do not. like the cru-
sading critics, base their judgments on а
very fragmentary knowledge of your р
cies, goals and subject matter. (1 suppose
that many critics have done по more
than skim one issue.) 1 have rarely
seen a feature, pictorial or otherwise, in
PLAYBOY that struck. me as being in bad
taste. Never has my intelligence be
sulted by your magazine as it has been
by other magazines (many of them widely
estcemed), television, movies and other
diversions. There have been times when
€ found some disappointments in
ysoy, but I feel that, considering the
overall high quality of every issue, an
occasional feature that is not quite up
to par is to be pardoned. The status of
sophistication in the United States is, 1

CHOOSE FROM COLE, SHEARING,

GEORGE
SHEARING REVERIE
О 1 eder
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SINATRA, LEE, KINGSTON TRIO, OTHER CAPITOL STARS!

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TRE SHEARING TOUCH.

‘Se long Age

gion, T Remember You. when you become
Sree mare agree tc bu}
Eg E кимату, ыд. азо DIMAN SHORE DINAH and Angel

TO NIGHT FIORE.

DOWN HOMEL A iwi

oniy gens

trial member of the Capitol Record Club and
only six future selections, from more than 200 Capitol
Ibums to be offered you, during the next 12 months.

Record set counts ar
dvo Separate selections)

12” LONG-PLAY HIGH-FIDELITY

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plus а small

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МИРА
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CAPITOL RECORD CLUB “THE RECORD CLUB OF THE STARS’
Dept. 5319, Scranton 5, Pennsylvania

Please send me these 5 Albums and bill me only 97¢ plus a small
shipping charge.

"WRITE ALBUM NUMBERS OF THE CAPITOL HITS YOU WANT IN THESE BOXES: |

[СЕЛА | РЕМ |

Enroll me in the following division—however, 1 may select records
from any division I wish.

D Popular Best Sellers

D Great Classics
Esch month the Capitol Record Album every
Club Review describes the new records,
selections, 1 will purchase 6 from — It not delighted with my 5 albums,
the more than 200 Capitol and Т can return them within 7 days and
Angel Albums to be offered during all charges will be canceled.

the next 12 months. I can resign

amy time after that. Depending on
the records І buy, I pay only the
Club price of 53.98 or $4.98 (occa-
sionally $5.98), plus а small ship-
ping charge. After | buy these 6,
I wil choose а 12” FREE Bonus

№ RISK— SEND NO MONEY!

D Exciting Jazz
I buy two more

|

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EI STEREO, Check Кете if you | |
Want all records in STEREO.

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CANADA: Slightly higher prices. Май to — Capltol
184 Castlefield Avenue, Toronto.

31

PLAYBOY

32

feel, extremely poor. ргАүвоү is one of
the few indications to the contrary, and
it is manifestly sad that it receives small-
minded criticism. I felt it only right for
you to have this unsolicited testimonial,
although Г am sure you are well aware
that you have a multitude of backers.

Robert Tyler

Austin, Texas

May I ta

е your time to express my
deep appreciation of your magazine? I
have just finished my third issue, July.
1 wholchcartedl with Hugh Rus-
sell Fraser (Playbill, July) and 1 have

d The New Yorker for m

years. The intellectual firm
of your magazine demands the attention
of истемей in top-notch
literature. Accept my best wishes for fur-
ther success as you are promoting laugh-
ter, truth and beauty, and supplying
nourishment to literary minds. Should I
send a years subscription to my alma
mater's (Wellesley College) library? They
need it.

Mrs. Alys P. Griswold
Naples, Florida

By all means, Mrs. Griswold, and
thank you.

A GENTLEMAN'S

COLOGNE
PRESIDENTIAL PLAYMATE

І enjoyed the cartoon about the wed-
ding of the Playboy Club Bunny sent to
you by a New Yorker from The New
Yorker magazine (Dear Playboy. Ju
1962), but the enclosed cartoon from а

CHANEL

From Los Angeles Мапата 1962 P2e1few

тынам.

4 fl. oz. 5.00 16 fl. oz. 13.50

“Jock, come here, pleas

recent issue of the West
Los Angeles should assure vou — if assur
ances are necessary — that you are equ

popular out here. The notion of Jack
as a Playmate of the Month is an int
guing one, incidentally
Samuel L. Cohen
Los Angeles, California
п == ГУ]

Č 1962 CHANEL, INC 1 W SITH STREET. NY. PRICES PLUS TAY

PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS

ip alert for opportunities to feel
оой about being a member of the
human race, we think we've found one in
an anomaly of contemporary communi-
cations. The anomaly concerns profes-
ional image builders, and the image of
themselves that they project. Consider
the dozens of motivation research firms
devoted to creating corporate or per-
sonal public images for their clients.
striving — day in, day out—to earn the
heavy sugar they are paid to make the
Boy Scout Oath seem faint praise for

ma

those whose virtues they extol. Consider
ans, pollsters
and professional ponderers — busy as ants
kicked-over anthill—secking to
soften the public psyche, by means devi-
ous and arcane, so it will be responsive
to such notions as that a certain prod-
uct, ог person, or corporate complex is
indispensable to the good life and
largely actuated by loving altruism, to
boot. And then consider the public image
of these same motivation researchers: it
inspires subliminal suspicion, cynical
doubt, суеп active dislike. Isn't it pass
ing strange that— occupied with manipu
lating the publics private thoughts —
they can't generate any feeling of warmth
or regard for themselves? We don't think
so. We credit it directly to the basic good
sense of a public that wants its mind
left alone, left of it, and will
guard itself accordingly (and rather ef
fortlessly, at that), despite the sophisti
cated techniques of persuasion practiced

their psychologists, s

ti

what's

upon it. The public may not be immune
to manipulation (though we like to be-
lieve the threshold of gullibility gets
ever higher), but one thing is sure:
the manipulators — would-be or actual —
lave not been able to create for them-
selves the public trust or allegiance they

claim they can fabricate for others. Fine
fellows these practitioners may be (some
of our best friends are MR men), and
endowed with keen and subtle intelli-
gence. It is their occupation that arouses
an almost superstitious unease, quite
different from the open hostility occa-
sionally directed at the more overt
assaults of public relations and advertis-
ing, for example. Such is the anomaly —
and the sort of public response — we find
ourself pleased to applaud.

Associated Press
ibout a feline population explo-

Excerpt from an
story
sion in the basement of Philadclphia's
City Hall: “Carmen D'Ulis:
tendent of shops and storcrooms, said he
mounted 75 cats but could have gonc

much furthei

. superin-

Under "Rooms to Let — Furnished”
in the Toronto Globe and Mail: "Small,
bright bed-sitting room. Use of equipped
kitchen, veranda, woman."

From a service column in the Dayton,
Ohio, Journal-Herald, а drink recipe for
the venturesome host: "For the driest of
all martinis, just coat the rim of the galss

with а vermouth-saturated cotton swab.”
The apogee in overblown titles for

pedestrian professions has been achieved
by an upward-mobile Mad Ave shoe-re-
рай shop with this sign in its window:
SHOETRICIAN ON PREMISES AT ALL TIMES.

Our best wishes for a speedy recovery
to Helen Sherry of Seattle, Washington,
who, according to the social page of the
local Highline Times, “is just
from a cold that affected her hearing
and vice temporarily.

World Media Report, a new industrial
trade journal. recently commended the
following volume to its admittedly spe-
cialized readership: Public Works and
Muck Shifter.

For its refreshing editorial honesty
we salute the Boulder City, Nevada, daily
newspaper: The Dam Informer,

When а motorist pulled into a Copen-
hagen gas station a while back with a
complaint about his car's heavy steering
and sluggish acceleration, the mechanic
instantly located the trouble: Another
car was attached to the rear bumper

In а courageous crackdown on delin-
quent birdlife in Bay City, Michigan,
community officials have proposed а
stern city ordinance that would forbid
local pigeons to: “Fly during that half
day when washing is hung ош; Пу for
more than 90 minutes during the morn-
ing or evening, and then only if they do
not land anywhere; fly after dark or in
excessive numbers; roost on any building
openings.” Violators, we assume, will be
grounded.

Our interest in the sport of kings v
heightened by a story from the Associated
Press about a
implic
British horsedopi
times,” reported the AP,
been found bleary-cyed and weak in the
legs after the Frenchwoman had called
at the stables.” Formidablet

ysterious Frenchwoman

ed in recent investigations of a

In keeping with our policy of broad-
ening our readers’ financial and cultural
horizoi are happy to report that
pornography — like charity —is now tax
deductible. This information should be

we

33

PLAYBOY

34

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especially valuable to aging roués (or
their embarrassed widows) who lave,
perhaps, been on the verge of putting
a match to a lifetime collection of
feclthy peectures, zippy stag films and
titillating tales of Tillie the Toiler
Don't burn that bawdry! Send it to
Institute for Sex
n Hall, Blooming-
Indiana), and the U.S. Government
will allow you to deduct the actual ap-
ised value of your contribution to
science. Or, if you prefer to keep
your off-color curios for a while, you can
carmark them for donation in your will,
take your deduction and the Institute
will claim them after you—or your
sexual appetites — have faded away. Be-
cause these facts were little known here-
tofore, only $10,000 worth of erotica has
been deductibly donated to the Institute
thus far. But the price of pornography
runs high: one collection of fascinating
films was appraised at $3500, while an

‚ a Winch Mexican phallic
icon, fetched а $1200 write-off. Just how
the value of the pornography is deter-
mined, says the Institute's Director of
Field Rescarch, Dr. Wardell Pomeroy, “is
up to the donor — and the Internal Rev-
enue Service.” But the IRS has yer to
give any of the Institute's tax-minded
benefactors a dirty look.

Neither Snow nor Rain nor Heal nor
Gloom of Night Departmen
apartment-house fire :
fornia, spectators watched raptly
neighborhood postman trudged up to
the building, picked his way through the
crowd, dodged several running firemen,
hopscotched a hose, tiptoed through
puddles, threaded his way through
broken glass, fallen masonry and billow
ing smoke, deposited the mail in the
hallway slots, retraced his steps — ава
quietly continued his appointed rounds

Convicted of drunk driving, speeding
and driving without a license, traffic

policeman Shinji Yamaguchi was fired.
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despite his explanation that he was cele-
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wellectual silence"), Movement
Workshop for Teachers, and, so help us,
Europe from a Convertible.

Unsetüing news on the sociologi
front trom the Albuquerque. New Mex-
ico, Journal: MORE UNSTAMPED FAGS ARE
SEIZED; DIG SUPPLY SEEN.

Recently we came across a newspaper
photo showing a group of young Amish
baseball players working out strenu-
ously im the heat of Intercourse —a
small, staid and otherwise unremarkable

mlet in southeastern Pennsylvania
that we and others have commented on.
before. Consider the tantalizing plight
adline writer for the local Inter-
per: surely he must on occasion

find himself. possessed with an overpow-
ering impulse to concoct such head-
turners as these lor the "sporting section":
INTERCOURSE CLUB STARTS SPRING TRAINING,
INTERCOURSE CHAMPS ON EX ouR,
or perhaps INTERCOURSE ATHLETE TIES
own recor. Even the fields of cc
merce jon must stir many a

пох

and еди

temptation 1o conceive disconcerting
banner headlines like urercourst 1x-
вочку REACHES

TERCOURSE,

TEAC d PLANNED
PARENTHOOD GROUP STUDIES FUTURE Or
iyraecoUksr, Aud surely regional news-
men must often withe in frustra
unable to immortalize in print.

ROAD COMPANY PLAYS

AT INTERCOURSE, INTERCOURSE. GAMBLING
KAPPED BY CITIZEN GROUP, HERO RETURNS
10 INTERCOURSE, TWIN SISTERS WED IN IN-
IERCOURM-, LISHNESS NAMED INTERCOURSE
MAN OF YEAR, POLICE CRACKDOWN ON
INTERCOURSE VICE, INTERCOURSE TO PLAY
MAJOR ROLE IN STATE PARK SYSTEM,
FACILITIES ENLARGED AT INTERCOURSE DRIVE-
IN, INTERCOURSE. VIEW т NEW TV
CHANNEL, BEAUTIES OF INTERCOURSE
PRAISED AT DAR. LUNCHEON — the mind
boggles at the possibilities. The Amish
not being known for th
we doubt these heads will ev
ugly sex. ОГ course, th

Climax, Colorado. . .

Ks DEMAND Р

always

] items of

Among the more wi
ading material available in a model
fallout shelter on display in Gotham's
Grand Central Station not long ago w
а copy ol Cur — а whereto-o enter

s

ment guide
tion for the most candid
ad of the month goes 10 this blurb from
the Los Angeles Times: “Noted Actor
Di у stars. Low f
for

ictor has made m
Jented beginners.”

A headline in the Universi

student newspaper, The Daily Texan,

From this day on, drivers of the world's
proudest sports cars are advised to stick
to the right-hand side of the road. For at
any moment an AC/Cobra can come
storming past, belly low to the road wi
twin pipes ripping out а curt *'good-b
There's not much point trying to argue
with this potent new combination of super-
hot Ford Fairlane V-8 and super-light AC
chassis—260 solid American horsepower
on tap all day long in а саг that weighs
2,020 pounds curbside. The AC/Cobra
roadtests zero to 100 in a breath-stopping
10.8 seconds . . . and comes smoking
down to zero again in the grip of disc

Fair warning
from the Cobra!

brakes big enough for a Diesel truck. The
seats are deep glove-soft leather, the sus-
pension is supple four-wheelindependent,
and the way it claws around corners re-
writes all the laws of centrifugal force.
The V-8 is a real piece of magic. Product
Of Ford's research in precision-molded
“thin wall" cast iron, it is short, narrow,
light—and ready to lock at the other side
of 150 mph (and 7.200 rpm) any time
your foot slips. But even whispering
around town it doesn't know what "'tem-
perament" means and that, coupled with
the generous cockpit room, the civilized
ride, the reasonable luggage space and

the sleek Italianate lines of the hand-
formed aluminum body, make the AC/
Cobra a touring Sports car of the very
irst rank.

Unhappily, the production is severely
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PLAYBOY

38

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п of the times seen in the window

Greenwich Village coffeehouse:

of
AMER

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As students of strange folkways, we

м ademi

ally interested in а recent
ad from the Montreal Gazette for а
local sportswear emporium: "Ski Slacks
30% ОШ at the Igloo,” which would
leave us cold.

We extend sym
thers of Compi
France, who w

hy to the city fa-

surOise in rural

* forced to cancel a

town-wide fost Virtuous Girl” contest
when they failed to receive any en-
5. The prize went to charity.

BOOKS

Well, just as we were man:
forget all about Advise and Consent,
here come the same characters — plus
plenty of new ones — vollin,

ing to

into their
voles in Allen Drury’s second novel,
A Shede of Difference (Doubleday. Si
This 603-page choo-choo commutes
nd UN he
tricky
leader of African 1
fight fo . The African —
all 6 feet, 7 inches of him — makes

young Neg
ht between his.
g racialism: a
U.S. is intro-
duced in the General Assembly by a
Yank-hating P an who is mar
governor of Cali

hour filibuster to defeat a resolution apol-
ogizing to the African and expires from
hay himself to d
U makes
brotherly love to the General Assembly
while literally dying of leukemia This
crock of c

nented with se

sc

n
High Places — all of which brummagem
is wrapped in dreary Drury
prose. The author's first novel was about
national government; his second i
world government. Drury
on his way up. Heaven, look to your
gates!

bri

In In-tows and Outlaws (Houghton МИЕ
lin. 54) С. Northcote Parkinson — ped
ant, punster, Giver of the Law — tells
how to succeed in business by

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39

PLAYBOY

Vl

9

Of all the Englishmen
who drink gin...

how many

drink Gordon’s?

lost of them. And it’s been that way
for years. To be blunt about it,

Gordon’s is England’s biggest selling gin
—а5 it is America’s and the world’s.
Why? Probably because we have al-
ways refused to tamper with a good
thing. Gordon’s still harks back to
Alexander Gordon’s original formula—
conceived in London 193 years ago
— 50 its distinctive dryness and flavour
remain unchanged and unchallenged to
this day. Ask for Gordon’s by name at
your favourite tavern and package store.

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trying. He starts with the assumption
that уоп, his reader, are “below avi
— stupid. idle, careless, uncooperative,
illtempered and disloyal." На
the sake of argument. assented to all
this, you are free to push on

through Parkinson's endlessly revolving
doors, along his geously circu
trails to The Top. You will be required,

among other thi

gs, to cultivate the art
of choosing in-law and to mas-
ter the Ра Report, which assi;
с and female characteristics to corpo-
rations (the ladies do up their offices
pastel shades) and analyzes their pre-
mergital relations. The Professor's obser-
ations on busin foibles are sometimes
rewd—as when he remarks that
mong business consultants “all organi-
zations are instantly judged by the looks
of their female office A asur

ment of success which ri
accepts, considering our staff's measur
з). But the book is marred by
icr-than-thou prose style that 1

The
leigh,

Bob Bedrock,
Mr. Cipher — cease to amuse by the
third chapter.

A little over a decade ago, Arthur С.
rke, physicist and mathematician, be-
ne Arth Clarke, full-time writer.
The more than 200 books, ari
cluding a series currently ru
praynoy) and short stories he has pro-

progression. Science-fic-
blend of
ion may be
n Teles of Ten Worlds (F

а collection
novelette,
п evocation of
Two of the

his profession.
tion master

informati
savored

of М recent stories and or
The Road to the Sea,
love and art circa 8000 A.
stories will not be new to PLAYBOY regu-
lars —1 Remember Babylon (May 1960),
on televised pornography as а
weapon of subversion, and Let There Be
Light (February 1958), a humorously
plausible account of murder by death
ray. Whether set in the here and now
or among the most remote stars of a rc-
mote future, Arthur Clarke's absorbing
tales continue to add wonder and mys-
tery to this, our science-nonfiction world.

a sa

Davis Grubb, author of Night of the
Hunter and 4 Dream of Kings, has
grubbed up a big new novel called The
Voices of Glory (Scribner's. 5 et in
1928, it takes place in a. West. Virginia
coal town called Glory, and cach of its
ny sections is a monolog by a differ-
. (The title is as misleadingly
ришу as 4 Man of Malice Landing
or The View from Pompey's Head —
Malice Landing and Pompeys Head
being place nes.) The monolog
device is out of Edgar Lee Masters’

Spoon River Anthology. but Grubb
hasn't. Mastered the form.

There ате
ich men,

the predictable | personae
poor men, newspaper editor, miner, doc
tors, tramps, loose women, ct al. Quite a
MIL of them bav
one way or another, with Marcy Cresap.
a U.S. Public Health Service nurse whose
battle а

few ct a been involved.

nst disease,

prejudice has aroused adoration aud
aversion in the citizenry. The book rips
Ше oftripped.
respectability to reveal — yes! — venality.
hate, and more kinds of lust than How-
ard Johnson has flavors of ice cream.
Angcl-of-mercy Marcy fights Evil, loves
Good, is not ashamed to befriend
Negroes, Jews and other “dubious”
types, or t0 like Bach and good wine, or
10 think that nudity сап be beautiful
Even for 1028, her bravery seems quaint
The book's monolog method is more
stricture than structure. Its style is fruity.
sincere: “Exile is my penitentiary cell,
and silence is the lash Fate logs те
with.” Or out of character, quite a way
out: An ignorant Negro says, “What she
woke in me is a splendor yet" Grubb's
vulgar vitality and his innocence of his
own corniness give the book a certain
momentum — which carries it to a liter
ary niche somewhere between King’s
Row aud Peyton Place.

small-town

fagade off

Mickey Spillanc’s famous hero, the
(mox named Mike Ham-
nd onc part groin,
is back in something called The Girl Hunters
(Dutton, $3.50) —a book that may be a
religious allegory, since so much has to

semiliterate lu

mer, two parts gristle

be taken on sheer faith. We are supposed
to believe that Mike

bender for seven y

has been on a
‚ but can pull out

on two days notice when it develops
that the well-developed dame whose dis
appearance started him isn't
dead after all, but has been busy chasing
spies across Russia. We are further sup-
posed to believe that her name is Velda,
and that an expiring FBI man comes to
this bloodshot Eye with her tale instead
of dropping a hint back on the Potom:
А New York landlord has even saved
Mike's office out of pure sentiment, with
out rent, and hardly does he step inside
before the usual people start clobbering
him and shooting at him — perhaps out of
sentiment also (since there isn’t much
other motivation). Being slightly under
weight, Mike shrewdly boots his foes in
the crotch. Meanwhile, he
Russian hierarchy that he just
ı them no matter

how big or little . .. in ways that would

boozing

warns the
whole

might

every one,

scare the living стар out of them

Seven years, but once

n he gets to

touch of her ton

feel “the scaldin; uc

that worked serpentlike in a passionate
orgy.” And he is still acute enough to.
hear somebody “stop soaping herself in

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PLAYBOY

42

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the shower.” When was the last time you
heard somebody stop soaping herself?

Uber (McGraw-Hill. $5.95). which
ans freedom in Africa, is the tide of
novel Бу Robert. Ruark, which
fat book of fiction in America.
Ruark's best-selling Something of Value
dealt with the tensions and terrors of the

me
а new

est 555-page epic returns him

to 1960, and in somewhat
overblown journ: he deals with the
conflict between natives and white
colonials, There silent white

hunter (and a little sex); a stubborn
white settler (and a little sex); a sincere
African le little sex); a self-
serv ader (and a little sex):
a revival of Mau Mau oath ceremonics
(and a lot of sex). Although Ruark's cre-
ative talent is here less than gargantuan
ess is sometimes sufocat-
more often than not his stabs at the
stark hit the mark, But when the hunt-
ers mistress has her throat cut by a
native and the strong, silent white man
murmurs “Im sorry . . . Гш so dread-
fully sorry. Г only wish it might have
been me,” even Ruark’s patent authentic
stretched to accommodate
matic understatement.

The Prie by Irving Wallace (Simon
and Schuster, $5. is a fictionalized
account of the annual Nobel award
ceremonies in Stockholm. Can this be
the same Irving Wallace who, in The
Chapman Report, made а novel out of
Dr. Kinsey's researches into sexual be-
havior? Yes it is, and Mr. Wallace here
provides an object lesson in how. with
enough imagination of a certain kind, a
writer Gin juice up even the driest ol
subjects. You begin by sketching the
prizewinners as they are notified, let
ting a French biologist receive his tele-
gram first. Why? So it can arrive while
he is cheating on his wife, of cour
Next, the kindly old expauiated Ger-
man- Jewish physicist. Not much you can
do with him, since the lovable soul is
‚ so for the moment you settle for
a few suggestive references to his
beautiful but frigid niece. А medical
cher in California you come upon
а group therapy session; you
ily keep things moving with the

А

апа his steam
in;

ity seems
melodr

сап &
sexual digressions of the other the

pees. And then there is the American
novelist. He happens to be dead drunk
when the cable is received, so you simply
let his wire sit for a couple of hours
while the clerk in the small-town tele-
ph office romps with her boyfriend in
the back room, Then on to Sweden itself
Our novelist won't even be through Cus-
toms before you line him up with a sun-
shiny local chick for at least three quick
tumbles during the busy week. In the
same few days he'll be propositioned,
very explicitly, by Sweden's greatest

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actress, find his neurotic sister-in-law
naked in his bed. and get around to
thawing the beautiful niece. But lest
people get the notion you're interested
exclusively in the sexual behavior of
Nobel laureates, perhaps a little more
substance is necessary. Local calor? Toss
in some pages on Scandinavian morality,
illegitimacy, nudism. Background on the
prizes themselves? Recall that Knur
Hamsun got drunk and snapped some-
one's girdle. Contemporary politics? Let
the novelist find time to rescue the
niece from East German agents who
want her ш to defect. Historical
allusions? Insert a flashback or two
about Nazi sexual atrocities. Tt all
sounds slightly hokcd-up, you зау?
Sure—but then Irving Wallace isn't
shooting for a Nobel Prizc.

In One Mons Freedom (Atheneum,
$5.95), Edward Bennett Williams trics to
stir up America’s enthusiasm for the Bill
of Rights—a quaint old document
which he insists we read and understand.
He is pained by the spectacle of С
gressional committees turning the
SELECTS into a jodem. Scarlet Let-
ng defend
(and their Tio) guilty until proven
ing the law and
of postal authorities obstructing the
mails. Criminal lawyer Williams has de-
fended all kinds, but seems to have а
special affinity for notoriety — James
Hoffa and 1k Costello among others;
it is his noti ii
well-heeled
trial. One Man's Freedom covers a wide
range of topics—wiretapping, capital
ishment, international law — all pro-
anecdoted, Humorous sample:
“Madame,” a woman juror was asked,
“do you have any conscientious objec-
tion to the infliction of the death penal-
ty; Her reply: “No, not if it isn't too
severe.” Being a good lawyer, Williams
makes a good case Гот the Bill of Rights.
His book may spur sales of the original.

Since the literary decade just past was
marked by a fondly fatuous fascin:
with the Twenties, it is only to be ex
pected that we shall soon be engulfed in
a flood of nostalgic outpourings about
the Thirties. Among the first to embark
upon this backward journey is Don
Congdon, who has compiled a large as-
sortment of clippings from and about the
Depression era and put them, along with
his own annotations, into The Thirties: A
Time to Remember (Simon and Schuster,
$7.95). The period's special brand of
savagery is vividly documented — cor-
porate violence at General Motors, the
ordeal of the Scottsboro boys, the mili-
tary s ravage of the Veterans Bonus Army
camped near the White House. But be-
fore matters get too grim, we are treated
to the spectacle of Norman Vincent Peale
demanding from his pulpit, in 1932, that

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the bankers and corporation heads get
down on their knees before God and
confess their sins. We can also enjoy, less
perversely, an excellent appraisal of
F.D.R. by Arthur M. Schlesinger, Jr. and
a very funny account of LaGuardia in
action by his man Friday, Ernest Cuneo
Also present and performing — John
Steinbeck, Clifford Odets, Arthur Miller,
Н. Е. Mencken, Harry Hopkins and
many more, in a big book filled with the
foolishness and. greatness, the brutality
and the innocence of a decade that may
prove kinder in the remembering than
it was, for many, in the living.

‘The hero of The Hands of Esau (Harper,
56.95) is a top-level New York executive
in middle life with a home in Connecti
arifu? wile, lovely children. He
has just one problem: he doesn't under-
1f. Or rather, it is only when
pruptly leaves him that he un-
nds he doesn’t understand
inneth soul-searching. Have we

cut, a be:

stand hims

his wife

dersta
here bi
read this epic of the middle-class ethos
before? We €, but author Hiram
Haydn obviously believes that the tale
has never been told at enough length
and he has set out to remedy this inade-
quacy with plenty to spare; his book (of
close to 800 pages) is but the first volume
of an announced trilogy. What we have
here is hardly more than ап extended
prelude—five months in the life of
Walton Herrick in 1953, padded uncon.
scionably with flashbacks. Unfortunately,
Haydn makes а most pros
world with which he deals is simply not
dramatic enough — not “fictional” enough
—to bear up under the weight of his
iterminable analysis. He tries earnestly
to invest Herrick with those missing
qualities which might give him impact
(the book's other characters seem to have
been created solely to brood over the
o's allegedly dynamic and enigmatic
personality), but whenever the man him-
self appears, the image fades into one
more indistinguishable shadow on the
5:23 from Grand Central. The crises in
Herrick's life — a change of jobs, a brief
infidelity е too commonplace to be
worth all those words. Herrick's middle-
ss dreariness is accented by Haydn's
literary method (each hback is
dropped tidily into place) and his ladies'-
magazine style. (The hero feels "vague
yearnings he could not identify" and he
holds people with "the hot intensity of.
his gazc.") When it is completed, Hay
uilogy may well prove definitive of its
genre — which is to say, it will have
strung out a cliché to its uttermost.

That old Fısl
toss off a

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Playboy Club News

GPLAYROY CLUBS INTERNATIONAL
DISTINGUISHED CLUBS IN MAJOR CITIES

VOL. п, NO.27

SPECIAL EDITION

YOUR ONE PLAYBOY

ADMITS YOU TO ALL PLAYBOY CLUBS

NH OCTOBER 1962

GIVE A PLAYBOY CLUB KEY FOR CHRISTMAS

New York, St. Louis Openings Add to Gift Value

Gift Key $25 in ‚ Key $25 in Most Are Areas—
Save $75 from Regular Key Fee

CHICAGO (Special) Your gift
of a Playboy Club key to the
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be appreciated by the recipients
this year as never before. With
the immediate and rapid expan-
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Yuletide greetings are amply ex-
pressed by our gracious Bunnies...

matically will grow in value,
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(Chicago, Miami, New Orleans)
within a few short days, and
Detroit and San Francisco will
open their doors to keyholders
and guests shortly after the
New Year.

Remember, when you give a
Playboy Club key, you give a
gift that can be used in the key
cities of the nation at any time
of усаг. It’s a perfect gift for
the businessman who travels.
And it's a gift that its owner

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PLAYBOY CLUB LOCATIONS.

CLUBS OPEN—Chicago at 116
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LOCATIONS SET—St. Louis at
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(Autumn Debut); Los Angeles at
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NEXT IN LINE—Baltimore,
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Clubs everywhere. Keys are the
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in the New Orleans area the

YOUR ONE
PLAYBOY CLUB KEY

ADMITS YOU TO
LL PLAYBOY CLUBS

first of the year; eventually, all
keys will be $100, the Regular
Key Fee. Order your gift key
now, while the rate is still so
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В == = = = PLAYBOY CLUB GIFT
To: Playboy Clubs International.

c/o PLAYBOY Magazine, 232 Е. Ohio
Gentlemen:

(List additonal names on a.

WANE OF RECIPIENT

Please send the following a Playboy Club key as a gift in my name.

KEY ORDER FORM mm == =m шар
Street, Chicago 11, Illinois
separate s

neet of paper.)

(PLEASE PRINT

AOURESE

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ZONE

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STATE.

ОЕРТ. 227

Fit
and
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Ask at your favorite store, or write Play-
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young man's mood

A PRODUCT OF JAYMAR-RUDY INCORPORATED
46 "oan " — M

like

dumplings in a potato sack, with the

morality of yeller hounds in a ditch, and
the rest just comes natural. Shucks, even.

if a

feller ain't got much to say, them

sophisticated city folks will like as not

thin!

k the book has “sociological signifi-

cance” — same as when you don't hap-

pen
look:

purposc.

to write too grammatical but it
s like you're doing it that way on
But maybe after a while you

get sort of tired — like after you've writ-

теп

tive

acdy like a li

sort

cides to have Jose
tute.
resting. Since he

beat:
also
kills

town,

the same story 30 or 40 times. You

idahy, $3.95).
name of Na-
Honnicutt, who runs a radio repair
a litle Southern town called
is, this Native
a rich widow,

eps up his nightly
п octoroon named
“the shape of her body
to her knees looked ex-
sized valentine.” This
the widow, and she de
arrested as a pros
But the wrong cop goes to do the
find Josene he
s up оп a handy Negro for sport —
happens to castrate the man, and
him. So what happens, Josene lea
1d Nativ

of chagri

potatoes, making jokes about the lesson

he's
him

will

No Strin;

Idwell, you bet—as sure as the ra

learned — the widow won't catch
next time. Will there be a next
? Maybe not for Native, but for Mr

n
hurt the rhubarb.

RECORDINGS

prospering on Broadway,
clear indication that Richard
ers, long a team man, can go it

alone if the need arises. An After-Theater

tid,
Baker, Ch
the flute of Herbie M
luster to the show's tunes.

and

Short arc particularly app

усу

и

ion of Richard Rodgers! No Strings (Atlan-
starring the voices of La Ve
Connor and Bobby Short,

n, adds new
Baker and
ng
$ the score's lighter moments.

con-

Ahmad у l's latelamented Al-

hambra night club served no other func-

tion,

„ it did act as a catalyst for some of

Jamal’s best work. Ahmad Jamal/All of You
(Argo), recorded “live” at his club, comes
over as an exceedingly good example of

cocktail jazz piano. This is not a dis-

paragement, but a frame of refer
within which to jud;

Tog

nce
- Jamal's abilities.
ether with the excellent rhythm of

bassist Israel Crosby and drummer Ver-

nell

ently casy-to-

prea

Fournier, Jamal turns out consist-
stento sounds, with no

t depth but enjoyable, nevertheless.

SOUNDCRAFT's

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The seven standards, including the Matt
Dennis delight Angel Eyes, have been
chosen and performed with care.

Hear Ye!!!! Hear Yel!!! Hear Yet!!! Heor Yell!!!
(Adantic), a title that is obviously the
work of a manic depressive, uphill phase,
nevertheless has a good deal to exclaim
over in the work of the Red Mitchell-
Harold Land Quintet. In addition to the
leaders, the group offers the finely
wrought trumpet work of Carmell [ones
and the cnergetic pi k
Suazzeri. Leon Petties on drums is its
fifth member. The five eschew the well-
trod path for less hackneyed surround-
ings, performing a collection of originals
with a zest and esprit that portend much
from Mitchell-Land & Co.

The Jan Johansson Trio (Dot) is a
pleasantly low-pressure import from
Sweden's swelling jazz ranks, The lines
followed by Johansson's piano are un-
involved, to the point, and (unusual in a
European musician) remarkably free
from clichés. Most fascinating is an
insinuating Scandinavian melody De
Salde Sina Hemman which stayed with
us long after the record had finished.
Skoal with soul.

Although Carnegie Hall Concert (Verve)
by the Dizzy Gillespie Big Band contains
no surprises, being made up of a handful
of піса and true Gillespie items, it is
still an exemplary Diz-play. In addition
to Gillespie's surging horn, the LP spot-
lights such goodies as Leo Wright's very
right alto and Lalo Schifrin’s perceptive
piano playing.

We're not quite sure whether the crea-
live activities of André Previn and J. J.
Johnson (Columbia), as they delineate the
music of Kurt Weill, amount to jazz or
not, but we have no doubts about the
LP's merit. J. J., supplementing the
Previn trio, displays a surprising pro-
clivity for the Germanic nuances of
Weill's music, an affinity that comes пас
urally to German-born, classicsschooled
Previn. On tap are Mack the Knife,
BilbaoSong and other offerings from
Weill’s three pieces for the theater,
Threepenny Opera, Happy End and
Mahagonny. The J. J. Johnson Quar-
tet, made up of J. J. and the old Cannon-
ball Adderley rhythm section (Victor
Feldman, Sam Jones and Louis H.
is syrup-smooth on A Touch of Satin (Co-
lumbia). J. J.’s authoritative bone is
almost larger than life as it applic
bright burnish to oldie and origina
alike. South American Cookin’ (Epic) finds
one of J. ].5 near-peers, Curtis Fuller, at
the helm of a quintet which headlines
top-drawer tenor man Zoot Sims. The LP,
a wrap-up of the group's Latin Amer
can junket, combines the full-blown Ful-
ler sounds with Sims’ refulgent tones in

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cp for Me to the exotic
Brazil-born One Note Samba. At oppo:
site poles are George Russell Sextet in К.С.
(Decca) and The Cannonball Adderley Sextet
in New York (Riverside). The latter wa
recorded live at the Vill
the former is a тесир of numbers played
during a Kansas City engagement. Rus-
sell is one of the prime movers behind
modern jaz new directions; the tunes.
late arrivals on the jazz scene, are all
n highly exploratory but tight
ly disciplined fashion. Don Ellis’ trumpet
work is particularly adventuresome and
praiseworthy. The Adderle
freewheeling and power-packed, has its
deeply into the emotions. Ad-
$ sextet with brother Nat on
corner and Yus ef on tenor, flute
and oboc— is full of sound and fury,
one of the most electric musi-
operations extant, As a case in point,
case the opening Gemini.

First Time Out: Clore Fischer (Pacific Jazz),
an outstanding introduction to the ar-
ranger-composer's keyboard talents, finds
Fischer in the company of bassist Gary
Peacock and drummer Gene Stone. Clare,
found their way into
Diz’ band books, shows himself to be
cerebral, facile and highly commu
tive, whether it be as a spokesman for
his own material, such as Piece for Scotty
(а tribute to the late Scott LaFaro), or as
an interpokttive interpreter of others’
creations, as on the refreshingly unsac-
darine permutations of Cole Porter's
1 Love You,

Love 15 o Necessory Evil (Columbia) Гса-
tures Don Elliott's Orchestra with vocal-
it Irma Curry running thro the
Iyrics of Jack Segal, а name to which, we
must confess, we have never attached.
much significance. We have since

arc soltly compelling, and Mr. Segals
lufully free from bal-
banalities. ‘The total eflect
is unpretentiously impressive.

words are deli;

ladom’s usu;

Generally, sessions that are tailored for
the big stereo sound leave much to be
desired. in the way of jazz. Not so, how-

€vcr, with Impressions of Duke Ellington
(Mercury), orchestrated and batoned by
Billy Byers. The sound is there, but so
is vitality, imagination and stellar musi
cianship supplied by such jazz luminaries
as Clark Terry, Éric Dixon and the
ubiquitous Joe Newman.

March of the Siamese Children (Jazzlaud)
by the Frank Strozicr Quartet features
the leader's alto and flute (on the excel-
lently done title tune and а Strozier
ginal, Will 1 Forget). The Пом of
s from Frank’s instruments makes the

affair an unclichéd aural outing, one in
which straightforward blowing is the
atchword and devil take the introspec-
tive. The Strozier point of view is echoed
expertly by pianist Harold Mabern.
Right Now (Atlantic) has Herbie Mann
and cohorts dropping a number of thei
African predilections in favor of a more
rhythmically subtle infusion of Brazilian
tempi and melodic lines. There is a quar-
tet of Brazil-based items among the nine
tunes on hand and a number of the
others have strong Latin leanings. Her-
ісу fervent fluting gets a strong assist

from Hagood Hardy's simpatico vibes.

Swingin’ Singin’ (Philips) by that estim:
ble sextet, the Double Six of Paris (г
recording accounts for the “Double
delineation), sets lyrics to a near-dozen
instrumental classics. If it all is highly
derivative of L, H & R, it still has a
delightful Gallic charm of its own. A
piquant French dressing is applied to
the likes of Scrapple from the Apple,
A Night in Tunisia and Early Autumn.

‘The sotto voce Bill Evans Trio's Waltz
for Debby (Riverside), one of the last
sessions etched by the great bassist
Scott LaFaro, is a delicate admixture of
subtly shaded standards— My Foolish
Heart, My Romance — with such contem-
porary jazz statements as the title tune,
Detour Ahead and Milestones. Dodo
Marmarosa, one of bop's earliest advo-
cates, may be heard to advantage on
Dodo's Back (Argo). Although his piano
work has long since lost its pioneering
aspects, it is still pleasant, tasteful and
intelligent — assets that are prominently
displayed throughout а well-grooved
grove of evergreer

Elvin! (Riverside) is a delightful dis
play of nepotism by drummer Elvin
Jones, who has gathered to his side broth
ers Hank (piano) and Thad (cornet).
Elvin, who never loses sight of his pri-
marily supportive role. nevertheless pro-
vides a fine rhythmic springboard for his
sibling soloists and flutist Frank Wess
and tenor man Frank Foster. ‘The Jones
boys prove to be а potent three for the
money.

A passel of pretty piano may be heard
on The Nearness of You (Jazzland) by Red
Garland, A World of и (Contempo-
rary) by Phineas Newborn, Jr., and Sen
Froncisco Scene (Capitol) by the George
Shearing Quintet. Garland and New-
born, performing with drums and ba
represent an interesting study in con-
trusts, Red revels in the simple line —
never use two notes when one will do
the job; Newborn's technique borders
on virtuosity — long, intricate runs, in-

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terlaced with classically inspired themes
are all part of his brimming bag. Com
pare their takeouts of Lush Life; they
are day and night but equally engrossing.
Shearing is, of course, Shearing — not
nearly as inventive as his confreres, but
tasteful and mood-evoking. The Quintet
is enhanced by the addition of Latin
percussionist Armando Perazza on My
New Mambo and Lullaby of Birdland.

Art Farmer-Benny Golson Jazztel: Here ond
Now (Mercury) points up all the happy
results of the two-minds-with-but-a-sin-
gle-thought tandem leadership of Golson
and Farmer. With bone Grachan
Moncur III and pianist Harold Mabern
plus rhythm, Messrs. Е & С are off and
running through an admirable admix
ture of als and old-timers, deliver-
ing а clean-limned ensemble sound and
evocative solo work.

Drumfusion/the Dynamic New Chico Hamil-
ton Quintet (Columbia) is an LP title that
says all. Here is Hamilton throwing off
the old order and starting afresh with
а hard-driving aggregation that produces
Hamilton sound. Charles
Lloyd's tenor and flute and Garnet
Brown's trombone make up a large part
of Chico's new look. If subtlety has been
sacrificed for crisp attack, no one will
mourn its loss in such felicitous sur-
roundings.

Gary Burton’s vinyl debut at the head
of a uio is an auspicious one on New
Vibe Men in Town (Victor). Bolstered by
ace drummer Joe Morello and bassist
Gene Cherico, Burton displays a brilliant
technique and an astute grasp of thc
jazz idiom that belies his 18 years, as he
adds a fresh supply of chlorophyll to
such aged evergreens as Over the Rain-
bow, Like Someone in Love and You
Stepped Out of a Dream

Awakening! Jimmy Woods (Contempo-
rary) indicates there's an important new
alto sax voice in the jazz world. The
Woods approach, wildly but controllably
experimental, owes its allegiance to no
man, His searing alto brings new life to
something as familiar as Love for Sale:
it also serves as a driving vehicle Е
half-dozen of his own compositi
further incentive to add this to your col-
lection is the propulsive trumpet work
of nonpareil horn man Joe Gordon.

The American Jazz Ensemble in Rome (Vic
tor) unveils pianist Johnny Eaton and
clarinetist Bill Smith creating avant-
garde sounds in the Eternal City. The
boys are pasta masters of their art as
they join forces with a pair of Ro
thythm men to tum the Tiber into
Third Stream. Among the Eaton-Smith

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The offerings include such unusual bases
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DT

One of the youngest groups going. The
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served, Swinging brethren Chuck (trum
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man Sal Nistico, bassist Frank Pu
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their youthful enthusiasm with an ex-
реге that belies their tender years. Spe
cific cases in point: What's Neu?, Softly
1s in a Morning Sunrise and First Waltz
— ihe latter a Pullara original.

Johnny Williams’ scoring for the TV
private-eyedyll Checkmate (Contemporary)
is frenetically put forward by Shelly
Manne and His Men (Conte Candoli
Richie Kamuca, Russ Freeman, Chuck
Berghofer). Their Manneic output
forcefully underscored Williams’ jazz-
based charts. We were especially taken
with the ensemble choruses of Candoli,
Kamuca and Freeman, which almost
take the play away from the solo work.

Oliver Nelson, a crackerjack of all
trades, has written, arranged, conducted,
and blown tenor and alto on Afro-Ameri-
can Sketches (Prestige). The band assem-
bled for the session produces an
excitingly authentic sound; the soloists
and side men are, in the main, superb
— with special kudos to Joe Newman
and Ray Barretto for infusing the LP
with their unique talents.

Blues Sonata: Charlie Byrd (Offbeat) i
further indication of Byrd's

a
italone
approach to his instrument. One of the
few exponents of the unamplified
Charlie puts his classical schoolit
distinctive use on his long composition,
The Blues Sonata, а three-part ат
of classico-jazz figures. Side two has
Charlie doing uncommon things with
the more commonplace amplified box, as
Barry Harris’ piano makes the Byrd trio
à refreshing foursome. Included are such
disparate items as Alexander's Ragtime
Band and Duke Jordan's аи courant
theme, Jordu.

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PLAYBOY

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the tender title ballad which leads off the
LP, through the still del tfal Smile
and the swinging Taking a Chance on
Love, to the last bar of the Carolyn
Leigh-Cy Coleman minorkeyed classic,
The Best Is Yet to Come, Tony is at the
top of his form—which is well-nigh
stratospheric.

DINING-DRINKING

The Mediterrania (134 N. La Cienega,
Beverly Hills) is a cleverly conceived
potpourri of Spanish, French and Italian
decor (with an added soupgon of points

ad east). The massi
ars, rough, exposed beam
walls exude an aura richly reminiscent
of sundrenched Mediterranean ports.
Trim, colorfully frocked waitresses also
reflect the motif, How the Oriental bus-
boys fit into the mare nostrum scheme
must remain inscrutably unexplained
Entrees may be chosen from such spe-
cialitd della casa as Chicken Mediter-
rania (53.50), а boned breast swamped in
champagne and mushroom sauce, offered
with green beans and rice Valencia;
Grenadine of Beef Rapallo ($4.25),
touted as а favorite of Catherine de
Medicis, consisting of medallions of filet
mignon with sauce choron, served with
artichoke Florentine and potatoes
sienne; or the Veal Genovese ($3.75),
veal slices surrounding a layer of moz-
varella cheese and Italian ham, accom-
panied by artichoke Florentine and
parsley potatoes, Reluctantly eschewing
the plat du jour, Lobster Xavier en Co-
quille ($4.50), packed in its shell and
sauced with mushrooms, chives and
sherry, we began with an hors d'ocuyre
sampling of Scampi Rafael (garlicbut-
tered shrimp) and Crabmeat Danté (au
atin deviled crabmeat stuffed in mush-
rooms). From the grill entrees, we chose
Brochette of Filet Mignon Manolete
($1.50), marinated in red wine, with rice
Valencia, abetted by broccoli hollandaise
and sauce aux champignons. Our date
dug the Entrecóte of Beel, Vesuvius
(54.75), а broiled New York sirloin
heaped with onions and butter-basted,
served with green beans and potatoes
Parisienne. Red or white Buena Vista
dratt wine may be drawn at tableside
from a serenading hurdy-gurdy cart
wheeled to the spot. We decided to lore-
go both the concert and the local vino.
We chose, instead, a yintage Pommard
(56.50). The perfect conclusion was the
tion of manager Frank Krydı
Crepe Ricardo ($1.50), served fami
house specialty. With а seating capacity
of 185, the Mediterrania, especially оп
weekends, usually boasts a full house,
with a generous sprinkling of Hollywood
notables not unusual The ponderous

south

їп action or at ease, the prize sports-
wear to wear is Sedgefield. Golf jacket
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wooden double doors are open from 5

rM. to midnight; on Sunday, service
commences at 4; Friday and Saturday it
continues till 1. Lights out in the restau-
rant means ditto for the bar.

New York's Second City troupe, hav-
rd-

andoned the hallowed but ha:
‘ous precincts of Broadway for the mil
it knows best — the cabaret-theater — is
happily ensconced in а converted fac-
tory loft in the Village. Squore Eost (15
West Fourth Street), а barnlike bivou:
, at this writing, Alarums and
evue whose name. least.
appeared on the bill of Second City's
Chicago spawning ground some month
back. In its present incarnation, it is
nge of material old and new
sometimes borrowed but never blue. The
Second Cityzens (reading from A to T:
Alan Arkin, Andrew Duncan, Anthony
Holland, Zohra Lampert and ex-PLAvnoy
editor e Troobnick) are in top
form: when the houselights dim and the
spots ро up. the vasty reaches var d
the club becomes as intimate as the jump
seat in а Porsche. The program consists
of set sketches subject to change with or
without notice; the ev
show features a spate of extemporancous
mummery built on stions from the
audience, As befits the Villages disdain
of such mundane matters as food and
drink, the menu and booze are rud

mentary — sandwiches and the most basic
of beverages. But as Will Shakespeare
so wisely put it: “The play's the thing."
There is no cover ог minimum: admis-
sion charge is $2.75; Friday and
day, $3.50. Perform: are scheduled
for 8:30 and И P.u., with Saturday's
shows kicking off at 8:30. 10:30 and
12.30. Monday is a day of rest.

's second

ur-

MOVIES

A couple of years ago Irwin Shaw
wrote a fake-serious saga called Two Weeks
im Another Town, which MGM hus
made into a fittingly fakeserious film
I's the talky tile of ап ex-movie. star
ng a lostlove-and-neurosis load. АП
‚ and its there that
gets a comeback chance from a d
tor who's getting his comeback chanc
We watch the actor hurdle toward s
ity, over the obstacles of an ex-wife, an
exbim, ап e-homo who is not quite
sapiens, and the (almost) ex-director
These exes mark a lot of familiar spots
in inglorious Metro color. Eventually, by
gad, we get the actor's long speech about.
how lonely a star really is, plus the
drunken auto ride in which he tempts
death and finds life. This halfbaked
pizza is spiced with а diluted Dolce Vita
sauce. (New equation: an Italian girl

w

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PLAYBOY

58

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doing the cha-cha in a slinky dress equals
Depravity.) But weaving hips don't hide
the fact that this is a 1925-type flick with
sound, much too much of it. The words
pour mostly І
exstar, but
director, gives us plenty of the side of
his lip, too.

A young man in Manchester has the
same problem as a young man in Man-
hattan or Manitoba when troubled by а
girl whom he gets into trouble. A Kind of
Loving shows the lof that comes
from shotgun weddings, even when the
young buck levels the buckshot at him.
self. Having done right by the
discovers that life w
all wrong. A misc € splits this mis
arried ma — but the cri:

the pair with the hope that uh
recapture some of that first fi
ture. шнш from St

1 ЕЕ stow's

yucss of such minor Mid.
lands masterpicces as Room at the Top
and Saturday ht and Sunday Morn-
ing. Its not in their cla a working-
dass classic — the trite story lacks social
size and moral meaning. However, the
compassionate direction and passion
dialog together with the scarily fr
photography give the film terrific te
-town texture, Alan Bates turns in an
eminently winning performance as the
loser. Not as feisty as Albert Finney nor
as hammy as Laurence Harvey, Bates
gives a touch of pavement poetry to the
Lancashire lad whose rough edges are
ground down by propricty and poverty
so that he сап be slipped into his slot

in the scheme of things.

Cleo from 5 to 7 is not about what Liz
Taylor does after work. It’s another film
from the French New (New?) Wave by
one of the world’s few female directors,
Agnes Varda, who is reputed to have
made the original splash that started the

ive. Cleo is the story of a beautiful
girl's two-hour wait for а biopsy report
that will tell her whether or nor she
doomed —a sort of lifetime-in-190-n
utes. She's a Parisian pop singer
she meets with her songwriters, sees her
lover. goes for a walk calés, buys
a hat, meets a sympathetic soldier, and
finally learns her fate from the doctor
If you've missed every New Wave film
up to now, this one will fill you in
economically; it’s a catchall collection of

ks — the rapidly repeated shots
the silentfilm satire of Malle,
t strolls of Godard, the irrele-
vant realistic conversations of Truffaut
Anything they can do, Miss Varda сап
do— but not I the highart
hoo-ha doesn't compensate for the fact
that she's telling a low-art women’s-mag
story, more Edna Ferber than genuine

and

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fervor. A luscious bit of French land-
scape named Corinne Marchand (a well-
known singer) plays Cleo, but like the
film itself, she's just a very interesting
surface.

Jailbirds of a special sort play key
roles in Birdman of Alcatraz, Burt Lan-
caster's film of the life of Robert Stroud,
who has been caged for the past half cen-
tury, mostly in solitary confinement in
Federal prisons. While in Leavenworth,
this uneducated man began to collect
and study birds, became a leading ex-
pert оп bird discases, апа published a
standard text. He was moved to Alcatraz,
where he wrote a six-volume work on
penology, which the U.S. Government

confiscated and suppressed. He is now
penned up in Springfield, Missouri — 73
years old and still hoping for parole. His

Story, extraordinary though it is, seems
unpromising material lor a moving pic-
ture —and that unpromise is fulfilled.
There is à limit to what a camera ca
do with a studious convict, and Director
John Frankenheimer soon reaches it
Lancaster turns in a genuine perform-
ance as a self-taught man in an untaut
movie.

Har
you fancy
mals, this
safari; otherwi:

s "danger" in Swahili
ction shots of Afri
your twoand-a-half-hour
Hatari! About half the
film is big game: the other half is ex-
tremely small — mostly meanwhile-back-
-the-camp stulf about the problems of
the chief hunter, his crew, an orphaned
French girl. and (uh-huh) а lady pho-
tographer who overcomes the men's
antifemale prejudice. The picture focuses
on the tangy life of Tanganyika hunters
who fill orders for 2008 around the world.
Watching John Wayne rope а rhino
from the fender of a jolting jeep or try
10 capture а giraffe with a noose on а

Howard Hawks, who has give
big ones (Scarface, Twentieth C
Red River), directs rather we:
definitely not young-blood Hawks a
more

The Music Man, Meredith Willson's Broad-
way musical now cramming the wide
screen with color, corn and clef-hang
so full of heart that it may
little heartburn. Repeating his stage
role, Robert Preston disp
d brass as the itinerant music sales
man who invades the Midwest and bam
hoozles yokels to beat the band. His
pitch is selling instruments and ur
forms by promisi ch die kids
how to play, although he can't read. a
note — then waltzing away with a wad.
In River City, Iowa, however, he takes
to singing serenades to the local librar-
n (Shirley Jones) just to pass and make

duce

s brio

A display of affection is great . . . but enough is enough. She couldn't keep her hands off him. Always the
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PLAYBOY

62

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There’s still something origi-
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some time, but she responds forte —
which complicates his coda. Morton Da
Costa, who did the show, has directed
the film in Da Gostliest way possible,
with plush, polish and pizzazz. Every
tune from 76 Trombones to Till There
Was You sounds like something you've
heard before, but for the nost
E a wellvarnished v
to а vanished Toway of life.

It’s even Steven whether a new Peter
Sellers film will blast off or bomb ош,
Unlike some top talents, Sellers (see
Playboy Interview, this issue) is stopped
cold by weak script and d tion, both
of which he gets plenty of in a halting
film rendi of Waltz of the Toreadors.
Jean Anouilh’s guileful, styleful play
about male vanity and female vindic-
tiveness centers on a fat retired
general whose glands are as active as
. His invalid wife keeps him tightly
leashed, and Fats is ly in the fire
when an old sweetheart turns up. She
has been saving herself for 17 years, and
she is now ready. The film version is set
in England, and screen adapter Wolf
kowitz has soured the original
Gallic brew until it is hallacid. Опе
minute Sellers is discoursing deeply, the
next he is falling through a rotten bal-

credibility. Even so adept an actress as

Margaret Leigt t piece together
the preposterous part of the wife. Cyril
Cusack is dulcetly disarming as the doc
tor and John Fraser is virginally virile
аз а young aide, but Dany Robin, as the
femme futile, is а not-quite-living doll.
The result — more ennui than Апош.

Can a girl who has been raped in a
Bronx park find happiness in a Bowery
basement with an alcoholic garage me-
chanic whose eye she kicks out? Such is the
problem treated in Something Wild, which
features Carroll Baker as a pretty blonde
thing who skips (yep) into a dark park
one night, is pulled into the bushes and
assaulted in the most sickening of the
recent rash of ree hereupon,
she leaves home, wanders through the
city, gets a job in Woolworth's, and al-
most dives off a bridge. Who pulls her
back? Just exactly the right person: a
lonely fellow, played by Ralph Mee
who takes her to his basement flat, wins
her confidence, then comes home drunk
and gets a kick in the eye when he
grabs her. All this is dished up with gobs
of nutritious naturalism — crowded sub-
ways and grimy streets — but underneath
the sauce naturelle, it's an old sentime:
tal sweetmeat. One major trouble with
the picture is that not everybody who
secs it ly to be as much in love with
the modestly gifted Miss Baker as her
husband, Jack Garfein. And he directed.

Really Enjoy
the Holiday Season
This Year

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THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR

МУ... are your views on a young
man’s marrying a woman a few years his
senior? — В. P., Washington, D.C.

Assuming the best of circumstances —
great mutual attraction, similar interests,
physical compatibility, emotional ma-
turity — ше see nothing against it, pro-
vided the man is at least 30, and thus
able to accurately judge the real differ-
ences in their ages, as they will exist
for most of their lives. To a man of 21, a
girl of 26 may seem pleasingly mature,
but those same five years can become a
gap of nearly a generation by the time
the man reaches his late 30s or carly
40s. Women age (mature, if you prefer)
more rapidly than men, even. though
they tend to live longer, and this fact
can cause problems for couples of even
the same age, when they marry too
young: most women in their early 20s
have reached full maturity and are the
person they will be for the rest of their
lives; not so with most men. А man at
20 may be a completely different person
— different different
different interests — ihan the same man
at 30. The mate—of whatever аве
he chooses in his carly 20s may be
completely different from the girl he
would choose 10 years later. In addi-
tion, whatever differences may exist be-
tween an average man and woman
aged 20, the differences are considerably
greater when both are 40. The odds
against any couple's finding enough
in common to last them a lifetime are
stiff enough, under the best of circum-
stances, to suggest the real wisdom of
having as much going for a marriage as
possible from the start. The ideal difjer-
ence in ages, it seems to us, is about 10
years (the age difference between the
President and his wife is ideal), with
men marrying in their 30s and women
in their 20s. More mcn should spend
their first years out of school finding
themselves, before they attempt to find
а mate. Too many find a wife fast and
don't ever really discover who they them-
selves are. Or might have been.

emotions, lastes,

МУ... with ше tax bite and the de-
creased value of the dollar, it’s very
difficult to figure out how one's salary
rates as compared with earlier genera-
tions in terms of net spendable income.
I have a brother 15 years my senior who,
when he was $0, was presumed to be
doing very well making 20 Gs a year. 1
n now approaching 30 myself, and am
doing a bit better than that. Yet, оп
straight salary (which is my only source
of income) I can't live anywhere nearly
as well as he did at that age. Specifically,
at the age of 30 and with no dependents
or unusual deductions, what would a

man have to earn in gross salary to have
the net (after taxes) purchasing power
to equal that which was enjoyed by a
20-G-percar man 15 years ago — К. S.,
Los Angeles, California.

To match big brother, you'd have to
have a gross salary today of $31,235.
After taxes, this would leave you a net
income of $17,762, as compared to his
1917 net income of $13,270 on a 20-G
gross salary. The equalizing factor is the
declining average purchasing power of
the dollar (specifically, in a ratio of 1.285
10 .96 over the 15-year span). You'd
best forget sibling rivalry and*concen-
trate on getting a bigger bang out of life
from your buck. Мопеу a fine means,
but а disappointing end.

Ё it ever advisable to physically chas-
° a woman who can't be controlled
with words? I don't mean really hurting
her, just an openhanded wallop across
the rump, now and then, I'm not asking
your estimate of thc effectiveness of
such action —I know from experience
that it works. Dm asking, | guess, for
advice on how to answer those who
criticize me for it— including the cur-
rent female recipient of my swinging
salutes to her outbursts of childish way-
wardness, unreasonable tantrums and
willful disobedience. (Being а gentle-
man, І hate to strike a woman, but she
is better for it, and it may prove a long-
term civilizing influence.) — J. W, New
York, New York.

For an openhanded answer, we yield
to other authorities: Oscar Wilde sug-
gests that a woman should be struck
regularly, like a gong; the Bible adjures
her to turn the other cheek; and good
ol’ Charlie Brown says, "Never hit girls,
shove them.” Tell your critics to stick to
their tatling or risk some lumps; tell
your girl to bitch to Ann or Abby. (By
the way, Muscles, since you say you're a
gentleman, we're sure you won't mind
telling us what caves are currently rent-
ing for in your area. Sorry—but we don't

approve.)

A question of etiquette, please: 1 date
two girls who have different opinions on
whether or not 1 should climb first into
those tunnellike cabs converted from
small stock sedans. One girl says to hell
with protocol, why should she squirm her
way across the seat to make room for me,
or have me try to climb over her after she
takes her seat nearest the cab door? The
other one says she'd rather put up with
the discomfort than have me, her escort,
look like а selfish jerk by getting in first.
What to do?—F. W., New York, New York.

As you imply, if the cab’s big enough,
you should hold the door and help the

ANYTHING CAN HAPPEN
WHEN YOU WEAR

AMES

PARFUM DE CORDAY

THREE-FIFIY TO THIRTY-FIVE DOLLARS

1982 PARFUMS CORDAY. INC. 65

PLAYBOY

girl in; going by the book, she should sit
right down and let you climb over her
to the Jar side of the seat. But even in
big cabs this may
rent. practice makes it perfectly perm
sible for her to slide over and make
room for you. We are all for the niceties,
but in the matter of small cabs —espe-
cially when it's topcoat weather or the
girl's in full shirt or long evening dress
—we suggest this: as you open the cab
door for the girl, ask her if she'd like to
gel in first, and be guided by her answer.
If she says no, it is an extra courtesy to
help her in and then go around Ше cab
and gel in the other door.

be awkward, and cui

А. a city man, my taste in cars tends
toward American compacts. Right now,
I'm ready for a new car and
am simultaneously planning a round-
trip cross-country vacation. I want somc-
thing nimble, yet roomy and solid, the
kind of car that will roll along for hours
on end at high speeds, with me at the
wheel feeling secure, relaxed, comfort-
able, and delighted with the car's quiet
dynamism and sheer power. In fact, I
want to feel about it as foolishly poetic
as these words may sound. I've snow-
jobbed myself into be g 1 owe my-
sell the best car I've ever had (though I
don't want to spend over seven thou-
sand). It has to be a sports car — and
has to be a convertible. Will you give me
your first three choices, either domestic
or foreign?— R. A, Boston, M
chusetts.

The Jaguar XK-E Roadster,
Porsche 1600 Super-90 Cabriolei, the
Chevrolet Corvette. The Jaguar handles
superbly and possesses a prodigal pick-
up. the Porsche boasts a nearly indestruct-
ible engine and unparalleled German
craftsmanship, and the Corvette provides
great power and straightaway speed (and,
since it has a Chevy engine familiar to
US. mechanics, will pose no service
problem should trouble arise during
your cross-country. jaunt). Whichever of
this trio you choose, you can be sure
you'll be getting a first-rate run for your
money.

howeve:

the

W auc a girl who lives with her parents
nd I get along with them well. Re
cently, when her dad was out of town
о es trip — which 1 now know
to be a fairly frequent. occurience—1
ked her to dinner and she asked if 1
didn't want to invite her mother to
join us. Blunuy, 1 did not, but I said
OK anyway. This has happened twice.
How do I get out of it in the future?
"Ehe mother is a nice enough woman, but
I have litle to say to her and her pres-
ence is inhibiting, and that’s putting it
mildly.— W. O., Los Angeles. Californ:

Skip the dinner dates when the old
man's away, or try this: Tell the girl

a bu

you'd lihe 1o have a nice, intimate din-

ner. just you two, and does she k

D
which night her mother might have an-
other social engagement. Or make the
next occasion a double date — implying
tactfully that Mom would be a fifthwheel.
However you work it, pick up a small
bouquet от box of bonbons on your way
to the girl's house, as an impromptu gift
Jor her mother. This gesture will con-
vince mother and daughter of your
thoughtful attentiveness and regard, and
should establish the fact that there's
nothing negative or hostile in your
attitude.

Wa shirts, my taste runs to white broad-

cloth buttondowns. Would wearing these

shirts with the rather formal shaw! col-

lar be inappropriate? In general, are

buttondown shirts correct for eve

wear? — B. D., Detroit, Michi
Yes. No.

w determines

alcoholic beverages are served on р
Tve heard it depends on length of flight
— but recently I was served cocktails on
a Chicago-New York run of an hour and
a half, yet got no drinks on the return
trip, which took longer. Who's in charg
Feds, states, airlines, САА, and what

ing

n.

whether or

the criteria on which the decision is
based? —F. Е, Memphis, Tennessee.
Your confusion is understandable,

since you're trying to find а paltern.
where none exists. There arc — so Jar—
no Fedeval regulations governing whether
or not liquor is served aloft; cach airline

has its own policy regarding passenger
potables, a policy determined by а num-
ber of factors, Among these are time of
day, length of flight, class of service
(whether the hop is a highly promoted or
a standard run, and whether there's first-
class as well as tourist space aboard), and
a factor known in airline lingo as “stom-
ach lime,” which determines whether а
meal or a more or less substantial snack
is served on the planc. (Most airlines do
пой serve liquor except in connection
wilh some sort of food service.) Still
another determining consideration is
whether a particular airline's policy is
to sell liquor or serve it gratis: obviously,
the people who sell it tend to run air-
borne bars a little more often than these
who dor’t.

Over the last few years, I've had а
wonderful time savoring the company

a great variety of girls. Гуе accom-
hed this by establishing a strict time-
table for these relationships — so much
time for preliminaries, so much time for
fruition, so much time for breaking it
off. 1 have succeeded admirably in my
original intention of avoiding serious
entanglements, but I am now beginning
to be gnawed by a continu

nes, a feeling that perhaps there is
something vital missing in my present
boy-girl scheme of things. In retrospect,

a
nt to get seriously
girl, but there
be а more emotionally satisfy
proach to bachelorhood. Any
T. M., New York. New York.

You can't establish a timetable for
human relationships and expect the real
satisfaction that сап only come from
emotional involvement. When the pleas
ures of the chase become more important
than the participants, then the game has
lost its purpose and everyone's the loser.
There's no need to give up bachelor-
hood, if that status suits you best, but
the vest of life is far too structured and
prearranged. to allow a preplanned pat-
tern to control the most personal part of
your existence. Let your affairs wax and
wane of their own accord. Like the pro-
verbial pol, a meaningful relationship
will never come lo a boil if one’s eye is
continually on the clock, If you've been
repressing a longing for something
deeper than courting by the calendar,
your chances of finding it will be greatly
enhanced when you permit matters to
run their natural course.

ny gi

WM nen you are checking out of one of
the better resort hotels after a longish
stay, which of the help do you tip and
how much?—K. P., Greenwich, Con-
necticut.

If it’s American plan and you've not
been paying cash for food, and have been
signing chis for drinks and other extras,
your best bet is to ask the management
to distribute gratuities for you and turn
over to them for this purpose an amount
equal lo one days tariff per week of
your stay. This is increasingly customary.
Some- hotels, especially in tropical re-
sort areas, automatically provide a list
of those employees who have served you
directly, with suggested gratuity per
week for each. In our experience, these
suggestions run a bit high, and spending
а goodly part of your last day setling
aside packets of earmarked bills is a
drag, so we prefer the lump-sum-to-man-
agement procedure. The same system can
be followed in European-plan places, but
the total pelf and number of deserving
recipients will be le

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

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PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: P ETER SELLERS

with england’s prime minister of mummery

a candid conversation

During the arduous process of com-
pleting 16 films in five years, Peter
Sellers has gained an international repu-
lation as England's most lustrous come-
dian. The peerless portrayer of Lolita’s
malevolent Quilty submerges himself so
completely in his roles (an Indian doc-
tor, a Graustarkian Prime Minister, an
unconscionable car thief, a Welsh librar-
ian), that the “real” Peter Sellers has
had little chance to stand up. People con
ditioned by his chameleonlike cinemati:
tours de force find it something of
a visual and aural surprise to meet the
36-year-old Sellers off camera. Unprepos-
sessing and painfully shy, attired іп a
nondescript gray suit set off by an
innocuous tic, Sellers held forth for
rLAYBOY for four hours in his dressing
room at Shepperton film studios in Lon-
don’s outskirts. Dining his soft-spoken
answers to our queries, his eyes searched
the floor through thick-rimmed glasses
for some elusive wellspring of inspira-
tion in an obviously gracious attempt to
muster the verbal virluosily associated
with the acting profession, That he com-
municated well was more a tribute to
Sellers determination to express his
thoughts than а natural loquacity. (The

"I don't think
friends.

irs posible to have
I don't believe in pla
tonic friendship with women. Sooner
or later something springs out of it.”

women

feet

news, learned as we went to press, that
Sellers and his wife had separated, sup-
plies a melancholy postscript to his
voiced longings for familial stability.)

pıavaoY: Within a short period of time
you have progressed from being an Eng-
lish radio comedian to international star
status. Do you regard yourself as a star?
SELLERS: No, I'm not a star. I'm a d
acter The character actor
tailor his talent to the parts that are
offered. If I were a leading man, а tall,
good-looking sort of chap, you know, a
chap who has а way with him, who gets
parts tailored for his personality, like
Cary Grant, then I could regard myself
as a star. I'm not a star, because I have
no personality of my own.

PiAYBOY: Hasn't success cnabled you to
find. your. personality
SELLERS: Success hasn't enabled me to find
out anything about myself. I just know
I can do certain things. If you go too
deep into yourself, if you analyze your-
self too closely, it's no good Гог the job.
You can either act or you can't. If you
analyze your own emotions all the time,
and every doorknob you handle, you
know, you're up the spout.

actor.

must

"Going to sce a great actor makes me
completely
jected at the same time. I ask myself,
how did it happen; how did he do it?"

chilarated and de-

PLAYBOY: But supposing you were asked
to play a character called Peter Sellers,
how would you play him?

SELLERS: What I would do, ГА go to see
all my friends, Га go to see my acquaint
ances, and ask them how they sce me,
ask for their impressions of Peter Sellers.
And then I would sift these characteriza:
tions. That's all I can do, because 1 am
quite unaware of what I am. A politician
can see himself, can sec what sort of an
impact he is making. I can't. I know
Im а bad conversationalist. Often I'm
at parties, and people think Peter Sel-
lers is going to do an act, and they wait,
and when nothing is forthcoming, they're
disappointed.

PLAYBOY. Don't you scc a concrete per-
sonality when you look in the mirror?
SELLERS: It's difficult but — er — I suppose
what I'd sce is someone who has never
grown up, a wild sentimentalist, capable
of great heights and black, black depths
— а person who has no real voice of his
own. I'm like a mike. I have no set
sound of my own. I pick it up from my
surroundings. At the moment Гуе got a
South African architect working on my
new flat in Hampstead, and so 1 tend
to speak in a South African accent all

“I just haven't got the confidence to
shrug off what
actors say the
they don't read

said about те. Some

те above criticism . .
. I don't believe them."

69

PLAYBOY

70

Oh бв

E DL

PARFUMS CIRO

PARIS

NEW YORK

the time. for the face in the mirror,
well — my appearance is fattish, a more
refined-looking Pierre Laval, sometimes
happy, but always trying to achieve a
peace of mind that doesn't seem possi
ble in this business. This business breeds
à tension that is difficult to live with.
PLAYBOY: What precisely produces thi
tension in you?
SELLERS: The knowledge that the business
is so short-lived. Success is so brief. It's
not like being part of a big business that
with for the rest of your life,
would lead to ti But

almost want the whole thing to crumble
id me, That keeps me at it — mak-
me think I've got to be good. It’s a
aking that unless you're
number one it's no good, You do three
bad pictures іп а row and it’s all over.
The other part of the tension is the un-
real life you lead. Being well-known is
а problem to me. Whatever you do,
somebody wants to say something about
it or photograph it. But that's all part
of it, part of what you want, you realize
that’s the life you've chosen. You're
stuck with it,
PLAYBOY: You sound
little enthusiasm for your own work.
SELLERS: No enthus no confidence. 1
don't make quite as many mistakes as
1 used to. But the work hasn't progressed
as I'd like it to. | can't achieve what I
want to There's this constant
gap between what one does and what
one wants to have done. You go and see
your rushes and you begin to wonder if
you'll суег be able to judge your own
work. And there's this other th 1
more success you have, the more people.
want to have a go at you in the press.
And I just haven't got the confidence to
shrug off what is said about me Some
ay they're above criticism. They
don't read I don't bel

if you had very

actors

PLAYBOY. Do you tend to veer between
optimism and pessimism?

seuers: I get the same thing old Peter
Finch gets. We call it the Blacks, They
descend on me, the Blacks, usually after
sceing the rough cut of my last picture
in some private cinema. And it's the
end, just the end. The whole thing looks
terrible. Then J just want to pack it all
in and look around quickly for a means
of employment . . . suicide. Who can
you talk to, who'd stand your
problem, who can you unload your mind
to? Then, after a few days you get over
it. I read, drive, try to lose myself in
something, anything.

релүвоү. drivi
cance for you?
seters: Ye
started whe
ville. Г always wanted a car.
ht onc. Then I started to change

Гус

them at an alarming.
Ive had 60 different This chap,
this car salesman in North London,
opened up a showroom entirely for my
benefit. Га go to him with this mad lust
for cars inside me
Td w; nd get it. And next day Га be
back trading it in for another car. Now
I've finally got what I want. The Bristol
407. Its perfect. 1 didn't know such a
car existed. The Bentley Continental
wasn’t bad for room, for speed, for com-
fort and silence, but the 407 combines
everything. Гус had it over a month
now. I'm happy with it. Г only change
it if they improve the model. I just love
motoring. It’s a search for perfection.
Probably there is a link between this
search and the other one, the one in
my work. Опе is a search for perfection
in a machine, the other stems from a
great sense of depression, at being un-
able to supply what I know I should be
able to deliver.

PLAYBOY: You also change your г
fairly frequently.
same search?
SELLERS: I suppose so. My wife and I re-
cently sold our home in Chipperfield
and for a while we lived at the Carlton
Гомег hotel. That was a sort of clear-
inghouse while we looked around. I
liked living at the Carlton Tower. 1
liked the atmosphere. Now we've taken
а flat in Hampstead. I want to find out
if flat living is ОК. We've spent a lot of
money on the flat. It would be nice to

ince 1948,

and see somethi,

sidence
Is that part of the

stay there perm: a of
permanence is y 1 have
hways been restless. My grandparents
were the same. Always on the move. 1

nly have inherited this lack of a
foundation, this lack of roots. When we
moved into Chipperfield, 1 said this is
t this is where I'm going to stay. But
after а while you get this call to move
on, to try something else. I think being
half Jewish has a lot to do with it. That
and the business. I have a feeling Im
not going to stay anywhere [or very
long. One tríes to create roots — it's vital
for the children. 1 want to get them

settled, so that they have a fecling of
belonging somewhere. But they've prob-
ably inherited my restlessness, They

never seem to mind moving.

тАүвоү: With what kind of people do
you feel most at home?

sewers: I have a small group of friends
who make me feel 1 belong. What h:
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the Air Force, vaudeville and radio. And
now they're sharing the film phase with
me. 1 know they're interested in me, not
because of any achievements 1 may
had, or because Т am, if you'll excuse
the word, Peter Sellers. Yes, they're all
men. 1 don't think it’s possible to have

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PLAYBOY

72

women friends.

I don't believe in pla-
tonic friendship with women. Sooner or
later something springs out of it.
PLAYBOY: What do you need most — the
admiration of men, women or profes-
sionals?

SELLERS: Аз an actor, what I need most is
the admiration of professionals, other
actor. As а notvery-attractive man, I
need the admiration of women. Very tall,
good-looking actors have a different
problem altogether. I'm very lucky be-
ing married to a very pretty girl, but
I'm very conscious of not being any-
thing to look at. One of these very
handsome stars once said to me, “Jesus,”
he said, “I admire your acting. Lets face
it, I'm just good-looking” And I
thought, just good-looking! And there
he was staving off all these luscious
birds...

PLAYBOY: Do you tend to spend freely on
yourself?

SELLERS: Yes, very freely. I used to think:
one day I can buy this and that, and
now 1 can. Buying what I want is not
really extravagance. И you bought what
you don’t need — that would be extrava-
gance. But then I can always persuade
myself that I need what I buy. 1 doi
believe in being the richest man in the
cemetery. As long as the family is pro-
led for—my mum and dad, my wifi
my two children — thats all right. H's
fine to be rich when you're 60, but 1
think now (I'm 36) is the time to enjoy
it. If I see some gadget ог car and w:
‚1 buy it. T have the bloody t
Everybody's provided for, and I'm in
the black with the tax people, so what
Ive got is my own, and Г enjoy it. I
certainly haven't got a guilt complex
about spending. I'll go to any extreme
to help other people— but I don't bc-
lieve in doi
dont believe
been-good-today mentality. If 1 do it, 1
want to do it unseen, not to make my
niche up in heaven a little larger.
PLAYBOY: You're known as one of the
hardest working actors in the industry.
Do you feel a compulsion to work?
SELLERS: Well, what else is there? 1 don't
really want to do more than two pictures
a year. That's the ideal. But then you get
to a position where you really get mixed.
up. "There's all this stuff to sift through
and you don't know what to do. | think
there is a certain pattern an actor falls
into. A lot of actors try to break it. You
mect them and they say they've found
it, something marvelous — like Bud
dhism. Some Indian bloke who stands
up against a wall all day. Thats it.
That's the secret. And they hold up
walls for a while, and next time you
meet them they're back in the old rou-
tine, doing the same old job. 1 suppose
the thing is to take off to some little

place and think — that would be good.
But I don't rel easily, And the mo-
ment you do stop work they all descend
on you—you get all the moguls with
ideas: producers, they come round and
they say, this is good, Peter, this
wonderful, they say, we must do it right
now, and you say all right, and most of
the time there isn't even a script. These
days properties аге discussed and set up
in a strange way. Just on an idea, not a
script. I know it’s exciting to havc an
idea, but it's more exciting to have а
screenplay, Take Peter Pan. All Гуе ever
done is to say I like the idea of playing
ptain Cook, but I've never even seen
a script, and everybody scems to think
it's all set up. And it isn't.
PLAYBOY: How do you go about prepar-
ing for a role after you have accepted it?
SELLERS: Well, having got to the stage
where one secs a final script and has
discussed the part with all concerned, I
art with the voice. 1 find out how the
character sounds. It's through the way
he speaks that I find out the rest about
m. I suppose that approach comcs
from having worked in radio for so long.
After the voice comes the looks of the
1 do a lot of drawings of the char-
cter I play. Then I get together with
the makeup man and we sort of transfer
my drawings onto my face. An involved
process. After that I establish how the
character walks. Very important, the
wall nd then, suddenly, something
strange happens, The person takes over.
Fhe man you play begins to exist. I sink
myself completely into every character 1
play, because he has begun to live
me. I suddenly seem to know what sort
of life that man has had and how he
would react to а given situation. Other
character actors go for the makeup first
and start from that.
PLAYBOY: How does this complete identi
fication with a part affect your home
life?
SELLERS: Not at all. My wile is aware of
it, though, especially when its a nasty
part, as in Never Let Go. I was sort ol
edgy with her while we made that film
hen, while Г was making The Million-
эз — E played an Indian —1 was very
serene. But what 1 do do while m
а film — I eat in my dressing room, not
п the canteen, so as not to break my
n of thought. That way I don't get
out of my mood. Then on the way home
I wy and drive it off —and come home
a half-demented, raving, shrie
from the rush hour.
pıAYBOY; What do you find stimulates
you most in your work?
seners: Seeing other people's work. "The
finished product. 1 can sec perfection in
other people's performances, People like
Trevor Howard or, when he was still
alive, Bob Donat. I thought he was a

ing idiot

god. People like that are superb, so
good that one is not aware that they
are acting. Going to see a great actor
makes me feel completely exhilarated
and dejected at the same time. I ask
myself, how did it happen, how did he
do it? I find that stimulating.
ptaysoy, Do you ever indulge in fan
tasics of being something other than an
actor?
SELLERS: Yes, 1 often fecl I'd like to be a
freelance photographer, going round the
world and snapping things at the right
moment. I'd like to be another Cartier-
Bresson. That sort of a photographer.
"To be invisible and take great pictures.
I've had a lot of my pictures published
in Queen recently. And Im hoping
that other magazines will become inter-
ested in my work. Perhaps ГИ get
assignments. When I was doing Lolita,
four national newspapers were after me
to take pictures on the set. But it
couldn't be done.
PLAYBOY: Your attempt to direct yourself
in Г Love Money was not an unqual
fied success in the opinion of many
critics. Do you still want to direct?
setters: No, I've abdicated from that idea,
at least from directing a picture in which
o appear. I have another subject in
id I’m anxious to direct, but I won't
act in it as well. Never again. I might
become a producer, though. That seems
а good thing. You can still be part of
the business, without actually being in
so to speak . . . although I don't
suppose it's a more peaceful life.
PLAYBOY: Besides your work, wha
feel most strongly about?
setters: Well, my family, of course, and
that embraces my father and mother.
Apart from that, nothing. 1 don't take
sides in poli I have a Victorian out-
look. I don't like taking part. Becoming
part of some large group never does any
good. Maybe that's my problem with re-
ligion. Im going through the throes
at the moment. Thats because Jn
nothing. I t baptized. I wasn't
Bar Mitvahed. I suppose my basic rc-
ligion is doing unto others as thcy
would do unto me, But I find it all very
difficult. 1 аш more inclined to believe
in the Old Testament th in the New,
though 1 believe in not doing а dirty
turn to anyone. I never tell people to
do anything, because 1 never do any-
thing myself when I'm told to do it,
only when I’m asked. This attitude
comes from having been in the service.
I believe in my own set of values— God
is very close — Сой knows all. He likes
to see you in church. Fair enough, But
Im not comfortable about organized
religion. Sooner or later one has to make
a decision. І know that. I haven't quite
made it. That's the trouble with me.

do you

wast

WHAT SORT ОЕ MAN READS PLAYBOY?

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or design. Interested in qualities that will set him apart, he reflects tastes in tune with his proven ability to acquire all the com-
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OLONEL PIERRE ROQUEBRUN emerged from his villa at nine o'clock on a certain bright, sunshine-filled Riviera
Cus and walked down the path to his antique shop which was located one kilometer before the village
of La Tourette on the road between Venice and Grasse.

His thoughts were stray, diverse and contented as he let himself into the b: а а раіг
of Sèvres vases he hoped to coax out of a widow who lived in St. Paul; the Louis XIII saltcellar that must be sent
off to London; some doubts as to the authenticity of a 13th Century carved Christ that had been offered him.

Unlocking the front door, he picked up his copy of the Nice Matin and thereafter his thoughts were no longer
scattered. For the first page was black with headlines heralding the story of the latest picture robbery, the third
apparently in a series of assaults upon world-famous canvases owned by the rich.

In the earlier burglaries an El Greco and a Van Dyke had been stolen from the villa of a Swiss industrialist

fiction By Paul Gallico THE PICTURE THIEVES the loot loomed large,

et

»
"t

on the Cap d'Antibes, a man with a young wife who had displayed a strange reluctance to discuss the theft. From
another mansion on Cap Ferrat, belonging to the widow of an Argentinc cattle baron, canvases by Picasso, Matisse,
Gauguin and Modigliani had vanished. This burglary was accompanied by murder. An aged caretaker who had
apparently struggled to protect the property had been shot.

The theft during the previous Saturday night, confirmed in the paper before him, of 12 famous Renoirs
to the value of two and a half million dollars from the Villa Fleury which occupied a commanding position in the
hills behind Cannes, was by far the most sensational and the one closest to the Colonel since the American textile
millionaire to whom the villa and the pictures belonged was both a client and a personal friend.

As he read on, Colonel Roquebrun's left eyebrow, which was extraordinarily mobile, commenced an ascent
which continued until it was practically lost in the wrinkled brown skin of his bald skull. For among the pur-

the prey was ripe, the cons were slick and dangerous—then the fox moved in

PLAYBOY

76

ed paintings was the famous Blue
Renoir for which the French Govern-
ment had just conduded negotiations to
purchase for the nation for the stag-
gering sum of two million New Francs.
The picture was to have been removed
from the Villa Fleury to the Musée des
Maitres Modernes in Cannes the fol-
lowing Monday. The thieves at one
stroke had robbed both che American
and the nation.

The Colonel continued то scan the
story. No one had been able to fix a time
when the robbery had occurred. There
was a night watchman on duty at the
Villa Fleury who made regular rounds.
He had heard nothing. The burglar
alarms and other security precautions
were apparently intact but had given no
signal. Joc] Howard, the owner of the
paintings, was absent in America, but
his daughter Sarah, aged 20, was living
there. She had returned from a party
with some friends early in the morning
but before retiring she had not entered
the salon where the pictures were hung.

"There were two things about the affair
that puzzled the Colonel. One was that
this third and most startling robbery
did not match the other two in tech-
nique. The second was that although 24
hours had passed since the affair had
taken place, he had heard nothing. Not
so much as a mouse had squeaked. There
had been no hint of any kind.

Not that a respectable antiquarian,
who in addition to the usual cluster of
French honors held several important
foreign decorations, might be expected
to be a repository of thieves’ timetables
and schedules, but the fact was that the
Colonel had а past. Strange bits of i
formation, gossip, ramor and fact th:
came bubbling up out of the Ri
underworld had а way of reaching his
ears and passing into his bald, polished
skull and there they remained concealed,
The Colonel's thin, hard lips rarely
opened to divulge information.
his 60s, the Colonel tended his
shop, bought, sold and minded his own
business.

A car crunched to a halt in the gravel
of his driveway. Colonel Roquebrun
looked from his newspaper to the win-
dow and saw the gleaming cream and
chrome Jaguar of Sarah Howard, Joel
Howard's daughter, She was alone.

He went to meet her and stood framed
in the doorway. a stocky, indomitable
figure whose still-young, bright-blue and
clever eyes shone from a battered counte-
nance that had practically been rebuilt,
for he had suffered unspeakable tortures
at the hands of the Gestapo.
= girl ran toward him from the car
viftly that her auburn hair streamed
out behind her for an instant, and as the
Colonel looked into her small, piquant
face he saw that she was deathly pale
and her hazel eyes dilated.

та

“Oh, Colonel Roquebrun,” she gasped,
and then, quite suddenly, burst into
tears.

"Sarah, my dear Sarah,” said the Colo-
nel, and putting his arm about her shoul-
der led her into the shop, for although
she was barely 20 they were old friends.

When her tears В ed, she
looked up and said, "Isn't it silly of me?"

Theft is always a shock," the Colonel.
replied.

The shouting newsprint caught her
attention for an instant and she half
whispered, “They have stolen Daddy's
pictures.”

The Colonel nodded. “E was wonder-
ing who they were.” He had not directed
the question at her and therefore was
the more surprised at her reply.

“I don't know! People! Anyonc, | sup-
pose.” Then Sarah gave him a despairi
look and whispered, “I’m frightened.
Supposing it were all my fault?”

“My dear Sarah, your faul?” But as
soon as he put the direct question to her
it appeared momentarily to dissipate her
panic, or whatever was causing it, and
plunge her into a sea of doubts and
evasions.

“It's so utterly absurd,” she said. “I'm
sure they're quite all right. They must
be, mustn't they?” And since the Colonel
did not reply, being unable to, she con-
‚ that's why I have come.
You know everyone, don't you — 1 mean
about everyone?” Sarah concluded with
sudden passion, as though this would
solve all her problems.

The Colonel replied cautiously, “Some-
times, Who are these friends who are
troubling you so?”

Sarah replied, *

feel like such a a fool.

ldy has been in New
Sea adic A He's flying over

“theres nothing
she's English. Diana
Her father has cotton mills.
Daddy does business with him. She has

The Colonel said nothing and
continued, somewhat too quick!
very nice and knows an awful lot about
a's quite mad about Kip."

“Kip Trenchley. He's really very sweet
to Diana.”
А faint bell tinkled in the Colonel's

б ДЕ КАП
Government had bestowed the О,
the British Empire upon him he
considered himself a kind of continuing
partner of that country and therefore
newspapers assiduously.
ne Kip Trenchley brought up а
tion he could not place beyond
being aware that it was disagreeable.

Yes," he said, “and the others?”

ah blinked at him for a moment,
looking as though she wished she had
not come and replied hesitantly, "Well,
there are really cight of us, two more
girls and the four men. We've been go-
ing places together, The girls Nicole and
Elena are very nice —1 think. 1 mean,
Harry says they come from very good
French families.”

“Harry?” said the Colonel, as though
fastening him to a board with a pin.

Doubt again crept into Sarah's voice
and gave it something of а litlegirl
qu Harry's the one I'm attracted
to. He's sort of fascinating.”

The Colonel nodded but withheld
comment.

Sarah continued, “Well, there's Marcel
Dufour who runs the Blue Grotto restau-
rant. Everyone knows he's all right. He
even looks rather like a saint I always
think. He's an old friend of Kip's."

For the first time during the interview
the Colonel concealed definite alarm. He
did know Marcel Dufour and knew like-
wise that he was not at all “all right.”
As proprictor of the fashionable Blue
rotto restaurant just outside Theoul,
ronized by the international set, he
was provided with a cover of firm re-
spectability. The snow-white hair and the
thin, tanned face that gave him the look
of an Indian esthete cloaked a wicked
man.

"And Count Andrea," Sarah contin-
ued. "Paolo Andrea. He's Italian. He's a
friend of Harry's.

"Ah yes,” said the Coloncl,
Harry who?”

The color that flushed Sarah's face
gave away her embarrassment and her
voice fell almost to a whisper again.
“Isn't it just too utterly ridiculous? 1
don’t know. Just Harry.”

And then quickly the words came
tumbling forth in a rush of self-reassur-
ance. "He's an American. He's terribly
handsome and has been everywhere.
Everyone knows him.”

The Colonel had reservations as to

“Harry.

ing young thing into
something more like her father's daugh-
ter. She thought hard and deeply, trying
to marshal her feclings into coherence.
She said finally, her cyes narrowed with
the intensity of her concentration, “1
don't really know. I couldn't write it
down on paper if 1 tried and 1 can
hardly express it to you. I never really
knew that I ever felt anything before,
but yesterday when the house was full
of police — and then those awful blank
spaces on the walls where the pictures
had been —and the police asking me all
kinds of questions about where I had

(continued. on. page 78)

p
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SS =

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PLAYBOY

78

PICTURE THIEVES (continued from page 76)

been that night and who my friends
were — well, there it was.”

“There what was?”

Sarah’s eyes narrowed again and she
blinked once more as though to keep out
the light of what she was seeing. “Well,
the four of them,” she said, “Marcel,
Kip. Paolo and Harry. The girls don't
count— Nicole and Elena I mean—
they're too stupid. Don't you see, when
something has been stolen and the police
are about, everything somehow begins to
look different."

"The Colonel said, “Yes, I understand
very мей”

“I mean,” said Sarah, "Count Andrea
is very nice but he could be awful, too,
couldn't Һе?”

"Quite," replied the Colonel, suppress-
ing an internal shudder. The very word
“Count” was suspect on the Riviera.
‘Then he asked, “And Harry? Harry and

юм?”

Sarah replied quickly with a kind of
breathlessness, “Oh, nothing has hap-
pened.” And then she added, “I like him
terribly, even though sometimes he wor-
ries me. Nothing bas happened — but
don’t you see—it could.”

The Colonel now regarded the young
girl gravely and asked, “And just what
is it you wish me ‘to do, Sarah?”

Sarah folded her ha with the ear-
nestness of her plea. “Come and look,
would you? We're dining tonight at the
Society Club in Cannes. Just come and
sit somewhere and see. You know so
much about everyone. You might be able
to tell whether I am just being silly and
childish, or whether"—and here she
gave a quick little shudder — "I'm right
to be frightened.”

“Very well,” said the Colonel, "ТП
come. You will, of course, not recognize
me.”

Sarah nodded her head vigorously.
She said, “Oh, thank you. It’s the kind
of thing I couldn’t even tell Daddy.”

"The Colonel accompanied her to the
door and stood watching her as she
walked across to her car. But halfway
there she turned and stood uncertainly
for a moment.

“You see,” she cried then, “the utterly
stupid, absurd and ridiculous thing is
that they couldn’t possibly have done it.
We were all together that night. Harry
didn't leave me until five o'clock in the
morning.” And then with a kind of wail,
as though expecting to be disbelieved,
she repeated, “But nothing happened, I
promise you, we just danced and kissed
a little, But he couldn't have done it—
it was already light. And yet —"

"They stood there for a moment facing
each other, the inescapable alibi be-
tween them like a living thing. The
Colonel's heart was torn by the fear and
anguish that lay behind Sarah's cry that

nothing had happened. But one day in-
deed it might. This was the game of the
Harrys who prowled the Riviera. They
were tough and predatory and young
girls were weak, foolish and avid. But he
said only, “I see.” He nodded toward the
newspaper and asked, “Is that part true
about the Blue Renoir going to the
Museum?”

Sarah replied, “Yes. It was supposed
to go today. There’s an exhibition begin-
ning there. After that it is to go to the
Louvre. Why?"

The Colonel merely grunted. He re-
flected that if nothing else the burglary
was timely. The security at the Musée des
Maitres Modernes was known to be
extraordinarily competent, and at the
Louvre, of course, unassailable. He said,
“I'll be there this evening, and after
that we will see. In the meantime, not to
worry.”

He watched her as she got into her
car and drove off. At least a part of the
weight seemed to have been lifted from
her shoulders by his promise.

The noise of Sarah's departing vehi-
cle had hardly died away when the car
of the second early caller that morning
ground to a halt outside the shop. The
Colonel did not know whether he was
pleased or angry at the visit, but in view
of the tidings in the newspaper he was
certainly not surprised to see Captain
Scoubide, Chief of the Detective Force
of the Department of the Alpes-Mari-
times.

The Colonel and Captain Scoubide
exchanged “Good Mornings” and Roque-
brun thought that the small, clever eyes
of the detective were darting about his
shop almost as though he had expected
to find the stolen pictures hanging on
the walls and was frankly disappointed
when he failed to see them.

Captain Scoubide, dressed in slacks,
sandals and short-sleeved, open-necked
shirt, did not look like a policeman but
more like one of the thousands of tour-
ists swarming the south of France that
summer. Nevertheless, he was a very
good one since he was capable and not
entirely honest; his dishonesty was on
the side of the angels, an almost essential
quality in a detective operating on the
Riviera.

Captain Scoubide had been drawn to
Colonel Roquebrun's antique shop that
morning by one of those policeman's
hunches that come from nowhere and
every so often pay off most astonish-
ingly. The question that was agitating
Captain Scoubide, who was small, dap-
per and narrow-faced, was how to tackle
the subject and still remain “correct.”

The Colonel, well aware of Captain
Scoubide's difficulty, was at first inclined
to let him wriggle, but then took pity

and said, “Can I help you, Captain?”

Scoubide was instantly into the breach,
his head cocked to one side, as he re-
plied, “Well, can you?”

Such abruptness was verging upon
“incorrectness” and the Colonel felt
compelled to challenge him. “My dear
Scoubide!” he said.

But the Captain’s roving eyes were
now unmistakably halted upon the Nice
Matin with its black headlines and
strings of zeros denoting the millions’
worth of the robbery. “Have you heard
anything?” he asked.

“And why, my friend, should you
think that I would have heard some-
thing?”

Captain Scoubide made a deprecating
gesture. “Your formidable reputation
has not diminished, Colonel. Everyone
knows you. Everyone trusts you. Every-
one is your friend, from the highest to
the lowest."

The Coloncl remained silent at this
and Scoubide continucd. “During your
days as the leader of the Resistance this
entire arca was under your command.
‘There was every kind enrolled in your
secret army— perhaps someone might
have talked to you."

‘The Colonel thought to himself, what
the devil is he driving at? “Now who do
you think might have talked to me?" he
asked.

Captain Scoubide shrugged and re-
plied merely, “— one meets so many peo-
ple.” He looked about the antique shop
again, scratching his head, and said,
“The question which puzzles me is how
they will market them.

‘The Colonel nodded. “That is indeed
a problem.”

“How would you dispose of them?”
Captain Scoubide asked. “After all, you
are in the business so to speak."

‘The Colonel's face flushed red, color-
ing all but the white scar that ran from
his ear along his jawline. He said, “Are
you not somewhat wanting in tact, my
dear Captain?”

Captain Scoubide threw up his hands,
horrified at being misunderstood. “No,
no, no!” he protested. “A thousand par-
dons! The question was purely hypothet-
ical. И one had such valuable pictures
to sell —”

"— one would realize if one were not
a congenital lunatic that the market is
extremely limited and the transaction.
likely to be accompanied by considerable
publicity," the Colonel concluded for
him.

Captain Scoubide looked thoughtful
and repeated, "Congenital lunatic!
That's a good one. I have just been
sniffing about the scene of the crime and
do you know what struck me? The mad
slickness! The chances that were taken
and gotten away with. The amatcur pro-
fessionalism of it.”

(continued on page 154)

from royal shikar to upland shoot, the guns you'll want for the game you'll encounter
modern living By ROBERT RUARK One of the first things I ever shot with

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whaled hell out of me. The first time 1 ever fired a real rifle seriously I killed a Tangan-
yika lion with it, and became disastrously ill thereafter, because one does not generally
break in on lions, and the reaction is apt to be violent. The lion was shot with a Winches-
ter .375 Magnum, and it made such a frightful noise that I had been afraid to shoot it in
practice. A dozen years and a few elephants later, I find I'm not conscious of the noise.

The first time | ever fired a really big weapon —an English .470 double rifle —1
foolishly tripped off both triggers, loosed the backblast of 150 grains of cordite against
my cheek, and knocked myself as stiff as the Cape buffalo on the other end. My first
memory on regaining consciousness was of Harry Selby, then a very young professional
hunter, standing over me with both hands on his hips, gesturing with his chin to where
a big bull buffalo lay, winding his last sad bellow. "Well, for Christ's sake,” Selby said.
“One of you get up.”

The best leopard I ever killed — an eight-footer, on my first safari with Selby; as а
matter of fact, the first leopard 1 ever saw — I collected with a factory-built Remington
.30-06, which is battered and scarred today, but still as deadly as ever.

I own some lovely, slim tailor-made English shotguns, but the most dependable
scattergun in the arsenal is still an ancient, shiny-barreled | (text continued on page 184)

THE GENTLEMAN'S HUNTING ARSENAL

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PLAYBOY

82

“Golly, I didn’t think anything as exciting as this would
happen to me until I was at least 16!”

[ы

satire By SHEPHERD MEAD more pertinent
pointers on succeeding with women without really trying

DRESSING
THE PART

HOW TO LOOK

Long ago women gave up trying to tell men apart by their clothes.
‘Today they look deeper, secking the real you underneath. They can do
this while you are fully clothed, and time and again they succeed. Do
your best to paint them a rosy picture.

TEARDROP DESIGN AND HOW TO FIGHT IT

All human males are forced day after day to keep their shoulders to
the wheel. Actually, though, it is not our shoulders that we use, but our
minds, which means it is an entirely different part of us that is held to
the “wheel,” or chair. It is the development of these powerful sitting
muscles that enables us to remain chairborne for hours without tiring.

Hand in hand with sitting strength comes the expansion of the chest

Do your best
to paint
them a rosy

y picture.

— downward. This is caused not, as some believe, by overindulgence,
but by faulty design of the human body. Originally engineered as a
four-footed creature, man was never intended to walk in his current
semi-erect position. The result is chest-slide. or paunch.

"Together these form a pear-shaped silhouette which is both attractive
and acrodynamically sound. If it were not for the critical attitude of
women it would be universally admired.

There are several ways to deal with the problem.

1. Face It. Don't upset the balance of nature. Live with it. You will
find many ways to adapt yourself, including a skillful and attractive
method of sidesaddle dancing.

“Davie, is that you around there, too?"

“Yes, pet. Everything all right?”

“I don't know. Seems to me we've developed a list to starboard.”
“Must be this new step, pet.”

2. Don't Admit It. Retain the same trouser size, sucking in the
powerful abdominal muscles until the belt is fastened. This is effective,
but can lead to broken scams, jammed zippers, and a strangled сх-
pression.

3. Lel Science Help. Luckily science has come to the rescue with
a number of fine commercial devices. These are not to be confused
with the female girdle, which also helps to hold up the stockings. Few
if any of the male devices have attachments for supporting the socks.
‘They are designed only to help your own steel-spring muscles give you
a trim, athletic appearance.

WEAR TWEEDS

A rough tweed will help the frailest fellow maintain a manly appear-
ance. Careful, though, not to choose one so rough that twigs or bits
of underbrush are woven into the fabric.

A good test of a tweed is to brush the arm gently over a bare female
shoulder, if one is available to you. If there are scraping noises or
rumpled feelings, select a softer weave.

SHOULD I WEAR SHORTS?

We are too close to our knees to judge them impartially. The wise
gentleman regards them as though they belonged to someone else. Look
at your own in this light and you may choose long trousers, or at least
pedal pushers.

If, on the other hand, you can show a really “good leg,” it is not
only safe but provocative to wear shorts or tight riding breeches.

NEXT MONTH: “BE WELL-ROUNDED”

attire by robert I. green PLAYBOY'S FALL & WINTER FASHION FORECAST
Е the definitive statement оп the coming trends in men’s wear and accessories

HERE WAS A TIME not too long ago when it was considered fashionable to regard the man
| in the Brooks Brothers gray flannel suit as a cookie-sheet prototype of the young execu-
ast, this regimental image may have

tive and his anonymous attire. In a sartorial sense, at |
contained more than a grain of truth back in 1955, when Sloan Wilson's pet sobriquet first
became a national catchphrase. With the increasing impact of British and Continental
styling over the intervening years, however, this archconservative Ivy League silhouette has
matured and metamorphosed into an internationally accented admixture of divergent fash-
ions for every pastime and predilection—each distinctively individual, but each bearing
the unmistakable “Made in U.S.A.” stamp from head to toe.

Exemplitying the eclecticism of the new fall and winter sartorial season, suitwear will
be stepping out in styles more varied and venturesome than at any time since the apogee of

Elizabethan England, when the multiplicity of male modes of dress was equaled only by
the number of the Queen's fashion-conscious courtiers. The classic lvy profile, predictably,
will continue to reign in the realm of traditional urban wear, but a host of insurgent
outlines has arisen to challenge its perennial supremacy. Best- (text continued on page 93)

Em

left: Swinging in the rain with foul-weather friend, guy gallantly shares the shelter of his iridescent

olive cotton double-brecsted raincoat see flip side on preceding page) with raglan sleeves, full
belt, mohoir-wool-nylon snap-in lining, by Cortefiel, $75. Top: Gridiron grandstander huddles with
his cheerleader, makes points in wool tweed pullover with buttondown collar, raglan sleeves, by R.F.D.,
$13. Above: Driving young man leads the field in his attractively accessorized Mercedes—and іп
bold-striped brushed-wool turtleneck pullover with side vents, shirttail bottom, by Drummond, $15.

87

Man's best friend supplies opening gambit for introduction to fellow dog lover, who digs his Dane and his duds: camel-
tone covert suit, $80, matching plaid vest, $15, both by RD. norrow-brim shag-finish felt hot, by Dobbs, $14.

Concerned for bareheaded beau, oversolicitous miss opens sunroof in snowstorm to plant his hat in place. Though flur-
ried, he keeps cool warmly in buff acetate-pile suburban coat with shawl collar, drop shoulders, by Zero King, $45.

Any portal in a storm: Stranded secretary turns approving weather eye on guy in one-button wool flannel blazer with
cutaway front, buttoned pockets, by H.I.S., $25; cotton shirt, Бу Sero, $6.50; wool worsted slacks, by Esquire, $25.

Heading hearthward to a hot toddy for two, windblown bloke holds on to his hot (an alpine-styled velour, by Champ, $12)

as beauty bundles close to his breezy plaid wool tweed jacket, by R.F.D., $45; wool sharkskin slacks, by Anthony Gesture, $25. 91

Right: Sweater girl has ayes for escort in cotton raincoat with
suede buttonholes and trim, rugged stitching, buttoned pockets,
by Esquire Sportswear, $60. Below, | to г: Freewheeling road
scholar makes top grades with girl and garb: racy cotton heek-
suede jacket with leather buttons, print lining, buttoned pockets,
by НІ.5,, $25; corduroy slacks, by Corbin, $15. On the right
sartorial track for a ski trip with gear and dear in tow, top-form
slopesman steps aboard in Dynel-Verel pile suburban coat with
show! collar, suede piping, laminated lining, by Robert Lewis, $40;
wool slacks, by Asher, $15; ornamental frame is multicolor mosaic
wool cardigan with zipper front, West Point collar, by Alps,
$21. Seeking sonctuary from snowfall, host unlocks door to un-
hurried evening of brandy and banter by the fireside. Indoors
he'll doff wool-cotton double-breasted pea coot lupdoted
Novy style) with bross buttons, four flapped pockets, by Stonley
Blacker, $30; capeskin gloves with silk lining, by Fownes, $10.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY DON BRONSTEIN

24

ing the three-button front їп а demonstration of onedownmanship, the offbeat two-button suit (Doubling
Up, March 1962) — a presidentially inspired revival of the Forties’ favorite coat style — will be endowing
fashionable Frontiersmen with а long-lapel look well suited for the striped shirts that promise to prevail
this year. Divesting jackets of still another closure, the trimly tailored one-button suit (PLAYBOY, September
1962) — a singular innovation from the Continent — will be bidding for avantgarde attention. And the
renaissance in dressy double-breasted suits (prophesied by rtAvsov last October) will be cresting in clean-
lined models updated with less overlap, narrow lapels, straight jacket bottoms and slightly tapered waist.
Sumptuous wool-mohairs, worsteds, whipcords and coverts earn our endorsement for town wear in subtle
chalk, pencil, pin and self stripes augmented by low-key plaids, small checks (especially black-and-white
blends in one-button suits) and midget herringbones (some with superimposed striped motifs). Chromatic-
ically and unimpeacha-

ally speaking, olives are out; blacks and blues (from deep Baltic to black-navy) empha
bly in; and charcoals will be returning to favor as the redoubtable man in the gray flannel suit —in a
reversion to prototype — stages а major comeback in one-, two- and three-button models.

Vested interests will hold sway in suits for casual wear as the upsurgent three-piece Ivy style joins forces
with the hacking-influenced English country suit in outfits teaming solid and (text continued on page 189)

93

Holding door of crimson cor for girl in scarlet suit, gentleman enjoys seeing red, follows cordinol rule in burgundy-black
tweed jacket, by Stanley Blacker, $55; pink cotton shirt, by Wren Ltd., $6.50; modder tie, by Reis of New Haven, $3.50.

Accoutered for оп g orata's eyes. She esteems under-

stated taste of his blue serge suit, by Baker, $115; cotton broadcloth shirt, by Van Heusen, $5; rep Не, by Superba, $1.50.

QUEEN
OF
CLUBS

swinging laura young
scores as our

october playmate

PHOTOGRAPHY BY POMPEO POSAR

WHILE OUT SUNDAY DRIVING on a suburban golf course recently, we dis-
covered a young charmer whose stance and style awakened our interest in
tee-for-two outings: She's Laura Young, an ardent golfer and our October
Playmate. Brown of hair and green of eye, country-clubbing Laura is strictly
a play-for-kicks girl — while making the rounds her spirits are as high as
her customary score (^I did shoot a 72 the other day," she confided to us.
“Of course, that was before I reached the sixth green."). But no matter how
she slices it, her classic form — a striking 36-25-36 — is sufficient to quell
the critic in any man, ourself included. Lovely Laura was born in Long
Branch, New Jersey, 24 years ago; during her youth she livcd the nomadic
life of a Navy dependent as she and her family followed the steps of her
stepfather — a line lieutenant — from Miami to the Panama Canal to Key
West to Red Bank, New Jersey, where she settled down long enough to win
her high school diploma and then undertake breadwinning chores as a
telephone operator and nurse's aide. Following the sage advice of observant
friends, who felt that the artful arrangement of her 125 pounds on her
5/6” frame should make her a sure click as a model, she moved on to
Chicago a few months ago in quest of a pretty-as-a-picture career. A girl

Our pert country-club mouse escapes from а trap with a notable display of form.

who is endowed with refreshingly unpretentious tastes, Miss October
confesses a secret addiction to True Confessions magazine ("I guess
I enjoy reading about other people's problems because I don't seem
to have any of my own"), flips for such Art Linkleuer books as Kids
Say the Darndest Things! ("Maybe it sounds corny, but I happen
to like children") and digs Bobby Darin’s brash belting, Ben Casey's
surly scowl, Alfred Hitchcock’s thrillers and heaping helpings of all
foods Italian. She also goes in big for painting ceramics, dating a long
list of admirers (“Му only requirement in men is that they be fun to
be with — I can't stand fellows with moody or sleepy personalities")
and, of course, pursuing her carefree country-club sport of letting the
chip shots fall where they may. Having lamped Playmate Laura's fair
ways on the fairways, we promptly persuaded her to tee off her model-
ing career by becoming this month's Playmate. For an intime view
of lithesome Miss October, a swinging golfer of proportions, unfold
the foldout, whence she smiles hello to Young lovers everywhere.

PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES

One day in school young Johnny wrote on
the blackboard, “Johnny is a passionate devil.”
"Ehe teacher reprimanded him for this act, and
made him stay alter school for one hour. When
he finally left the school that evening, all his
friends crowded about him, cager to hear what
punishment he had received. “What did she
do to you?” asked one little tyke.

“I ain't sayin’ nothin',” Johnny replied,
“except that it pays to advertise.”

Then there was the Indian chief who installed
electric lights in the tribal latrine, thus becom-
ing the first Indian ever to wire a head for a
reservation.

A middle-aged friend of ours says he can't
understand all the excitement over the movie
version of Lolita. ^I didn't see anything in it
that could be considered even vaguely sensa-
tional,” he told us, nd neither did my 12-
year-old wife."

Sam and А! had been partners for many
years and they shared and shared alike in al-
most everything, including the affection of
their pliable and rather hot-blooded secretary.
One morning Sam came into Al's office ex-
tremely upset.

“Al,” he moaned, "something terrible has
happened. Our secretary is going to have a
aby We are going КОО АГЫЛ

But Al, who was the calmer of the two, sat
his partner down and pointed out that a great
many worse things could have happened to
them: business could have fallen off, for in-
stance. They agreed that the only thing to do

was share and share alike, as they always had.
They would see that their secretary got the
very best in medical care, they decided, and
after the child was born, he would want for
nothing. A room of his own, fine clothes and
the best schooling; they would set up a
trust fund immediately after his birth to
guarantee him a college education. The lucky
youngster would have two fathers instead of
just one.

And before they knew it, the big day had
arrived. The two of them paced back and
forth in the hospital waiting room, until Sam
could stand it no longer.

“I'm too nervous up here,” he said. "I'm
going to go down and sit in the car. As soon
as something happens, you come down and
tell me.”

Al agreed, and in less than an hour he was
down on the street wearing a grave expres-
sion. It was obvious to Sam, even before his
partner spoke, that something was wrong.

"What's the matter?" Sam asked, starting to
choke up. “Is it bad news?”

His partner nodded.

“We had twins,” Al said, “and mine died.”

O' Mally hunied to church ring to see
Father," he said excitedly, “Î made

fally, I'm surprised at you,” the priest
replied sternly. “Is the woman married?"

"Oh yes, Father, she's my wife.”

"But you don't have to come to confession
if you make love to your wife."

^I know — but I just had to tell somebody."

Joan had invited her younger sister, Nancy,
to leave her country home and come to the
city for a weekend to see how the urban half
lived. She also arranged for a friend of hers
named Bill to take Nancy out for a night on
the town.

After a pleasant dinner and a show, Bill and
Nancy went to Bill's apartment for a nightcap.
They talked and listened to soft music for a
pleasant interlude; then Bill suggested that
they retire to the bedroom.

"Oh, no," Nancy protested. "I don't think
my sister would like it."

“Nonsense,” said Bill, as he gently took her
arm. "She loves

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
cach joke used. In case of duplicates, payment
goes to first received. Jokes cannot be returned.

“If you're through rummaging, perhaps you'd
like to make a purchase . . ."

PLAYBOY

104

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MIND BEYOND MATTER

AN ARRESTING INQUIRY INTO THE LIMITS OF THE POSSIBLE:
THE KNOWN POWERS AND IMMEASURABLE POTENTIALITIES
OF THE HUMAN BRAIN ARTICLE BY ARTHUR C.CLARKE

‘THE HUMAN BRAIN JS THE MOST COMPLICATED structure in the known Universe, but, since practically nothing
of the Universe is known, it is probably fairly low in the hierarchy of organic computers. Nevertheless, it
contains powers and potentialities still largely untapped and perhaps unguessed-at. It is one of the
strangest of all facts, impossible for the sensitive mind to contemplate without melancholy, that for at
least 50,000 years there have been men on this planet who could have conducted a symphony orchestra,
discovered theorems in pure mathematics, acted as Secretary General of the United Nations, or piloted a
spaceship —had they been given the chance. Probably 99 percent of human ability has been wholly wasted;
even today, those of us who consider ourselves cultured and educated operate for most of our time as
automatic machines, and glimpse the profounder resources of our minds only once or twice in a lifetime.

In the speculations that follow, 1 shall ignore all paranormal and so-called psi phenomena. If these
exist, and can be controlled, they may dominate the entire future of mental activity and change the
patterns of human culture in manners unpredictable today. But at the present stage of our ignorance,
such surmises are profitless and lead all too readily into the quaking quagmires of mysticism, The known
powers of the mind are already so astonishing that there is no need to invoke new ones.

Let us first consider memory. No one has been able to form a reliable estimate of the number of facts
or impressions the brain can store during a lifetime. There is considerable evidence that we never forget
anything; we are just unable to put our minds on it at the moment. We seldom encounter really impressive
feats of memory these days, because there is little need for them in our world of reference books and.
documents. Before the invention of writing, all history and literature had to be carried in the head and
passed on by word of mouth. Even today, there are still men who can recite the whole of the Bible or
the Koran, just as once they could recite Homer.

The work of Dr. Wilder Penfield and his associates at Montreal has shown, in a dramatic fashion,
that long-lost memories can be revived by the electrical stimulation of certain areas of the brain, almost
as if a movie were being played back in the mind. The subject relives, in vivid detail (color, scent,
sound) some past experience — but is aware that it is a memory, and not a present occurrence. Hypnotic
techniques can also produce similar effects, a fact that was used to advantage by Freud and others for the
treatment of mental disorders.

When we discover how the brain manages to filter and store the blizzard of impressions pouring into
it during every second of our lives, we may gain conscious or artificial control of memory. It would no
longer be an inefficient, hit-and-miss process; if you wanted to reread a page of a newspaper you had seen
at a certain moment 30 years ago, you could do just that, by stimulation of the proper brain cells. In a
sense, this would be a kind of time travel into the past — perhaps the only kind that will ever be possible.
It would be a wonderful power to possess and — unlike many great powers — would appear to be almost
wholly beneficial.

It could revolutionize legal procedures. No one could ever again answer "I've forgotten" to the classic
question “What were you doing on the night of the 23rd?” Witnesses could no longer confuse the issue
by accounts of what they thought they had seen. Let us hope that memory stimulation would not be

PLAYBOY

106

compulsory in the law courts; but if
anyone pleaded future version of
the Fifth Amendment, the obvious con-
clusions would be drawn.

And how wonderful it would be to go
back through one’s past, to revive old
pleasures and, in the light of later knowl-
edge, mitigate old sorrows and learn
from ancient mistakes. It has been said,
Isely, that а drowning man's life flashes
before his eyes. Yet perhaps one day,
extreme old age, those who по longi
have any interest in the future may be
given the opportunity of reliving their
past and greeting again those they knew
and loved when they were young. Even
this, as we shall see later, might be not
a preparation for death, but the prelude
to a new birth.

Perhaps even more important than the
stimulation of old memories would be its
inverse — the creation of new ones. It is
hard to think of any invention that
would be more valuable than the device
that science-fiction writers have called a
Mechanical Educator. As depicted by
authors and artists, this remarkable
gadget usually resembles the permanent-
wave machine at a lady's hairdresser's,
and it performs a rather similar function
— though on the material inside the
skull. It is not to be confused with the

teaching machines now coming into wide-
spread use, though one day these may be
recognized as its remote ancestors.

The Mechanical Educator could im-
press on the brain, in a matter of a few
minutes, knowledge and skills that might.
otherwise take a lifetime to acquire. A
very good analogy is the manulacture of
a phonograph record; the music may
have taken an hour to perform, but the
disc is stamped out im a fraction of a
second, and the plastic "remembers" the
performance perfectly. This would have
peared impossible, even in theory, to
the most imaginative of scientists only
a century ago.

Impressing information directly onto

the brain, so that we can know things
ithout ever learning them, seems
equally impossible today; it must c

tainly remain out of the question uni
our understanding of mental processe
has advanced immeasurably. Yet the
Mechanical Educator— or some tech-
nique that performs similar functions —
is such an urgent need that civilization
cannot continue for many more decades
out it. The knowledge in the world
is doubling every 10 years — and the rate
itself is increasing. Already, 20 years of
schooling are insufficient; soon we will
have died of old age before we have
learned how to I
ture will have collapsed owing to its
comprehensible complexity.

In the past, whenever a need has
arisen, it has always been filled with
some promptitude. For this reason,
though 1 have no idea how it would

nd our entire cul-

really operate, and suggest that it may
be a complex of techniques rather than
a piece of mechanical hardware, I feel
fairly convinced that the Mechanical
Educator will be ented. If it is not,
then the end of human culture is al-
ready in sight.

are many other possib
and some certainties, involving the direct
manipulation of the brain. It has already
been demonstrated that the behavior of
animals — 1 be profoundly
modified if minute electrical impulses
are fed into certain regions of the cere-
bral cortex. Personality can be com-
pletely altered, so that a cat will become
terrified at the mere sight of a mouse,
and а yicious monkey will become
friendly and cooperative.

Perhaps the most sensational results
of this experimentation, which may be
fraught with more social consequences
than the early work of the nuclear phy:
cists, is the discovery of the so-called
pleasure or rewarding centers im the
brain. Animals with electrodes implanted
in these areas quickly leam to operate

the switch controlling the immensely
al stimulus, and de-

enjoyable «еси
velop such an addiction that nothing
else interests them. Monkeys haye been
known to press the reward button three
times a second for 18 hours on end,
completely undistracted by either food
or sex. There are also pain or punish-
ment areas of the bra imal will
with equal single-mindedness to
switch off any current fed into these.
The possibilities here, for good and

evil аге so obvious that there is no
point in exaggerating or discounting
them. Electronic possession of human

robots controlled from a central broad-
casting station is something that even
George Orwell never thought of; but it
may be technically possible long before
1984.

One of the many bizarre facts revealed
by hypnosis is that false, but absolutely
convincing, memories can be fed to a
subject who later be prepared to
swear that these things really happened
to him. We have all experienced dreams
so that, on awaking, we confuse
them with reality; for 20 years I have
been haunted by the “memory” of a
spectacular Spitfire crash that Г have
never been able to classify as a real event
or a hallucination.

Artificial memories, if they could be
composed, taped and then fed into the
brain by electrical or oth
would be a form of vicarious expe
vid (because they affect all
the senses) than anything that could be
produced by the massed resources of
Hollywood. They would, indeed, be the
ultimate form of entertainment — a ficti-
tious experience more real than reality.
It bas been questioned whether most
people would want to live waking lives

т means,

ience,

ica

far more vi

at all if dream factories could fulfill
every desire at the cost of а few cents’
worth of electricity.

We should never forget that all our
Knowledge of the world around us comes
through a very limited number of scnses,
of which sight and hearing are the most
nt. When these sense channels
passed, or their normal inputs
interfered with, we cxperience illusions
that have no external reality. One of the
simplest ways of proving this is to sit for
some time in a completely darkened
room, and then to gently pinch your
eyelids with your fingers. You will “se:
the most fascinating shapes and colors,
yet there is no light acting on the retina.
The optic nerves have been fooled by
pressure; if we knew the electrochemical
coding whereby images are converted
into sensations, we could give sight to
men who have no eyes. For the much
simpler, though still extremely complex,
sense of hearing, something like this has

ready been done on an experimental
basis. The electrical pulses from micro-
phones have been fed, after suitable
processing, directly into the auditory
nerves of deaf men, who have then been
able to experience sound. I use the word
"experience" rather than "hear," for we
still have a long way to go before we
can imitate the signaling system used. Бу
the саг: and that employed by the eye
astly more complicated.

This is а good place to mention a
somewhat cerie experiment once carried

is

out by the great physiologist Lord
Adrian. Going one beter than the
witches in Macbeth, he took the eye of

a toad and connected it to an amplifier
and a loudspeaker, As he moved about
the laboratory, the dead eye imaged him
on its retina, and the changing pattern
of light and shade was converted into a
of audible clicks. The sc
in a crude way, using his sense of
caring to see through the eye of
anin
One can imagin

ntist

¢ almost unlimited ex-
Г ment. In principle,
the sense impressions from any other liv-
ing creature — animal or hum ht

be wired directly into the appropriate

is of the brain. And so one could
look through another man's eyes and
cven gain some idea of what it must Бе
like to inhabit a nonhuman body.

We asume that our familiar senses
give us a complete picture of our en-
vironment, but nothing could be further
from the truth. We are stonedeaf and
color-blind in a universe of impressions
beyond the range of our senses. The
world of a dog is a world of scent; that
of a dolphin, a symphony of uluasonic
pulses as meaningful as sight. To the
bee, on a cloudy day, the diffuse sunlight
carries a direction sign utterly beyond
our powers of discrimmation, for it can
(continued on page 144)

section

fiction
» By GERALD
KERSH

A LUCKY DAY FOR THE BOAR

colonel hyrax had peculiar methods of persuasion but, thought the duke with a shudder, they worked

WELL, WHAT THE DEVIL THEN, where's your title?" said Mr.
Bozman. the proprietor of The Baltimore General Press. “I
uotation: ‘gnoscito saepe alteri numquam libi — which,
ed, reads ‘Forgive others often, but never forgive your-
self.’ Well?”

His Editor, а timid man, murmured,
gentleman five dollars.”

“Gentleman? What the devil kind of alpac
ture hack do you call gentleman? And what do
five dollars? How dared you do it, sir; is dug out of
the ground; it does not grow on bushes. Eh? Eh?"

advanced the

“We might entitle it A Lucky Day for the Boar, sir.”
“You make free with my dollars, sir. Read it over to me,
mister, if you w
“By your lea

Self-sufh t, Colonel Hyrax came and went like a cat in
the Duke's palace. Nobody could deny that there was, in fact,
much of the feline in his fastidiousness and in his almost
inhuman composure. As Chief of the Secret Police, Colonel
Hyrax was not bound by the rules of protocol. Dread fol-
lowed him, and awe—awe of the Unknown—and it was

said the Editor, and read:

107

PLAYBOY

108

whispered that the Duke himself feared
Colonel Hyrax.

Certainly, no one but he would have
dared to detain the Duke when that
potentate was booted and spurred for
the hunt. Yet, although he was sm
with pleasurable anticipation as he li
tened to the baying of his boarhound:
the courtyard bclow, the Duke put aside
his boar spear when Colonel Hyrax ap-
peared, and, bidding bi с the door,
asked, "What now, Hyrax?"

"Your Grace, I have good news.”

“My foresters have beaten out a black
boar of 30 stone, a monster. So be brief.
Good news of what?"

“Of the conspiracy, your Grace,” said
Coloncl Hyrax.

“I suppose," said the Duke, with a
harsh laugh, “I suppose you are going
to tell me that my traitorous scoundrel
of a nephew has named his partners in
this plot against me?”

“Precisely that, your Grace,
Colonel Hyrax, with a thin smile.

“No!”

“By your Grace's leave— yes,” cried
Colonel Hyrax. But he looked in vain
for some demonstration of relief or joy.
The Duke frowned.

“It is hard,” he said, “it is very hard
for me to believe. Are you sure, now?
My nephew Stanislaus has named his
friends?”

“Your Grace, I have a list of their
names. They are under close arrest.”

"Damn it! Stanislaus is of my blood.
He had — 1 thought he had — something
of my character. Red-hot pincers could
not drag a betrayal of my friends out of
me. Milksop!”

“Yet he conspired against the life of
your Grace,” said Colonel Hyrax.

“I know, I know; but that was all in
the family. I trapped him, and he didn't
lie about it. Naturally, he refused to
name his collaborators. ГА have don
the same in his place. Oh yes, Hyrax —
ng the matter of red-hot pincers —
you never dared . . . ?”

“1 know my duty, your Grace.” said
Colonel Hyrax, "I am well aware that
your blood is ble, and that it is
death to spill one drop of it; or to offer
violence, however slight, to any member
of your family: or even to threaten it.
Neither may any of your Grace's blood
bc manaded. Oh, believe me. not only
was his Excellency your nephew treated
with the utmost gentlencss — I saw to it,
when he was placed in solitary confine-
ment by your Grace's written order, that
he could not even do violence to his
own perso!

“And still he betrayed his comrades?
He's no blood of minc!" The Duke then
uttered foul accusations against his dead
brother's wife. Growing calmer, he said,
“More, Hyrax; tell me more." The horns
sounded clear in the courtyard, but the
Duke threw open a casement and roared,

said

“Let the boar wait!"
“Your Grace sentenced your nephew

10 perpetual solitary confinement. His
Excellency to be ‘left to cool his
head,’ to quote your own words.”

id you starve him, Hyra? You had
no right to starve the boy.”

"No, your Grace. He had cverything
of the best. The passage of Time did our
” said Colonel Hyrax.

“Time? What time? The young fool
hasn't been locked up two months.
t are you talking about?"

“If I may explain?" begged Colonel
d, his master nodding, he con-
I had prepared for his Excel-

at walls, floor and ceiling with hcavy

ngs of lamb's wool covered with
as a double window,
out of which xcellency might look
at the wild countryside surrounding the

than he deserved.
nds were, as I have s
t was cut for him, and
all his cutlery consisted of a horn spoon.
For he was so violent, at first, that 1
feared the you nüeman might do
himself a mischi
ye. aye, he always was an overbred,
ous young fool. Well?"

hen we asked his Excellency for
permission to shave his head,” said Colo-
nel Hyrax. "He gave it.”

"What the devil for?"

"Your Grace will see, presently. So.
by his leave, we shaved off all his hair.
We provided him with some quills, ink
and paper, but nothing edged or
pointed. To calm him, a mild and harm-
less opiate was mixed with his Excel
lency's breakfast. He ate, and then, lean-
ing on the casement, gazed moodily at
the landscape under the morning sun.
He dozed, leaning thus, for perhaps five
minutes. When he opened his eyes he
was looking upon a night scene with a
g moon, and the attendants were
bringing his supper. His Excellency was
Idered. ‘Am 1 bewitched?" he asked.
псе, by your Grace's order, he was
ado, the attendants were

1. From breakfast to supper — morning
to moonrise — is a matter of hours. What
was the purpose in bringing Stanislaus
his supper five minutes after breakfast-
time?”

“Pray let me explain, your Grace. The
prospect beyond his window was mot
open country. It was a blank wall, upon.
which 1 had caused to be projected
through a lens, by means of a powerful
reflector, highly realistic scenes painted
upon glass by one of the finest land-
scape artists Europe. Thus, I could
araw а perfect illusion of the various
stages of the day, and of the four sca-
sons.”

“But what for?”

“In order, your Grace, without violat-
ing your law, to let his Excellency con-
fuse himself in his conception of Time.
Soon, he fell into a deep sleep, and an
adroit barber shaved him and trimmed
nails, Men incarcerated can gauge
с, to a certain extent, by the rate of
growth of their beards, you sec. It was
necessary to bewilder; it was necessary
to let his Excellency force himself to
have recourse to Reason, and to make
his reasoning invalid. Do 1 make myself
dear”

“Go on."

“Hence, he would awaken — let us say
—at midnight, look out of the dow,
see high noon; doze again, rise again in
10 minutes and—lo! and behold! —
dawn. Or, awakening at dawn, he would
see nothing but the rim of the setting
sun, while the attendants came in with
supper. Sleeping soon after, by the
judicious administration of opiates, he
‘would start up to observe another sunsct.
So, after a week, he asked how many
months he had been there. There was no
reply, of course."

“Clever, clever,” said the Duke.

Colonel Hyrax bowed, and continued,
“Although the month was July, his Ex-
cellency awoke one morning to a scene
of naked trees under a blanket of snow.
Sometimes, breakfast, dinner and supper
would arrive at intervals of only a few
minutes after the clearing of the table.
Or sometimes hours might elapse, after
which his Excellency, starting out of a
fitful sleep, might notice that it was carly
autumn now, where it had been mid-
winter when he last looked out,

“1 took good care—since men in
prison sometimes grow preternaturally
observant — to age the guards and wait-
ers, and to see to it that their uniforms
showed increasing signs of wear. The
chief warder was always accompanied
by a pair of great dogs. At first. it was a
couple of wolfhounds. 1 replaced these
with older and older wolfhounds. Then
there was a new young warder, and he
had a pair of mastiffs — which, in their
turn, I made appear to grow old, by a
system of substitution.

“Naturally, I never entered the young
gentleman's chamber myself. But I had
my reports to rely upon. Your Grace —
within a few weeks, your nephew be-
lieved that he had been incarcerated for
an incomputable number of years! Your
Grace has had the nightmare, no doubt?”
“1 have, and it's hor-
rible. A second is an eternity, or worse.
ink I understand you now, Hyrax.
Go on."

"By means of concealed lamps, there
was always a diffused light in the cham-
ber which, by the judicious use of hot-
air pipes was maintained at a constant
temperature of precisely 74 degrees

(concluded on paye 197)

food & drink By THOMAS MARIO For one of October's most inviting
ipes, take a cool Saturday afternoon, stir in approximately two hows of gridiron grand-
standing, moisten whenever necessary with eau de vie from a hip flask, then simmer down
to a leisurely evening repast in the mellow light of your own digs. Ever since Englishmen
in the ТИВ Century engaged in the manly sport of kicking around old skulls on battlefields,

THE
POST-FOOTBALL
FETE

itballe" has remained one of the most uninhibited forms of ordered mayhem known 1o q gourmandial. grandstand

man. Happily, it has its own highly civilized safety valve — the convocation at cocktails and
dinner following the game when the afternoon's formations and strategies are all relived
calmly in the vicinity of home bar and ice bucket. Only a fiercely (continued on page 152)

play in which the
host scores a touchdown

“You must be а very lonely man.”

110

“1 BLONDE
urne о КОАО

fiction Ву KEN W. PURDY
they're an odd couple, all right, but there's nothing he can do about it: she owns him

‘THERE MUST BE 17 OR 29 DIFFERENT VARIETIES and subspecies of publicity people — if you know the actual number
don’t tell me, I really don’t want it, all anybody needs to know are the two main categories: the arm-grabbers and
the other kind. Bernie Hoven was an arm-grabber. That's him at the banquette table by the window, that good-
looking іше creep, that’s Bernie Hoven. That broad he's with, that big blonde, that's Helga Carlsson, as if you
didn’t know. You would never guess, seeing her sitting down like that, the girl is six foot one, would you? When
she stands up those jokers at the next table will duck: they'll figure she'll fall off her stilts into their brandy. Bernie?
Oh, five seven, five seven and a half or so. And that's with his shoes on, I don’t guarantee a thing for him barefoot.

You think they make an odd couple? Г think maybe even Bernie figures they're an odd couple, but there isn’t
anything he can do about it. Helga Carlsson owns him. She owns him like you own that Audemars Piguet on your
wrist, and by the way, congratulations, you must be doing good.

No, I mean she really owns him. She bought him and paid for him and she owns him. See the little bum
staring over here? It's five to one he knows I'm talking about him. He's very bright, Bernie, and a lip-reader, too,
for all I know.

Anyway, I started to say, he was an arm-grabber. But don't get me wrong, Bernie was a top-level arm-grabber.
He didn’t hit you at the end of every third sentence, like so many of them, he had more confidence in himself than
that. When Bernie was setting you up for a story, all right, he’d grab your arm between your wrist and your elbow,
or anywhere else he could get hold of it, just for a second, and when he was working up to the punch line he'd
grab you again, but that was all. You can see that he was a high-level operator. Bernie (continued on page 136)

111

а tip-of-the-bowler to the delightful damsels of blighty

LONDON, SAID DISRAELI A CENTURY AGO, "is a nation, not a city, with a population
greater than some kingdoms, and districts as different as if they were under
different governments and spoke different languages.” Today, as the second
largest of the world’s metropolises, the capital of England and the Brit
Isles, and the axis of a commonwealth girdling the globe from Singapoi
skatchewan, the sprawling city on the Thames is more of a nation than ever.
Encompassing 698 square miles of Roman ruins, Norman citadels, Elizabethan
alehouses, Tudor palaces, Renaissance basilicas, Edwardian mews, Regency
n . Georgian town houses, Swedish-modern office buildings and chromium
luncheonettes — а capsule history of its 2000-year evolution in architectural
microcosm — modern London is unique among the world's capital cities as the
nucleus of neatly every major social, economic and cultural institution in its
far-flung domain: art, music, letters, show business, communications, adv
ing, industry, high fashion, high fins high society — and. girls.

Whatever their métiers and motivations — fame, fortune, authority or
adventure — girls from every corner of the kingdom stream to the city lik
Dick Whittington's legendary cat: pink-cheeked, full-bodied maidens from the

rarian north; fine-boned thoroughbreds from the pasturelands of southern
England; black-haived. green-eyed colleens from Belfast and Limerick; brown-
eyed, white-skinned Welsh rarebits from Swan: and Сага; auburn-tressed,
azure-eyed 125565 [rom Aberdeen and Glasgow; (text continued on page 118)

Above: Marie Barrie displays faultless
form of champion figure skater. Below:
Marjorie Brace promenades in Piccadilly.

Below: Jazzophile Marie Clarence, tyro torch r and groovy Girl Friday Below: Alison Seebohm is veteran TV
for London music publisher, spends surplus do-re-mi on Third Stream stereo — thesper at 22. >
‚ digs them in privacy of poshly appurtenanced (37-22-37) apartment. contemplates а career

: Honey-haired Eve Eden—quite possibly, at 19, the possessor of Above: The fine-boned face of Af
Britain's most photographed physique—recently renounced modeling to ghan fan Jean Shrimpton adorns the
114 become the hosi with the mostest (38-22-35) on a popular TV quizzer. pages of London's Vogueish mags.

Below: Impulsive Yvonne Romain turned down an art scholarship to take up acting, found herself typed as tooth-
some bite-player in vampire flicks. Cast at last in nonhorrific roles, she stars with Sammy Davis in upcoming
TV opus. At home she dabbles at graphic and culinary arts, daydreams in den, lounges on lavender sheets.

Above: A loner with a wanderlust for life, Maureen Haylock has toiled as grape-picker in France, resort re-
ceptionist in Britain. Now learning tricks of new trade as stage sorcerer's apprentice, she's fond of twilight
strolls along the Thames; plans disappearing act to Latin America, latest leisure-domain of her dreams. 115

Below, | to г: А thoroughbred equestrienne equally adept at fox hunting and horse-show hurdling, patrician-
profiled Eileen Noble would be an odds-on favorite in any gallop poll. Multilingual fashion buyer Kinga
Kalinska, an English girl of Polish parentage, sizes up styles in window of West End women's-wear salon.

Sylvia Steele, freewheeling fashion model with designs on stage and screen stardom, pau
fic light en route to audition for ingénue part in upcoming play. Right: A transplanted Lancashire lass,
Irene Berrie trips lightly from musical comedy chorus lines to solo stints as dancer on video variety sho

sic саг buff Gina
Greham 5 а sleek ‘62 chassis. 117

Below, 1 to г: Jackie Blackhurst, English Lit major at London girls’ school, earns pin money as window dresser
in department store. Also adorning window is Jeannetta Clarke, bilingual secretary for Cheapside shipping
Rees-Roberts beams over bubbly amidst Old World opulence of soignée Scho spa.

firm. Stenographer Te:

Above: Diana Burford, а literary An-
glophile (Shakespeare, Lawrence, et
а.) takes the air at Trafalgar Square.

bronzed, blonde sportswomen from
and New Zealand; clean-
limbed, kinetic creatur.

Australia
from
ada and South Africa.

aphatically exploding the stereo-
type of the British female
tweedy, teasipping, birdwatching,
sensibly shod, generally flat-chested,
somewhat long іп the tooth — these
attractively admixtured misses л
as infinitely varied in psyche and
physique as their multifarious bloods;
and no less fashionably attired than
their Stateside and Continental coun.

terparts. Adorned with а tasteful

scarcity of jewelry and makeup, ac
coutered in the incomparable tweeds,
cashmeres and woolens of Yorkshire,
Harris and the Hebrides — tailored
with a dash of Roman or Parisian
flair — they strive for chicness with-
out show, understatement without
anonymity. The majority succeed
ent that
the most seasoned statusticians find
it difficult to distinguish between the

U's and the non-U

with style — to such an

as they mingle
in Mayfair, Piccadilly or Park Lane.

Despite sartorial similarities, how-
ever, the debutantes of London’
haut monde are sct apart from their
sisters — though not from upward-
mobile male visitors with an inside
friend to open the right doors — by

a seldom-spanned social gulf, An

ve: 18-year-old Vicky Kenn
rns straight Ahs as studious soph-
omore at London teachers’ college.

o starlet by city's а E photogs, 19-year-old Gabriella Lict п here in
the neon d = been с d briefly by American audiences via cameo roles in
The Roman Springof Mrs Stone andepisodes of TV's One Step Beyondand The AdventuresofSirFrancisDrake. 119

PLAYBOY

120

august alliance of the ranking aristoc-
racy, the landed gentry and the café-
society set, this insular and inbred clite
set a standard of tradition-bound gen-
tility unpcered even by the upper crust
of Back Bay Boston. As heiresses-appar-
ent to the proprieties as well as the
perquisites of Britain’s erstwhile ruling
dass, they lead a town-and-country life
no less regimented than that of the
thoroughbred sorrels stabled behind their
mansions. As 18-yearlings. they join the
horsey set at lavish coming-out cotillions;
go to the post in April with Queen
Charlotte's Ball; parade around the
endosure with bewhiskered subalterns
and bevested undergraduates for three
nuous months of soignée soirces,
in June with high society's
steeplechase classics, the Oxford and
Cambridge balls; after which they arc
turned out to pasture on their off-scason
estates іп Sussex and Surrey—to be
tutored, groomed and curried for the
following spring and, hopefully, for
eventual mating with an eligible sire of
equally blue bloodline.

Bred for the turf and not for toil,
they ripen quickly into gentlewomen
who idle away their days with coiffeur
and couturier; browsing for baubles at
Harrods and Woollands, London's most
elegant emporiums; dining sedately on
Scotch grouse at the Ritz, organizing
weddings for afhanced friends; fox-trot-
at Hunt balls (where the
ily replace the foxes as a
quarry for sporting young squires);
and serving lemonade and tea biscuits
at charity bazaars on the rolled lawns of
Belgravia — а parklike purlicu adjoining
Buckingham Palace —occupied almost
(ely by the ancestral homes of
's squirearchy.

Down onc social stratum — though
their families often enjoy greater wealth
than some of the aristocracy — the well-
bred daughters of London's more pros-
perous professional men and prominent
literati lead an equally decorous but far
less decorative life in the 18th Century
town houses of Chelsea, the city’s ancient
sts Quarter on the Thames Embank-
ment; and in the 20th Century pent-
houses of the fashionable northwestern
suburbs. Unlike the socialite set, for
whom advanced education has long been
considered an unnecessary adornment,
these cultivated creatures customarily
blossom at 15 or 16 from private school-
girls into precocious coeds at local uni-
versities and business colleges, where
they accumulate credits for postgraduate,
premarital employment in a variety of
fields befitting their aptitudes, inclina-
tions and economic echelon, Some
qualify for coveted secretarial posts in
the Foreign Office or Gi Service —
both prime hunting grounds for up-and-
coming career men wi

few incorrigible romantics even run thc

gantlet of government security for the
privilege of toiling as typists and stenog-
raphers in Her Majesty's Secret Service,
where they reconnoiter the premises —
all too often in vain—for flesh-and-
blood facsimiles of Ian Fleming's
urbanc undercover agent, the indestruct-
ible James Bond. Others adapt their
aspirations of a painting career to the
realities of free-lance commercial illus-
tration or graphic design for a Blooms-
bury ad agency. Still others pursue
dreams of firstmagnitude stardom —
and occasionally fulfill them, after years
of exacting tutelage — as premières dan-
seuses with the Royal Ballet or operatic
prima donnas at Covent Garden; as dra-
matic actresses on the sound stages of
Britain's film industry, headquartered
in non-Hollywoodian Ealing, a sedate
western suburb; or in the thriving West
End world of legitimate theater.

Nurturing similar
lacking cithcr the ability or the assiduity
prerequisite to an acting carcer, a select
few possess the aquiline features, statu-
esque bearing and gentle breeding which
permit them to sublimate their histrionic
hopes as mannequins about town in the
smarter fashion magazines and Mayfair
salons. Graduates in journalism and
English Literature seek out slots as prool-
readers and editorial researchers with
old-line book publishers and such prestig-
ious periodicals as Punch, Tatler, Lilli-
put, Queen and Vogue Export, the
London version of Gotham's high-fash-
ion bible; or vie for tryouts as cub
reporters with the unimpeachable Lon-
don Times or, failing that, the Man-
chester Guardian or, as a last resort, one
of the splashier dailies on Fleet Street.
Those with a wanderlust for life abroad
—plus a passion for liberation both
from parental constraints and from the
emotional temperance of London's polite
society — take to the skies as stewardesses
on В.О.А.С. and B.E.A. jets between
Bri and America, Europe, Africa and
the Orient. But the brainiest and most
beauteous girls are drawn into the vor-
tex of mass communications, where
many attractively unbend the slightly
stuffy decorum of the B.B.C. as script
girls, production assistants, story editors
and executive secretaries.

On a middle-income level, city-dwe
ing daughters are encouraged by their
families to begin assuming responsibility
for their own expenses in their mid-tecns
— with the natural consequence, in
many cases, of a residential as well as an
economic declaration of independence.
And for the rest of the city's distaff mid-
dle class—2 sizable contingent of émi-
grés who hie themselves to London in
search of social and vocational self-en-
largement — bachelor-girl digs are a nec-
essary and pleasant premise of their new
Indigenous and imported, most

quarters in the verdant environs of Hyde

mansions and town
n Kensington,
ig Hill and Earl’s Court have been
subdivided into studio apartments.

Though they lack the status, the
sterling and the schooling to qualify for
skilled jobs in the inner spheres of art,
fashion, communications and govern-
ment, London's middle-income misses
can pluck their plums from an array
of equally enjoyable, if somewhat less
prestigious, positions in the vast and
sprawling complex of London's far-flung
business and professional worlds. Many
work as cashiers and soft-sell salesgirls
in the clamorous department stores, clic
boutiques and oak-paneled haberdash-
eries of Piccadilly, Knightsbridge, Savile
Row, Bond and Oxford streets. And a
few rebels without causes or capital don
ponchos, mukluks and ebony eye
shadow, take up residence in the cold-
water garrets and basements of Bohe-
mian Soho, and procecd to plumb the
mysteries of Zen, pot, Kerouac and ac
tion painting — or come to terms with
society via part-time jobs as waitresses
and folk singers in neighborhood es
presso bars—a current craze. But most
of London's middle-class girls toil as
typists, stenographers, file clerks and
switchboard operators for the ad agen-
des, public relations firms and manu-
facturers of northwestern London; or
enlist in the vast clerical army which
performs the paper work of the shipping
companies, underwriters, barristers, a
ers and. brokers clustered on Chea]
Lombard and Leadenhall streets, Brit.
ain's nerve center of high finance.

But for anatomically uncommon com-
moners— uncomplainingly inured to their
modest lot, yet striving for self-better-
ment—the prospect of а career in
modeling beckons most bewitchingly.
Proffering the promise of a social-dimb-
ing shortcut to showbiz fame and fortune
(а route successfully completed by such
living.bra testimonials as Sabrina and
June Wilkinson), modeling in London
encompasses a number of novel British
variations — and for some, a multitude
of sins. Unencumbered by self-conscious-
ness about thc propriety of sharing their
natural wonders with the world at large,
many of these buxom Britons custom-
arily debut in public—and in the
altogether — оп the pages of pocket-size
nudist and figure photography magazines
which festoon the newsstands of the
worldly West End. Others, blessed with.
good business heads and bodies to match,
own and operate fully equipped photo
studios where amateur shutterbugs are
invited (at a modest hourly rate) to
focus their attention on prize-winning
subjects: their genial hostesses with the
mostest on display en déshabillé.

In another nude twist on the same
theme, patrons of the anatomic and gas-
tronomic arts can savor both in a spate

(continued on page 142)

Park, where the

ТНЕ
THIN
RED
LINE

CONCLUSION: under the hard glint of the island sky,
c company — bloodied, decimated, desperate — finally took
the measure of the enemy fiction By JAMES JONES

In previous installments, the men of С Company, until then innocent of battle, had stormed the Japanese
redoubt on Hill 210 in Guadalcanal. They lay there now, cowering in bloodlined craters, waiting for the enemy
10 move. On the field telephone, Stein, their Captain — pursuing his private war with Colonel Tall by refusing
regimental orders to lead his men into further slaughter —hears with disbelief the command to attack again.

"Tall's voice was cool, and sharp as a razorblade. . . . “Get those men up on the ridge out and moving. ГИ
be there in’ he paused ‘10 or 15 minutes...”

Stein listened unbelieving, mentally stunned, feeling scared. To Stein's knowledge, which he knew was not
universal but nevertheless, no Battalion Commander had come forward with his fighting troops since this battle
started and the division entered combat. Tall's inordinate ambition was a Regimental joke, and he certainly had
every bigshot on the island here today to perform for, but Stein still had not anticipated this. What had he expected,
then? He had expected, if he made his protest strong enough, to be allowed to make his patrol in force and test
the right before having to face а necessity of this frontal attack — even though he knew it was a little late in the
day now for that kind of an operation. And now he was really scared. It was almost funny, how even lying here
terrified and hal£expecting to be dead at any moment, his bureaucratic fear of reprimand, of public embarrassment
was stronger than his physical fear of dying. Well, at least as strong.

Well, he had two things to do, while he waited for Tall. He must see about that man who was wounded a
moment ago. And he must get the other two squads of 2d Platoon up there on the ridge to Beck and Dale.

"The wounded man proved to be little Pfc. Bead from Iowa, Fife's assistant clerk, and he was dying. Ihe mortar
round had exploded five yards away from him on his left, sending a piece probably no bigger than a silver dime
into his left side after tearing its way through the triceps muscle of his upper left arm. — (continued on page 162)

A colorful symbol of the esteem in which the musicians are held at Monterey: the Duke rotes his own stor-odorned dre:

|

y Gillespie, replete with fez, burnoose ond shades, regales a late-afternoon full house with Lalo Schifrin's Tunisian Fonlasy

When Ellington wasn't leading his big band or small combo, he was (as Ве tongue-in-checked it) on emcee and "intermission pianist.”

THE JAZZ FESTIVAL в
GROWS UP

spawned at newport, it has come of age at monterey
article Ву NAT HENTOFF

то THE JAZZ MUSICIAN, nearly all of the summer “festivals” that pur
port to celebrate his "art" are just another gig. The money is some-
what better out-of-doors, but the playing conditions are usually
worse and the promoters are no less rhomboid than the average
night-club owner. “This,” Miles Davis once said while appraising the
July emigration to Newport, Rhode Island, "is a jazz supermarket.”
Mr. Davis has since included all the festivals he has played within
that condemnation, and he expresses the consensus of a large major-
ity of the jazz coníraternity.

Геге is, however, an exception — the annual Monterey. California,
Jazz Festival. Last summer was the fourth of the Monterey events,

PHOTOGRAPHY BY CAL BERNSTEIN

The outside world rears its nonmusical head in the form of c nearby “Peace Mailbox" petitioning signatures from festival pilgrims.

Third Streamer Gunther Schuller leads а brace of harpists through the rehearsal of а Monterey-premiered Schifrin composition.

Spotlighted during under-the-stars evening session, one of Monterey's most lyrical ladies, Carmen McRae, gets a rapt reception.

While Monterey society cavorts between sessions with wee-hour windings, sleeping-boggers greet a new jazz day оп local beach.

and once again the concerts were characterized by the singular
enthusiasm and conscientiousness of most of the musicians
involved. Even those, moreover, who were required to par-
ticipate in morning rehearsals awoke with uncommon alacrity
and no little anticipation. On the second day of the festival,
for example, a trumpet player who had been up until five at
a particularly vigorous party was warming up on the grounds
five hours later. "I don't know what it is about Monterey,

"but I doni feel beat. It scems natural to be up this
early here."

A couple of hours later, at the sprawling, rustic Monterey
Fairgrounds, a lithe young woman in slacks pushed a carriage
with a dozing baby along the lawn. Pyramiding sounds of
brass players warming up came from the sizable but compact
outdoor arena where a horse show had taken place a month
before. She passed by 10 cops, squatting in the grass, swapping
beatnik stories.

A trailer was parked near the main entrance. It proclaimed
itself a “Peace Mailbox,” and cut into its side was a slot for
postcards to be sent to the United (continued on page 146)

vote for your favorites for the seventh playboy all-star jazz band

WITH MONTEREY FLOURISHING on the West Coast, and a reorganized Newport Festival once more echoing
the welcome sounds of live, authentic jazz in a salubrious, noncommercial atmosphere in the East,
1962 turned into a festive year for the hot and the cool. This being the case, we fully expect this
year's Playboy Jazz Poll, America’s biggest, most respected jazz consensus, to handsomely outpull all
previous pulsetakings. The Jazz Poll ballot, as in years past, is made up of only those musicians who
have been performing actively during the last twelvemonth.

You now have the opportunity to make yourself heard anent which jazz luminaries you feel should
occupy the chairs in the 1963 All-Star Jazz Band and receive the prestigious sterling silver Playboy
Jazz Medal.

То vote, all you have to do is read the simple instructions below, check off your favorite jazzmen
where indicated, and make sure vou forward the ballot on to us before the deadline date.

1. Your official Jazz Poll ballot is attached to this page. A Nominating Board composed of jazz
editors, critics, representatives of the major recording companies and winners of last year's poll has
selected the jazz artists it considers to be the most outstanding and/or popular of the y "These
nominations should serve solely as an aid to your recollection of jazz artists and performances, not as а
guide on how to vote. You may vote for any living artist in the jazz field.

2. The artists have been divided into categories to form the Playboy All-Star Jazz Band, and in
some categories you may vote for more than one musician (c.g., four trumpets, four trombones, two alto
saxes), because a big band normally has more than one of thesc instruments playing in it. Be sure to
cast the correct number of votes, as too many votes in any category will disqualify all of your votes
in that category.

3. If you wish to vote for an artist who has been nominated, simply place an X in the box before
his name on the ballot; if vou wish to vote for an artist who has not been nominated, write his name
in at the bottom of the category and place an X in the box before it.

4. For leader of the 1963 Playboy All-Star Jazz Band, limit your choice to the men who have led
a big band (eight or more musicians) during the last 12 months; for instrumental combo, limit your
choice to groups of seven or less musi In all categories, vote for the artists who have pleased and
impressed you the most with their music during the past year.

5. Please print your name and address in the space at the bottom of the l
You may cast only one complete ballot in the poll, and that must carry your co
if your vote is to be counted.

6. Cut your two-page ballot along the dotted line and mail it to PLAYBOY JAZZ POLL, 232 Е.
Ohio Street, Chicago 11, Illinois. Ballots must be postmarked before midnight, October 31, 1962, in
order to be counted, so get yours in the mail today. The results of the seventh annual Playboy Jazz
Poll will appear in the February 1963 issue.

t page of the ballot.
t name and address

NOMINATING BOARD: Cannonball Adderley, Louis Armstrong, Bob Brookmeyer, Ray Brown,
Dave Brubeck, John Coltrane, Miles Davis, Buddy DeFranco, Paul Desmond, Duke Ellington, Maynard
Ferguson, Ella Fitzgerald, Pete Fountain. Stan Getz, Dizzy Gillespie, Lionel Hampton, Milt Jackson,
J- J. Johnson, Philly Joe Jones, Stan Kenton, Barney Kessel, Dave Lambert, Shelly Manne, Wes
Montgomery, Gerry Mulligan, Oscar Peterson, Frank Sinatra, Jack Teagarden, Kai Winding; Leonard
Feather, Jazz Critic; Nat Hentoff, Jazz Critic; Wilder Hobson, Saturday Review; Russ Wilson, Oakland
Tribune; Nesuhi Ertegun, Atlantic Records; Erwin С. Bagley, Audio Fidelity; Peter Hess, Candid;
David Ca gh, Capitol; Stuart Phillips, Colpix; Teo Macero, Columbia; Les Koenig, Contem
porary; Milt Gabler, Decca; Max Weiss, Fantasy; Bob Thiele, Impulse; Allen LaVinger, Liberty; Jack
Tracy, Mercury; Richard Bock, Pacific Jazz; Don Gold, Philips; George Avakian, RCA Victor; Morris
Osten, Reprise; Billie Wallington, de; Alan Douglas, United Artists; Creed Taylor, Verve.

LEADER TROMBONE TENOR SAX PIANO

(Please check one.) (Please check four.) (Please check two.) (Please check one.)
O Count Basic [O Fred Assunto О Genc Ammons О Toshiko Akiyoshi
O Les Brown Г] Dave Baker П Curt C] Mose Allison
O Ray Conniff [3 Milt Bernhart Г] Georgie Auld Г] Count Basie
П Johnny Dankworth [Î Bob Brookmeyer О AlCohn О Dave Brubeck
O Les Elgart G Lawrence Brown О John Coltrane a
E] Duke Ellington O Georg Brunis O Bob Cooper
© Gil Evans. D Jimmy Cleveland О Eddie Davis
O Maynard Ferguson [Г] Cutty Cutshall Г] Sam Donahue
П Jerry Fielding О Wilbur De Paris E] Teddy Edwards
О Terry Gibbs - О Vic Dickenson Г Sam Firmature О Bill Evans
О Dizy O Bob Enevoldsen ( Bud Freeman ( Victor Feldman
Benny пап. O Bob Fitzpatrick D Stan Getz E] Russ Freeman
E] Lionel Hampton D Carl Fontana E] Jimmy Сылне О Red Garland
0 Slide Hampton Г) Curtis Fuller E] Benny Golson О Erroll Garner
O Ted Heath П Tyree Glenn О О Hampton Hawes
Woody Herman O AGray О Û Eddie Heywood
О Harry James © Bennie Green C] Eddie Harris О Earl "Ела" Hines
O Quincy Jones E] UrbieGreen О Coleman Hawkins C] Ahmad Jamal
О Stan Kenton C] Slide Hampton C] Jimmy Heath О Pete Jolly
E] Henry Mancini Г] ВШ Harris O Bill Holman П) Hank Jones
E] Billy May D J.C. Higginbotham [ Illinois Jacquet Û Wynton Kelly
D Ray Mci [в Qı О Plas Jolinson Lj Billy Kyle
n O Richie Kamuca О John Lewis
п © Harold Land O Ramsey Lewis
Rogers B») [aj O Les McCann
О Pete Rugolo O Tricky Lofton 0 [O Marian McPartland
O Gerald Wilson [1 Murray McEachern Û Eddie Miller Û Thelonious Monk
[ Si Zentner О Lou McGarity В Hank Mobley
о О Grachan Moncur HI О James Moody
Е O Vido Musso
TRUMPET п O “Fathead” Newman Oscar Peterson
(Please check four) п О Bud Powell
O Nat Adderley Г] Tommy Pederson п ÛJ André Previn
D Red All y Г} Лаке Persson E 5 Flip ps O George Shearing
AER, иј ny Powell 5 E пу Rollins О Den Shirley
О Louis Armstrong T 3 y
E] Fra xs D Julian Priester Û Zoot Sims B
С Benny Bailey о Rchak О Sonny Stitt О
ре Bez п Rosolino О Buddy Fate DA
E] Ruby Вет y C] Jack Teagarden Ben Webster 0)
[ Billy Butterfield Bi EE es Bg
E] Donald Byrd ү 8 B
а cancel Г] Trummy Young E Lenne Theano
B З [D Si Zentner 0 McCoy Tyner
B О BARITONE SAX O Mal Waldron
Hi B (Please check one.) E puse
[1 Miles Davis E] Pepper Adams Lo
E] Wild Bill Davison 0 —— DE EU
0 Sidney De Paris Г] Jay Гап Майлап
y 0
L] Kenny Dorham ALTO SAX ABA Carney -
п Har (Please check two.) Al Cohn
О Cannonball Adderley GUITAR
On O Gabe Baltazar (Please check one.)
O Art Farmer Г] Al Belletto a
O Maynard. n 1 Bostic a
o О George Braithwaite [ш Da
1 [] Pete Brown а]
LI П Benny С О
tl О Ок
О а} Li
С Freddie Hubbard o 5
© Harry James n П Herb Ellis
O Carmell Jones П Lou Donaldson O Tal Farlow
O J D Bob Donovan О
Û 1 Г] Herb Geller B
Ei fa] CLARINET o 1
oy а! n (Please check one.) O Jim Hall
O Blue Mitchell D rd [-] Bill Harris
О Lee Morgan DP D Al Hendrickson
О Г] Hilton Jefferson О Buddy Colette O Barney Kessel
o O Lee Konitz О Joc Darensburg O Mundell Lowe
[m] Г O Buddy DeFranco Г] Wes Montgomery
os D O Pete Fountain Г] Oscar Moore
Г] E n O Jimmy Giuffre Г] Joc Pass
t О B Goodman E] Les Paul
О [а] a nd Hall Г] John Pisano
п Gene Quill О Hamilton E
О O Marshall Royal О Woody Herman
0 [O Bud Shank O Paul Horn
OR О Zoot Sims O Matty Matlock
О D Willie Smith O Abe Most.
a Г] Sonny s 0 Pee Wee Russell
[m] B
О 0 О B8 ors Van Eps
B D a Sol aged Г] AI Viola.
0 О 0 Del

YOUR 1963 PLAYBOY JAZZ POLL BALLOT

BASS
(Please check one.)
Chuck Andrus
Don Bagley
Norman Bates
Joe Benjamin
Keter Betts

Ray Brown

Monty Budwig
Red Callender

Buddy
Curtis Counce
Billy Cronk
Israel Crosby
Bill Crow

2000900000099099

Г] Pops Foster
D Johnny Frigo

E] Red Mitchell
E] Joe Mondragon

g Monk Montgomery
О Gary Peacock

Б) Mike Rubin

© Howard Rumsey
D Eddie Safranski

E] Arvell Shaw

E] Slam Stewart

О George Tucker

E] Leroy Vinnegar

O Wilbur Ware

E] Gene Wright

E] El Dee Young

n

DRUMS
(Please check one.)
Dave Bailey
Danny Barcelona
Ray Bauduc
Louis Bellson
Denzil Best
Art Blakey
Larry Bunker
Cozy Cole
Nick Fatool |

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D Sonny Greer
Г] Chico Hamilton
D Louis Hayes

L] Roy Haynes

С Red Holt

O Lex Humphries
E] Ron Jefferson

H en are
Don Lamond
Stan Levey

Mcl Lewis
Shelly Manne
Joe Morello

earl Palmer
Sonny Payne
Walter Perkins
Charlie Persip
Buddy Rich
Мах Roach

Ed Shaughnessy
Jack Sperling
‘Art Taylor

Ed Thigpen
Milt Turner

Г] George Wettling
E] Sim Woodyard
im

Bises CIR

MISC. INSTRUMENT
(Please check one.)
Ray Brown, cello
Milt Buckner, organ
Gary Burton, vibes
Candido, bongo
Buddy Collette. flute
John Coltrane, soprano sax
Bol т, oboe
Eddie Costa, vibes
Miles Davis, Flügelhorn
Leo Diamond. harmonica
Walt Dickerson, vibes
Eric Dolphy, Ише
Don Elliott, vibes, mellophone
Victor Feldman, vibes
Terry Gibbs, vibes
Justin Gordon, fute
Tommy Gumina, accordion
Lionel Hampton, vibes
О Paul Horn, flute
Г] Bobby Hutcherson, vibes
О Milt Jackson, vibes
D Roland Kirk, manzello, strich
Steve Lacy, soprano sax
E] Yusef Lateef, flute
Mike Mainieri, vibes
Herbie Mann, flute
Red Mitchell, cello
James Moody, flute
Sam Most, flute
Ray Nance, violin
Red Norvo, vibes
Pony Poindexter, soprano sax
Dick Roberts, banjo
Shorty Rogers, Fliigelhorn
Shirley Scott, organ
Bud Shank, flute
Jimmy Smith, organ
Stuff Smith, violin
Clark Terry, Fliigelhorn
Jean Thielemans, harmonica
Cal Tjader, vibes
Art Van Damme, accordion
D Julius Watkins, French horn
О Frank Wess, flute
Gerry Wiggins, organ

oo oooooooOooo000000

01

goooooocggooggagani

MALE VOCALIST
(Please check one.)
D) David Allen
Г] Mose Allison
15) Louis Armstrong
Harry Belafonte
D) Tony Bennett
Г] Brook Benton
E] Pat Boone
E] Oscar Brown, Jr.
19 Ray Charles
О Nat "King" Cole
D) Perry Como
Bing Crosby
О Vic Damone
Bobby Darin
Sammy Davis, Jr.
Johnny Desmond
Fats Domino
Frank D'Rone
Billy Eckstine
Earl Grant
Buddy Greco
Roy Hamilton
Johnny Hartman
Clancy Hayes
Bill Henderson
Jon Hendricks
‘Al Hibbler
johnny Janis
Байге Jefferson
В Frankie Laine
D Steve Lawrence
Г] Norman Mapp
Dean Martin
Г] Johnny Mathis
E] Les McCann
Г) Mark Murphy
O Jackie Paris
O Jimmy Rushing

г!

Еа аа атаа а

YOUR 1963 PLAYBOY JAZZ POLL BALLOT

О Frank Sinatra
СО Jack Teagarden
[] Mel Tormé
О Joe Turner
О Adam Wade
O Muddy Waters
D Andy Williams
[се Williams
О Jimmy Witherspoon
|5]

FEMALE VOCALIST
(Please check one.)
07 Ernestine Anderson

B Io ers Baker
g Mac Barnes

an
0 Tote c Cain
CJ Diahann Carroll
O Betty Carter
О June Christy
C] Chris Connor
С Doris Da
[] Frances Faye
Г] Ella Fitzgerald
ГЛ Connie Francis
С Aretha Franklin
С Judy Garland
О Eydie Gormé
О Lena Horne
D Helen Humes
D Lurlean Hunter
LJ Mahalia Jackson
Г] Etta James
Beverly Kelly
Teddi King
Eartha Kitt
Irene Kral
Peggy Lee
Abbey Lincoln
Julie London
Gloria Lynne
Carmen McRae
Helen Merrill
Jane Morgan
Jaye P. Morgan
‘Anita O'Day
Patti Page
Billie Poole

000090090090090900

oo
25
FI
EF
ЕЙ
ج‎

Г] Mavis Rivers
E] Annic Ross

( Dinah Shore

П) Nina Simone
E] Carol Sloane
Г Keely Smith

Г] Joanic Sommers
D Jeri Southern
D Jo Stafford

E] Kay Starr
B

Dakota Staton
Г] Teri Thornton
D Diana Trask
O Sarah Vaughan
5 Dinah Washington
O Margaret Whiting
D Lee Wiley
С Nancy Wilson
[mi

INSTRUMENTAL COMBO
(Please check one.)

[ Cannonball Adderley Sextet

[Г] Louis Armstrong All-Stars

5 Al Belletto Sextet

О Art Blakey and the Jazz

Messengers
Г] Dave Brubeck Quartet
О Charlie Byrd Trio

Barbara Carroll Trio

Al Cohn-Zoot Sims Quintet

Gy Coleman Trio

Ornette Coleman Quartet
john Coltrane Quartet
files Davis Sextet

Davis-Griffin Quintet

DeFranco-Gumina Quartet

Wilbur De Paris Sextet

Dukes of Dixieland

Don Ellis Trio

Bill Evans Trio

Farmer-Golson Jazztet

Firehouse Five plus Two

Stan Getz Quartet

zzy Gillespie Quintet

Jimmy Giuftre Trio

‘Al Grey-Billy Mitchell Sextet

Chico Hamilton Quintet

Al Hirt’s New Orleans Sextet

Ahmad Jamal Trio

J Jazz Brothers

Jonah Jones Quartet.

Barney Kessel Quartet

Gene Krupa Quartet

Ramsey Lewis Trio

Shelly Manneand his Men

Les McCann Ltd.
Marian McPartland Trio
Charlie Mingus Quartet
O Modern Jazz Quartet
O Thelonious Monk Quartet
O Montgomery Brothers

"s J;

IJOaadaaogaadaboeagagagaoagaaaaaaoaouood

E] Red Nichols' Five Pennies
О Red Norvo Quintet

0 Oscar Peterson Trio

П André Previn Trio

О Max Roach Quintet

С Sonny Rollins Quartet
George Russell Sextet
Bob Scobey's Frisco Band
Bud Shank Quartet
George Shearing Quintet
Horace Silver Quintet
Nina Simone and her Trio
Cecil Taylor Quartet

Cal Tjader Quintet
Teddy Wilson Trio

Kai Winding Septet

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VOCAL GROUP
(Please check one.)
О Ames Brothers
В Axidentals
Û Brothers Four
O Jackie Cain & Roy Kral
О Clancy Bros. & Makem
Lj The Diamonds
0) Double Six of Paris
О The Eligibles
[ Four Freshmen
D Four Lads

D] Mary c Trio
O King Sisters

Г) Kingston Trio

Г] Lambert, Hendricks & Bavan
О John Таба Пе Quartet.

D Limel
D MG Sim
O Mills Brothers

O Modernaires

O Peter, Paul & Mary
O Platters

Û Staple Singers

O Kirby Stone Four
O Weavers

[m]

Name and address must be printed here to authenticate ballot.

Name.

Address.

City.

Zone. _ State

IN PURSUIT OF ADVENTURE Gawain entered the forest.
of Broceliande and rode for three days and nights.
In the early afternoon of the fourth day he entered
a clearing and saw a pavilion of dazzling white silk
with red pennons flying. Gawain dismounted, and
entered the pavilion with drawn sword. He saw five
low beds of soft down, four of them empty. In the
fifth bed there lay a sweetly sleeping young woman
in a white silk nightdress, with a red smiling mouth
and long black hair, her arms thrown wide as if in
preparation for an embrace.

“Yo ho!" said Gawain, undressing quickly, and
flung himself into the clasp of waiting arms. Awak-
ing suddenly, red mouth smiling even morc sweetly
than before, the young lady cried out, "For three
days and three nights I have dreamed of Sir Gawain!
If you arc he, then do your knightly duty and carn
my love as a knight should do!

“Yo ho!” said Gawain, “I am he!”

Some moments later, doing his knightly duty,
Gawain was interrupted by a sharp blow upon the
body with what felt to be the flat steel of a broad-
sword. “Ho, miscreant knight" a rough voice called
out. “Leave off, and show me if you hold thy sword
as hotly as you hold a virgin’s flanks!”

“It is my father,” the lady said. “Quell him
or quell him foul, but quell him soon, my lover

Gawain arose, girded on his sword, and followed
the old warrior into the clearing. Fire flashed from
steel as foe sprang upon foe. Blood leaped forth as
water from а mountain spring, and the dust of car-
nage rose to hide the sun. At last the old man
fell to his knees. crying out, “I yield to a better
man! Be a good knight unto my daughter!

"Yo ho!" said Gawain, and raced back into the
pavilion.

Some moments later, pursuing the delicate con-
quest of a virgin's pleasure, Gawain was interrupted
by a rude blow upon the body by what felt to be
the flat steel of a broadsword. “Ho, caitiff knight!"
a churlish voice called out. "Leave off, and show
me if you wield a knight's true lance as bravely as

= : Perceval by
Chrétien de Troyes

Ribald Classic

stripped bare the branches of the wees as the two.
knights lunged and parried for the victory. Blood
ran from their wounds in howling torrents, and the
dust of battle hung like a fount: in the air. At
last the outmatched intruder fell to his knees, cry-
ing, “I am a beaten knight! Go back! But be as
gentle to a poor young thing as you are proud unto

said Gawain, and lurched back into

Some time later, as Gawain lay slecping in the
lady's arms, he was awakened by her soft fingers
upon his еуез. Не smiled and reached for her, but
she held him off and gestured at the door. Gawain
looked and saw the fiercest knight of all glowering
down upon him in a black rage.

"It is my youngest brother, the renowned Bran-
cles," the lady said. “In truth, he is the best knight
in all the forest, and none may overcome him in
single combat. I have told him that you are my
own true love, out with уоп
ventures this best of If you will yi
he will withhokl his EU and leı you leave our

Gawain and tht Lady of the Pavilion

you wield your lust!"

“It is my elder brother,” the lady said. “Quell
him fair ог quell him foul, but quell him soon,
my lover.”

Gawain arose, seized his lance, and followed the
churlish knight into the cl пр. Lance shivered
on lance as the two knights sprang for the throat
of victory. Blood rained upward in a magic storm,
until at last the churlish knight fell to his knees,
crying, “I give over! Take her, but be as kind in
love as you are cruel in quarrel!”

Yo ho!” said Gawain, and strode back into the

ome moments г, just in reach of the grail
of love, Gawain was ا‎ by a stinging slap
upon a knightly place by what felt to be the flat
steel of a broadsword. “Ho, craven зеЧисег!” а
shrill voice called out. “Leave off, and show me if
you seek your own reputation in battle as cunningly
аз you do my sister's honor!”

“It is my second brother,” the lady said. “Quell
him fair or quell him foul, but quell iter soon, my
lover.”

Gawain arose, seized a battleax from a rack of
weapons, and followed the shrill-voiced knight into
the clearing. The wind of their raining blows

forest. But you must promise never to return.”

"But I am Gawain,” he said. He arose and donned
his armor, and in the clearing, as the sun grew dark,
the two knights rushed together. And so they fought
the long night through by the light only of the fire
that good swords make when strong men strike stout
strokes. At dawn the two knights were still lunging
for the advantage that would end the fray. But Bra
dles too ESA and wain too strong.
aid at last, “you are the
ick sword upon steel.”

Sir VÉASE RU бета said, “I never thought to
meet such a doughty fighter as thou art. Let us leave
off, and continue this enmity when next we meet.”

“It is agreed,” said Gawain.

The two knights clasped hands to seal the knightly
ly back into the pavilion to
seek the lady. But she was gone.

It is said that she did not leave alone. And in
truth, when time had passed she could be seen again
by errant knights, sitting before her pavilion in a
clearing away, nursing a son and whispering to
1 of his father's feats of arms. “And that will be
glain, the Fair Unknown,” one passing knight
say unto another. “Not the man his father was
= but then, whois" — —Retold by James Ransom ED

“But I'm sure that was only thunder, Mr. Putnam...”

132

FROM THE
BACK OF
tumor THE BUS dick gregory waxes wryly caustic on some foibles and follies of america

ng and most spectacular in nightclub history. At

COMIC DICK. GREGORY'S gagstoriches career is probably the fastest ri
the time he was first booked for a three-week gig at Chicago's Playboy Club in January of 1960, at 5250 a week (his
initial appearance in а non-Negro night club), Dick's dub engagements were so infrequent that he was forced to wash
cars during the day to support his family; he was seriously considering scrapping his showbiz career altogether (cracked
Dick in his act; “Things are so bad, if it weren't for bad luck, 1 wouldn't have no luck at all”). But soon after his
welcome to the Club, Dick began to click with his unique style— mainly because in talking about segregation, freedom
riders and sitins he truthfully probed to the heart of darkness at a time when the nation's conscience on matters
racial responded to the spur of laughter. Dick's engagement at the Playboy Club was extended for an additional six
weeks, and when the 5.6.0. quip-cracking stint was done, he had been featured in stories in every Chicago newspaper,
ed a fullcolumn salute in the Show Business section of Time, scored twice on the Jack Paar show, been besieged
by big-money bids from top dubs throughout the U.S, and hailed by critics as "the Negro Mort Sahl,” the first colored
comic ever to make it big in night-clubdom. (“In Africa,” he observed wryly, “Mort Sahl is the white Dick Gregory.”)
In a business where memory and friendship exist all too rarely outside of song lyrics, Gregory has returned to the
Playboy Club again, and still again, to fulfill a contract written for a few hundred a week, when he was receiving
$5000 at other clubs: and when PM East devoted an hour to a TV profile of rrAvsov in New York recently, he jetted
in from the West Coast to do an eight minute spot on the program for scale, returning immediately to San Fra
for his show at the hungry i that night. Having already entered the bestseller lists as an LP monologist (Dick Gregory
in Living Black and White, Dick Gregory East and West), Dick debuts next month as an equally lethal literateur:
E. P. Dutton will publish From the Back of the Bus, a book featuring caustic comment by Gregory, pictures by
rrAYpov photog Jerry Yulsman, and an introduction by рілувоу Editor-Publisher Hugh M. Hefner. Herewith, for
our readers, a special prepublication package of the latest word in pointed Gregorian chanting.

cisco

"The white man is wonderful, Who else could go to a small island in the South Pacific where there's no poverty, no
crime, no unemployment, no war and no worry—ond call it a ‘primitive society’? "

"Are you sure Martin Luther King started this woy? | was thinking of taking a bus tour of Alabama—only my Blue Cross
has expired. Then again—better it thon me! Talk about living dangerously, they've got this new gome up in Harlem
called Freedom Rider Roulette. You pick from six bus tickets—five go to Chicago ond one to Birmingham .. . Huh,
wouldn't it be а helluva joke if cll this were really burnt cork and you people were all being tolerant for nathin'?"

“What do you meon you don't serve UN delegates?

ON EMPLOYMENT—"But the od soid,
"Engineers Wanted. And besides, I've no
experience as a janitor... You gotta
realize, my people have never known what
job security is. Far instance, cames оп-
other recession and the economy hos to
tighten its belt —who do you think's gonna
be the first notch?"

ON CADILLACS—"If you really wanno see a clossic display af concealed emation—
watch а white insurance adjuster drive up in his Henry J to settle а claim on one of our
Cadillacs . .. Sometimes | think the only one who doesn't resent us owning a Cadillac
is General Motors. This car could be 6000 skipped lunches standing out ot the curb,
but yov con hear the teeth gritting a block away.”

3

ON HOUSING—'Whaddya mean,
1 depreciate your property?! ... If
yov're my color, looking for о house
con be quite on experience. Ез-
pecially when you go inta a white
neighborhaod—ofier $40,000 far a
$23,000 house—then get turned
down ‘cause you'd be lowering the
realty values . . . Take my home town,
Chicago. When the Negroes move
into one large areo, ond it looks like
we might control the votes, they
don't say anything to us—they have
а slum clearance. Sure. Same thing
in Los Angeles—anly out there they
coll it freeways.”

134

ON АМЕНСА—^15п' this the most fascinating
country in the world? Where else would 1
have to ride in the back of the bus, have а
choice of going to the worst schools, eating
in the worst restaurants, living in the worst
neighborhoods—and average $5000 a week
just talking about it? .. . Makes you wonder.
When I left St. Louis, | was making five dollars
a night. Now l'm getting $5000 а week—for
saying the same things out loud that | used to
say under my breath.”

ON ASTRONAUTS—"A lot of people
have been asking why there are no Negro
cstronouls. Well, | got a surprise for you.
One of those seven boys is. He's just
looked like that ever since they told him
what he volunteered for...Whot dis-

turbs me is all those spoce trips ore
going up from the South—from Florida.
If I ever go to Mars, I'm gonna have to go.
through Georgia first. And you know which
trip is gonna be more dangerous! . . .
They wonted me to volunteer for the
space program, but | turned them down.
Wouldn't it be wild if! landed on Mars ond
а cot walked up to me with 27 heads, 57
jaws, 19 lips, 47 legs, ond he said: ‘I don't
want you marrying my sister neither!’ "

135

was almost not ап arm-grabber at all.

He hated the business he was in, ГИ

say that for him. One time some of us
were cutting up Charlie Slagg, that creep
who used to be Southern editor at Life
and Bernie said, "Nobody who hates
press agents the way Slagg does can be
all bad.”
d Bernie figured for one of those
wild-eyed ambitious little killers. who
spend the first 18 years of their lives i
side the woodwork of some dump on
West 119th Street and then come busting
out full of plans and gimmicks and
hatred and by the time they re 25 they're
boy wonders of something or other. 1
think I was right. One reason 1 think so
is that he didn’t just fall into the public-
ity business, he picked it, 1 know that,
and what's more he gave himself a spe-
cialty: Bernie made himself the old-
fashioned kind of press agent, a gagman
really, a stunt operator, none of this
public relations nonsense, and obviously
he did that because he wanted to call
attention to himself as much as to who-
ever he was working for.

Work? Sure it worked. The little bum
started as а mail-room kid for somebody
you probably never hcard of, "Terry Fos-
duth, he’s dead now, and a couple years
later he was а kind of third-line assistant
to Petey Slattery’s partner, and so on
1 so on, you know the pattern, don't
ke me bore myself telling you how

creep like Bernie Hoven does it, he does
it the way they all do it: a lot of hustle,
a litle hatchet, lay the right dame and
for God's sake don't lay the wrong one,
some more hustle — anyway about five
years ago Bernie asked Petey Slattery to
come over to The Drum for a drink one
night and gave him the bulletin: he was
sorrier than he could say, but he had to
cut out, he was going to be big and brave
and start his own firm. Petey congrat
lated him and said how glad he was for
him, and how he'd known all along that
Bernie would pull out someday, and he
was sure he'd tear the town apart, and
that crap, naturally all the time he's
talking he’s wondering how much its
going to hurt when the other shoe drops,
when Bernie tells him which account
hes stealing that makes it possible for
him to bust out.

Slattery himself told me he nearly went
on his face off the barstool when Bernie
told him he was taking Bertrand
Brothers. It was like somebody goes up
to Kennedy and 1 right, Jack, you
can keep the job and you can still live in
the White House, but we're cutting you
off from the Treasury. Nobody will deny
that Barry and Arkie Bertrand — Barry
15 dead now and let's drink to that — they
were probably the only true cannib
of the 20th Century. They were monsters
in the great old Hollywood tradition,

136 they went back a long way, they prob:

PLAYBOY

LITTLE CREEP (continued from page 111)

bly bought Cecil В. De Mille his first
pair of puttees, and they were smarter
than Einstei

So, the Bertrand account was worth
let's say $50,000 a year and as soon as the
word was out that Slattery had lost it he
lost three more, and that sank him. But

Bernie Hoven, who is all heart, you must
be able to see that just by lo

ig at the
little creep, Bernie gave him a job in
Hoven Ltd. and I for one will never be-
lieve that Dotty and Irv and Lolly and
the rest of the folks got those items about
it from him, Somebody leaked it, because
it just isn't like Bernie to want to pub-
licize a generous, good-hearted act of hi
own. Anyway, he did find a spot for
Petey, and after a little while he even
gave him a promotion: he had him go
ош to St. Louis to investigate the possi-
bility of setting up a branch office. It
turned out it wasn't such a good ide:
but by that time Petey's spot in the New
York shop had sort of filled in, you know

ment. He didn't fire the guy, 1 want to
make that clear, he waited until the man.
quit. Slattery never did get back in the
business. He had a rough time for a
while, but he had a reserve commission.
in the Navy, they called him back and he
stayed in.

Meanwhile, back at World Headqu
ters, Bernie Hoven was flying. The Ber-
trands operated on the theory, and it's
no theory, that in order to get a fat ac-
count, a new outfit is willing to knock
itself out to be 25 percent better than
the people who already have the busi-
ness. Therefore, to keep the Bertrand
Brothers business, you had to top your-
self by 25 percent every year. Hoven did
it, ГИ give him that. 1 understand that
Arkie Bertrand, that was the nice one,
thought so much of Bernie that one
day he said to him, "You know, you mi:
erable little son of a bitch, you're not
altogether stupid!”

I think you could say that Bernie de-
served the compliment. Remember the
delegate from the new African country
they wouldn't let into the UN because
he insisted on bringing his 14 wives with
him? That was no delegate, that was no
country, and those broads weren't his
wife, even. That was little Bernie
Hoven promotion for MAU-MAU!, a
Bertrand Brothers production. Did you
know he made all three TV networks
with that bit? Hell, it was worth it just
as entertainment, never mind the plug,
those three Rolls-Royces loaded with
dames, four harem-guards screaming and
waving swords as long as the
was even good the next day, г
because some young cop had
pinch one of them under the
law, for carrying a knife with

arms. It
mber,
tied to
Sullivan
a blade

mi

over six indies long or something.

Oh, no, Bernic had it, look, don't ever
let anybody tell you the lithe crumb
didn't know the wade, I personally will
swear or aff y time di
moral and throwback to
Borgias, but he knew the publicity racket
like he invented it. You remember when
the Bertrands had a little trouble with
Tony Barker? What going on was
that Publix Pix was floating the story
that Barker was light on his feet, Actu-

Шу he was about as queer as Rin-T

Tin, but the Publix people weren't
allowing themselves to һе hampered by
mere truth. Barker's first picture had
scared them half to death, the kid looked
so hot, Remember? Too Long a Journe:
When he came running down that Swiss
Alp wearing lederhosen and по shirt,
you could hear dames gasp all over the
house. So they were putting out the tale,
and Bernie had to do something. So he
got the guy married right away. Sure, I
know, his office boy could have thought
that one up. You could have thought it
up. But wait. Just six wecks later she files
for divorce. Remember herz Marcia But-
terly? Looked Latin? Gorgeous broad. So
we cut to а crowded courtroom, its
crowded because the word is out that
somcthing will be doing and all these
reporters arc sitting there and some of
them standing, it's that packed, wonder-
ing what the hell, a straight cucand-
dricd Nevada divorce, and then her
lawyer asks this black-haired, brown-
eyed, stacked, wildlooking tomato just
what her husband did to her that consti-
tuted mental and physical cruelty and
she takes a deep breath and belts out the
line: “I think Lam а normally passionate
woman” — beat — “but 1 consider that
sexual intercourse 11 times in one day is
excessive." Curtain.

Was that a stroke of sheer genius? I
want to know. Tell me. Oh, no, any time
anybody knocks Bernie Hoven as а pro-
fessional, the guy's just knocking himself,
he's just making it clear he's never been
in touch, that's all. Look at the little
bum over there, sitting next to that
blonde thing from outer space, would
you think that was a genius? He sure was.

Sure, that's right. That part was true
enough, she really is Swedish. The rest
of it, no, but she's a Swede right out of
Göteborg, that's a fact. Well, she had
that fantastic shape, even now, she's got
to be 28 or 29, when she stands up, you
won't believe it, you never saw anything
so gorgcous, she speaks almost perfect
English, like so many Swedes do, and
besides, Arkie Bertrand somewhere got
the idea she could act. Or that at least
she could act enough so that she could
be taught to act, if you follow me. He
decided he would rear һа

combin An kberg and Greta
Garbo and on the seventh day he would
rest. So they put a rope on her and led
her into Bernie Hoven's office and she
id, in her piping treble, "Arkie Ber

ethical

Some filter cigarettes taste too strong—just like the

unfiltered kind. Some taste too light—and they're no fun at all. [vat

But Viceroy tastes the way you'd like a filter cigarette to taste. |) oo
Smoke all seven of the leading filter brands, and you'll h

agree: some taste too strong . . . some taste too light . . . but | Icrnoy

Viceroy's got the taste that's right. That's right!

шапа sent те” and Bernie said, “OK,
doll, go into the other room, that door
over there, slip off your clothes and ГИ
be with you in a minute" and somebody
said, "No! No! Bernie, this is Helga
‘Isson and Bernie said, Well,
Christ, why didn’t somebody tell me,
after all, it is my birthday, you remem-
ber what he sent me last year" and that
as how they met.
OF course, you get a thing like that,
foot one, with a shape that's not for
real and hair the color of light ivory
n if she isn't quite as pretty as,
let's say, Claudia Cardinale, you don't.
cven need a genius to exploit her, right?
So with Bernie Hoven going lor her,
under direct orders from Arkie Bertrand,
you can ima; à Carlsson got
in the papers а mes. That must
ave been when you were in Italy, Yeah,
I'm sure you remember, listen, he had
her in the paper in Addis Ababa, never
mind Roi
She eve pictures, and
the funny thing was, each one was
lite better than the one before it,
which is a pretty unusual proposition
Also she turned out to be a reasonably
level-headed kind of dame, she didn't
believe more than 50 percent of the stuff
she read about herself. She knew she had.
been created out of whole cloth, made
up practically like а bedti but
stead of be teful
uand who aft Il had had
fist, and had put up the sa
gave all the cred

le two-thre

the idea
tch, she

She
ids off him,
ticr’s had a delivery

€ smog:

man as

just to him, because Helga
the idea of Bairnee, as
le it, using the same cigarette case

Гус always heard
ed silver, but. Helg
didit know what silver was, to her a

vas 24-carat solid gold or it
с was sweet to her.
She'd be in his office, maybe, moos
over him, aud he'd say to one of his
stooges. "Hey, Marty, get me my alpe
stock and my crampons, will you, I'm
oing to climb Mount Carlson here
ht after lunch
Sure they fou

that the Swedes В

100.

ht, and one time before
up with hi
ıd married
utes later
hed e

nto Maxie Kram
bout 7 hours and 10 ш
He was probably the first m
seen who'd been tall enough to look
her in the eye, standing up. Did you
ever meet. M. IH tell you, you
missed something. A sweeter [ella never
threw a fifth of Scotch through a bar
mirror. No, Y'm serious. When he was
sober, which was practically all the timc,
Maxie was great, he was considerate and
funny and fast with a buck, and he was
probably the brightest heavyweight
champ since Gene Tunney or Jack John-

son, as the case may be. No, I'm serious.
You just been reading the wrong col-
umns. Hell, Bert Manley, used to be о
the Mirror, he told me one time that
Maxie took his seven-year-old daughter
and a couple of her friends to the Cen-
tral Park Zoo one afternoon and three
years later they were still talking about
it. Oh, well, ГЇЇ give you that, when he
was loaded it was suicide to go any-
where near him, listen, Z was in town
the night he threw every stick of furni-
ture in a Waldorf suite out into the
middle of Park Avenue, and the rugs
after it. There were two cops in the hall
and they wouldn't even knock on the
door until two more had showed up.
‘They were right, too.

But Helga always swore he never laid.
finger on her, and I believe it, I guess
it was a happy marriage as those things
go but it didn't do her a lot of good
professionally. She had the one kid, the
litle girl, she didn't m picture for
over a year and a
had a couple in the
over but for some reason they didn't, 1
suppose she didn't tell anybody she was
ybe she didn't
know. Then Maxie got knocked off in
that plane crash, and there she was,
up. Arkie Bert little
her for marrying Маме — he
liked to pick people for his stars to marry.
you know—and of course good old
Bernie felt she had a hell of a lot of

and was а

nerve getting married to anybody. It
was the old story: they wanted her back
on the Jot and all, but she wasn't queen

ol the May anymor
So she made Tomorrow Never Com
and it wasn't much. The Bertrands got
Bernie Hoven on the tube and told him,
all right, do something. So he started in
оп her, and this timc it was all business.
Bernie had changed his style a little,
anyway. He was getting to be an image-
molder like the rest of them, he'd rath
get a client on page 47 of Harper's than
page 3 of The Daily News, Не put a
couple of his top Dichter-uained fack-
balls on her, but nothing much hap-
pened, So one day she got off а jet at
Idlewild, without even sending a wire,
and showed up in Bernie's office.
"Bairnee," she said, “you know some-
thing? 1 sull love you."
What else is new, He
creep says 10 her.
“WI is new, 1юуе
that people are forgetting how to spell
пу name.
He gave her all the nonsense, time
passes, can’t stay up there forever, doll,
new faces crowding in all the timi nd
so on and so on. She listened. She's а
very patient dame. She сап wait, When
he ran out of what to say she was ri
“AN true, Bairnee," she said, "but if
you would get the lead out of your ass,
none of it would matter.”
He looked at her across il

s

a?” the Ише

foot-wide zebrawood desk of
didn't really like being talked to
that.

“It's just that I know when I'm beat,
doll,” he told her. “You can’t make a
sow’s ear out of a Swedish tramp sort
of thing, you know what I m:

“The trouble with you, Bai
id, "is that about love you don't ‘really
understand much. That I love you, no
doubt because I'm а masochist and like
to have pins stuck in me, does not mean
that I would not cheerfully see you cut
up into dogmeat and fed to the animals.
You couldn't dig such a complicated
idea. I hate to be so corny, but you
just don't understand about love. I'm
surprised, You take а much older m
like Arkie — Ле understands about love."

Can you imagine the bells that went.
off in that little monsters head when
he heard that? Glang, clang, bong. bong!

"He do hes
He certainly does" Helga said.
“When Е first met Arkie I thought he
was just another American businessman,
selling movies as some others sell stoves.
's death, I've learned
s very understanding,

Bongo, brang, brang! "He is?" Bernie

The phone rang. The red onc. The
hot line direct to Celluloid City. Bernie
grabbed it,
“Yes, Arkie,” he said. "Yes, She's right
- with me. Well, but she just got
here, 10 minutes ago. But I didn't know,

we none of us knew . . .
ne draw

Let the curtain

Bern

this
knew

over
Hoven

y from the
ther, Bu

hand шаг fed him. Е
ven's mother, if he had had а mother,
had been . . . well, Е shouldn't try to
reproduce it, because 1 never had the
ege of hearing it, but it's a re-
corded fact that Arkie Bertrand, in а
fight with Harry Cohn of Columb
called him something so foul and so
novel that Cohn turned to the guy with
him and said, Write that down, he had
never even heard of it. And also I know
a reputable producer out there who
swears that Arkie Bertrand once made
Humphrey Bogart cry. So you can un-
derstand that when Bernie Hoven
handed the red phone over to Helga he
was shook. It was all he could do to
keep himself from diving into the Scotch
right then and there. He listened,
numbed, while Helga cooled the man
eating monster down with revolting

sham-Swedish baby talk. She finally hung
up.

“He wants me to come right
the Coast.

ck to
she said. "He's such a dear.
able, such jealou

PLAYBOY

man who is after all not really young?
But then, Arkie is remarkable in every
way."

1 can sce her standing up and walk-
ing to the window and turning to look
ick, and down, at Bernie Hoven, boy
creep.

“Bairnee,” she said, “get me a seat
on the first plane 1 can make. All of a
sudden, I'm in a hurry to get back home.
And Bairnee— think of something? 1
mean something big, something like you
used to think of— when we were
friends.”

Friends? The word must have dropped
on him like a brick off a building.
Friends? Was he being awarded Helga
tarlsson for an enemy? Не was. He could
find no other reading for it. He caused
a ticket to be got for her, but instantly:
he had summoned for her a Carey dil-
took her to the elevator, and
into it, and down in it and out of it
and he personally shut the door on her
limousine, you bet he did. the
And then he went back upst
got hysterical because his far-flung
telligence network had goofed and had
let Arkic Bertrand bring Hel;
to bed, or vice versa as the c
without his knowing of it. And alter th
апт was over he locked the door of
his office and had one short shot and
then sat do to think. And what he
came up with was Kuo-waike.

Bcfore Bernie Hoven, only geography
nuts and maybc spics knew that Kuo-
waike was an island in the Pacific, and
not an alternative spelling for Soo Gung
Far, or minced fried pork w. Chinese
vegetables. Bernie looked it up. He must
have looked up a lot of islands before
he found that one, because it was ideal
for his nefarious purpose. It was
three miles long by two wid ati
ful white sand crescent beach, a hill, а
spring, some bushes and trees. There w
no other land with 50 miles of it.
Nobody lived on it. And it was not too
near any steamship track or any airline
course.

You know the story, like everybody
else over the age of six кееш) living in
the Western world, or the Eastern, if it
comes to that: I understand the cover-
age was very big in Communist China.
Bernie was working an ancient gag, the
Jost-on-a-desertislind pitch, but like а
composer who uses an old theme only
as a framework for his own original stuff.
You remember that M:
fought that Australian what'shis-face in
bane, and he was flying home when
his plane crashed. ОК. So the first thin
reedy notes of Bernie's orchestration
were a few lines here and there suggest-
ie Kramer still lived,
on a Pacific island, swinging from
tree to tree with a coconut in his mouth.

Nest, from the violins, we hear that
Helga Carlsson is, perhaps, again great

Tac; he

не

140 with child. Perhaps this time the son

that Maxie Kramer always wanted.

lic, naturally, but now things begin to
get noisy. The airline speaks. Noted
authorities on survival at sea are heard.
А bam radio operator in Hawaii reports
that he has picked up weak, very weak,
signals that he reads as dasli-dash, dash-
dotdash repeated, or М.К, Has the noted
heavyweight, bom vivant and saloon-
wrecker made a radio sending set out
of old palm fronds and cigarette tinfoil?
Authorities on radio transmission are

consulted and their opinions widely
quoted.
Everything is going now, and finally.

fortissimo, it is announced from the
summit, that is to say Аткіе Bertrand's
office, that Helga Carlsson's new. film,
А Day and a Night, is being rushed to
completion so that she can Пу to the
Pacific. She has every reason to believe
that Maxie Kramer is alive. The full re-
sources of Bertrand Brothers Interna
tional Films are behind her and Arki
Bertrand's personal pilot will go with
her to lead the search. In Romanoffs
they're
orders from Arkie: If you find Kr
shoot him.

ying that the fellow has scaled
mer,

jon is mounted. Bers

1 I must
nd is sending it in in coarse
denominations only. A party of е

climbs into the jet: Helga, Bernie, Tom
Bally. the pilot, a helicopter jockey, а

id, Aud they were strictly on the level,
too, every one of them could be checked
ош. Thats where that little monster
across the room, look at him, he knows
damned well we're talking about him and
he loves it, thats where he showed real
class. Nothing was faked but the idea
itself, The checkable details were all
solid gold. Every editor in the world
knew the whole thing Лай to be а fakeski
but the details checked out 100 percent,
so everybody went for it, they didn't
dare not to, suppose they did find Maxie
Kramer? So everybody covered it, like
it was Admiral Byrd at the South Pole.
They flew Pan-Am to Hawaii and
picked up the charter there, and the
transport carrying the helicopter. From
there they went to Papeete. That was
GHQ for the press and the guys did
their drinking there and laughed it up.
'obody believed Maxie Kramer was any
more alive than Judge Crater. From Pa-
ресе, which was а nice handy 50 miles
from Kuo-waike, the Search of the Cen-
tury fanned out, For two days, nothing,
not a trace, But at dawn of the third day
the helicopter found an aircraft-type Ше
preserver. It turned out to be German,
but it kept things going, so to speak.
On the fourth day it was announced
that mirror flashes had been seen from
an unidentified island. On the fifth day
Helga Carlsson and the doctor sailed in
a beatup island schooner with a crew
of three Marquesans, and Bernie Hoven

took off with the helicopter pilot. The
older and wiser heads among the аз
sembled reporters weren't really sui
prised when Helga didn't show k by
s scheduled. But Bernie didn't
show, cither, and the helicopter he was
in had a threc-hour range.
What happened? Helga Carlsson went

К i ictly as planned. She
and the medic went ashore in the dinghy
and the crew sank the schooner, already
bought and paid for by Bernie How
and then came ashore themselves. So far,
so good, а nice standard shipwreck. The
script called for three days and three
nights of indescribable hardship. one of
the world’s most glamorous women
on raw fish and turtle eggs with
nd then the big rescue scene. Un-
ly, Bernie Hoven, and you са
knock him for
right thing to do, Bernie had told no-
body. aside from Helga and the doctor,
and, for insurance, the helicopter pilot,
that Kuowaike was the spot. The
schooner crew weren't told until they'd
cast oll. So thi couldn't. be leak.
Bernie had thought of everything except
what happened: the helicopter is зоо;
nd 30 miles out to sca, f
the Ыш сууй when ПО Г
quits and the thing flops down to the
blue Pacific

Well, they had а raft and а couple
cans of water and stuff. They got a nice
deep tan. like right down to the bone,
and about midnight they saw lights and
fired their one flare and а destroyer
comes by, American, what else, and. they
get hauled aboard. The sailors ur
ing to give them hot tea or rum or som
thing, but of course Bernie is screaming
take me to your leader and finally they
do, a sailor takes him up to the bridge
or whatever and says Commander Slat-
tery will sec you now, and the little
creep thought поши of it until he
һе аг voice say, "Well,
Bernie, what's new

Can you imagine such a slaughter? It's
almost more than even he deserved.
Naturally Bernie expects that Petey Slat-
tery will make him walk the plank, but
whatever else is his problem Bernie
never had any shortage of guts and pretty
soon he has the arm on Sla
him to Kuo-waike — naturally, just be-
cause its handy. This would work out
great, you see: the announcement (|
Helga Carlsson, lost at sea in her des-
perate search for her missing husband.
аз alive after all, would come from the
United States Navy. With anybody but
Slattery he might have pulled it off.
that, the little stinker can be very рег.
suasive, but Slattery just laughed hol-
lowly and told Bernie he not only wasn't
going to st nautical miles o
whatever out of his way, but he wasn't
allowed, under the Constitution, to carry
passengers, and so now that he had as-
sured himself that Bernie and the chop

и, not a bit,

m 175

per pilot were ОК, he was dropping
them at another little island he happened
to know about, just down the line, and
that was exactly wi
he told them he'd ra

1. Of course

dialog, can’t you? The commander is
stamping back and lorth on the bridge,
ng into the night, and the radio
erator comes up and salutes and says,
"Sir, shall I send the message asking for
help for them ?

And Slattery says, “Not right away,
my good man, I have to think about it
for a while. Remind me, in a week or
so.”

Helga Carlsson and her little group
did exactly nine days on Kuo-waike.
"They really were cating raw fish and tur
tle eggs by the fifth day, ha
through the canned goodies Ши
stowed in the schooner, and the three
sailors had started looking at the Swede
way that reminded her of her earliest
days in Hollywood. Actually they could
have been there long enough to start a
little colony of blue-eyed Marquesans if
a fishing boat hadn't drifted t one
Helga was ragged, sunburned
and in a screaming rage, but by this time
the Navy really was looking, on the level,
and as you know, the picture of that
incredible dame, wearing next to noth-
ing, wading through the surf off Kuo-

waike, made every paper in the world.

Bernie? Oh, sure, they went looking
for him, and they found him finally.
They sent а float plane in for him and
Helga went along first in the boat with
the photographers. Bernie and the heli-
copter jockey were all right, they were
living with a bunch of һеагир Kanakas.
When the head man of this crew saw the
expedition that had showed up, he got
a little gummy. He took the position that
the two of them had been cast up on
the island like flotsam or salvage or
whatever, and that he owned them out
right and wasn't about to give them
So Helga said OK, if he was run-
ng а private slave market, she'd buy
a couple, and she gave him $50 apiece
for them. She made this smelly old bum
ate receipts. She gave the heli-
copter pilot his for a souvenir, but the
one that said she owned Bernie Hoven
complete, body and soul, hat and pants,
that one she kept. And she took him the
hell out of there, On the one hand she
anted to boil him in oil for hanging
r up on Kuo-waike, but on the other
nd he'd made her the most famous
Swede in the world, so she wound up
doing nothing, and they all flew back
to LA and the warm welcome of a grate-
ful nation.

What goes now? Who knows? There
they are, sitting side by side at the same

table. Maybe it's like she said, she loves
him but she'd also like to feed him to
the lions. She's very big in pictures now,
and getting better all the time. She's
still Arkie Bertrand’s girl, and every-
body knows he's alrcady signed 25 per-
cent of the common stock over to her,
and he's not even dead yet. Still, when
she comes East, junior creepie there
is always with her, or at least when
she’s not with that football player,
thimgumbob with the Giants, can't re-
member his name, or that real estate
joker. Actually she’s a great broad and
if she was three inches shorter ГА take
a shot at it myself. Watch her stand up,
don't miss that, it's one of the
great sights, Helga Carlsson standing up,
like sunrise in the Grand Canyon ог
something. When they come by
uroduce you to her. Be sure to di
gold bracelet on Bernie's left w
thing must weigh half a pound. There's
no clasp, it was soldered on to him. It
just says, “Property of Helga Carlsson,
Los Angeles, California. Reward.” Sure
he could take it off, if he wanted to blow
the Bertrand Brothers account. It would
cost him maybe $100,000 a year to
it off, bur that’s all that’s stopping hi
You ever see anything like the way that
dame moves? Man, if she was only even
two inches shorter... 1

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PLAYBOY

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(continued from page 120)
of Soho art studio-restaurants where the
bill of fair is headed by appetizing à la
carte confections. Hearkening to the
sound of different drumbeaters, many of
prodigiously propor-
tioned girls join the renowned Windmill
Theater, an enduring bastion of old-
fashioned burlesque which weathered the
of World War И wi

single bump or grind.
ny of their bosom companions —
thanks to a loophole in local blue laws
whi id damsels to disrobe on pub-
lic premises — put their body English to
“interpretive dancers” in one
50 new theater clubs that have
recently mushroomed throughout Soho:
actually glorified stripterias with mem:
bership requirements, where card-carry-
ing males (mercifully unaccosted by
drink husding B-girls) can quaff a pint
n

and glom the ресе" ex

legally sanctioned. privacy. Adh
first to a strict policy of nonfraterniza-
tion with the clientele, many of thes

її soon begin consenting to lunch
dates, then dinner invitations. then

à

nightcaps and finally weekend. Вона;
Inevitably, some succumb to the temp-
tation to augment their incomes with
tangible tokens of esteem from their
various admirers — even to the extent of

ation of de
y from
у roll to 20 for an ¢
d view of erotica)
I thousand of the
according to a recent estin
time prostitutes. Until recent years, the
city's flourishing strumpet population
thronged the streets so thickly that male
guests in the West End's most venerable
hostelries could seldom take a hundred
paces from the porte before
being outflanked and overrun by а
phalanx of filles de joie. With the pas-
of legislation that illegalized solicit
—but left the red light burning
hy for prostitution рег se— Lon
don's massive volume of uollops has
4 the boulevards and
resourcefully indoors — sup-
saturation ad campaigns.
Болай ıd bundling in the
sedentary comfort of fashionable flats in
Mayfair, Soho, Bayswater, К
and Piccadilly, many employ
pointofsale approach with neatly sten-
ciled fistnameplates posted at Шей
street doors; and а few utilize the selec-
market method of supplying their
telephone numbers to a limited list of
potential accounts in the proper eco-
nomic bracket But most, endorsing
standard direct-male techniques, system-
айсу blanket the bulletin boards of
ighborhood pubs, tobacconists, book-
stalls and news dealers with small display

ights de
pounds

confreres,

c, are full

cochere

ported by

Both

cards listing their correct numbers, im-
probable names, impossible statistics and
purported proclivities — under such un-
likely headings as “Ballroom Instruc-
“Individual French Tuition,”
nced Governess" “Leathe
and Raincoats,” and most in-
1" — admin-
ach taskmistresses

Goods
triguingly, "Strict Discipl

tered by

Birch, Fiss Whiplash
Marquise de Sade.” Until about two
years ago, these same sales pitches,

hypoed with pinup photos, were all
available to the prowling male in The
Ladies Directory, a unique index of
unorthodoxies for every known erotic
te—until the authorities took its
птерій editor into custody, confiscated
all copies, and placed love Tor sale back
on a free-lance basis, where it has since
thrived lustily.

Most discriminating travelers, how-
ever, prefer the challenge of the chase
— which the infinitely varied girls of
London manage to ma merry one
indeed, though the final capture is sel-
dom in doubt, It can end in bower or
Кеп, but it often begins amid the
s nes of London's rolling
parklands — once private game pre-
serves echoing to the horns and tallyhos
of à ted squires. Though the
boars and foxes have long since left in
search of less populous pastures, these
1d commons — larger in
than the lind occupied by
Il the buildings in Manhattan — rema
prime hunting grounds for visiti
rch of brief e
y from thei
city of stone, London's loveliest can be
found idylling everywhere on its green
oases — from the tidy bridle paths and
cricket fields of Blackheath to the neon-
spangled fun fairs and pleasur
of Battersea Park. With a modicum of
horsemanship, the pelf assured outdoor
man about Londontown can take hi
pick of the crop along Hyde Park's Rot-
ten Row —an clegantly equestrian Fifth
Avenue in the heart of London — whe
tweedy, jodhpurred gentlewomen a
wont to canter and banter on $
altermoons. Suolling along the nearby
nks of the Serpentine, а lagoonlike
lake well stocked with schools of distal
he may be inspired to take the

E

a les patrician social swim.
Or he can find a place in the summer
sun of Regents Park or Hampstead

Heath, lounging on the greensward be-
side а preuy picnicker who, after the
introductory amenities, may spend the
afternoon with him and a later inter-
lude in one of the Lucullan temples of
the nightswinging West End.

To instill the proper spree de corps
for their sortie into nocturnal London
— certainly among the best of all possible
whirls — he may suggest а stop-off at one
of the timbered grogshops which dot the
nding side lanes of literary London

Duly fortified with а Pimms Cup or a
foaming tankard, they'll be set to celc-
brate their feteful meeting with а first-
feast — perhaps in the plush and

bully beef, jugged hare and kidney pic
have been served in the grand Edwar-
since 1798. If her bent is less.
nic, she may suggest a spot т
rby Soho — the city's undisputed epi-
center of exotic pleasures, gustatory and
otherwise. Eschewing this nonsectarian
milieu — except for an occasional slum-
ming expedition — the socialite will ex-
pect her solvent suitor to surround her
with bone china, chafing dishes
hovering sommeliers at such Continen
tables prestigieuses
Mirabelle and Caprice.
After dinner they may wa
the Old Vic, just across the Thames, or
sample the extravagant gilts of Brendan,
Bertolt, Sean and Shelagh. Couples cr:
ing the sound of music can hearken to
Handel and Purcell as performed by one
of London's five symphony orchestras;
pay homage to Verdi and Wagner from
a red-velvet box at the Royal Opera
House; flow gently down the Third

Scott's or the Downbeat Club; or dig the
decibels of the Johnny Dankworth Band

at the Marquee on Oxford Stree!

Exponents of the dance сап run the
gamut from Scheherazade at the Royal
Ballet to well-spiced Salomes of fewer
veils at Raymond's Revuebar in Soho.
And the stag in search of syncopation
can step lively into such terpsichorean
tabernacles as the Astoria, Lyceum
and Hammersmith Palais st; im-sized,
mirrored Wurlitzer-Versailles
nce floors girdled by tiny
tables at which the spectator can sip а
Scotch, survey the saturnalia, and tap
the Twister of his choice from among а
waiting army of teenage girls.

‘To ensure an uninterrupted flow of
cheer after the city’s pubs batten their
hatches at 11:30, the celebrant and his
spa-ing partner have but to try one of
the posh private clubs which dominate
the late-hour social scene. With a liba-
tional curfew of 2:30 —and membership
restrictions which melt magically on
presentation of an American passport
and a nominal emolument — these key-

clubby cabarets offer divertisements
ranging from sumptuous supping and

sedate da [ul of the

latest hip.

ing to à hu
hliloquizers.

вту:

If th still got energy — and assets
—to burn after all this merrymaking,
the guy and his girl may stop off to seek

their fortune in one of the gambling
casinos which wheel and deal till dawn
for the indoor sportsmen.

If her beau succeeds in arousing her
gamboling instincts as well, she'll proba-

bly be no less game to take a chance оп
love—even if the odds are stacked

against the probability of formalizing
such Anglo-American relations, For be-
neath her city-bred vencer of studied
reserve, the London girl is a creature
of active and unabashed appetites, dis-
armingly direct in acknowledging her
attractions. Liberated long ago from the
legacy of Victorian mores— with their
attendant emphasis on the importance
of premarital virginity, technical and
otherwise —she candidly prefers being
chased to being chaste. Yet far from
espousing the amoralities of hedonism
in rebellious reaction, she makes of sex
neither fetish nor phobia, accepting her
impulses as a natural need and suc
cumbing to them without sell-conscious-
ness. As a bedfcllow, she may lack the
ardent abandon of the Italian, the vo-
luptuous inventiveness of the Japanese,
and the erotic artistry of the French, but
the English inamorata indulges her
urges—and her paramour — with an
enthusiasm and spontaneity which may
come as a refreshing revelation to the
wayfaring male.

Having learned early — us
about 16 or 17, when the majority of

misses [rom London's middle and upper
classes emerges into the world of men
from the chrysalis of all-girl board
schools — that the joys of burgeor
womanhood need not be savored solely
on the com ial couch, the London
bachelor girl is seldom in a hurry to
acquire the spouse, house and small fry
so assiduously sought after by her Amer-
counterparts. Lux а this
dimate of social independence, she's
free to savor the satisfactions of a limited
liaison — punting on the Thames, week-
ends on the beach at Brighton, soccer
games at Wembley Stadium, clubhouse
seats for the Grand National, intimate
dinners à deux in her London flat—
without a trace of unspoken pressure
for commitment. And when her swain's
sojourn is at an end, she'll greet it not
with unseemly scenes and strings, but
with shared regret and affectionate
equa y. almost always content to
love in the present — which, in a metrop-
prodigal with pleasures to enrich her
everyday existence, is more than its
own reward.

143

PLAYBOY

MIND BEYOND MATTER

detect the plane of vibration of the light
waves. The rattlesnake strikes in total

rared glow of its

living prey — as our guided missiles have
learned to do only in the last few years.
Could we interpret such sense impres-
ions, even if they were fed into our
brains? Undoubtedly yes, but only after

great deal of training. We
learn to use all our own senses
born baby cannot sce, nor can a man
whose sight is suddenly restored 10 him,

though the visual mech: both
cases may be functioning perfectly. The
mind behind the brain must first ana-
lyze and classify the impulses reaching

it, comparing them with other informa-
п from the external world, unul it all
builds up to a consistent picture

There is no doubt that the range and
delicacy of our own senses can be greatly
extended by fairly simple means, such
s training or drugs. Anyone who has
watched a blind man reading Braille, or
locating objects by sound, will agree
without hesitation. (1 once saw a blind
referee umpiring a table-tennis match
— feat 1 would not have believed pos-
sible. He had even refereed world-cl
pionship games!) Though the blind
provide the most spectacular cases of en-
iced sensitivity, there are many other
examples. Teatasters, vintners, deaf lip-
readers come to mind at once; so do
"dairvoyants" who can
te hidden objects by detecting inten-

ion tremors and other almost imper-
ceptible movements on the part of their
aides.

These feats are the result of intensive
па
some other sense. But as is well-know
such drugs as mescaline and lysergic acid
also produce remarkable exaggera-

appear 1 than
ordinary

А priceless mental power that is cer-
tainly attainable, be has often.
been achieved, would be personal con-
trol over pain. The famous state
that "Pain isn't real” is, of course, li
crally t not that it is any help to
most of us when we have a toothache.
Most (but noc all) pain serves a valuable
function by acting as à w
id those rare people who cannot ex-
perience it are in continuous danger.
One would not wish, therefore, to abol-
ish pain; but it would be extremely use-
ful to be able to bypass it, when it had
served its purpose, by pressing а kind
of mental override button.

In the Fast. this is such a common-
place trick that no one is particularly
surprised by it. 1 have seen, and photo-
graphed in closeup, men and children
walking ankle-dcep in white-hot embers.
Some were burned, but none felt any
they were in a state of hypnosis

c it

ent

(continued from page 106)

nduced by religious ecstasy. One of my
friends, while chatting with the chief
fire walker at a Hindu shrine, once
dropped а cigarette butt. The fire walker
stood on it and promptly leaped into

г. So much for the “tough native
theory; it is the psychological at-

West also has some tricks up its eto
In this technique, used with success by

many dentists, the patient listens to a
pair of earphones and has to keep ad-
justing a volume control so that he can
hear music in the presence of back-
ground noise. While attending to this
task, he is unable to feel any р itis
as if all his incoming wires are too busy
to accept any other messages. Probably
this, like the performance of the fire
walkers, is a form of sclfhypnosis, but
we can only do it with the aid of ma-
chines. Perhaps one day we may not need
these mental crutches.

From hypnosis it is a short step to
sleep — that mysterious state in which
we fritter away a third of our pitiably
brief lives. No one has ever been able
to prove that slecp is essential, though
there is no doubt that we cannot do
without it for more than a very few
days. It appears to be the result of con-
ditioning. over cons of time, by the
diurnal cycle of light and darkness.

The recent proof of the long-suspected
fact that everybody dreams has led to
the theory that sleep is a psychological
rather than a physiological necessity; as
one scientist has put it, it allows us to
go safely insane for a few hours a day.
This scems а very implausible explana-
tion, and it is just as likely that dreams
are a random and accidental by-product
of the sleeping brain, for one would
hardly expect so complex an organ to
switch itself off completely. (What do
clectronic computers dream about?)

In any event, some prodigies, like
Edison, have bei ble to lead active
lives on two or three hours of sleep а
day, while medical science has reported
cases of individuals who have not slept
for years at a time and have а
been none the worse for it.

be
trate it into а few hours of deep uncon-
sciousness, chosen when convenient.
The development of global TV
cheap telephone i 5
all time zones will lead inevitably to а
world organized on a 24-hour b;
alone will make it
mize sleep: and it

to
that the

appears
cans for doing so are already at hand.

Several years ago, the Russians put on
the market а neat lille “electric steep
apparatus” about the size of a shoe box
and weighing only five pounds. Through

electrodes resting on the €
nape, low-frequency pulses are applied
to the cerebral cortex and the subject
promptly lapses into profound slumber.
Though this device was apparently de
signed for medical use, it has been rc-
ported that many Soy i
using it to cut down their slc
to a few hou

Perhaps we shall alway
“balm of tired minds," but we will not
have to spend a third of our lives apply-
ing it. On the other hand, there are occa-
sions when protracted unconsciousness
would bc very valuable; it would be
welcomed, for example, by convalesc
recuperating after operations —
above all, by space travelers on lengthy
missions. It is in this connection that
serious thought is now being given to the
possibility of suspended animation,
which we will need if we arc ever to
travel more than a very few light-years
from the neighborhood of the Sun.

А safe and practical form of sus-
pended animation — which involves no
medical impossibility and may indeed be
regarded as an extension of anesthesia —
could have major effects upon society.
Men suffering from incurable discases
might choose to leapfrog 10 or 20 years,
in the hope that medical science had
caught up with their conditions. The
insane, and criminals beyond our pres-
ent powers of redemption, might also
be sent forward in time, in the expecta-

ys need the

tion that the fumre could salvage them.

Our descendants might not appreciate
this legacy, of course; but at least they
could not send it bad

АН this assumes — though no one has
yet proved it— that the legend of Rip
Van Winkle is scientifically sound and
that the processes of aging would be
slowed down, or even checked, during
suspended animation. Thus a sleeping
man could travel down the centuries,
stopping from time to time and cxplor-

i the future as today we explore space.
‘And this brin;

us to what is, perhaps,
the greatest enigma of all. /s there a
normal span of life, or do all men really
die by accident? Though we now li
on the average, far longer than our an-
cestors, the absolute limit docs not seem
to Вахе altered since records be
available, The Biblical three-score-
and-ten is still as valid today as it was
four thousand. years ago.

No human being has been proved to
have lived more than 115 years: the
much higher figures often quoted are
almost certainly due to fraud ог
like machines:
they never wear out, because they arc
continually rebuilt from new materials.
If this process were uniformly efficent,
we would be immortal, Unfortunately,
after а few decades something seems to
go wrong in the repairand-maintenance
department; the materials are as good as
ever, but the old plans get lost or

ror.

nored, and vital services are not properly
restored when they break down. It is as
if the cells of the body can no longer
remember the jobs they once did so well.

The way of avoiding a failure of mem-
ory is to keep better records, and. per-
haps one day we will be able to help our
bodies do just that. The invention of
the alphabet made mental forgetfulness
no longer inevitable; the more sophisti-
cated tools of future medicine may cure
physical forgetfulness by allowing us to
preserve, in some suitable storage device,
the ideal prototypes of our bodies. Devi-
ations from the norm could then be
checked from time to time and corrected
before they became serious.

Because biological immortality and
the preservation of youth are such po-
tent lures, men will never cease to search
for them, tantalized by the examples of
creatures who live for centuries and
undeterred by the unfortunate experi-
ence of Dr. Faust. It would be foolish to
that this search will never be
successful down all the ages that lie
ahead. Whether success would be desir-
able is quite another matter.

The body is the vehicle of the bi
and the brain is the seat of the mind.
In the past, this triad has been insep-
arable, but it will not always be so. ЈЕ
we cannot prevent our bodies from dis-
integrating, we may replace them while

there is yet time.

The replacement need not be another
body of flesh and blood; it could be a
machine, and this may represent the
next stage in evolution. Even И the
brain is not immortal, it could се у
live much longer than the body whose
diseases and accidents eventually bring
it low. Many years ago, їп a famous
series of experiments, Russian surgeons
kept a dog’s head alive for some days
by purely mechanical means. 1 do not
know if they have yet succeeded with
„ but I shall be surprised if they
have not tried.

If you think that an immobile brain
would lead a very dull sort of life, you
have not fully understood what has al-
ready been said about the senses. A
connected by wire or radio links to suit-
able organs could participate in any
conceivable experience, real or imagi-
nary. When you touch someth are
you really aware that your brain is not
at your fingertips, but three feet away?
And would you notice the difference
that three feet were three thousand
Radio waves make such a journey
more swiftly than the nervous impulses
can travel along your arm.

One can imagine a time when men
who still inhabit organic bodies are re-
garded with pity by those who have
passed on to an infinitely richer mode

ng.

of existence, capable of throwing th
consciousness or sphere of attention in-
stantancously to апу point on land, sea
or sky where there is а suitable sensing
organ. In adolescence we leave child-
hood behind; one day there may be а
second and more portentous adolescence,
when we bid farewell to the flesh.

But even И we can keep the br
alive indefinitely, wouldn't it surel
the end be clogged with memorics, over-
laid lil
impressions and. experi
was no room for more?
perhaps yes, though 1 would repeat
again that we have no idea of the ulti-
mate capacity of a well-trained mind,
even without the mechanical aids that
will certainly become available. As a
good round figure, a thousand y
would seem to be about the ultimate
limit for continuous human existence —
though suspended animation might
spread this millenium across far longer
vistas of time.

Is this fantasy? 1 do not know: but I
suspect that the truths of the far future
nger still.
alter Homo sapiens we can imagine no
more clearly than the caterpillar can
conceive the butterfly dancing in the

sun.
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145

PLAYBOY

146

JAZZ FESTIVAL GROWS UP (continued from page 125)

Nations demanding complete world dis-
armament. The missives were provided
by a beaming pacifist.

“I never expected to get inside the

grounds,” the pacifist told a teenage
sympathizer, “but one of the officials in-
vited me in off the road and told me I

t try Newport,”
“They wouldn't have
let you into the town. At festival time
they figure everything’s dangerous. Even
peace.’

The night before, while a capacity
crowd of 7300 had stoked the egos of
Dizzy Gillespie, J. J. Johnson, Carmen
McRac and George Shearing inside the
arena, some 3000 freeloaders sat, talked

nd nuzzled on the grounds outside.
Except for intersecting obbligatos of
bongo drums, they were as relaxed and
peaceable as the paying public.

From a gaggle of booths, both cor
gents bought beer, hot dogs, enchiladas
and hot pastrami sandwiches, the latter
supplied by a delegation of chirruping
Beth Israel ladies. Elsewhere victuals
were being supplied by such special-
interest groups as the Senior Citizens of
Montercy and the League of Musicians"
Wives ("Encourage live music . . . Pro-
mote community goodwill for musi-
cians”). There were also exhibits of
photographs, high fidelity equipment,
and a booth transformed into a record
store. Throughout the e fa
srounds, the tempo of enjoyment was

ramblingly unhurried.

“My God, it is a festival,” said a record-
ing company executive startled at stum-
bling into one of the ubiquitous flower
boxes on the paths.

The listeners, strollers and bongo
players varied widely in dress and eco-
nomic status. Local socialites gawked at
bearded Beats from Big Sur and San
Francisco's North Beach, although the
Beats did not appear reciprocally in-
trigued. One matron was disappointed:
“There were four of those people with
leather d beards.
They were swigging a liquid, and it
turned out to be orange Such wild
behavior!”

Amid all the swarming euphoria and
sightseeing, the cops could find only
three drunks whom they bundled away
with quick, silent efficiency.

Throughout the festival, two bars with
open, circu fireplaces were available
for those who wanted surcease from the
music. The Hunt Club, an alfresco ref-
uge, was for the laity. Around the corner
from it was the Lower Hunt Club, a
dosed-in meeting place for the musi-
cians, their friends (old and instant) and
the press. This cheerful room for the per-
formers is unique to Monterey, because
at nearly all other major jaz festivals
the musicians are restricted to a narrow
ghetto backstage filled with disintegrat-
ing stage managers, lost band chicks and
glowering cops

Jazamen, being perpetual travelers,

“All in all, Ohio State is in for
a nasty Saturday afternoon!”

seldom have a chance to meet 1n conven-
tion, and those who converged on Mon-
terey delighted in exchanging tales of
triumph and complaint between sets.

"For an ofay," a young drummer said
solemnly to a critic, "I'm one of the
loosest drummers around.”

“You play such a lyrical saxophone,
a slender girl with hopeful eyes sai
huskily to Paul Desmond.

"No, he looked down at her be-
nignly, “it’s a Sclmer saxophone.

“I saw Bud Powell in Paris,” a mu-
sician told his collcagucs. "You know,
his kid knows all the old bop tunes.
Bud's in pretty good shape. 105 got to
be an improvement just being that far
away from Birdland.

“So Stan Kenton said to me, “Shine
those cymbals” a side man said to a
semicircle of fellow privates. “With him
it's not so much how the drums sound,
but whether the set shines.”

In another knot at the bar, a young
man said urgently, “I feel about Dizzy
the way Louis Armstrong put
himself, ‘Everything I do is special.

Ben Webster, the big, broad tenor
saxophonist, walked in, his camera
around his neck. Dizzy Gillespie saw
him, whooped, and gathered him into
a backthumping hug. "Man, you must
have shot a thousand pictures!"

"Yeah." Ben rumbled reflectively,
"but I'm poing to песа a gig for the
bread to have them printed

“I've met you before, Mr. Gillespie,”
said a young lady, who had squeezed
beside him at the bar.

Dizzy grinned at her. “If you know
me, kiss me!

Dizzy looked at his watch. “We're on.”
He seemed eager to go back. Spread
his hands wide, he jiggled away from
the bar. “I feel so loose out the:

“it sure is different here,” said Ha
Carney, the bulky, serene baritone sa
phonist whose journeys with Duke
Ellington have taken him to every jazz
festival in the country, and then back
again. “We even get started on time.
Do you know what happened to us at
Newport this year? We were due on at
10 and didn't start playing until half

past one the next morning.”

Monterey is indced organically differ-
ent from nearly all the other jazz festi-
vals that have increased si er income
lor jazzmen and local police since the
initial Newport rites in 1954. Some of
these ballooning celebrations have col-
lapsed of overweight caused by what
amateur sociologists in the trade term
“the Newport syndrome.” That event,
organized as а nonprofit project "to
encourage America’s enjoyment of jazz
and to sponsor the study of jazz, а true
American art form," soon became trans-
formed into a shaky monument to greed.

Anxious to keep the box-office figures
climbing, Newport Festival stratcgists
hired jazzmen by the crate; and to lure

a larger audience than jazz itself сап at-
tract, they added such peripheral acts as
the Kingston Trio and Eartha Kitt. As
the Newport Festival increasingly resem-
bled a bibulous Disneyland, the burghers
of the town industriously sold as much
beer — more and more of it by the case —
as the visitors could carry. The age of the
consumers was irrelevant to the mer-
cenary natives as well as to the police
who ignored the cars full of roosterlike
adolescents awash with beer and the
swaggering packs of overprivileged de-
linquents on the streets. When no more
rooms were available, the invaders
camped blearily on the beach, and the
merchants ordered more beer.
Inevitably, of course, this frst and
most abundant of Amer azz festivals
swelled into a menace to the public we
and during the rioting in 1960, the no
profit monstrosity had to be reduced to
responsibility by clubs and tear gas. For
a time it appeared that the Newport
estival had been exiled. Yet no town
million dol
year,
stival under

voluntarily rejects ап ext

us’ worth of bu:
1961, а Newport.
management arose from the rusty beer
There than enough
steckhelmeted police to insure uncond
tional peace and judicious, nonpublic
drinking habits.

Otherwise, however, no lessons had
been learned. The new uplifters of our
national art form hired at least 237 pei
formers, including Judy Garland and a
30-picce escort, for four evening and
three afternoon concerts. The programs
were too long, and, with few exceptions.
the musicians were on for too short a
time. “I could have phoned my part i
Oscar Peterson observed morosely.

By the summer of 1962, however, New-
port had changed radically and illustr
a much more venturesome appr
programing than at any other time
its history—except for its fost year.
in Fact,

ess а nd in

new

cans. were morc

Newport, »w shows strong signs
astern Monterey.
the summer circuit, a

ad toward. financial mis

of becom

ng an

Elscwhere on
well-merited tr
fortune, already in evidence the previous
summer, gathered momentum in 1961
The Randalls Island Festival in New
York, which hired more talent than
Michael Todd could have juggled, played
to only half of capacity. As usual, the
timing was as efficient as on the set of
an Elizabeth Taylor movie. The Basic
band, duc to perform one night at nine,
wasn't called to glory until four and а
half hours later. (This summer, the R:
dalls Island promoter resignedly omitted
all but a few big jazz names from his
season-long concerts and substituted such
distinctly попала headliners as Jer
Lewis and Bob Hope.) Another evidence
of the declining jazz festival occurred
Buffalo last year, where attendance fell
off sharply from the previous inaugural

event. The Indiana Jazz Festival at French
Lick, more intelligently programed than
most — the inexplicable presence of jolly
Al Hirt and his Dixieland Rascals ex-
cepted — was also a financial disappoint-
ment.

In Detroit, the third annual. Festival
of American Music — a permissive title
that allowed the booking of Jul
London and Bobby Troup — beguiled
neither the audience nor the promoter.
There were а couple of more modest,
reasonably conceived condaves, particu-
Тапу the third Virginia Beach Festival in
Virginia; but as a whole, the jazz festival
phenomenon appeared to be fading in
1961

There was, however, in Monterey,
California, a major jazz festival. Musi-
cians, the most mordant of all festival
critics, reported that Monterey not only
seemed to be nurtured with affection for
and some knowledge of jazz, but had
survived the deficit years while retail
comparative musical integrity

For several years before it materialized
in Monterey in 1958, the idea of a West
Coast jazz [estiv 1 been a fond

y of Jimmy Lyons, a civilized disc
jockey, and Ralph Gleason, а remarkably
unpretentious jazz critic. The Monterey
Francisco and

Peninsula, between San
Los Angeles, had come to depend on
tourists — or "visitors" as thc current na-
tive euphemism has it— for a sizable
part of its income. Although many came
to admire the scenery (most spectacularly
memorable along the raw heights and
long silences of Big Sur), local business-
men also encouraged regular events to
attract additional vacationers. Among
the seasonal revels are the National
Amateur Golf Tourney at Pebble Beach
and sports-car jousts in the spring and
fall. The jazz festival became the Septem-
ber lure.

Except for a small pocket of dissent,
the Monterey community, therefore, ac
tively wanted the festival from its start,
regarding it as а functional extension of
the leading local industry. At Newport,
by contrast, the townspeople — middle as
well as high society — were mostly hostile
at first. Only later, when they learned
how much beer a healthy teenager can
really drink, did the business interests
warm acquisitively to the presence of a
jazz festival. Even then, the oudanders
— especially the Negroes among them —
were not welcome, but were suffered for
their spending.

Asa legitimate community project, the
Monterey Festival is operated by a board
composed of local business and profes-
sional men. Newport's advisory board —
which was never asked for advice — had
contained many internationally lumi-
nous names, but was simply a front for
an attempt to bring back vaudeville. At
Mont the
active president of the festival is Mel
Isenberger, business manager of

current and

y. however,

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PLAYBOY

148 no

Monterey Public Schools; and included
on the board of directors are doctors,
merchants and cartoonist Gus Arriola
(Gordo). Even the usherettes are largely
selected from among local wives and
daughters. All are volunteers, and their
sole payment is free music.

For the festival's first year, 68 Mon-
terey citizens put up S100 apiece in
noninterestbearing, promissory notes.
Around this nucleus the rest of the
budget was raised. The next year, the
festival borrowed 510.000 from a bank
with two local businessmen counter-
signing the loan. Belore the fourth and
most successful Monterey Festival in
1961, the annual jazz picnic was out of
debt.

"Our primary
erger explains,
If we break even, we've served the com-
munity.” With part of its first profits
їп 1960, endowed a chair
in jazz at Monterey. Peninsula College,
and further educational ni-in-aid.
are being planned.

General manager Jimmy Lyons is the
one fulltime employee of the festival.
-40s, Lyons, whose enthus
decade ago helped establish the
of Gerry Mulligan and Dave
k, is low-keved and shrewd. It
was Lyons, for example, who instituted
the logical but radical practice of ask-
ag a major jazz musician to act as
i consultant to the festival.
cept for the directing hand of mu
"Tom Gwaltney at Virginia Beach, n
all the other jazz festivals are run by
ravenous laymen.

“We didn't want this one identified
as а hustler's gambit,” says Lyons. “As
the so-called producer, I conceive the
general plan of each year's programing,
talk it over with the musical consultant,
and often find myself overruled. Left
alone, І might tend toward Патроу-

псе with balloon ascensions and pink
elephants trucking down the aisles, but
the musicians are a corrective influence.
When they agree with an idea, at least
І know I'm right musically. Besides,
what could be more reassuring all
around than to deal with musicians
through musicians?’

Stating in Monterey’s second year.
1959. John Lewis, the strict musical d
rector of the Modern Jazz Quartet, be-
came the festival's conscience. Lewis
cousulted on all details from
and lighting to the choice of combos. A
doggedly conscientious man, Lewis some
times flew to California from
over the country at his own expense to
confer with Lyons; and once the festival
itself began cach year, Lewis was in re
lentless command. In 1960, ап astonished
Count Basic found Lewis’ imperious fore-
finger leveled at him as the bearded dis-
ciplinarian said heatedly: "You know
you're supposed to hit at 8:30. There's
сизе for being late.” Lewis soon

object," Mel Tsen-
not to make money.

the festival

staging

gigs all

reprimanded another performer who had
become somewhat lax in her presen
ion. He pointed out icily: "You've been
n show business for a long time — long
enough to know better.”

For all the imminent danger of an
nersonian lecture by Lewis, the musi-
cians had particular respect for Mon-
terey because they knew it was primarily
a musical event, not a sideshow.

In 1961, John Lewis and the Modem
Jazz Quartet were booked in London,

nd. as а result, composer Gunther
Schuller and J. J Johnson acted as
asociate musical consultants. Schuller,
who is as compulsively reliable as Lewis
but somewhat less of a martinet, super-
vised the rehearsals along with
Johnson, made suggestions about pro-
graming. After the openingnight con-
cert last September, Jimmy Lyons,
Ralph Gleason and the associate musical
consultants phoned and awakened Lewis
п London to assure him that the festi-
wal was proceeding according to his
standards. The concept of any other
festival promoter paying for a transat-
lantic telephone call simply to tell a
musician he is not being bet is
close to fant: as the idea of hav
given a musician а voice in policy in the.
first. р

Montereys concern for musicians
sometimes borders on the sentimentally
ational, Last year, George Shearing
played a dreary set and lacked the grace
to realize he was going on much too
long. Through a mistake backstage, he
was finally cut off rather abruptly. Lyo!
didn't hear about the incident until
iring had left. Appalled at the pos
ibility that Shearing’s feclings may
have been bruised, Lyons began to call
hotels in San Francisco in an attempt
to locate that hypersensitive artisan. On
the third try, Lyons found his man and

ind.

4

apologized for апу psychic injury
Shearing might have suffered.
From the first year on, Monterey

demonstrated its respect. Гог musicians
in a more durable way Бу commission-
ing new works each year. Practicall
the other festivals have been a hu

Some of

forming. th
this jazz jukebox so goes on at
Monterey in the evening concerts,
though at a reduced tempo and with
fewer groups. Lyons and his colleagues,
however, felt iewhere in the
festival there had to be new challenges
for both the listeners and the music
When other Is have occasionally
tried noons of portentous
panel discussions ог lecturedemonstra-
mis, attendance has been scant. The
Monterey afternoons, by contrast, have
been encouragingly supported with al-
most 6000 present to hear the world
premiere of J. J. Johnson's Perceptions
in 196]. Wisely, E festival also began
last year to admit college and high school

that s

ns.
festiv

serious” afte:

students to the afternoon concerts at the
special rate of a dollar. Fhe regular
prices of admission have been $3.50 and
$2.75.

This vear, for the first time, new com-
positions have also becn included in the
evening concerts. Encouraged by the
afternoon attendance in previous years,
Jimmy Lyons and John Lewis no longer
feel it necessary to play it safe at night.
Accordingly, the world premicre of Lalo
Schifrin's New Continent (a divertimento
for jazz trumpet and orchestra
scheduled for opening night, September
21. This 35-minute work, commissioned

And on the final night, September 23,
another world premicre was set — Dave
Brubeck's musical, The Real Ambassa-
dors, with Brubeck's quartet, Louis
Armstrong, Dizzy Gillespic and Carmen
McRae.

In addition to the commissions —
which have previously included Duke
Ellington's Suite Thursday and Jon
Hendricks Evolution of the Blues Song
—the festival also realized that it was
essential to provide enough rehearsal
time so that new and other ambitious
works could be properly prepared. For
the three long brass compositions during
Dizzy Gillespie's afternoon last year,
Monterey paid for more than 23 hours
The rehearsal hall was a
home economics building on the fair-
grounds. Among the more singular rc-
hearsal scenes was Dizzy Gillespie trying
to transform four classical French horn
players into quick approximations of
jazzmen. He sang their parts to them
to communicate some idea of the non-
classical phrasing required, and also
added a graphic illustration of body
motion to underscore his points. In-
spired but somewhat intimidated by
the maestro, the four French horn
players later went off by themselves to
woodshed. They had been imbued with
the Monterey ethos.

Having set the festival's musical
direction, the board of directors also
had to develop ways to avoid the kind

of Visigoth inva d nearly
sacked. Newport. id a few
other festival sites. First of all, а smooth-

ly operating Monterey Peninsula Cham-
ber of Commerce set up a service И
assured all visitors a room. Unlike New-
port, Monterey has ample housing fa-
cilities because of the profu of
motels in the area.

There was no need to camp on the
beach, and, in any case, rite
en plein air were not allowed by the
igilant local constabulary. The Mon-
terey police, unlike the initially malle-
able cops at Newport, are firmly directed
by Police Chief Charles Simpson. Aside
from being able to play Sa in
five languages, Simpson is rather rare
in his profession in that he is an in-

fertility

tellectual and is drawn to police work
as a social science rather than primarily
as a source of income. (Simpson has
s) In 1960, a reporter,
Simpson in an intense discu
sion with Gunther Schuller on the lawn
at the fairgrounds, walked over and
instead of eavesdropping on a volley

camp followers, he hi
king earnesdy of P

rd Simp-
тте Boulez,

Va Milon Babbitt, and
other experimental classical compose
by his head-shak-

c Ellington's per-
formance last year, is also attuned to
jaz. At the afternoon sessions, his usual
n the top row of the bleachers
the entrance. On one Sunday afu
noon, Jimmy Lyons halted his intro-
duction to a brass piece, heard a doleful
message from па announced
that à trumpet player was still lost in

traffic. "Ehe chief bawled out through
his megaphone: “It’s ОК. He just got
here!" A сор who doubles as ап assist-

ant production manager is as much
collector's item as a musician dedicating
a number to a cop's wife on her birth-
day, as Dizzy Gillespie did one even
to Mrs. Simpson.

Chief Simpson, furthermore, is not
as alarmed as most peace ollicers at

the prospect of having to deal with
such disaffiliated members of our society
as the motley representatives of the
varyingly beat generations. "We don't
have any trouble,” Simpson says, “we
just communicate with cach other.
They're not wild. Some of them are
just scared."

Whether wearing the insignia of beat-
dom or just on hand for a few days
ay from work, visitors to the festival,
it should be noted, haye considerable
scope for extramusical diversions. Some
explore the limited but oa ly pro-
vocative night life of Monterey, most
notably last summer by g into a
bristling flamenco room on
onc the Cannery Row of John Su
Deck’s younger and more Vivid усаг,
There are always parties, 1 i from
the overstuffed gatherings hosted by local
community leaders to more private ver
tures at which many of the musicians

what was

ie

шип up.
During the concerts, couples who
weary of a close, analytic approach to

the music and prefer to engage in more
tactile pleasures, analyze cach other at
сазе on the grass outside the playing
ficld. Those with a penchant for soli-
tude drive a few miles into the aston-
ishingly prehistoriclooking territory of
Sur where the huge, jagged rocks

provide a seascape that can quickly con-
vince lovers they are the only survivors
of the race and can do as they will. After
several hours of wandering around Big
Sur, it is difficult to return, even for
Dizzy Gillespie and Duke Ellington,

For those who do come back, an
essential difference between Monterey
and all the other festivals in terms of
riot potential is that the grounds are
large enough to hold many more than
come for relatively serious listening.
With plenty of space for everyone, there
are no rumbli ots of sans-culottes at
the entrance oi getic
marauders prowling about the town.
minor but pervasive irri m
jazz festivals are the predate
raphers who make their counterparts in
La Dolce Vita appear inhibited. At
Monterey, however, the American pap-
erazi somewhat curbed. No flash
work is allowed, a blessing to the per-
formers, and the photographers
limited to a stretch of ground between
the box seats and the stage.

With the photographers more or less
in check, the Monterey planners also
solved another problem seldom fully
conquered elsewhere — the sound system.
At Monterey the sound is in extraordi-
narily realistic balance, the result of the
fanatic efficiency of Jim Meagher, a

aimlessly ene

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PLAYBOY

150

local electronics expert, who asks every
leader in advance of the festival for a
floor plan of his group's normal deploy-
nent. Meagher also buys and studies
recordings of each unit hired, and math-
ematically works out their placement in
relationship to the microphones.

Even when the sound system has been
bearable, most other festivals have erred
in hiring disc jockeys as masters-of-cere-
monies, particularly at Randalls Island.

For two years at Monterey, introduc-
tions we ging verse by
the Lambert-Hendricks-Ross trio. In.

1961, the toastmaster for all the concerts
but one was Duke ston

Admittedly, Ellington can be treacly.
(Tve never seen a happier sun, and why
shouldn't it be — kissing so many beau-
tiful people?") He does, however, pro-
ject the assurance that comes of genuine
accomplishment, and he is capable of
gently putting on his public. (“You're
such a hip audience that I don't have to
tell you not to snap your fingers on the
beat. 105 considered aggressive. Just let
it fall") Ellington, moreover, often
filled in stage waits on the piano, a те-
source possessed by no disc jockey.

In a further departure from the cus-
tomary lack of cohesion at jazz festivals,
Monterey’s programing was focused in
rge part on two ol the key figures in jazz
ington and Gillespie. In addition
to his between-the-acts role, Ellington
and his orchestra were given an entire
Saturday afternoon as well as two sets
on the festival's final night. The after-
noon was billed as Ellington Carte
Blanche, and the implied expectation
was that Duke would fill his day of
freedom with new wonders of unprece-
dented scope. As could have been pre-
dicted, however, Ellington did his us
turn. Monterey had asked for too much,

The use of Dizzy Gillespie in an
illuminating range of contests worked
out particularly well. On opening night,
Dizzy was heard with swing-era veterans
Johnny Hodges, Ben Webster, Stuff
Smith, wrence Brown and others, in
а set that ignited him into a euphori:
that lasted throughout the festival, It
had been a disorganized session of in-
sufficient planning, but Gillespie glowed
ng been in company with what
he considered jazz royalty.

“Plaving with those guys really set
me up,” Dizzy exulted at the bar, "Listen
to what I'm going to do from now on!
1 love those mothers. Man, I was playing
with kings out there.
he next night, Dizzy with his own
combo explored various sources and mu-
ations of jazz from Africa to the West
Indies to Latin America. Having proved
his fle: and small-band
leader, Dizzy. performed brilliantly and
with formidable s a in three long
pieces for himself and brass orchestra at
moon concert.

Dizzy, in fact, was the dominant per-

sonality at Monterey last year. For the
Sunday concert of "serious" jazz, Dizzy
appeared onstage wearing a black and
white Nigerian gown, a beaded North
African cap, and Yugoslavian leather
shoes with turned-up tips formerly in-
digenous to the footwear of gnomes
and similar freelancers. Characteristi-
cally, Dizzys introductions were also
less than orthodox. In recognition of
France's reluctance at the time to with-
draw from its bases in Morocco, Dizzy
changed A Night in Tunisia to A Night
Out of Bizerte. ("We changed the ttle
because America didn't vote in the UN
to get the French out of there. This is
our vote.") The night before, in describ-
ing an origi ber with African
sources, Dizzy said: “We hope this will
make some of you feel at home. But if

world." His smile was markedly brighter
than usual.

As a whole, the festival was substan-
musically although there were mis-
takes in programing. Besides the best of
Ellington and nearly all of Gillespie,
there were climaxes by John Coltrane
and his drummer, Elvin Jones; the i
cisive Carmen McRae; and the peren-
nially penetrating blues shouter, Jimmy
Rushing. George Shearing, Odetta and
the Dave Brubeck Quartet were also ii
attendance.

There was certainly more worth liste
ing to at Monterey than at any other
jazz festival in the past year except the
reformed Newport event of 1962, and
there were comfortable places in which
to escape the less compelling music. The
musicians at Monterey were clearly hav-
ing a better time than even the most
sanguine among them have come to ex-
pect from the summer circuit. Several
times, for example. the usually expre:
sionless Johnny Hodges broke into an
ative on the stand. As
ngton experts сап attest, the sight of
Hodges expressing visible pleasure in
public is аз rare as Ellington foi
to assure his audience that he docs ii
deed Iove them madly.

Financially as well as cstheticallv,
Monterey appears to have the healthiest
prognosis of all American jazz festivals.
Last year it attracted 27.950 people with
а gross of $101,000, a new Monterey
record. Jimmy Lyons and his associates

ntend to continue in the tradition
they've established with musi
g a say in policy and being,
the ultimate judges of the festiva
worth. Monterey's only ma

smile

groups and in relative unknowns.

The future of the other attempts to
jazz base
is much less secure than Monterey's. Al
though the New York Daily News h
had box-office success from 1960 on with

a “festival” held in the hugely imper-
sonal Madison Square Garden, it ap-
pears likely that those jazz events which
an be accurately termed festivals will
no longer take root in massive indoor
auditoriums nor in such equally for-
bidding concrete shells as Freebody Park
in Newport and Randalls Island in New
York,

So far, in fact, the only jazz festival
to have functioned efficiently and with
some warmth in a large auditorium
was the first and only rraAynov festival
in 1959 at the Chicago Stadium. Al
thongh there were too many acts, the
production stand: igh. A tu
table stage made K lity from any
seat; the sound system was superior:
there were no long stage waits and a
band was in reserve to play for whatever
rmissions inevitable. As at
Monterey, the producers also allowed
nd paid for reasonable rehearsal time,
The turntable stage. it should be noted,
can be hazardous. The News employs
two of them but they're poorly syn-
chronized with the microphones so that,
at times, a listener in the maw of
Square Garden has the de-
cidedly uncomfortable fecling of watch-
ing а distraught merry-go-round with a
stuttering stereo set having been subst
tuted for the calliope.

Aside from Monterey, those festivals
— indoor or out — which will continue
to Hourish will be those like Virginia
Beach's where the programs take place
in informal surroundings, are not over-
crowded, and are freshened by local and
as yet unrenowned talent. The ori
Newport genre of supermarket festival is
already close to extinction, and there are
few prospects of its being revived in that
form. Even George Wein, who, as mu
director of the Newport saturnalia,
became expert in how not to produce a
jazz festival, proclaimed with belated
righteousness: “The only way I would
go back [to Newport] is if an entirely
new concept of Newport as a festival
center could be developed . . . if it
removes itsell from the ‘big business’ ap-
proach 10 jazz ... if the programs a
developed on artistic content and not on
name draw.” When he regained control
of the Newport Festival this year, W
did begin to fulfill his pledge, scheduling
fewer units, omitting ringers, and сот.
missioning a couple of new compositions.

“Running a real jazz festival isn’t
that hard," Gunther Schuller, relaxing
between rehearsals, explained to a lor
mer war correspondent at the old New.
ром rites who had been sent to
Monterey for rehabilitation. "You put
it on in an atmosphere that people can
respect and in which they can enjoy
themselves at their own расе. Js that
simple.”

“And,” Dizzy Gillespie raised his glass
high, “you don't annoy the musicians.”

ds were h

ғ visil

were

Madison

THE SCAVENGER

PLAYBOY

152

POST-FOOTBALL FETE

loyal alumnus returning from his own
campus can appreciate October's rich
colors— the scarlet of a bloody mary,
the harvest yellow of а 1G-ounce mug
overflowing with frosty ale, the autum-
nal haze surrounding a double old fash-
ioned glass filled with whiskey and rocks.
Football fans по less ап apprecia-
tion of October's culinary attributes.
Although the oyster season starts in
eptember, the plumpest of the marine
bivalves are just now ng on the

shells. Coolish once more
g out the carnivore Huge
rib roasts are readied for the fire. Beef

Every chef pla
fterfootball repast

ly
s ground rule: АП

inaries for the party must take
place cither before or after the game.
You can't retire to the kitche

be as elaborate

s you wish as long

it doesn't keep you from reaching your
seat before the first kickoff whistle
blows. An ame menu naturally
must cor yina-minute foods.
Wise ists often combi

$ into winning combinations.
oxtail stew, for instance — cooking
four hours— may be simmered a
day or two before the game (stews always
taste better when reheated). Easy delica-
cies like hot smoked oyster canapes are
tossed under the broiler flames while
your guests are still making their first
sweep toward the ice bucket. Double or
triple portions are the order of the day.
Before the game is over even the most
jaded epicure is apt to develop the
appetite of a tackle.

Just when the thundering herd w

Ive at your d nt lor dinner is

n a solid
apt to be splintered in the
inevitable trallic snarls. Select those

foods, therefore, which don't make you a

slave to the Clock. If youre making
oyster or clam stew or other seafood
that is inclined to get tough upon

standing, don't put it on the fire until
you're almost ready to cat. You should
avoid at all costs foods that collapse —
like baked soulflés, which must be both
cooked and served by а stopwatch.
s, sauerbraten and casse-
ied directly from
ming oven to the buffet table

Braised ste

eens

“Would you like to do the

(continued from page 109)

have always scored at grid dinners.
The protracted cheering and jecring
goes on at any big tilt always cre-
а special symptom diagnosed as
thirst The most obvious kind
5 the double
prominently favored in the
pharmacopoeia of this department i
hot Rob Roy. In its о
Rob Roy is simply a Scotch manhattan
made with three parts Scotch, one gus
sweet vermouth and
You pour this same formul
with ice, of course)
old fashioned g

with a piece of stick
those of pure Scotch blood who'd rather
р the vermouth, a hot Scotch old
shioned two ounces of
Scotch wi stant comfort.

Rati umnal feast list
everywhere is the bursting apple bin.
Winesaps, Cordands and McIntosh are
just a few of the several thousand varie-
tics that roll into deep apple pies, Dutch
apple buuer, bard cider and apple

andy known by its national nickname
as applejack. As а dessert for the foot
ball dinner a bowl of juicy red apples
and a platter of ripe cheese is inreplace-
able. Before dinner the apple's essence
can be celebrated in the frozen apple, a
cocktail made by spinning in the well
of an electric blender 14 cup diced
pecled apple, 1 j pplejack, 1 ounce
lemon juice, 1 heaping teaspoon sugar
and № cup coarsely cracked ice. Pour
the frozen apple into a deep saucer
champagne glass or old fashioned glass.

Many college men, past and. present,
simplify the whole problem of enter-
taining both their friends and some of
their gridiron enemies by offering the
oldest of all Anglo-Saxon potables —
liquid malt. It was no accident. that for
many centuries breweries were located
ight on the campuses of English col.
leges, just as the art of winemaking on
the Continent was entrusted to the good
nds of monks in their monasteries.
the fall deepens into winter а фіто
rise for nut-brown ale and creamy stout
Both of them blend beautifully when
poured together into tall seidels and
served with seafood. Malt men need
never concern themselves with such
problems as matching тей wine with
red meat, deciding whether the Rhine
wine should be served with the seafood
or chicken. Gambrinus’ brew may flow

made with
1 provide i
g high in the

381

chacha-cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-cha-cha . . .?

with any food and at any time.
And now, let us move on from grid
iron to groaning board.

CLAM BROTH BELLEVUE
(Serves four)
(Don't be misled by the tide of this
soup. It's a lusty seafood cl
71-02. jar whole dams
2 8-07. bottles clam
2 1207. clear cl
И teaspoon onion
14 teaspoon celery salt
4 dashes Tabasco
14 cup heavy cream
ts butter
in whole clams. Pour juice from
ams into soup pot. Add clam juice and
chicken broth. Slowly bring to a boil
ith onion salt, celery salt and
tbasco. In а narrow bowl whip cream
until thick. Put two clams and а pat of
butter in cach soup bowl Pour hot
broth into bowls and top with whipped
cream. Serve with oyster crackers.

FRIED OYSTERS WITH $
(Serves four)

ME

24 large freshly opened oysters

14 cup sesame seeds

1 cup bread crumbs

1 tablespoon soy sauce

Garlic powder

2 beaten eggs

2 tablespoons mi

Deep fat for frying

М cup catsup

2 tablespoons lemon juice

2 tablespoons brown sugar

Place sesame seeds in a shallow pan
or pie plate. Bake in oven preheated at
75° for about 20 minutes or until
medium brown. Combine bread crumbs
and sesame seeds, mixing well. Drain
oysters and pat dry with paper towel
Put oysters in mixing bowl Add soy
sauce. Sprinkle lightly with garlic pow-
der. Dip oysters in bread crumbs, coating
thoroughly. Combine eggs and milk,
beating well. Dip oysters im eggs, then
n in bread crumbs. Pat crumbs well,
coating oysters thoroughly. Heat deep

fat to 370° or until it shows the first
wisp of smoke. One-half inch of fat in
an electric skillet may be used in place

ol deep fat. Fry oysters, one layer at
time in frying basket, golden
brown. Combine catsup, lemon juice and

brown sugar. Pass i

until

uceboat,

CALF's LIVER CALVADOS
(Serves four)
1 1b. sliced fre

sh сан liver

14 Ib. fresh mushrooms

4 tablespoons butter

Juice of 14 lemon

Salt, pepper

Flour

2 tablespoons salad oil

4 slices ham about 14 ozs. each
2 ozs. calvados or applejack
1
4
у

cup light cream

slices toast

mushrooms in cold water. Melt
2 tablespoons butter in large saucepan.
Sauté mushrooms until just tender. Add
се and season with salt and
Keep warm until serving time.
ason liver with salt and pepper. Dip
in flour, patting off excess. In a second
pan heat salad oil and remaining butter
anti butter melts. Sauté ham until it
just begins to tum brown around the
edges. Remove ham from pan. In the
same pan sauté liver 2 to 3 minutes оп
each side, Remove liver from pan and
keep it in a warm place. Add calvados
to pan. Flame it. When Пате subsides,
add cream plus any liquor remaining
from mushrooms п. Scrape pan bot-
tom to loosen drippings. Bring cream
to boil. Reduce flame and simmer very
slowly fre-
quently. Place toast on serving plates or
Add ham and liver. Top with
mushrooms. Pour pan gravy on top.

SWISS STEAKS WITH BURGUNDY
(Serves fous)

4 pieces round steak, 8 to 10 ozs. cach,
Yo in. thick

1 large Spanish onion

1 green peppe!

1 sweet red pepper

Lb. can Italian plum tomatoes

Salad ой

1 clove g minced

1 cup red Burgundy

1 bay leaf

Yo t

2 envelopes instant beef broth

Salt, pepper, monosodium glutamate

1 teaspoon Worcestershire sauce

Cut o nid peppers into very thin
julienne strips. Drain tomatoes, reserv-
ing juice. Chop tomato meat coarsely.
He a Dutch oven or large thick
skillet fitted with lid. Sauté steaks until
well browned on both sides. Add onions,
garlic and peppers and continue to
sauté until onions arc limp. Add toma-
toes, Burgundy, bay leaf, marjoram and
instant beef broth. Simmer slowly, cov-
егей, until meat is tender about 214
hours. Use а very low flame. Stir occ
g pan bonom, to keep
y from sticking. И
ery, cook uncovered until thi
with salt, pepper and mono-
sodium glutamate to таме. Add Worces-
tershire sauce. Serve with white or brown
rice or buttered noodles.

SHERRIED HAM STEAKS
(Serves four)

2 center-cut ham stcaks (ready-to-cat

ham) 14 in. thick, about 1 Ib, each
1 сир dry sherry
2 tablespoons salad oil
И сир sherry wine jelly or apple
jelly
2 tablespoons butter
Cut each ham steak into two equal
parts and place them in a shallow pan
or bowl Pour sherry over steaks and
marinate them overnight. Remove ham
from sherry, reserving sherry. Heat salad
oil in a heavy wide saucepan. Sauté
ham steaks over low flame until brown,
5 ю 8 minutes on cach side. Pour sherry
into pan, add jelly and butter. Simmer
slowly, stirring frequently, until liquid
1 pan reduces to about a half cup. Pour
gravy over ham on serving plates or
platter.

OXTAIL STEW
(Serves four)

2 oxtails cut for stewing

14 cup salad oil

1 large onion, minced

2 pieces celery, minced

2 doves garlic, minced

14 cup flour

110. сап tomatocs

E
need parsley

iN

1 bay leaf

1 teaspoon tarragon

$ envelopes instant beef broth
Salt, pepper, monosodium glu

mate

6c in. slices

4 medium potatoes, large dice

10-07. package frozen peas

Place oxtails in a shallow baking pan
in oven preheated at 3007. Bake, turn-
ing occasionally, until meat is deep
brown. In a large stew pot heat oil. Add
onion, celery and garlic. Sauté until
onion is yellow. Stir in Hour. Simmer
until flour mixture is deep yellow. Chop
tomatoes coarsely, reserving their jui
Add tomatoes together with their juice,
water, wine, parsley, rosemary, bay leaf,
tarragon and instant broth, Stir well.
Pring to a boil. Reduce flame as low as
possible. Add oxtails, Simmer until meat
is very tender, 314 to 4 hours. If liquid
evaporates noticeably during cooking,
replace it with water, Season with salt,
pepper and monosodium glutamate.
Skim fat carefully from gravy. About a
half hour before cooking is completed,
add carrots and potatoes to pot. Cook
until vegetables are tender. Cook peas
а separate pot. Serve oxtail stew in a
large casserole or individual casseroles.
Spoon peas over m

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Harvards, or that State went down to
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PLAYBOY

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PICTURE THIEVES

(continued from page 78)

Colonel Roquebrun lifted an eyebrow
to distract Captain Scoubide from what
might otherwise have been taken as a
startled reaction. “How could that be?”
he asked.

“A professional job done by amateurs,
perhaps?

The drift was now unmistakable to
Colonel Roquebrun and he thought it
high time to bring the conversation to
an end. He said, “I never heard of bur-
glaries and paradoxes mixing. Why not
inquire of Marcel Dufour at the Blue
Grotto? He would give you an excellent
meal during which you could make up
your mind whether his restaurant was a
professional or an amateur acti

Captain Scoubide laughed, and then
made a grimace. “Не has too many con-
nections," Ве said. “One could get one's
nose pinched in the door there. A large
reward has been offered.”

The Colonel wondered where th
leading, but merely commented,
250,000 New Francs. The insurance com-
pany, I suppose?”

“500,000,” Captain Scoubide corrected.
“The Government has doubled it. А
matter of national pride. The Blue Re-
noir was destined for the Louvre, you
know.” And then he added, with what
struck the Colonel as almost a curious
and pathe kind of wistfulness, “I
would not wish for myself any part of it.
For me, the glory of recovering the pic
tures undamaged would be sufficient.

The Colonel commented gravely, “J
sincerely hope your distinguished career
will be crowned by this achievement,”
acknowledged the com-
d prepared to leave. “Should
anything reach your ears——" he said.

^— naturally,” Roquebrun concluded

and, seriously reflecting, watched through

the window as the Captain marched to
his black Citroén and departed. The
Colonel was fecling most uncomfortable.

The four picture thieves sat gloomy
and sweating at the back of a dark and
scrufly little bar known as Le Perroquet
Rouge, off the Place de la République in
Antibes. Their names were Gaston Rive,
Antoine Petitpierre, Jean Soleau and Al-
fonse Cousin. Some 20 years before, in
their middle age, they had cach had a
nickname and were known respectively
s Le Léopard, Le Tigre, L'Éléphant
and Le Loup, and naturally when one
of their operations was discussed they
were referred to as the Zoological Gang.

None of this menagerie much resem-
bled the noms de guerre they had chosen
for themselves. Jean Soleau, the Elephant,
was а wry, dried-up shrimp of a man, a
wholesale dealer in onions. Gaston
Rive, the Leopard, was enormous, fat
and slothful. He had been corpulent
сусп in his Resistance days when this

obesity had provided him with good
cove inst the Germans. Now fatter
than ever, he was the proprietor of a
small electrical contracting business in
Antibes.

No one could have been less like his
namesake than Antoine Petitpierre, the
Tiger. A carnation grower who owned a
plantation behind Haut-Cagnes, he was
а tall, cadaverous, mild-mannered, mel-
ancholy man. During the war when it
had been necessary for them to carry out
an execution he was always the one most
emotionally disturbed.

The last of the group, Le Loup or the
Wolf, as Alfonse Cousin had been known,
was the owner of the bar. Cousin did
have something lupine about him, dark
and lean with glowing eyes and а sar-
donic mouth.

The door to the back room was shut
so that their murmur of desultory con-
versation could not be overheard. A
silent radio stood on the sideboard. A
copy of the Nice Matin lay on the table.
The Tiger said, “Dear God, whoever
would have thought there would have
been such a fuss over a few pictures?”

The Wolf gave snort. “You call a
millionaire's Renoir collection а few
pictures?”

The Leopard had asthma as well as
too much blubber, and his breath
whistled through his nostrils as he ex-
claimed, "500,000 francs reward!” He
nodded his head in the direction of the
radio. “You heard

The Elephant said, “Every stool pi-
geon in the neighborhood will be trying
to carn it”

The Leopard sighed like an engine
discharging steam. “And the police set-
ting up roadblocks. We shall never be
able to move them now.

warehouse amongst my
flics descend upon us?"

"The Wolf leaned darkly across the
table, poking a long finger at the Ele-
phant. “Can you suggest an alternative,
old friend?"

No one had anything to offer.

The Tiger leaned back in his chair
and examined his fingernails. “Perhaps
we were a little too hasty.
ive consulted Le
lephant.
ппу. “The Fox

Renard,” put

The Wolf laughed sil
would have vetoed it.

The Leopard said, “He was always
our leader —'

"—and the only one of us with any
is," concluded the Elephan

The Tiger completed the inspection
of his fingernails and said with glum
fervor, “I wish to God he were here with
us now. We've got ourselves into a pretty
pickle.

It was characteristic of the kind of
courage they all had that the sharp
knock on the door that followed this

bi

wish did not panic them. Not а man
moved.

The Wolf said, “Entrez!”

The door opened. Colonel Roquebrun
stood framed in the doorway, thickset,
bullnecked, florid.

“Renard!” The word exploded from
the blubhery lips of the lat Leopard.
"We were just wishing —"

Colonel Roquebrun came into the
room, shutting the door carefully behind.
him. He eyed them coldly. “You idiot:
he said, “where are the pictures?

The dark eyes of the Wolf glowed
and donic mouth permitted itself
a smile. The old Fox was still the Fox.
One did not have to draw diagrams for
him. He said, "In Jean's warehouse
amongst the onions. Smelly, but sa

Contempt marked the scarred fe
of the Colonel. “And what the de
you think you are going to do
them? Give me a drink, someone:
ї down at the table while the Wolf
reached behind to a cognac bottle and
poured him a fine. They sat and watched
him like four guilty children while he
knocked it back.

Roquebrun set down his empty glass
and sat staring silently at the four, who
eventually began to recover some of
their aplomb. After all, they were grow
men banded together in a dangerous
adventure that was far from concluded.

"Ehe Colonel quickly felt the return
of this truculence and challenged them.
“Well, my clever ones. and now that
them stored amongst the
ї do you intend to do? Ad-
South American millionaire?

vertise for
Таке them on tour? Or transport them

to Paris and set up a stand in the lobby
of the Folies-Bergére — GENUINE RENOIRS
FOR SALE?

The camationgrowing Tiger, the
most mild-mannered of them all, chose
to reply. "There's no need for your sar-
casm, Pierre, you know very well we
didn't do it for gain. We were going to
ransom the pictures for the poor.”

Colonel Roquebrun, who had been
ng tilted back in his chair in a
somewhat superior ude, was so
startled by this that he returned his scat
to the floor with a crash, тереа
Ransom for the poor!

They were on him now like children
pressing home an advantage.

Two million francs paid to an Amer-
ican so rich he cannot count his money!
‘And in France people are going
hungry!"

“Imagine, one man owning paintings
worth tens of millions!”

“And in the house next to me the
husband of my neighbor, Madame Au-
bert, may die because they can't afford
an operation and a hospital.”

The Government steals from us in
taxes and spends it on a rag with some
paint daubed over it.

sit

аш

“There aren't enough schools or hos-
als.

“The situation i
call attention to it.

Colonel Roquebrun said, "What kind
of talk is this? Have you all become
Communists?” and he spat on the floor.
“On the conwary,” replied the Wolf,
we merely propose to protect the rich
from their own idiocies. It is they who
create Communists with this madness of
spending.

"Mv father knew Renoir in Cagnes,"
said the Elephant. “They were n
bors. He said he was a modest little man,
riddled with arthritis, who did not think
himself a god or anything extraordinary
because he put paint on canvas. He w
content when he was young to receive
400 or 500 francs for a painting, or even
leave a little sketch at a bistro in pa
What has happened to
d gs of my father's
friend them worth millions?
Where has the moncy come from? Where
does it go? Who is being robbed? Who is
being enriched?”

The Colonel's sell-possession was re-
turning. “No one, you donkey,” he said.
“No one is enriched: no one is impover-
ished. The wealthy trade these objects
amongst themselves like children play-

rotten. This will

as

e

ment for his

эз

ing with picture cards found in packages
of soap or cereals. If two youngsters set
about exchanging postage stamps, who
in the community is injured and in what
manner has the economy suffered?"
The Wolf saw the point and grinned
but the others were making
"The Leopard shook his
d, "The rich always find a
way to profit.
"The Colonel snorted. “It seems to me,
my innocents.” he said, “that you have
got hold of the wrong end of the stick.
You may be fighting a just war, but
against the wrong enemy. It isn't the
very rich who are а danger to any coun-
uy but the 1 poor. It is the Hatte
who are always uying to pull down the
structure and entomb themselves with it,
instead of endeavoring to leam how
wealth is acquired and following the
example. And for that matter, you half-
wits,” the Colonel continued, “who is it
that supports charities, endows founda-
tions, creates universities, aids hospitals,
and makes possible research intended to
relieve every human ailment? It is the
rich. The world today would be un-
speakably ghastly if the philanthropies
of the wealthy were to come to an end
You can aflord to leave them their toys.”
They sat blinking at the Colonel,
taken aback for a moment. Then the

“Didn't you get my note?”

155

PLAYBOY

156

Leopard heaved his huge bulk in his
chair, pursed his small mouth and said,
"What about the Government getting
into y nd handi

innocent scheme

over millions of our money for some-

thing which in our father's day fetched
no more than a few hundred francs?”

"The Colonel said. “Have you never
encountered the phrase ‘man cannot live
by bread alone? The nation's pride re
poses in the һапай k of her gifted
sons, It is something in which every
man. wo and child can share.”
he Elephant, Jean Soleau, said, “You
weren't so damned moral in the old
days, Pierre, when we were under your
leadership. It was you who planned the
robbery of the military funds from the
Crédit National at Nix from which we
took 50,000,000 francs; it you who
organized the capture of the gold trans-
port convoy on its way to Marseille: it
was you who evolved the technique of
pping the villas of the collaborators
the Riviera of food, wines and
dothing.”

Phe memory of those times evoked а
nod from the Colonel. “Hah,” he said, “I
raught you the value of paper bullets in
those days, did 1 not? We hit the Ger
and the collabor
hurt them most— in the pocketbook.”
His glance strayed to his queerly shaped
fingers which had no fingernails at their
ends, and he grimaced rily.
“And paid, wo.” he concluded.

The Wolf said stubbornly,
see the difference, Pierre. In the F-
we fought borators, They
Frenchmen, too, like ourselves, but they
were enemies. France is menaced by as
s internally today as she
was during the war. WI
using a little of the same technique as
we did in the past?”

“We thought we would put some real
worth into those paintings, Piene,” the

said, "As it stands now, you yo
sell are willing to admit that these values
are false. We planned to ransom the
Blue Renoir and the others for 10,000,-
000 francs and turn the money over to
charity. Thus, the pictures would repre-
sent a hundred hospital beds, some thou-
sands of tons of coal and hundreds of
thousands of pounds of food and milk
for the hungry. Then when oue stood
admiringly in front of the Blue Rena
one could say, “Ah yes, this is indeed а
valuable picture. It has paid its way.
Let the spirit be fed indeed, but bread
must come first.

The Colonel for a moment was so
startled by this idea that he leaned for-
ward in his chair. “By Jove,” he said.

“That's it!” exclaimed the Elephant.
“We knew you would see it our way.

The Colonel laughed and shook his
head. “Beautiful, poetic and immoral
he d

The Wolf snorted, “Immoral!

“Immoral,” repeated the Colonel. "It

on

mans tors where it

volun

I don't
agii
were

€ol

many ene

is wrong with

will not do, my cloud-dwelling cuckoos.
We itll enjoyed playing Robin Hood in
the world of 1944 when it was both
necessary and effective. This is the
world of 1961

“Eh? Whats the difference?” the Ele-
phant pouted. “The old war was hot,
the new one is cold. We're still com.
batants.”

Why," said the Color
the world of today

el, “just that
so infinitely more

corrupt, wicked and immoral, that one
more immorality piled on top of it only
gets lost in the shuffle. Ransom is just

another form of у
The insurance companies would not
hesitate to enter into a shady deal with
you in order to cut their losses; the
police would connive with you to spli
the reward and get back the stolen goods
И they could; and the public would not
ask any questions provided their treas-
was restored. Whom are you educat-
ing? Instead of light you bring more
dar
They sat a
happy.
“Well now," said Colonel Roquebrun,
we you have practically admitted
ve committed the stupidity

ound silently, looking un-

П for one mo-

ment bear the light of intelligent
scrutiny t other excuses have you
to ойе abandoning the dignity of
the good you have all achieved and

turning yourselves into criminals?”
Once more the four exchanged guilty
aces and in the end

was Antoine

gi
Petitpierre, the melancholy Tiger, who
replied. "Pierre, all of us suddenly
found ourselves growing old: a toothless
Tiger, а clawless Leopard, ап Eleph
with fading memories, a Wolf with fa
ing appetite. We sat here one eve
and talked of the old da
made the Germans tremble.
for one final adventure.

The Colonel drew back his head and
let out a roar of laughter, and when it
had subsided he cried, “But now for the
first time you have been talking sense.
If you had only come to me when this
fecling overwhelmed you we would not
be in this pickle today. There would
have been some brains about the affair.

"The Wolf regarded the Colonel curi
ously. “You say we, old friend? Do you
really mean. we?”

s when w
We longed

Don't ask foolish questions,” the
Colonel replied brusquely. "Why do you
k I'm here, with С. Scoubide

practically breathing down my neck?
You, my dear Leopard, ГЇЇ wager left
your signature all over the electric:
work in the villa when you disconnected
the alarm." Here the Colonel's profes-
sional interest suddenly took over. “Ву
the way, how was that done? If there
any it regis-
ters immed the po T

“Oh,” replied the Leopard with su-

impe:

е station.

perb innocence, "I took the precaution.
of disconnecting it at the police-station
end."

Again the Colonel shook with laugh-
ter. “Worthy of the best Resistance
group a man ever led. Bravo, friend

"What, then, do you suggest" asked

the Elephant.
“А litle
Colonel. “It
i
reamed.
“But how’

moi

asked the practical Wolf.

“In such а manner as to cause the light
to shine," replied the Colonel, and for
the first time they realized that he had
the glimmer of a plan.

Colonel Roquebrun drove his Simca
station wagon up the twisting 10ad into
the hills behind Cannes until he came
to an arched gateway with a small, mod-
est sign at the SOCIETY CLUB —

A hundred yards w
dark, sprawling vill ing lot.
There appeared to be very little illum
nation. His neighbors in the car paik
were Rolls-Royces, Bentleys. Cadillacs,
Mercedes and several fast Italian sports
cars. It was nine o'clock in the evening
mbling tinkling of a
be

seemed to

no

one

Left to find his
brun saw an outside
climbed it to find h

dress, look nto the

garden.
was exquisite.
your pardon.”

The eyes she turned upon him were
the misty, understanding, melancholy
ones of the hetacrac. She said, “The en-
trance is below, just beyond that tree
there,” nt back into the room
from whence she had come. Colonel
Roquebrun beard a man’s cough, the
creaking of а bed and muffled laughter
As he descended he reflected upon the
nature of the society from which the

shadowy
t she

nd we

club took its name.
He came to an entrance beneath a
canopy. A doorman in uniform eyed bim

uncerta asked,
member?
“No,” said the Coloncl
between his fingers there showed the
yellow of a hundred-franc note.
ОГ course,” said the doorm
can be arranged.” The Colonel handed
over his card and the note. The т
took them and disappeared inside.
This, the Colonel thought, was the
fatality of the France of today. The
words Liberté, Egalilé, Fraternité rim-
ming the coins might well be replaced
by the slogan “It can be arranged.”
The doorman returned. with a gold.

aly and

embossed card between his fingers.
“Monsieur is welcome,” he said, and

led him down a long, unlit corridor and
through the bar which was also k.
The piano player was lightly fingering
nostal; sentimental tunes. A dark-

i 1 was leaning against a door
way clad in a bikini and holding a
half-empty cocktail glass, a secret smile
at the corners of her mouth. There were
several men sitting at the bar but no
one was paying any attention to her. The
Colonel supposed there was nothing
essentially wrong about a bikini at nine
o'dock in the evening, but somehow
the effect was extraordinarily ter.
He was glad he had come-

Beyond the bar was the dining ter-
race, The headwaiter in a white dinner
jacket waved a menu at the Colonel and
table from which he could
look down upon the curve of Cannes
bedecked in her night jewelry spread out
below. On the terrace the only illumi-
nation was the glow of tiny lamps on the
tables. Roquebrun was aware that the
place was already half filled. He ordered
a dry martini. The piano tinkled sooth-
ingly. The girl in the bikini stood for a
moment looking out across the terrace
with moist eyes, chen walked off down
а path, her hips swaying. From nearby
came the gentle splashing of a fountain,

nd off to the left the Colonel saw star-

light reflected in a swimming pool. The
setting was superb. But Koquebrun was
remembering how it felt when he waited
in ambush in the darkness surrounded.
by the Germans.

By 10 o'clock every table but one up-
on the terrace had been occupied. The

es had now adjusted. to the
ght to the point where he could
make out features and he felt as though
insported into another world. Here
аз collected a kind of international
scum— the froth that would come to
the top if all the wicked of the world
were boiled together in a caldron. The
men with their smooth, parchmentlike
faces and immaculate clothes sat behind
their dark glasses, sleck, slick, oily, over-
bearing and arrogant: Americans, Brit-
ish, Spaniards, Italians, Frenchmen.
Pretty girls decorated their tables and
were paid no more attention by them
than the furniture. These were no small
dispensers of evil. These were the whole-
salers. Somehow it was the dark glasses
that oppressed the Colonel. Even in the
murk of the club these men could not
bear so much as the gleam of a candle,
and he thought of sunless sewers where
rats scurried. They wer
and thei rs-on who coi
money out of human weakness

led him to

w

Here
were collected the vultures of the world
pretending to be people. The Colonel
felt as though he wanted а bath.

"The headwaiter, with his menu card
held high in front of him to show that
important people were arriving, threaded.

a party through the narrow aisles of the
crowded tables, and Roquebrun saw that
it was Sarah Howard and her friends.

He noted that one of the girls was the
dark-haired one who had been in the
bar in a bikini, and the second was of
the same class. The other girl was obvi-
ously the English girl who was staying
with Sarah. The man who accompanied
her he recognized as Kip Trenchley from
photographs in British newspapers, and
Roquebrun remembered now why the
association had been unpleasant. Trench-
lev's specialty, one gathered, was tralfick-
ing in featherbrained debutantes. He
lured them to the Continent, entangled
them, and then sold them back to their
fathers who paid to avoid scandal.

Count Paolo Andrea, the Italian, was
easily recognizable. If there were rem-
nants of nobility in his features they
were almost obliterated by weakness and
dissipation. Roquebrun thought he
could guess his function in this unsavory
quartet.

ised the Colonel's
hackles, and for an instant turned him
sick with apprehension for S:
the tall one known as Hai
wearing a lilaccolored dinner jacket
and his cyes were hidden behind the in-
evitable dark glasses. The Colonel felt
there was real rcason for this conceal
ment, for he was sure these would be
the cold, expressionless eyes of the
killer. There was no mistaking the cruel
mouth, This was the new type of Ameri
Gin crook-oF-all-trades that had emerged
Army after the war, with Eu-
field of operations. The fourth
member was Marcel Dufour, His sensitive
face silhouetted against the table lamp
ve him the aspect of à poct.

It was an ideal quartet, the Colonel
thought; a French gang leader, a British
blackmailer, a shady Malian and ап
American killer, and he thought what а
Riviera for all its inno-
cence and loveliness of the sea reflecting
the night sky, the beacons flashing from
the mountains outlined against that
same sky, and the necklace of lights, like
blue diamonds stringing the waterfront
How easily the girls had become en-
snared.

He had seen enough, and now the
Colonel sighed with a kind of long-ago
remembered. pleasure, Colonel Pierre
Roquebrun, the respected antique deal-
er, was no more, Le Renard һай re-
tumed, the old game was on again. He
called for his hill, paid it and made his
y out, passing their table on his way.
Outside of the momentary dilation of
her eyes, Sarah Howard gave no sign of
recognition.

The abrupt departure of Colonel
Roquebrun had left Sarah with a feeling
of desolation. As long as he was there
she had felt safe. Now that he had gone
she became once more prey to all her
fears and doubts. She wondered how

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157

PLAYBOY

Jong it would be before she would be
able to contact him again and hear his
judgment of the men with whom she
had become involved.

The swiftness with which this contact
was realized was startling, for it took
place, to be exact, no more than 20
minutes later when she went to visit the
ladies’ powder room. The woman in at-
tendance there, without saying a word,
slipped a small piece of paper into her
hand. There was no one else in the
room at the time. Sarah opened it and
read: “Not nice, Keep your nerve. ‘There
will be a ransom note. They will take
over. Let them. They will suggest you go
home. Do so. R.” For a moment
felt the dizzying clutch of panic. Then
the cool stre id that had
heen stretched out to her through the
note steadied her. She tore the paper
into tiny shreds, entered the cabinet and
flushed them away, and then returned
to the table with the sentences of the
brief message darting through her brain.
"here was no question as to the con-
firmation of her fears. Not nice said it
all.

Shortly after midnight, as they were
debating whether to go to the casino or
on to the night club at Juan-les-Pins
which was offering a new troupe of
wansvestites direct [rom Paris, à waiter
came to the table and handed Sarah an
envelope. Conversation died away and
Sarah was conscious that they were all
ring at her.

Kip Trenchley tittered and cried,
"Oh, I say, Sarah's got an admirer.

arah

trap imo which she had
from the manner in which the Е,
J coupled her with Harry
ady considered Harry’s property.
She remembered Colonel Roquebrun's
admonition, Keep your nerve. She
opened the envelope and read the
printed note therein:

“We have your pictures. The identifi-
cation number 2XKYB3342 concealed
on the Blue Renoir will prove this to
your father. We are businessmen and
prepared to negotiate for their return
When your father arrives in the morning,
take him in your white car to the cross-
roads sign below Piol by La Ferme
Minoury where you will be met. We are
in a position to see every road in the
valley leading to the rendezvous. If
there is any indication that your car is
being followed or observed from the air
bv helicopter or aircraft, the pictures
will be destroyed

A halfsnile illuminated the gentle
countenance of Marcel Dufour. He said,
“J hope it does not contain bad news,

my dear?"
There will be a ransom note, Colonel
Roquebrun had writen. They will take

158 over. Let them. Sarah said, “Ivs—it’s

about the pictures. A ransom note — they
say —"

“The pictures!” It was almost like a
conjurers trick the way they had the
note out of Sarah's fingers and мате
reading it avidly, passing it from one
to the other. Harry rose quietly and left
the table to reappear а few moments
later. He said, “Nix! Kid on a bicycle
rode up, handed it to the doorman and
blew.

h said,
police?"
"No/" said. Marcel Dufour,
circumstance:
arah was suddenly aware that she had
been pushed completely out of the аа
The four had mana; to switch seats
with the other girls and were now
gathered around two corners of the
table, their heads together, rereading
and whispering. Harry had removed his
dark glasses to sce better, and it seemed
to Sarah that his eyes were filled with a
curious kind of animal glare.
I think the girls had better go home,”
ry said.
"Yes yes.”
dle this f

Ought we to notify the

"under no

Dufour added, “we'll

1 г you. We know how to

deal with such matters. Leave everything
to us."
Count Andrea was already summon-

ing the waiter for the bill. "And order a
xi at once," he added, "Subito!"

h suddenly felt as though she
were acting in a play in which she was
thoroughly at home in her lines. She
saw again the words from the Colonel's:
note: They will suggest you go home.
Do so. How had he known?

The four still had their heads together
over the note. Marcel Dufour snapped
his fingers and said, “I have it! There
can be only one place! But we can verify
this,

The waiter returned.
ting, Monsicur

Harry said to Trenchley, "
‘em home, Kip."

The Englishman hesitated. “But —
The fever of avidity which bumed in
the others had set him alight, too. Here
big stuff.

Harry looked at him coldl
take "em home,” he repeated.
your own racket,”

Sarah and the English girl arose.
Hany turned to Sarah and said, “Just
you go off to bed, honey, and don't
worry your little head. We'll have your
old m:

The words wer 1. but the leftover
expression of murderous cupidity on the
face of the American had not yet caught
up with them and Sarah looked straight
through the fagade of the man who had
so attracted her, to the beast behind. As
though by the magic of Coloncl Roque-
brun she had been suffered a glimpse
to the abyss. She shuddered inwardly
and formulated a silent prayer of grati-
tude. But she merely said, “Thank you,

“The taxi is

fou take

. “I said
Stick to

s pictures back for you

and permitted Trenchley to escort them.
As they left the three were again

back in their whispering conclave and
did not even look up.

The Zoo Gang sat about uneasily оп
bags of onions at one end of the long
warehouse, topping the hill above Piol
behind Antibes. The windows were
shaded with sacking to keep light from
showing. Beneath the tumbled heap of
sacks of onions gleamed one corner of
a gold picture frame.

Colonel Roquebrun glanced at his
ch. "I must be going," he said, “1
think your visitors ought to be along

shortly.”
“1 don't like it," said the Elepha
“Supposing they're satisfied to pick up

the reward and go on to the police —

"They won't be,” said Colonel Roque
brun, "and you'll have to like it" He
addressed them all now. “You won't, I
think, be hurt if you control your nat-
ural wuculence, but that is a risk you
ke. These are dangerous men
у have already killed once. You
ly have to swallow
certain amount of insults and. possibly
put up with one or two indignities. Con-
trol yourselves and accept them."

The Wolf grinned and said, “If it
comes off it will be cheap at the price."

Colonel Roquebrun went to the door
and said, “They will probably come i
a van from the Blue Grotto. Friend Ele-
phant, you must be prepared to lose a
few sacks of your onions as well as your
pretty pictures, Well, good luck!” and
he was gone.

It was indeed the van of the Blue
Grotto restaurant that drew up before
the warehouse shortly before four o'clock
n the morning. The pickup van of one
of the best-known restaurants on the
Riviera paying an carly morning visit to
an onion wholesaler would not arouse
police suspicion.

And there were the insults
s which the Zoological Gang ас-
cepted with reasonable fortitude, con-
sidering that one of the trio that burst
in upon them was armed with a long-
barreled Luger.

They did not even bother to conceal
their features, Dufour, Count Andrea
nd Нату. Thieves engaged in the
profitable and invulnerable business of
robbing other thieves had nothing to
fear, particularly where those others
wer eurs so stupid and untutored
as to giv their hiding place in
Marcel
rict, only a
few minutes with a survey map to figure
out that the only spot from which all
roads approaching the Minoury Farm
could be observed the warchousc
of the onion dealer, Jean Soleau.

They were rough, too, needlessly so,
and cruel, as indeed the Colonel had.
thought they might be, for the ease of

nd indig-

their ransom note. It had take
who knew the dis

Dufour

“Oh, се... oh, gosh . . . forgive me, Mrs. Chatham . .. please forgive me!
I must have lost my head

PLAYBOY

160

the hijacking operation and the in-
soluble predicament of the four men
they found collected in the warchouse
with their stolen art treasures fed their
arrogance to the bursting point. Besides,
there was jealousy. The Leopard suf-
fered a cut cheek where he was hit with
the pistol barrel; the Elephant had the
wind knocked out of him; the Tiger was
kicked in the groin.

When the tures had been trans-
d to the yan and buried beneath
ers of sacks stuffed with fat, golden-
brown onions, the gang leaders cgo
could not resist lecturing for a moment.
“This will tcach you amateurs not to
encroach upon the field of professionals.
You should be grateful to me for taking
these paintings off your hands and ab-
solving you from the risks connected
with disposing of them. For our part,"
and the sensitive expression of Monsieur
Dufours thin lips and nosuils made it
seem almost like a benediction, “we
shall always remember you ing
saved us a great deal of trouble. We һай
planned to remove them from the villa
ourselves.

"Then, having cut the telephone wires
and wrecked the carburetors on the en-
gines of the cars in the garage, they de-
parted.

Antoine Petitpierre was still gasping
from the brutality of his injury and try-
ing to control moans of pain. Gaston
Rive, the Leopard. was weeping openly
with tears of rage and frustration. “Le
Renard owes me one for this.” he said.
“By God, I'll have it out of his hide!”

The darkly sardonic Wolf, Monsieur
Cousin, said to him, “Keep quiet. You
don't know how lucky you are—how
lucky all of us аге.

For he was thinking of Colonel Roque-
brun, where he would probably be at
that moment and the telephone call he
would be making. and the Wolf added,
“Thank God, the brains of the old Fox
are still working."

Colonel Roq had not had
much sleep that nipht, yet this did not
vary his routine of opening his shop the
following morning by so much as a min-
ute. The Colonel had known times
when he had gone 50 hours without
closing an eye and yet remained alert
and efficient. It was just 24 hours since
Sarah Howard had drawn up before his
shop in her Jaguar. He wondercd who
his first visitor would be.

А squeal of brakes and the crunch of
tires answered his question, It was Сар-
tain Scoubide.

The Captain appeared exactly as he
had the morning before, for he had not
yet had time to change his clothes. The
only difference was that the left sleeve of
his shirt had been ripped from shoulder
to cuff, and through the gap there
showed the red of a long scratch.

For the rest, the Captain was just as

fer

uebrun

concerned that morning with maintain-
ing "correctness" as he had been the
day before, and he fingered onc or two
of the more expensive items of the Colo-
nel's stock to give him time to reflect
before he turned and said, “Thank you
for the tip."

Not at all,” replied the Colonel.
Concerning the matter of the re-
ward," here the Captain coughed, “it
may be necessary to split with ше in
order to avoid embarrassing questions."

“I fully understand this,” agreed the
Colonel,

“Sill,” the Captain suggested, ‘
000 francs is a tidy su

The Colonel picked up a 14th Cen-
tury ivory crucifix. "One always finds
uses for unexpected sums of money."

“Such as, for instance, the husband of
Madame Aubert?"

The Colonel never batted an eye.
"Poor woman," he said, "she has indeed
been passing through a difficult period

The Colonel's gaze was now so unmis-

takably upon the rent in his shirt that
Captain Scoubide felt compelled to re-
fer to it. “Nothing,” he said, “nothing
at all—fellow at the door—he was
momentarily argumentative.”
"The pictures?" suggested the Colonel.
‘Oh уез," muttered Captain Scoubide,
quite. In the cellar. Not only the
Renoirs but the others as well.”

“Ah,” said the Colonel, “I thought
perhaps they might —”

“A veritable petit Louvre," the Cap-
tain said. “The El Greco, the Van Dyke,
the moderns and two Brueghels which
had not yet even been reported stolen.
1 believe they expected to transfer them
to South America.”

“How embarrassing for Monsieur Du-
four and his friends. I gather they were
all there?”

“AIL except the Englishma

“The little blackmailer ——
aptain Scoubide permitted himself а
2. "That pigeon will keep,” he
said. "Another time. He was not impli-
cated in the actual robberies, he merely
provided the wealthy contacts. Dufour
was the brains, the Count the art expert
who selected the paintings, and Harry
was the gun. He killed the caretaker in
the Cap Ferrat robbery

‘The Colonel nodded, “He was also the
charmer, He worked on the women so
that they were reluctant to complain.
Excellent! I trust cverything went
smoothly?"

“Well, actually —" ше Captain be-
gan.

The Colonel sent his left eycbrow
once more toward the top of his bald
head.

“Harry,” explained
“When we wished to descend—he w:
so imprudent as to produce his weapon
nd discharge it at me. He shot too саге-
lessly. My bullet killed him. I will r
ceive a decoration for this, no doubt.

"And deservedly. my friend, de-
servedly.” the Colonel congratulated
wholeheartedly and with genuine admi

ration. He was of the school th
putting violence in its place with cool
nonchalance. Nevertheless, the violence
had taken place, and so experienced in
it was the Colonel that he saw it almost
as though he had been there: the bottom
of the cellar stairs perhaps. with all of
the advantage of Harry standing below.
Lugers had an carsplitting detonation in
confined quarters and their muzzles had
а way of spitting sparks as well as lead.
He shot too carelessly,” Scoubide had
said. Roquebrun imagined then that the
litdle detective would have fired between
the first and second shots from the
Luger. He had probably shot Harry
through the body, and the Colonel for
an instant pictured the surprised look
that must have come across Harry's face.
For no one ever expects to die.

Aloud he added, with satisfaction,
“That was a mouth that wanted stop-
ping.” For he was thinking of Sarah and
how she would have been smirched by
the alibi Harry would have daimed if
he had been brought to trial.

"It was your warning that he would
be armed that enabled me to be pre-

pared,” acknowledged the Captain. The
Colonel bowed. The liquidation of
Harry pleased enormously. It was

one of those fortuitous bits of luck some-
times encountered. It had been a loose
end that had worried him, and in all
his operations as Commander of the
FFI. in the Alpes-Maritimes, the Colo-
nel had been a tidy man.

The Captain began to move toward
the door, but hesitatingly, and Roque-
brun suspected there mj

judgmen

Scoubide coughed once more depre-

cati

gly and said, "By the way, some
friends of yours who live in the vicinity
of the Minoury Farm have suffered a
little inconvenience, one hears. Their
telephone has been cut, their cars dam-
aged; one of them has come by an injury
to his face, another a painful bruise.
Nothing serious though, I'm told.

"How kind of you to let me know,”
the Colonel said. "I must pay them a
visit and extend them my sympathy.
The Captain remained yet another
istint in the doorway, an expression
almost of tenderness and affection on his
features. He said, “I'm very pleased
with you, my friend, pleased and proud.”
And then, since there was no way by
which the Colonel could receive a medal
for his share in the night's work, the
Captain proceeded to decorate him with
one last little florid speech, which might
have proved embarrassing had it not
been so utterly sincere. “France survived
her defeat in the war and lives because
of such as you.” Then he tumed and
fled.

ival was not unexpected
the Jaguar of Sarah
Sarah was not in it. It
‚ Joel Howard, who was
alone in the driver's seat.

millionaire, a widow:
gly handsome man bursting with
American vitality, wasted no time in
getting to the point. He said, “I ar-
rived several hours ago. Sarah was at
the airport and I have spoken to Cap
tain Scoubide. I have come to thank

and а

The

Colonel Roquebrun, “for
п of the pictu
" said Joel Hot

ard, “for the re-

шш of

There was then a moment of silent
understanding between the two men be-
fore Howard spoke again. He be;
nt "Ihe pictures were insured
les which Ue were only things
But Sarah — " He ]
said, "Sarah has told me everything. Its
my fault that she has been running a
little wild since her mother died. 1 have
neglected her. 1 sh ats
when the Harrys move in. She is а very
lucky girl that you were here,”

The Colonel managed to look suitably
modest and deprecating, hoping in the
depths of his soul that never, never, not
ever would Mr. Joel Howard hear so
much as а whisper of the renaissance of
the Zoological G:

Howard had fallen into
musing at the conch
said, "My good
like to do som
would pei
— that might lie close to your heart, for
I know very well what manner of person
you are and the nature of your charities.
Would you permit it

The forked lightnings of thought а
billion times faster than speech flashed
through the mind of the Colonel as he
remembered his four former comrades

a moment's

on of which he
ad Pierre, 1 should
, iF you
ything

in arms and the idea behind their last
Ihe

romantic and abortive adventure.
reward money would help to alle
au theirs had been а

" he said, “give us a
hospital, Joel. U ip to date, with every
modern appliance and always beds free
to the poor who са
"Don the
shall have it.
“And 1 think,” Colonel Roquebrun

1 think | should like
LHoépital du Renoir Bleu.”
"Hospital of the Blue Rei ` How
ard repeated. "What
The Colonel's smile

grander ide

millionaire, “you

known

away
g once more of
ed they would
" he said.

ids and how pl
But a perfect опе
“L beg your pardon?” said. Joel How-
ard. “I don't quite understand
The Colonel did not expla

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162

THIN RED LIN

‘The chunk out of his arm would never
have killed him though it might have
pled him a bit, but blood was pour-
ing from the hole in his side into the
compresses somebody had stuck on it,
and from the soaked gauze dripping
down to stain the ground. When Stein
arrived, trailed by the wide-eyed Fife
with the telephone, Bead's eyes were
blank and he spoke just barely above
a whisper.

"Um dying, Captain!" he croaked,
rolling his eyes toward Stein. "I'm
dying! Me! Me! I'm dying! I'm so

scared!" He closed his eyes for a mo-
ment and swallowed. “I was just laying
there, And it hit me right in the side.
Like somebody punched me. Didn't
hurt much. Doesn't hurt much now. Oh,
Сары

“Just t
easy,” Stein said
bootless anguish.

"Where's Fife?” Bead creaked, rolling
his eyes. "Where's Fife?”

“He's right here, son, Right here,”
Stein said. “Fife! He himself turned
away, fecling like an old, old, useless
man. Grandfather Stei

Fife had stopped behind the Captain,
but now he crawled closer. There were
two or three others clustered around
Bead. He had not wanted to look; at the

n a kind of fruitless,

» (continued from page 121)

same time he could not convince himself
of the reality of it. Bead hit and dying.
Someone like Tella, or Pvt Jockey
Jacques, was different. But Bead, with
Whom he had worked so many days in
the ofice, in the orderly room. Bead,
th whom he had . . . His mind balked.
away from that. “I'm here,” he said.

“Im dying, Fife!” Bead told him.

Fife could not think of anything to
say, either. “I know. Just take it easy.
Just take it easy, Eddie,” he said, repeat-
ng Stein. He felt impelled to use Bead's
first name, something he had never done
before.

“Will you write my folks?" Bead said.

"DH write them.

“Tell them it didn't hurt me much.
‘Tell them the truth."

"EH tell them.

"Hold my hand, Fife,
then. "Em scared.”

For a moment, a second, Fife hesi-
tated. Homosexuality. Fagotism. Fairies.
He didn't even think them. The act of
hesitation was far below the level of
conscious thought. Then, realizing with
horror what he had done, he
gripped Bead's hand. Crawling closer,
he slid his other arm under his shoulders,
cradling him. He had begun to cry,
more because he suddenly rea

Bead croaked.

was doir

he was the only man in the whole conr
pany whom Bead could call friend, than
because Bead was dying.

“I've got it,” he said.

“Squeeze,” Bead croaked. “Squeeze.

Im squeezing.

"Oh, Fife!’ Bead cried. “Oh,
tain!”

His eyes did not go shut but they
ceased to see.

Alter a moment File put him down
and crawled away by himsell, weeping
in terror, weeping in fear, weeping in
sadness, hating himself.

It was only five minutes after that that
uself was hi

had followed him when he

crawled away. He obviously did not fully
understand Fife’s weeping. “Lie down
somewhere for a little bit, son,” he said,
and briefly patted his back. He had al-
ready taken the soundpower phone from
fe when he sent him up to Bead, and
now he said, “ГИ keep the phone for a
few minutes myself. There won't be any
calls coming in for a while anyway,
now,” he said with a bitter smile. Fife,
who had listened to the last call to Tall,
had in fact been one of Stein's two wit-
nesses, knew what he meant, but he was
in no condition or mood to make any
answer. Dead. Dead. АП dead, All dying.
None left. Nothing left. He had come
unstrung, and his unnerving was the
worse because he was helpless, could do
nothing, could say nothing. He must
stay here.

‘The mortar rounds had continued to
drop at random points along the fold
with strict regularity, all during the time
it had taken Bead to die, all during the
time after. It was amazing how few men.
they actually wounded or killed. But
everyone's face wore that same vague-
eyed, terrorized, in-drawn look. Fife had
seen ап abandoned, yellowdirt hole
few yards off to his right and he crawled
to this. It was hardly even а hole, really.
Someone had scooped out with his
hands, bayonet or entrenching tool a
shallow little trough. perhaps only two
inches below the surface. Fife crouched
flat in this and put his check to the mud.
Slowly he stopped weeping and his eyes
cleared, but as the other emotions, the
sorrow, the shame, the self-hatred seeped
out of him under the pressure of self-
preservation, the fourth component,
terror, seeped in to replace them until
he was only a vessel completely filled
with cowardice, fear and gutlessness.
And that was the way he lay. This was
war? There was no superior test of
strength here, no superb swordmanship,
no bellowing Viking heroism, no expert
marksmanship. This was only numbers.
He was being killed for numbers. Why
oh why had he not found and taken to
himself that clerkish deskjob far in the
rear which he could have h:

He heard the soft "shu-u-u" of the

Stein

mortar shell for perhaps half a second.
There was not even time to connect it
with himself and frighten him, before
there was а huge sunburst roaring of an
explosion almost on top of him. then
black blank darkness. He һай a vague
impression that someone screamed but
did not know it was himself. As if seeing

rk film shown with insufficient
tion, he had a misty picture of
an himself half-scram.

some ¢
illumin

someone other th

bling, half blown to his feet and then
dropping, hands to face in a stumbling,
rolling fall down the slope. Then noth

ing. Dead? Are we. that other one, is В

am he
Бис body came to rest rolling in the
lap of a 3d Platoon man, who happened
to be sitting up, his rifle in his lap. Tear
ing itself loose, it scrambled away on
elbows and knees, hands still to the face.
Then Fife returned to it and opencd
its eyes and saw that everything had be-
come a red flowing haze. Through this
swirling red he could see the comic,
frightened lace of the 3d Platoon тай
whose me was Drain. Never was there
a less likely, less soldicrly looking soldier.
Long fragile nose, chinless Jaw, pip.
squeak mouth, huge myopic сусу staring
forth in fright from behind thick glasses
Am I hit? Am I hit
yes," Train mumbled. “Y-you are.”
He also stuttered. “In the head."
“Bad? Is it bad?’
1 ccan't tell,” Train said.
b-blceding from your h-head.
"Am 12” Fife looked at his hands and
found them completely covered with the
wet red. He understood now that реси.
iar red haze. It was blood which flowing
down through his eyebrows had gouen
in his eyes. God, but it was red! Then
terror blossomed all through him like
some ballooning great fungus, making
his heart kick and his eyes до faint
Maybe he was dying, right now, right
here. Gingerly he probed at his skull and
found nothing. His fingers came away
glistening red, He had no helmet and
his glasses were gone.
“Livs in the b-back,” Train offered.
Fife probed again and found the
tornup spot. It was in the center of his
head, almost at the peak.
"H-how d-do you её”

"Y-vow're.

Train said

fearfully

“I dont know. It dont hurt Except
when ] touch it” Still on. hands and
knees Fife had bent his head, so that

the blood flowing into his eyebrows now
dripped to the ground instead of into
his eyes. He peered up at Train through
this red
“Gan wewalkz" Train said
“H dont know," c said, and then
suddenly realized that he was free. Не
did not have to stay here any more. Не
was released. He could simply get up
and walk away — provided he was able —
with honor, without anyone being able
t0 say he was а coward or courtmarshal-

you

ing him or putting him to jail. His re-
lief was so great he suddenly felt jovous
despite the wound.

“L think I better go back," he
"Dont you?”
"Yves T

said.
in said. a little wistfully.

"Well —" tried to think of
something final important to say
upon such à momentous occasion, but
he failed. “Good luck, Train," he та
ged finally.

“Th-thanks,” Train said.

Tentatively Fife stood up. His knees
were shaky, but the prospect of getting
out of here gave him a strength he might
At first slow!

Fife

and

had.

not otherwise have
then more swiftly, he began to walk
rearward with head bent and his
hands to his forehead to keep the still-
flowing blood from getting in his eyes.
"With cach step he took his sense of

his

What if they got him now? What it
they hit him with something else now
just when he was Iree to leave? As much
as he could, he hurried. He passed a
number of 3d Platoon men lying prone
with those terror-haunted, inward-look-
ing faces, but they did not speak and
neither did he, He did not take the
longer route back the way they had
come, over the second and first folds.
but took the direct one, walking straight
along the hollow between the folds to
the forward slope of Hill 2 Only
when he was halfway up the steep slope
of Hill 209 did he think of the rest of
the company, and pausing he turned
and looked back to where they lay. He
wanted to yell something to them, en-
couragement or something, but he knew
that from here they could never hear
him. When several sniper bullets kicked
up dir around him, he turned
and pressed on to come over the crest and
down into the crowded Battalion aid
station on the other side. Just before he
breasted the crest, he met а party. of
men coming down from it and recog:
nized Colonel Tall. “Hold on. son." the
Colonel smiled at him. “Dont let it get
you down. You'll be back with us soon."
At the aid station he remembered. his
one nearly fall canteen and. began to
drink greedily, his hands still shaking,
that he

He was reasonably sure now

would not dic

When Fife got hit, Bugger St had.
just crawled away from him, File
had crawled one way and Stein the
other, to instruct the two rema

squads of 2d Platoon to advance
reinforce Beck and Dale on the
ridge. He might just as easily have
crawled along with Fife and so have
been there when the mortar shell
landed. The element of chance in it was
appalling. It frightened Stein. Anyw:
he was dead-beat tired and depressed,
and scared. He had watched Fife stagger
bloodily to the rear, but there was noth-

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ing he himself could do because he was
already in the midst of instructing the
two squads from 2d Platoon about what
they were to do when they got to the
ige. and what they were to tell Beck —
which was, mainly, that he was to get his
ass out and moving and try to knock out
some of those machineguns.

None of them in the two squads
looked very happy about their assign-
ment, induding the two sergeants, but
they did not say anything and merely
nodded tensely. Stein looked back at
them carnestly, wishing there was some-
thing clsc, something important or seri-
ous, he could tell them. There wasn't.
He told them good luck and to go.

This time, as he had the last, Bugger
watched their run down through his
glasses. He was astonished to sce that this
time not one man was hit. He was even
more astonished, when he watched
through the glasses as they worked their
way up through the grass to the little
waist-high ledge, to see that here no one
was shot down, either. Only then did his
cars inform him of something they ought.
to have noticed carlier: the volume of
the Japanese fire had diminished con-
siderably since Sergeant Welsh's run
down to aid the mutilated Private Tella.
When he raised his glasses to the ledge
itself, as he did immediately, even before
the first of the newcomers began to ar-
rive, Stein was able to sce why. Only
about half of Beck's little twosquad
force was visible there. The rest were
gone. On his own hook, without ord
Beck obviously had sent part of his
group off raiding and, apparently, with
some

now had approp
somewhere (Stein Bill
Whyte's father had presented him with
a fine pair as а parting gift), and who
now was looking back at Stein with the
same astonished look on his face that
Stein knew he himself wore. For a long
moment they simply looked at each
other. Then, just as Stein was turning to
the newly arrived replacement medics to
tell them he thought they might cross
over to pick up the wounded with some
degree of safety now, а cool, calm voice
behind him said, "Now, Stein!" and he
looked up to see Colonel Tall his Battal-
ion Com leisurely toward.
him carrying beneath his arm the un-
lorned little bamboo baton he had
carried there ever since Stein had known
him.

What Bugger Stein and Brass Band
could not know was that Sergeant Beck
the martinet had, on his own initiative,
knocked out five Japanese machinegun
emplacements in the last 15 or 20 min-
utes, all at the cost of only one
killed and none wounded. Phlegmatic,
dull and universally disliked,
an unimaginative, do-itlike-the-book-says,

remembered

164 dedicated professional of two previous

enlistments, Milly Beck came to the fore
here as perhaps including
his dead superior, Keck, could have
done. Seeing that no reinforcements
were immediately forthcoming. framing
his dispositions exactly as he had been
taught in the small units tactics course
he had once taken at Fort Benning, he
took advantage of the terrain to send
six men around to the right of the ledge
and six to the left under his two acting
sergeants, Dale and Bell. The rest he
kept with himself in the center readied
to fire at whatever targets of opportunity
turned up. Everything worked. Even the
men he kept with himself were able to
knock down two Japanese who were
flecing from the grenades of his patrols.
Dale and his men on the left accounted
for four emplacements and returned un
touched. Finding the little ledge totally
unguarded, they were able to crawl into
the midst of the Japanese position and
drop grenades from the ledge down into
the rear doors of two covered, camou-
flaged emplacements they spotted below
them; the other two emplacements, on
the uphill side, were more difficult but
by bypassing them and crawling up
alongside they were able to pitch gre-
nades into the apertures. Not a single
one of them was even fired at. They re-
turned led by the grinning Dale licking
his lips and smacking his chops over his
s. The importance of their accom-
plishment was to cut down by at least
50 percent the firepower which could be
directed from the left of the ridge down
upon the Ist Platoon or into the flat
which their reinforcements later crossed
in safety.

Bell on the right was not so lucky, but
he discovered something of great impor-
tance. On the right the ledge slowly
graded upwards, and after bypassing and
grenading one small emplacement below
them Bell and his group came upon the
main Japanese strongpoint of the whole
position. Here the ledge ended а 20-
foot rockwall which further on became
a real cliff and was impassable. Just
above tl rockwall ütifully dug
and with apertures in three directions,
was the Japanese strongpoint. When the
lead man climbed out above the ledge
to detour around the rockwall, he was
riddled fatally by at least three machine-
guns. Both Witt the volunteer Kentuck.
ian and Pic Doll were in Bell's party,
but neither of them happened to be the
lead man. This distinction was reserved
for a man named Catch, Lemuel C
Catch, an oldtime regular and drunkard
апа a former boxing friend of Witts.
He died immediately and without a
sound. They pulled his body down and
retreated with it, while all hell broke
loose firing just above their heads, but
not before — further back along the
ledge — Acting Sergeant Bell got a good
look at the strongpoint so he could de-
scribe it.

Why he did it even Bell himself never
knew. Most probably it was sheer bitter-
ness and fatigue and a desire to get this
goddamned baule over with. Bell at
least knew that at the very least an
accurate, eyewitness description of
might prove valuable later on. Whatever
the reasons, it was a crazy thing to do.
Halting his men 35 to 40 yards back
from the rockwall where Catch had died,
Bell told them to wait and indulged him-
self in his crazy desire to look too. Lcav-

ng his rifle, holding a grenade in onc
hand, he climbed up the little ledge and
poked up his head. The Japanese firing
all had stopped now, and there was a
little scrub on the lip of the ledge here,
which was why he chose it. Slowly he
climbed up, led on by whatever insanc,
mud motive, ший he was out in the
open, lying in a tiny шие defiladed
place. АП he could see was the unending
grass, rising slowly along a hillock which
stuck up out of the ridge. Pulling the
pin, he heaved the grenade with all his
strength and ducked down, The grenade
fell and exploded just in front of the
hillock, and in the cyclone of MG fire
which followed Bell was able to count
five guns in five spitting apertures which
he could not see before. When the firing

ceased, he crawled back down to his men,
obscurely satisfied. Whatever it was th:

made him do it, and he still didn't know,
it made every man in his little. group
look at him admiringly. Motioning them
on, he led them back down and around
the ledge until the company's m i
tion at the third fold hove
From there on it was easy to get back.
Like Dale's group, they did not see or
hear a single Japanese anywhere near
the ledge. Why the ledge, which was the
real key to the whole position on the
ridge, had been left totally unguarded by
riflemen or MGs, no one ever found out.
It was lucky for both groups, as well as
for Beck's minuscule little attack plan,
that it was unguarded. As it was, they
had cleaned out all the Japanese below
the ledge and ablish real lini
and had changed the situation. That
they changed the entire situation almost
exactly at the precise moment Colonel
Tall walked on the field was one of those
happenstancical ironies which occur,
h are entirely unpredictable,
which seem to be destined to dog the
steps of certain men named 9

"What are you doing lying down there
where you can't sce anything?" was the
next thing Tall said. He himself was
standing upright but, because he was 10
or 12 yards away, only his head and the
tips of his shoulders, if anything of him
at all, showed above the crest. Stein
noticed he apparently had no incli
tion to come closet

Stein debated whether to tell him that
the situation had changed. Almost in the
last few seconds before his arrival. But

wl and.

cin.

he decided not to. Not yet. It would

look too much like an excuse, and a lame
So instead he answered, “Observing,
sir. | just sent the other two. syu
oon lorward to the ridge."
gp AS WE NW

xided. The rest of his

in noted, which included thre
privates as runners, his perso
and а you n named G
Battalion Exec, had decided
ht be just

that dt
well to be lying down

па
were hit this time’
was.

None, sir."

all d his eyebrows under the
Imer which sat so low on his sı k
е head. “Non ot опе?” A mortar
round mushroomed exploding dirt with
out hurting anybody somewhere
the rearward slope of the third fold
Tall coming forward to wh
permitted himself to squat

How many of them
Right to the point.

on

his

t doesn’t sound much like the
n you described 10 me over the
1 squi at him, his

The changed."
felt he could honorably tell it now.
“In just the last four or five minute
dded, and detested himself
ашйфше the

to what do you

When I
had d
m off t
cment

Tast

ant Beck,
looked, half of his men
peared. 1 think he sent th
d knock out some стр
they scem to have succeeded.”
From somewhere far off a
began to rattle
struck up dirt
the forward slope

yards below them on
Tall did not ch
position or alter his voice
сло him."
1 did. lc went
id with ud ew squads. But
Beck had already sent his men oll before
they got there
“1 see" Tall ш
squinted his blue ©
ridge in silence. The long line of М
bullets came sweeping back [rom Stein's
left, this time only 15 yards below thi
lid not move.
hey've seen you, si
ping over there,
g his remark, "all of us,
everybody with us. Do you
re formal complaints or

two

have any m
demurre;!
Ко, sir,

But 1 reite
rol down into the jungle on the right.

convinced its open down there.
There hasn't been a shot fired Irom there
all day. A Jap patrol could
filaded the hell out of us fre
very little trouble. I was a
He pointed away down the hollow be-

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\,

165

ROWAUIA

„
ЖОО;
ШР

.not here!”

George ..

“Please,

166

tween the folds
the jungle were
Fall followed
“In any case,
te in the day

to where the treetops of
barely visible, while

/s now too
to send a patrol down

there.”
“A patrol in force? A platoon? With
an MG? They could make a perimeter

defense i
аа

they didn't get back before

Do you want to lose a platoon? Any-
way, you're emptying your center. We
dont have A-for-Able гус, Ste

‘They're off on your r fighting
their own fight. B-for-Baker is our re

serve, and the
left.

“1 know that, sir.

"No, we'll do it my way. We'll take
everybody over to the ledge. We may be
able to take that ridge before nightlall."

“I think that ridge is quite а way from
reduced, sir," Stein said earnestly,
and adjusted his glasses, the four fingers
on the frame above, the thumb below.

"I dont think so. In any case, we can
always make a perimeter defense for the
night there. Rather than. withdraw like
yesterday." The conference was over.
Leisurely Tall stood up to his full
height. Again the MG in the distance
rattled, and a swishing line of bullets
struck the ground a few feet from him а
Stein ducked, the bullets seeming. at
least to Stein, to go whining off all about
Tall's fect and between his legs Tall
gave the ridge one contemptuous amused
Тоок and started walking down the rear-
ward slope still talking to Stein. "But
first | want you to get a man down there
to your Ist Platoon and move them by
the flank over to the ridge. They are to
take up position behind the ledge and
extend the left flank from Beck's left.
As soon as a man reaches your Ist P.
toon safely, ГЇЇ soundpower Baker to
move out, n we'll move.”
in said. He was unable to
keep his teeth from grinding, but his
voice was level. Slowly, very slowly, be-
cause he was reluctant, he too stood up
to his full height also, then followed Tall
down the slope. But before he could give
an order young Captain Gaff, who had
been lying prone not far away, had
ready crawled up to the

“ГИ go, sir," he said to Tall. "I'd like
to. Very much."

Tall gazed at him fondly. “All right,
John. Go ahead.” With strong fatherly
pride he watched the young captain
move away. "Good my young
Exec." he said to Ste

There was really no need for the
glasses this time. Ist Platoon wasn't all
that far away. Standing upright, their
heads just showing above the crest, Tall
and Stein watched Gall zigzag his wa
professionally down into the shellhole
area on the main flat to the left of the
grassy ridge. Stein had told him roughly
where to find Skinny Сип, now platoon

те comm

це on your

man,

commander by attrition. In а few mo-
ments men began moving to the right in
rushes, by twos and threes.

“АЙ right,” Tall said. “Give
soundpower.” He spoke into it а
"Okay," he said. “Now we'll go.”

Around them, as if sensing something
or other was in the wind, the men began
to stir.

Whatever else Stein could find to say
about him, and Stein could find plenty,
he nevertheless had to admit that with
TTall's arrival on the battlefield a cha
for the better had come over everything
and everybody. Partly of course the
change was due to Beck's feat, whatever
that was exactly. But it could not all be
that, and Stein had to admit it. Tall had
brought with him some quality that had
not been here belore, and it showed in
the faces of the men. They were less 1
drawn looking. Perhaps it was only the
feeling that after all їп the end not
everybody would die. Some would live
through it. And from there it was only
step to the normal reaction of ego: Z will
live through this. Others may get it, my
friends right and left may die, but I wil
make it. Even Stein felt better, himself.
Tall had arrived and taken control, and
had taken it firmly and surely and with
confidence, Those who lived would owe
it to Tall, and those who died would
хау nothing. It was too bad about those
ones; everybody would feel that; but
after all once they were dead they did
not really count anymore, did they?
"This was the simple truth, and Tall had.
brought it with him to them.

The whole thing was evident in the
way Tall handled the move forward.
Striding up and down in front of the
prone 3d Platoon, his litle bamboo ba-
ton in his right hand, tapping it lightly
against his shoulder as he frowned in
concentration, he explained to them
briefly what he planned to do, and wh

ne the
length.

nd what their part in it must be. He

did not exhort them. His attitude said
quite plainly that he considered any ex-
hortation to be cheating and trickery and
he would not indulge in it; they de-
served better than that; they must do
what they must 40. and do it without
any chauvinistic pleading from hi
there would be no jingoism. When the
move was completed and both lst and
3d Platoons were installed behind the
ledge to the left and right of the 2d, only
two men had been wounded and these
lightly, and everybody knew they owed
this to Golonel Tall. Even Stein felt the
same way.

But having got them that far, it was
evident that even Tall was not going to
get them very much further. It was now
after 3:30. They had been out here since
dawn, and most of them had not had
any water since midmorning. Several
men had collapsed. Nerves frayed by be-
g almost constantly under fire and

without water, many more were hysteri-
cally close to collapse. Tall could see all
this himself. But after taking the reports
of Beck, Dale and Bell, he wanted to
have, before dark, one more go at re-
ducing the strongpoint on the right.

‘The little assemblage of officers
noncoms around the Coloncl now
cluded those of B-forBaker. When
Charlie Co was making its move to the
ledge, Baker on Tall's telephoned orders
had made its third attack of the day.
Like the others it too had failed, and in
the confusion half of Baker had over-
Tapped Charlie's Ist Platoon on the left
and hung there. In returning the rest
had tumbled in and stayed there also,
so Tall had sent for their leaders, too.

“That strongpoint is obviously the key
to the ridge,” he now said to the whole
of them. "Se — uh — Sergeant Bell here
arp look
and went on, “From their knob the
our little brown brothers can cover the
whole of the flat rising ground in front
of our ledge from our right clear over to
Baker on the left. Why they left the
ledge unguarded 1 have no idea. But we
must exploit it before they see their
error. If we can reduce that big bunker,
І see no reason why we can't take the
whole ridge before nightfall. Fm ask
for volunteers to go back there
knock it out.”

St hearing for the first time this
news about a further atta so hor-
rified he could hardly believe his ears.
Surely Tall must know how depleted
and worn out they all were. But Stein's
impetus to argue with Tall had worn
out, especially in front of over half the
Battalion officers.

To John Bell, squatting with the
others, it was all once again like some
scene [rom a movie, a very bad, cliché,
third rate
have anyt
Colonel still rem ed fully wp!
paced back and forth with his
baton as he talked, but Bell noted that
he carefully remained far enough back
down the slope so that his head did not
show above the ledge. Bell had also
noted the hes n and then italicized
tion whe

is quite right.” He gave Bell a sl

ng
nd

г movie. It could hardly
ng to do with death. The

ht, still
mboo

pronun Tall applicd the
title Sergeant to himself. This was the
first time Bell had ever met his Colonel,

but there was no reason to assume Tall
did not also know his story. Everybody
che knew it. Perhaps it was this, more
than anything else, which made him зау
what he said.

“Sir, Il be glad to go back again and
lead the way for a party." Was he mad?
He was angry, he knew Шаг, but was he
insane as well? Ah, Marty!

Immediately. off to Bell's right, an-
other voice piped up. Hunchshouldered.
grapplehanded, crackfaced, Acting Ser-
geant Dale was making his bid for future
fame, future sinecures, future security
from army kitchens. For whatever it was

167

PLAYBOY

168 twice during his career, could a

that drove him. Bell did not know.

“ГЇ go, Colonel, sir! I want to volun-
teer!” Charlie Dale stood up. made three
formal forward, then squatted
if Dale, the liberated
cook, did not believe his offer legal with-
out the prescribed three paces forward.
From his squat he glanced all around,
his beady little eyes bright with some-
thing. To Bell the effect was distastefully
ludicrous, laughable.

Almost before Dale had squatted, two
lded. Behind Bell,
ies and within the
mnant of his own little patrol group,
Pic Doll and Private Witt came forward.
Both sat down, much closer to Bell than
to Dale who still squatted by hinsclf.
Bell felt impelled to wink at them.

Pfc Doll, who was sull outraged over
the success of Charlie Dale's patrol as
ainst their own, was startled by Bell's
wink. Why the f-— would anybody
want to wink? From the moment he
spoke and started to move forward Doll
had felt his heart in his throat again.
ing his eves swim dizzily. Moving his
tongue in his mouth was like rubbing
two damp pieces of blotting paper to-
gether. He had had no water for over
four hours, and thirst had become so
much a part of him that he could not
remember ever having been without it.
But this other was extra, this blotting
paper in his month was the thirst of [ca
and Doll recognized it Was Bell
culing him? He essayed a small cold
guarded smile at Bell.

Witt on the other hand, sitting relaxed
to the left of Doll and a little nearer to
Bell, grinned and winked back. Witt was
at ease. He had made up his mind, when
he first volunteered himself back into the
old company this morning, to go through
with it all the way. And that was what
he intended to do. When Witt made up
his mind, it was made up, and that was
that, As far as he was concerned this
volunteer mission was only another little
chore to be got through and done by a
few men of talent like himself. He had
enough confidence in himself as a soldier
to be pretty sure he could take саге of
himself in any situation requ
and as for accidents or bad luc
of those caught him, well, it caught him,
and that was that. But he didn’t bel
one would, and in the meantime he was
sure he could help out, perhaps save a
lot of his old buddies — some of whom,
like that punk kid Fife, had not even
wanted him to come back in the outfit.
But Witt wanted to help, or save as
many of them as he could, even Fife if it
had happened like that.

Then, besides all of this, Witt had
acquired considerable respect 1-
miration for Bell carlier, оп the patrol
when Bell pulled his stunt of exposing
himself like he bad. Witt, who had been
а corporal three times and a sergeant
ppreciate

other voices were а

from among the pri

ido and

intelligence and courage in a man. And,
despite the fact that he was chary of his
personal endorsements, he now liked
Bell. Witt felt that, like himself, Bell had
the qualities of real leadership. Торе
might do a lot, help, or save, a lot
of guys. He liked Bell ex-ofücer or not.
So he grinned and winked back his [ecl
ing of kinship, before turning his atten-
ion back to Tall, whom Colonel or not

nce to
his volunteers had been coming
so thick and fast. He now had four.
And before he could say anything to the
four, he acquired three more in rapid
succession. A rather elderly, Calvinistic-
looking 2d Lieutenant, who might well
have been a Chaplain but was not, pre-
mself from amongst the В Cor
ny officers. А В Comp
followed him. Then Tall's own

Exec,
young Captain Gaff, put in his two

cents and offered his sen

“Td like to lead the part
he said.

Tall held up his hand. “That's enough
that's enough. Seven is plenty. In the t&
rain you'll be working more men would
only hinder you, I think. I know many
more of you would like to go, but you'll
have to wait for another opportunity.’

Captain Stein, hearing this, peered at
his Commander closely through his
glasses, and was amazed to sce that Tall
was in deadly earnest and not joking a
all. He was not even being ironic.

Turning to Gaff, Tall said, “АП right,
John. It’s your baby. You'll be in com-
mand. Now . -

Professionally, he laid out their opera-
tion for them. Succinctly, effi
missing no smallest detail or advantage,
he planned their tactics. It was impos-
ble not to admire both his ability and
his command of it. Stein for one, and he
wis sure he was not alone, was forced
to admit that here in Tall was а talent
and ап authority which he himself just
simply did not possess.

“Almost certainly you will find the
bunker guarded by smaller МС posts
around it But I think it is better to
nore these and go for the strongpoint
itself if you possibly can. The little posts
will fall of themselves if the big one is
taken; remember that.

“Thats all, gentle
a sudden smile.
your positions, but I w
remain. Synchroni
John. Give Dog Co = oh — 12 minutes
before you radio your first call. It should
take you that long to get there,”

As the t party crawled off
to the right along the ledge, Colonel
Tall was already on the soundpowe
phone to contact Batalion. Captain
Stein, squatting with the officers who had
been told to stay and looking over at
his own waterless exhausted men behind
the ledge, could not help wondering

Colonel,”

Noncoms

return. to

just how far uphill they would be able
to attack, even if the strongpoint fell?
Thirty yards maybe? before they col-
lapsed? The assault раму disappeared
around the corner of the hillside. Stein
turned his attention back to Tall and
the little group of company officers. of
whom only six remained now out of 10.
And as the assault party approached the
spot where Bell earlier had exposed him-
self, Colonel Tall was already explaining:
to his officers his auxiliary plan, should
the assault on the bunker fail. И that
happened, Tall wanted to effect a sur-
prise night attack. Of course that would
mean suing up a perimeter defense
first, so they should be prepared. Because
Tall Ч no intention of withdrawing
tonight as 2d Battalion had done vester-
day. He himself would stay with the
Battalion. In the meantime of course
there was always the chance, the off
chance, that the assault party would
succeed.

John Bell, crawling along in the lead
of the little seven-man assault group.
did not concern himself with whether the
attack could succeed. He kept thinking
only that he had volunteered to lead a
party back. He had not volunteered to
be a fighting part of it. But no one ex-
cept himself had. p
tention to this nicety of plu
here he was, not only leading them as
point, but expected to fight with them,

nd unable to back out without looki
cowardly, schmucky. Pride! Pride! What
stupid foolish things it forced us to do in
its goddam name! He kept his eyes
glued on that changing point where
the ledge disappeared around the curve
of the hillside. It would be just his god-
damned luck to find the Japanese had
suddenly decided to correct their fault
nd put some men down h to cover
this ledge. He as the point would be the
rst big fat target. Initably, he glanced
К to motion the others to come on
and in doing so discovered something
strange. Не no longer cared very much.
He no longer ca
hunger, thirst, dirt, the
petual fear, weakness from
bruises. danger had
of him until somewhere wit
few minutes — Bell did not know exactly
wh he had ceased to feel human.
much ol so many different emotior
been drained from him that his emo-
tional reservoir was empty. He still felt
, but eve so dulled by emo
tional apathy (as distinct from physic:
apathy) that it was hardly more tl
vaguely unpleasant. He just no longer

that w

fea

пап. When the others came up,
wled on whistling over to himself
a song called / Am An Automaton to
the tune of God Bless America.

They thought they were men. They

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all thought they were real people. They
ly did. How funny. They thought
they made decisions and тап their own
lives, and proudly called themselves free
individual human beings. The truth was
they were here, and they were gonna
stay here, until the state. through some
other automaton told them to go some-
place else, and then they'd go. But
they'd go freely, of their own free choice
hd will, because they were free indi-
vidual human beings. Well, well.
When he reached the spot where he
had crawled out above the ledge he
stopped and sending Witt ahead to
guard, pointed the place out to Captain
її.
Witt, when he crawled out to take the
point — or post rather, it was, since they
were no longer moving—did think he
was a man, and did believe he was a
т person. As a matter of fact, the
question had never entered his head. Не
had made his decision to volunteer him-
self back into the old outfit, and he had
made his decision to volunteer for this
thing, and he was a free individual hu-
man being as far as he was concerned
He was frce, white and 91 d had never.
taken. — oll nobody and never
would, and as the prospect of action got
closer and closer he could feel himself
tightening all up inside with excitement,
аспу like he used to do in the coal
strikes back in Bloody Breathitt. The
chance to help, the chance to save all
his friends that he could, the chance to
kill some more goddam Japanese, he
would show that [-—-ing Bugger Stei
who had had him transferred out as
a malcontent. Standing on his knces
out away from the ledge, he held his
rifle ready with the safety off. He had.
not shot squirrel all his life for nothing,
he had not made High Expert on the
range for the past six years for nothing,
cither. His only fear was that somethin:
might open up back there where
Gaff was trying to make up his mind,
while he was out here on t— on
post, rather — and. could not get into ii
Well, they would know soon enough.
And Witt was right. They did know
soon enough. After he had been shown
the spot, young Captain Сай, who if he
was nervous at all hid it to perf
decided to crawl out for a look h
and after һе returned, decided that this
was as good a spot to observe the fire as
any. The only trouble was that the tiny
low place with its thin short brush cover
too low to allow him to drag the
walkie-talkie up there above the ledge.
“Any of you guys know how to operate
this thing?" he asked. Bell was the only
опе who did. "Okay. vou stay below the
ledge and ГИ call down the data to you
from up above," Gaff said. First though.
he would call them and set up the co-
ordinates himself, Then he ned his
plan. Once the 815 had plastered the

no s

poi

pl

place as much as they were able, he and
his trusty band would crawl out along
the low place until they formed a line,
then they would try to crawl as clos
they could through the grass befor
throwing their grenades. "Okay?" Bell's
automatons all nodded heads.
“Okay. Then here we g

Сай crawled out into the low place
before the first shells arrived, They could
hear their soft shu-shu-shu coming al-
most straight down before they hit, then
the hillside exploded into smoke and
flame and noise. Only about 30 yards
from the bunker, they were showered
with a rain of dirt, chips of rock
small pieces of hot metal. Someone had

their

the ledge, and they all clung to it wi
their faces pressed against the sha
rock and their eyes closed, cu
hatred the goddamned mortarmen be-
ае they might drop a short round,
though they didn’t, After 15 minutes
of this, during which Galf constantly
yelled down changes of range, Gall fi
nally yelled down, “Okay! Tell them to
stop!” Bell did. “I think that's enough!"
Gall yelled down. “Whatever dama
they can do, they've done by now.

as the command was executed
way, the mortars stopped
in a silence that was almost as
ing as the noise had be

Gaff called much more softly,

If they were under any hopeful illusion
that the mortar barrage had smashed and
uttened every Japanese in the эпо
point, they were straightened out on this
point right away. As the elderly, morose,
Calvinisticlooking 2d Lieutenant from
B-for-Baker climbed out first, he foolishly
climbed straight up exposing himself to
the waist, whereupon a Japanese
| nmediately shot him three
times through the chest. He fell down
flat on his face in the liule trough, as
he should have been in the first pli
and hung there, his legs dangling stra
down against the ledge in the faces of
those behind him. Gingerly, and
gently as they could, they pulled him
back down behind the ledge. Stretched
out on his back with his eyes shut and
breathing shallowly, he looked more
morose than ever, He did not open his
s and put both hands up over his
ged chest and went on breathing
shallowly, sourvisaged, Calvinistic, hi
blue jowls shining darkly in the late
afternoon sun.

"Well, whadda we do now?" Charlie
Dale snarled. "We can't take him with
us,"

"We'll have to leave him," Witt said.
He had just come up.

“You can't leave him here," the Baker
Company sergeant protested
” Dale snarled. "He's from your
company. You stay with him.”

"Nah," the Baker Company sergeant

siid. “I didn't volunteer for this thing
just to sit with him,”
I should have been a Chaplain,” the
dying man said in a faint voice without
opening his eyes. "I could have, you
know. I'm an ordained minister. I never
should have fooled around with Infantry.
My wife told me.”

“We can leave
on the way back,
alive.”
You boys want to pray with me?"
the Lieutenant said, his eyes still closed.
"Our Father Who art in Heaven, Hal
lowéd be Thy Name.”

"We can't, Sir." Dale interrupted po:

Bell said. "If he's

. "We got to get going. The Сар:

itin on us.”
АН right," the Lieutenant said, still
without opening his eyes “РИ do it my-

self. You boys go ahead. Thy Kingdom
come, Thy Will be done, on earth as it

is in Heaven, Cive us this day our

As they climbed out one by one on
weir faces and bellies so as not to make
the same mistake he made, the fai
с топе fecbly on. Dale went first,
t immediately bet

“The son of a bitch,” Witt whispered

when they were both the trough be-
hind the ih fragile screen of leave:
“I wish he had of been a Chap
They've seen us now. They know we're
here. ИЗ going to be hell."
Yeh, f— his goddam pravin," Dale
said, but he did not say it with much
force. He was too busy looking all
ound everywhere, eyes wide with ten-
sion.

Bell was the last to go, but he stopped

at the ledge feeling he ought to say
something. some word of encouragement,
except what did you say to а m:
"Well good luck, sir," he m
finally.
Thanks, son," the Baker Company
Lieutenant said without opening his
eyes. "Which one are you? 1 dont want
to open my cyes if I can help it.”

“I'm Bell,

“Oh, yes,” the Lit said. “Well,
if you get the chance, maybe you can say
some litle prayer for my soul. 1 dont
want to embarrass you. But it certainly
can't do my soul no harm, can it?”

"Okay, sir," Bell said. “Goodby.”

As he climbed out, pressing his face
und chest as hard into the dirt of the
trough as he could, the faint voice went
droning feebly on, repeating some other
Kind of prayer now which Bell had never
ће,

voi
w

tena

ard and didn't know, Automatons. Re-

ous automatons, gious automa-
tons. The Business and Professional
Automatons Club, Chaplain Gray will
give the benediction. Yes, siree. The dirt
tasted very dusty in his mouth that was
pressed to it.

Captain Gaff, the Battalion Exec, had
crawled completely to the end of the

trough and out beyond the tiny little
brush screen, a matter of 20 or 30 yards.

“Is he dead?” he asked when the
others reached him. They were now
strung out single file one bchind the
other in the trough.

Not yet,” Dale whispered from im-
mediately behind him.

Out here beyond the little screen of
brush they were more in the open,
though the trough still hid them, but
here the grass was much thicker than
back near the ledge, and it was here that.
Gaff had decided to make his move.
"They were to turn their little line by its
right Bank, he informed Dale and Witt
behind him, and told them to pass it
back, and on his signal begin to crawl,
out of the trough and through the grass,
toward the bunker. They were not to
fire or throw their grenades until he gave
the signal. He wanted to get as close to
the bunker as possible without being
scen

Actually,” he pointed out to Dale
behind him, е could go straight on
here. You sec? After that little open
space we would be behind that little
rise, and I think we could maybe crawl

all the way around behind them.”

“Yes, sir," Dale said.

“But I dont think there's that much
time.”

es, sir,” Dale said.

“That would take at least another
hour of crawling,” Gall said carnestly.
“And I'm afraid it’s too near dark.”

"Yes, sir,” id.

"What do you think?" Gaff said.

“1 agree with you, sir,” Dale said. No
goddam officer was goin to get Charlie
ile to take no responsibility for what
the officer done.

“Has everybody b
formed?” Сай whispered.

A HE

Gaff sighed. "Okay. Lets do it”

Slowly Сай snaked his belly over the
lip of the trough and off into the grass.
dragging his rifle by the muzzle rather
than cradling it, so as not to disturb the
grass more than absolutely necessary. One
by one the others followed.

For John Bell it was like some insane,
mad nightmare which he could remem-
ber having had before. His elbows and
fect fell through holes in the mat of old
dead stems, catching and holding him.

па been in-

A

171

PLAYBOY

172 was only 10 yards awa

Dust and seeds filled his nose and choked
him. Stems whipped his face. Then he
remembered: it that crawl up
through the grass to the ledge with
Keck. It really had happened to him
after all, And Keck was dead now.
what set
were crawl-
ing along cach man
totally alone and separate and out of
contact with the others, and in the next
machinegun fue was whipping and
slashing over and around bout
them. No one had fired, no one had
thrown a grenade, no one had shown
himself. Perhaps one nervous enemy had
seen some grass move and had fired, thus
setting them all off. Whatever it was,
they now lay in a storm of fire, separated
and cut off from contact with cach other,
unable to take concerted action, Each
man put his head down and huddled to
the ground, pra ods ог godless-
nesses that he might keep on living.
Contact was lost and with it all com-
mand and control. Nobody could move.
And it was in this static situation of po-
tial total loss that Plc Don Doll came
forward as hero.

was

None of them cver knew
them off. One moment the

п utter silence,

g pressed flat in an ec
y . terror, fear and coward
ice, Doll simply could not stand it any
1 too much this div
nd over in a high falsetto
the one word “Mother! Mother!," which
fortunately nobody at all could hear,
least of all himself, he leaped to his feet
nd began to run straight at the Jap:
nese emplacement, firing his rifle from
his hip at the one embrasure he could
sec. As if startled beyond reasonable ех
pectation, most of the Japanese fire
stopped suddenly. At the same moment
Captain Galf, relea s own tem-
porary panic, leaped ир his arm
and bawling "Back!" With him in the
lead the rest of the assault force ran for
the trough and th
Doll charged on. май
"Mother! Mother!”
When his rifle was empty, 1
the embrasure, drew his p
began firing that. With his left hand he
tore a grenade from his belt, stopped
firing the pistol long enough to pull the
pin with one finger, and lobbed the
grenade over onto the camouflaged roof
of the emplacement, which he could
now see clearly since it was only about
20 yards away, and where the grenade
xploded uselessly and without effect,
Then, continuing to fire the pistol, he
charged on. Only when the pistol ceased
to fire for want of ammunition did he
come to his senses and realize where he
was. Then he turned and ran. Luckily
for him, he did not turn back toward
the others but simply blindly off to
the right — though he would de
later. In that direction the cun

ing over

threw it
tol and.

y this
g ledge
and he reached

it before the mass of the Japanese fire,
which by now as if getting over its start
had commenced again, could find him
and cut him dow:

From behind him as he ran the 10
ds a dark round firzing object arched

у

over his head and fell а few feet in front
ally Doll kicked at it
all

with his foot as if placekicking a food
and ran on, It bounced away a few yar
nd exploded in a cloud of black smoke
which knocked him down. But when he
fell he found that there was nothin
under him; he had
His foot stinging

len over the ledge.
infully, he bounced
to the foot of the ledge at almost the
exact spot where Private Catch had been

killed, landed with a bonejarring thud,
then rolled another 12 yards further
down the hillside before he could get
himself stopped, For a while he just Tay
in the grass, breathing in ised.
sore, the wind knocked out of him, hall-
blinded, thinking dully of almost noth-
ing. This one had not been like his oth:
experiences: the zigzag тип back from Ist
Platoon, then the return то find Skinny
Culn, not like the charge up the ridge
with Keck. This one had been horrible,
ıd completely horrible, without
ving qualities or graces, He de-
ү hoped he would never have even
nk of it again, When he looked at
his shoe, he found a neat little slit a
l6th of an inch long just above the
ankle bone. Where the f-—— was he,
2 He knew where he was, but was
he alone? What had happened to the
others? Where were they? At the mo-
ment all he could think about was that
he wanted to be with people, so he
could put his arms around somebody
nd they could put their arms around

anyw

him. With this in mind he got up,
climbed to the ledge aud ran gasping
back along it ull he came to the trough,

where he almost headon into the
others, all sitting against the rock and
gasping breathlessly. Ouly one of them,
the Sergeant from Baker Company, had
been hurt, and he had had his shoulder
smashed by ап MG bullet.

"Doll" Captain Gall gasped, before
Doll could apologize, make excuses ог
explain away what he had done, "Im
personally recommending you to Colonel
‘Tall for the Distinguished Service Cros
You saved all our lives, and 1 never saw
such bravery. 1 shall write the recom-
mendation myself, and 1 shall pursue i
I promise you.”

Doll could hardly believe his own cars.
Well, sir. it wasn't nothin,” he gasped
modestly. “J was scared.” He could see
Charlie Dale looking at him with a kind
of hate-filled envy from where he leaned
gasping against the ledge. На. vou
f—er! Doll thought with a sudden ex-
plosion of pleasure.

“But to have the presence of mind to
remember that the ledge was 10 yards ой
there to the right," Gaff gasped, "that

was wonderful.”

“Well, sir. you know, I was with the
first patrol,” Doll said and smiled at
Dale.

“So were some of these others.” young
Captain Сай said. He was still breathing
heavily but beginning to get his breath
back. “Are you okay? Youre not hurt?"

“Well, sir, 1 dont know.” Doll smiled,
and proceeded to show them the tiny slit
in his boot.

What's that from:
ар handgrenade. 1 kicked it
He bent to unlace the shoe. “I
better look." Inside he found the little
piece of metal, which had slipped to the
bottom of his shoe like a pebble, but in
actual truth he had not even felt it dur-
ing the run back along the ledge.
"Hunh'" he lied, laughing. “1 thought 1
had a rock in my shoe." It had struck
his anklebone just above its peak and
it slightly: it had bled a little into
sweat-wet sock.
By God! Е exclaim
a scratch, but by God In
ng you for the Purple He:
might as well h
except for that?”

“I lost my rifl

“Take L Сай said.
He looked around at the others. “We
better be getting back. And tell them
we couldn't ta the objective. Can a
couple of you drag Licutenant Gray?"
Gall turned to the Baker Company ser-
“You all he Think you can

d. “Is only
recommend-
too. You

ve it. But you're all right

7 Doll said.
tenant. Gray's,

un all т
said with a g

ght,” the Baker Go sergeant
n that. was more a pained
grimace. “It only hurts when I laugh.
But 1 want to thank you!" he said, wrn-
ing to Doll.
Dont thank me," Doll said, and
laughed shyly, brilliant-eyed, with а new
magnanimity born of his sudden recog-
nition, He had forgotten all about want-
ing to put his arms around somebody, ог
have them put their arms around him,
"But what about you? Are you going to
be all right?” He looked down at the
bloody hand from which blood dripped
slowly as the arm hung useless against
the sergeant’s side, and suddenly he was
scared ара

"Sure, si the sergeant s
“Im out of it now. ГИ be goin
І hope I'm crippled a little.’

“Come on, you guys,” Сары
said. "Let's move. You can talk it over
liter. Dale, you and Witt di Lieuten-
ant Gray. Bell, you help the sergeant.
TH take the walkie-talkie. Doll, you rear
guard us. Them little brown brothers, as
the Colonel likes to call them. are liable
10 send some people down here after их,
you know

And thus arranged the little party
back. The Japanese sex
no one after them. С
Bell and the B-for-Baker serge
him, then Dale and Witt. drags

made its wa

aff with the radio,
ant behind

g the

dead lieutenant's body by its two feet,
with Doll bringing up the rear, they did
not make a very prepossessing sight as
they came crawling around the corner
into view of the Battalion, But Gaff had
been talking to them on the way back
“If we do get another chance at it
tomorrow, I think we take it,” he
1, "and I for one am going to volun-
teer for the assignment. If we crawl on
across that open space and get behind
the Ише тїзє, we can come around in
behind them and come down on them
from above. Thats what we should have
done today. From above like that we can
put the grenades to them easier than
hell. And that’s what I'm going to tell
the Colonel.”
And strangely enough, there w
опе of them but who wanted to go
with him — excepting of course the В.
Company sergeant who of course could
not go. Even Jolm Bell wanted to
just like all the others. Automatons
What was it? Why? Bell did not know.
What was this peculiar masochistic, self-
destructive quality in himself which made
him want to get out in the open and cx-
pose himself to danger and gunfire
had that first time at the trough? Once
as а child — (once? mı times, and in
many different ways, but this one par-
ticular time when he 15, and the
memory assailed him now so strongly
that it way as if he were actually there,
living it again) — once he had gone for а
tramp in one of the Ohio woods outside
his town. This particular woods had a
diff and a cave. if you could call a hole
four leet deep in the rock a cave, and
up above the clill there was more woods
for about 50 yards which ended at a
graveled country road. Across the gravel
road farmers were working in their fields,
Не their voic па the snorts and
jingles of their horses and harness, he
had a strange sweet secretive excitement.
Peeking through the screen of leaves that
marked the end of the wood, he could
sce them, Tou overalls and rub-
ber boots standing beside the fence, but
they could not see him. A lot of cars
uscd this graveled country road, too.
One of the cars, witl man and three
stopped to talk to Ш
ad Bell suddenly knew w
was going to do. In a sweet, hot
visceral excitement he retreated through
the trees almost all the way back to the
спор and bes to take off his clothes.
vas born in the
, nich June air, he crept like an
п back to the screen of leaves, the
nd old leaves crunching noiselessly
r his bare feet, leaving his clothes
and his sandwiches back there behind
him because that was all part of it: his
clothes must be far enough away so that
he could never reach the
were caught or se

not

hc

nen ir

women in i

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174

cheating: and standing just behind the
leaf screen, where he could sec them
and the expressions on all thei

ion, he masturbated
ing along behind Captain С:
a ledge on Guadalcanal, helping along
the wounded sergeant beside him, John
Bell stopped and stared, transfixed by a
revelation. And the revelation, brought
on by his old memory, and which he was
forced to face, was that his volunteering,
his climb out into the trough that first
time, even his participa n the failed
ult, all were — in some way he could
not fully understand — sexual, and as
sexual, and in much the same way, as his
childhood incident of the graveled road.
"Ouch!" said the sergeant beside him.
зоа dama it”

dh! Pm sorry!” Bell said.

He had not thought of that episode in
Jong time, When he had told that one
to his wile Marty, it had excited her too,
nd they had gone rushing olf to bed
ther to make love. Ahhhhh, Marty!
The silent cry was like ап explosion
involuntarily from his bowels.
tly Bell with his new knowledge
looked around at the others. Were their
reactions sexual too, then? How to know?
He couldn't tell, But he knew that he
himself, as had all the others said too,
would be volunteering to go back again
tomorrow if the chance arose. Partly it
was an esprit de corps and a closeness of
comradeship coming from having shared
something а bit tougher than the rest.
Partly it was Captain Сай whom he
liked and respected more and more all
the time. And partly, for him at least, it
was that other thing, which he could
hardly name, that thing of sexuality.

а exe

Could it be that with the others? Could
it be that all war was basically sexual?
Not just in psych theory, but in fact,
actually and emotionally? A sort of sex-
ual perversion? Or a complex of sexual
perversions? That would make a funny
thesis and God help the race.
But whether or not Bell could discover
his comrades anything about th
sexual involvement, and he couldn't, he
could read something else in their faces.
т пзе of no
longe had be-
come a of in himself on the way
Ш their faces.
Gaff who had only been up here
h them lor a couple of hous was
showing a bit of it now. So Bell was not
пе. And when they crawled, limping
d licking their wounds, back into the
idst of the Battali which al-
ly beginning to take on the look of
a permanent, organized. po:
indeed it was, or was soon to become, he
was able to note the same ahumanness
in many other faces, some more than
others, all of them almost precisely me:
ble in direct ratio to what the owner
ol the face had been through since dawn
ay. Next to his own little assault
group, those who had made the first
Grossing with Keck showed it the most.
It was getting very close to k. In
т absence, they found most of Charlie
id оп Colonel Lall’s orders already dug
themselves in a few yards back from the
ledge. As it turned out, their little battle
had been heard and interpreted correctly
as a failure, and because of this B-for-
Baker had been ordered to pass below
and to the rear of Charlie, curving their
flanks uphill to join and thus completing
the defensive circle, and were now busily

spiritual numbness and s
feeling human which h

up, was growing apace on
Eve

“Oh come now. Surely you've heard
of socialized medicine?”

work digging their holes for the night
here was to be no withdrawal. Holes
for themselves. the little assault force,
were already being dug for them, also on
Colonel Tall's orders.

And as it also turned out, as they
Tound out almost immediately, they were
going to get a chance at the bunker ag;
tomorrow. Colonel Tall made this рі:
to them as soon as he took Captain Gall's
report. Coloncl Tall's plan for a n
attack, about which they knew nothi
and of which they heard with aston
ment, had been vetoed by the Division
Commander. But at least, Colonel Tall
said, he had made the offer. Anyway, he
agreed with Captain Са tactical inte
pretation completely. He shook В
with Doll first because of his recom-
mendation for the DSC, then with each
of the others. excepting of course Licu
tenant Gray, who was already on his w
back to Hill 209 on a stretcher. Then,
his bamboo baton under m,
he dismissed the enlisted men and turned
to a dispositions discussion about tomor-
row with the officers.

Colonel Tall’s plan, which he had de-
vised after receiving the news of the re-
jection of his proposed night attack, was
one calculated to take account of every
contingency, and it utilized — as Bugger
Stein was quick to note — Stein's sugges-
tion of today to explore the right for the
flanking maneuvei

was to e his
Charlie Company (less the men with
Gaff) back across the third fold and move
dewn the hollow to the right into th
jungle which had been so quiet today.
Unless he encountered very heavy re-

nds

sistance, he was to push on to the top
of the Elephant's Head from the rear
“That Elephants Trunk is one hell of
fine escape route for our brown broth-
ers,” smiled Colonel Tall. If Stein could
get astride of it higher up where the
slopes were steeper, perhaps they could
bottle up the whole force. Meantime,
Baker would be moved by Captain Task
up to the ledge, where he would wait the
reduction of the strongpoint by Captain
Саъ assault force to begin his uphill
frontal attack. “I'm giving you the
roundabout flanking movement, Stein,
because it was your idea in the first
place,” said Colonel Tall. Perhaps. but
only perhaps, and then cven only to
Stein, there was a veiled double meaning
in the slightly thin way Tall s

“That Bell,” Colonel
the discussion of his р

id it.

Tall said after

n was over, He
looked ой to where he һай thoughtfully
placed the assault force near to бау
hole and his own. "He's а good man.
This time the unspoken meaning was
clear to every officer present, since they
nd they knew Tall knew,
t Bell's past as an officer.

in with boyish enthusiasm, and without
reservation.

“In my company 1 have always found
im an excellent soldier,” Stein said when
Tall glanced at him.

Tall said no more, and so neither did
Stein. He was willing enough to Ict well
enough alone. Stein һай increasingly
found himself put by Tall into the post
tion of a guilty schoolboy who had failed
his exam, although the Colonel had
never said anything to him openly or
directly, Slowly the talk among the ofi-
cers drifted back to the outlook for to-
morrow as they squatted in the center
of the position. It was almost quiet now:
the high racketing which had hung in
the П day had ceased some time ago,
and only sporadic тіНебте was heard
now in the distance. Both sides lay w:
ing and breathing.

‘And as the twilight deepened, that was
the way they remained: the little knot
of officers in the center discussing the
prospects and possibilities of tomorrow
the men in the holes around the circle
checking and cleaning their weapons:
the Battalion at the end of its first real
day of real combat: neither successful
nor unsuccessful, nothing decided, сх-
hausted, growing number. Just before
Tull dark the officers parted and went to
their own holes to lie down and wait
with the men for the expected Ja
night attack. Perhaps the worst tl
that now one could no longer smoke.
‘That, and the shortage of water. A few
more men had collapsed during the late
afternoon and been carted away like the
wounded, and many more remained on
the verge of collapse. Fear was а prob-
lem too, more in some, less in others,
according to how far the ahuman numb-
ness had advanced in each. John Bell
was not afraid at all now, he found. Wait
until the shooting started, to get scared.

They were paired off of course, two in
each hole, one man to guard, one to
sleep; but nobody slept very much.
Quite a few men, spending their first
night outside their own lines, fired at
shadows, fired at everything, fired at
nothing, r g their positions: but
the expected. Japanese night attack did
not develop, though they did manage to
cut both companies’ soundpower phone
lines. Probably they were too weak and
too sick to attack, And so the Battalion
lay and waited for the dawn. Along
about two o'clock Jolin Bell suffered an-
other malarial attack of chills and fever
like the one he had had two days before
on the road, except that this one was
much worse. At its worst he was shaking
so uncontrollably that he would have
been of no use to anybody if the Japa-
ese had attacked. And he was not alone.
First Sergeant Welsh, clutching his pre-
cious musctte bag containing the leather-
bound Morning Report book in which
for tomorrow he had already recorded
in the dusk all of the personnel changes

“Watch closely, Miss Jones, and you'll see an example
of survival of the fittest.”

WIA, Sick”; — suffered
ial attack, which was worse
Bell's second one, though neither

thai
knew it about the other. And there were
others.

One man who had to defecate did his

business the corner of his hole curs-
ing hysterically, and spent the rest of
the night trying to keep his fect out of
it. To have gotten out of your hole was
worth your life with this bunch.

Billions of hard, bright stars shone
with relentless glitter all across the tropic
night sky. Underneath this brilliant
canopy of the universe, the men lay wide
awake and waited. m time to time
the same great cumuli of the day, black
blobs now, sailed their same stately
route across the bright expanse blotting
out portions of it, but no rain fell on
the thirsting men. For the first time
since they had been up in these hills it
did not rain at all during the night.
The night had to be endured, and it
had to be endured dry, beneath its own
magnificent beauty. Perhaps of them all
only Colonel Tall enjoyed it.

Finally, though it was still black
ht, cautionary stirrings and whispers
sibilated along the linc from hole to
hole as the word to move out was
passed. In the inhuman, unreal unlight
of false dawn the grubby, dirtyfaced
remnants of C-for-Charlie sifted from
their holes and coagulated stiffly into
their squads and platoons to begin their
flanking move. There was not one of
them who did not carry his cuts, bruises
or abrasions from having flung himself
violently to the ground the day before.
Thick fat rolls of dirt pressed beneath

the mudcaked fingernails of their hands,
greasy from cleaning weapons. They
had lost 48 men or just over one-
fourth of their number yesterday in
illed, wounded or sick; nobody doubted
they would lose more today. The only
question remaining was: Which ones of

Still looking dapper although he was
now almost as dirty as themselves, Colo-
nel № with his little bamboo baton
in his armpit and his hand resting on h
rakishly lowslung holster, strode amon
them to tell them good luck. He shook
hands with Bugger Stein and Brass
Band. Then they trudged away in the
ghostly light, moving away eastward
back down the ridge to face their new
day while thirst gnawed at them. Be-
fore dawn lightened the area, they had
crossed back over the third fold — where
they had lain so long in terror yesterday,
and where the familiar ground now
looked strange — and had traversed the

low between the folds to the edge of
the jungle where they were hidden,
where Col Tall would not let them go
yesterday, and where not a single
nese was in sight. Approaching

usly with scouts out, they found no-
body at all. A hundred yards inside the
jungle they discovered a highly passable,

1
210. As they moved
along it quietly and without trouble,
they could hear the beginning of the
fight on the ridge — where they had left
the previously four, but now five yolun-
teers with Capt: aff.

Tall had not waited long. B-for-Baker
now manned the line of holes behind

175

PLAYBOY

176 his own reaction made him ev

the ledge. Tall sent them forward to the
ledge itself, and as soon as it was light
enough to sce at all, sent the middle
platoon forward in an attack whose ob-

jective was to wheel right in a line
pivoted on the ledge so that they would
be facing the strongpoint. This would

place them in a position to aid Gaff.
But the middle platoons move was
not successful. MG fire from the strong-
point, and other hidden points nearby
rt them too badly. Four men were
killed and a number of others were
wounded. They were forced to return.
That was the noise of the fight C-for-
id its failure left every-
up to Сай and his now five volun-
ters. They would have to take the
point alone. Tall walked over to
them where they lay.
fifth volunteer with Сай was
sh, the icy-eved taxidriver from
Toledo with the mean face, known in
Gfor-Charlie as "Big Un." Earlier, be
fore Cfor-Charlie moved out, Big Un
had come up to Tall in the dark and
а ponderous voice had asked to be al
lowed to stay behind and join Саз
assault group. Tall, who was not used
to being approached by strange privates
nyway, could hardly believe his ears.
He could not even remember ever hav-
ing seen this man. “Why?” he asked
sharply.
"Because of what the Japs done to
m two guys from 9d Battalion three
s ago on Hill 209," Big Un said. "I
it forgotten it, and I want to get my-
few of them personally before 1
ocked off or shot up without get-
ting а chance to kill some. I think Са

"n

Gall's operation'll be my best oppratu-
nity.
For а moment Tall could not help

made the victim
borate and tasteless
y the wits of Charlie
kl sent this great oaf
ately with this stupid
request for personal, heroic vendetta.
Ist Sgt Welsh, for one, had a mind
capable of such subtle ridicule.

But when he looked up (as he was
forced to do; and Tall was by no me
а small man) at this huge, murderous
face and icy, if not very intelli
he could see despite his flar
that the m
stood, his rifle slung not from one shoul-
der but across his back, and carrying in.
his hands one of those sawed-off shot
guns and bandolier of buckshot shells
which some fool of a staff lieutenant had
di the bright idea of handing out for
"close quarter work" the night before
the attack — which meant that Cash had
hung onto the damned thing all through
the danger of yesterday. Tall thought
they had all been thrown away. A sud-
den tiny thrill ran through ‘Tall despite
himself. The brute really was big! But

perpetrated
Y who ha

up to him delibe

is

nt eyes
nger
. Cash

was obvi

uly

angry.

"Soldier, are you serious?" he s
thinly. “Theres а war on her
busy. I've got a serious battle to
V" Big Un said, then remembering
his manners added, “I mean: Yes, sir:
I'm serious.”

Tall pressed his lips together. If the
man wanted to make such a request,
he should know he was supposed to go
through channels: through his Platoo
Leader and his Company Commander
to Gaff himself; not come bothering the
Battalion Gomi

fight.
"Dont you know ——" he began in frus-

uation, and then stopped himself. Tall
led himself on being a professional
and such requests for personal vendetta

should ignore such things
battle, or a war, as it developed on the
ground, Tall knew Marine officers who
laughed about the jars of gold or gold-

filled Japanese teeth some of their men
had collected over the campaign, but he
ferred to have nothing to do with that

pr
sort of thing, Also. though his proté
Gaff had lost two men yesterday evening,
they had decided between them that the
experience and the knowledge of the
terrain gained by the survivors more than
made up for the adding of two green re-
placements who would probably be more
ability than help. Sti
And anyway, here u at oaf still
stood, waiting dumbly, as though hi
wishes were the only ones in the world,
and blocking Tall's path with his huge
frame so Tall could not see anything that

s going on

Mter biting the inside of his lip, he
snapped out coldly, “If you want to go
with Captain Gaff, you'll have to go talk
to him about it and ask him. I'm busy.
You сап tell him that I dont object to
your going. Now, God damn it, go away!”
he yelled. He turned away. Big Un was
left holding his shotgun.
т!” he called after the Colonel.
1" And while Tall had
with geting C-forCharli
sh had gone in search of

gre

continued
С:

Big Ums cry of thanks after the
Colonel had not been without his own
little hint of sarcasm, He had not been
а hackpusher all his life not to know
$ being deliberately snubbed

when he wa

by а social better, high intelligence or
low. As far as intelligence went, Big Un
was confident he could have been as

ntelli-
ways

telligent as any — and more
sent than most—if he had not
believed that school and history and
arithmetic and writing and reading and
ng words were only so much unin-
ng dap which (ook up a man's
time and kept him from getting laid or
ing an easy buck. He still believed it,

for his own kids as well as for himself.
He had never finished his first year с
high school and he could read a paper
as well as anybody. And as for intel
gence, he was intelligent enough to
know that the Colonel's statement about
not objecting was tantamount to a
ceptance by Gaff. In fact, all the time
he was talking there to the Colonel,
Un had intended to tell Gaff that.

v- Now he could tell him truth-

in the sull dark predawn, Gaff
and his four volunteers were treated to
the awesome spectacle of Big Un loon
g up over them through the dark, still
clutching his shotgun and bandolier of
shells which he had ching to so dearly
| through the terror of yesterday in his
US.made shellhole among the Ist Pla-
toon. Stolidly and without excitement,
Big Un made his report. As he had а
ticipated, he was immediately accepted
— although Gaff, too. looked at his shot-
gun strangely. АП he had left to do
find Bugger Stein and report the change,
then come back and lie down with the
others to wait until В Company's mid-
dle platoon made its attack and it was
own turn. Big Un did so with grim
action.

‘There was little for them to do but
talk. During the Г hour it took the
middle platoon of В С
ad come tumbling
over the ledge with dı
white eyes, the few
ards back down the slope behind B's
ight platoon which in addition to hold-
№ the right of the line along the ledge
also acting as the reserve. It was
ng how the longer one lasted in
this business, the less sympathy one felt
for others who were getting shot up
long as oneself was in safety. Sometimes
the difference was а matter. of only
few yards. But terror became i
creasingly limited to those moments
when you yourself were in actual danger.
So, while B's middle platoon shot and
were shot, fought and sobbed 30 yards
away beyond the ledge, Gaff's group
Ікеа. Cash the new addition more
n made his presence felt

Big Un himself did very
talking, after explaining his x
wanting to come with them,
made himself felt just the
slinging his rifle, he
shotgun carefully to ke
out of the dirt, and then simply lay, toy-
ing with the bandolier of shotgun shells
1 slipping them in and out of the
cloth loops, his face a stolid, mea k.
The slingless shotgun was a brandnew,
cheap-looking automatic with its barrel
sawed off just behind the choke and a
five-shell magazine; the shot shells them-
selves were not actually buckshot at all.
but were loaded with a full load of BB
shot capable of blowing a large,
hole clear through a man at close range.

ve

th

Je of the
ason for

but he

It was a mean weapon, and Cash looked
like the man to use it well. Nobody
really knew very much about him in C-
for-Charlie. He had come in as a draftee
six months before and while he had
made acquaintances, he had made no
real friends rybody was a little
afraid of him. He kept to himself, did
most of his drinking alone, and while
he never offered to challenge anybody
bout his
п which made it plain that any chal-
5 he received would be cheerfully
„у accepted. Nobody offered

to a fight, there was something

and g
At six foot four and built according!

у
fighting
asure of
a man's stature, nobody wanted to wy
n. Except for Big Queen (over whom
he towered by five inches, though he
did not weigh as much) he was the big
gest man in the company. There were
those who were not above trying slyly
to promote this battle of the ¢
tween Big Un and Big Qucen, just to
see who would win; and many bets might
е been taken, except that nothing
ever came of it. Curiously enough, the
nearest Big Un ever came to having a
real friend was Witt the Kentu an
who hardly came up to his waist, and
who used to go on pass with him before
Witt was forcibly transferred. This
turned out to be because in Toledo
Big Un had known and admired so
many Kentuckians who had come up
north to work in the factories, and had
liked their strong, hardheaded sense of
honor which showed itself in drunken
brawls over women or fistfights over
particular prize seats at some bar, But
пом, today, he did not even speak to
Witt beyond a perfunctory grunt of
greeting. The rest of them watched him
and his shotgun. curiously. Despite the
act that they were now seasoned vet-
crans of this particular assault and
could look down on Big Un from this
height of snobbery, they were all some-
how a little reluctant to try it.

John Bell, for one, had forgotten all
about the Japanese torture killing of the
two George Company men three days
before. It was too long аро and too
much had happened to him since. When
Big Un recalled it with such surprise
to them all, Bell found it didn't really
matter so much anymore. Guys
killed, one way or another way. Some
Some got gutshot like
Tella. Some got it quick through the
head. Who knew how much those two
s suffered, really? Only themselves:
nd they no longer existed to tell it
And if they no longer existed, it didn't

in an outfit where physic

prowess was considered the me
F

и» be

got tortures

either and was no loi
So what the hell? А wa
tween the living and the dead. And
there wa

jer important

existed be

only one way to get over it
Phat was what was important. So what
was all this fuss about? Bell found him
Big Un coolly and wonder-

self ey

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ing what his real angle was, behind all
this other crap. The others in the little
group obviously felt the same way, Bell
noted, from the peculiar looks on their
faces; but nobody said anything. Thirty-
five yards away beyond and above the
little protective ledge the middle pla-
toon of Baker still fired and fought and
now and then yelled just a little bit, If
Bell was any judge by the sound of it,
what was left of them would be coming
back pretty quickly. A rough fingernail
of excitement picked at his solar plexus
when he thought what this would mean
soon for himself. Then, suddenly, like a
bucket of cold water dashed in his face,
his own supreme callousness smashed
into his consciousness and shook him
with a sense of horror at his own hard-
ened brutality. How would Marty like
being married to this husband, when he
finally did get home? Ah, Marty! so
much is chüngir erywhere. There
fore, when the middle platoon of B did
come rolling and tumbling and cur
and sobbing back over the ledge
their white cyeballs in their faces and
their open mouths, Bell watched them
with an anguish which was perhaps out
of all proportion even to their own.
How the others in the assault group
felt about the return of the platoon,
Bell could not tell. From their faces
they all, including Cash, seemed to feel
the same cool, guarded callousness he
himself had just been feeling, and now
was so desperately wanting not to feel.
The Baker Company men lay against the
ledge staring at nothing and seeing no-
body and breathing in long painful
asps through their parched throats,
There was no water to give them and
they needed water badly. Though the

day was not yet really hot, they were
all sweating profusely, thus losing even
more precious moisture. Making а noise

like a battery of frogs in a swamp two of
them rolled up their eyeballs and passed
out. Nobody bothered to help them.
Their buddies couldn't. And the assault
group only lay and watched them.
This lack of water was becoming a
serious problem for everybody, and
would be more of one a ing
al sun mounted, but whatever
son — though there was plenty of
it in the rear —no water could be got
this far forward to them. Curiously
h, it was little Charlie Dale the in-
з Bell or Don Doll,
who voiced it for all of them in the
assault group. Imaginative or not Ве was
animal enough to know what his belly
told him and be directed by it. “IE they
dont get us some water up here soon,"
he said loud enough to be heard by
everybody in the vicinity, "we aint none
of us going to make it to the top of this
hill.” Abruptly, he rolled over to face
the looming shape of Hill 209 in their
rear and began to shake his fist at it.
“Dirty F-—ers! Dirty bastards! Pig

bastards! You got all the goddam water
in the world, and you drinking every
goddam drop of it, too! You aint lettin
any of it get past you up to us, are
you! Well you better get some of it up
here to your goddam fightin men, or
you can take your goddam battle а
shove it up your fat ass and lose it!
He had yelled this much of his protest,
and it verberated off along the ledge
where nobody, least of all the middle
platoon of B, paid any attention to it.
The rest of it tapered away into an in-
tense, unintelligible mutter which, as
Colonel Tall now sauntered toward
them from his command hole baton in
hand, became a respectful and attentive
silence.

The Colonel whose walk was Icisurely
ad erect —as straight up as he could
get, in fact—condescended to squat
while he talked in a low serious voice
to Gaff. Then they were off and crawling
again along the by now so familiar
ledge — familiar to the point of real
fricndliness almost, John Bell thought,
which could be a bad пар if you bc-
lieved it— as it curved away out of
ight around the bill's curve, Gall in the
lead.

Bell crawled around Charlie Dale in
the second spot and touched the Cap-
tain on the behind. “You better let ше
take the point, sir,” he said respectfully.

Сай turned his head to look at him
with intense, crinkled eyes. For a long
moment the two, olhcer and ex-olhcer,
looked honestly into cach other's eyes.
Then with an abrupt gesture ol both
head and hand Gaft admitted his small
error and signaled Bell to go on past
him. He let опе more man, Dale, pass
him and then [ell into the third spot.
When Bell reached the point where the
tough began and Lieutenant Gray had
died, he stopped and they all clustered
up.
Gall did not bother to give them any
peptalk. He had already explained the
operation to them thoroughly, back at
the positioi ow all he said was,
all know the job we've got to do, fel-
lows. There's no point in my going over
it all again. I'm convinced the toughest
part of the approach will be the open
space between the end of the trough
here and the shoulder of the knob. Once
past that I think it won't be so bad.
Remember that we may run into smaller
emplacements along the way. ГА rather
bypass them if we can, but we may have
to knock some of them out if they block
our route and hold us up. Okay, that's
all." He stopped and smiled at them
looking each man in the eyes in turn:
an excited, boyish, happy, adventure-
some smile. It was only slightly incon-
gruous with the tensed, crinkled look in
his eyes.

"When we get up to them,” Gaff said,
"we ought to have some fun."

There were several weak smiles, very

similar to his own if not as strong. Only
Witt's and Big Un’s seemed to be really
deep. But they were all grateful to him.
Since yesterday all of them, excepting
Big Un, had come to like him very
much. All last evening, during the night,
nd again during the predawn move-
ments, he had stayed with them except
during his actual conferences with Colo-
nel Tall, spending his time with them.
He kidded, cajoled and boosted them,
cracking jokes, telling them broad stories
about his youth a and alter,
and all the kooky type broads he had
made — had in short treated them.

for the others it was moreso. They
would have followed Сай anywhere. Не
promised them the biggest drunk of
their lives, everything on him. once they
got through this mess and back down off
the line. And they were grateful to him
for that, too. He had not, when he
promised, made any mention about
vivors’ or ‘thase who were left’ having
this drunk together, tacitly assuming
that they would all be there to enjoy it,
And they were grateful for that also.
Now he looked around at them all once
more with his boyish, young adventure
eager smile below the tensed, crinkled
eyes.

“ГИ be leading from here on out,"
he said. “Because I want to pick the
route myself. If anything should happen
to me, Sergeant Bell will be in command,
so I want him last. Sergeant Dale will
be second in command. They both know
what to do.

"Okay, let's go." It was much more
of a sigh than a hearty bellow.

Then they were out and crawli
the narrow, peculiarly sensed danger-
ousness of the familiar trough, Сай in
the lead, each man being particularly
careful of the spot where the trough
opened out into the ledge and Licuten-
ant Gray the preacher had absentmind-
edly got himsclf killed. Big Un Cash,
who was new to all this, was especially
reful. John Bell, waiting for the others
to climb out, caught Charlie Dale
ing at 1 with a look of puzzled, but

nonetheless hateful enmity. Dale had
been appointed Ac Tgcant at least
an hour before Bell, and therefore

should have had the seniority over him.
Bell winked him, and Dale looked
ам A moment later it was Dale's turn
to go, and he climbed out into the
trough without a backward look. Only
one man, Witt, remained between them.
Then it was Bell's own turn. For the —
what was it? third? fourth? fifth time?
Bell had lost track— he climbed out
over the ledge and crawled past the
thin screen of scrub brush. It was be-
ginning to look pretty bedraggled now

from all the MG fire which had whistled
through it.

In the trough ahead with his head
down Charlie Dale was thinking furi-
ously that that was what you could al-
ways expect from all goddam officers.
They hung together like a pack of
horse thieves, busted out or not. He
had broke his ass for them all day ves-
terday. He had been appointed Acting
Serge nt by an officer, Бу Bugger Stein.
elf, not by no platoon sergeant
about a hour before. And
look who got command? You couldn't
trust them no further than you could
throw them by the ears, no more than
you could trust the govermint itself to
do something for you. Furiously, out-
raged, keeping his head well down, he
stared at the motionless feet of Doll in
front of him as if he wanted to bite
them off.

Up ahead Gaff had waited, looking
back, until they were all safely in the
trough. Now there was no need to
longer. Turning his head to the
he looked off toward the strongp:
but without raising his

enough to see anything above the grass.
Were they waiting? Were they watch-
ing? Were they looking at this particular
open spot? He could not know. But no
need in spotting them a ball by expos-
ing himself if they were. With one last
look back directly behind him at Big
Un Cash, who favored him with à hard,
mean, gimleteyed grin that was not
much help, he bounced up and took off

with his rifle at high port, running
agonizingly slowly and pulling his knees
up high to clear the matted kunai grass

like а football player running through
es. It was ludicrous to
say the least, not a dignified way to be
shot, but not a shot was fired. He dived
n behind the shoulder of the knob and
Tay there, After waiting a full minute he
motioned the next man, Big Un. to come
оп. Big Un. who had то . as the
others had moved up behind him, took
right off at once ru п the same
way fle poundi: st his back,
the shotgun in his helmet
hed
single machinegun
he too dived to safety.

hands,
straps flapping. Just before he те

the shoulder а
opened up. b

“Who asked you for your opinion?”

179

PLAYBOY

180

‘The machinegun stopped.

The third man. Doll, fell. He was
only about five yards out when several
MGs opened up. They were watching
this time. It was only 20 or 25 yards
across, the open space, but it seemed
much longer. He was already breathing
in ripping gasps. Then his foot caught
in a hole in the mat of old grass and
he down. Oh, no! Oh, no! hi:
screamed at him in panic. Not me! Not
after all the rest that's happened to me!
Not after all Гуе lasted throug!
won't even get my medal! Blindly, spit-
ting grass seeds and dust, he dambered
up and staggered on. He only had 10
yards more to go, and he made it He
fell in upon the other two and lay
sobbing for breath and existence. The
bright, washed sun had just come up
over the hills in the east.

By now in the early morning sunshine
and stark shadows all the MGs from the
strongpoint were firing, hosing down the
trough itself as well as the open space.
Bullets tore over the heads of Charli
Dale, Witt and Bell in bunches which
rattled and bruised the poor thin liide
bushes. It was now Dale's turn to go,
and he was still furious at Bell. “Hey,
Bell yelled from behind him.
“Wait! Dont go yet! I got an ide;
Dale gave him one hate-filled contemp-
tuous look and got to his feet, He
departed. without а word,
along solidly like a little ci
same way he had gone down
ck up the slope in front of the third
terday. By now a sort of semi-
ad been pushed through the
nd this aided him some. He ar-
d sat down,
apparently totally unmoved. but still
secretly angry at Bell. Nothing had
touched hii

You must be out of your mind!
in Gaff shouted at him.

Why?" Dale said. Maliciously, he
settled himself to see what Bell would
do now. Heh hch. Not that he wanted

fold. y
path.

in

him to get hurt, or anythin
Bell demonstrated his idea immedi

ately. When he and Witt had. crawled.
to the end of the trough, the MGs still
firing just over their heads, Bell pulled
the pin on a grenade and lobbed it at
the strongpoint. But he did not throw
straight across; he threw it into
the angle formed by the ledge and the
trough, so that it landed in front of the
bunker but further back much closer to
the ledge. When the MGs all swung
that way, as they did immediately. he
ad Witt crossed in safety before they
could swing back. Clearly the three of
them could have done it just as easily,
and when he threw himself down grin-
ing in the safety behind the shoulder,
ked at

Charlie Dale again.
Dale glowered back. “Very bright,
T laughed, Bell winked at Dale a

third time. Screw him. Who did he think
he was? Then suddenly, after this third
wink, like some kind of а sudden мор,
Bell realized the fear he had felt this
time had been much less, almost none
|, negligible. Even when those bul-
lets were sizzing just over his head. Was
he learning? Was that i? Or was he
just becoming inured. More brutalized,
like Dale, The thought lingered on
his head like an echoing gong while he
sat staring at nothing, then slowly faded
And so what? If answer is yes, or
if question does not apply to you. pass
on to next questionnaire. What the
hell, he thought. F-—- it. If he only had
a drink of water, he could do
The MGs from the strongpoint were
still hosing and belaboring the empty
trough and its poor straggly bushes as
the party moved away.

Gaff had told them that he thought

ything.

the rest of the route would bc саме
once they were past the open space, and
hc was right The terrain mounted

stecply around the knob which jutted
out of the ridge and up here the mat of
grass was not quite so thick, but now
they were forced to crawl It was next
to impossible to se the camouflaged
emplacements until they opened up,
and they could not take any chances. As
they moved along in this snail's w
sweating and panting in the sun from
the exertion, well as
everybody else's — began to beat with а
heavier pulse, a mingled excitement and
which was by no means entirely
it. ‘They all knew from yestei
eyond the knob was a shallow
saddle between the knob and the rock-
wall where the ledge ended, and it was
along this saddle they were to crawl to
come down on the Japanese from above.
They had all seen the saddle, but they
had not seen behind the knob. Now they
с ag it from withi
the Japanese territory. They were not
fired upon, and they did not sec any
emplacements. Off to the left near the
huge rock outcrop where the seven
Japanese men had made their silly
counterattack early yesterday, they could
hear the tenorvoiced Japanese МС»
firing at Baker Company at the ledg
but nothing opened up on them. When
they reached the beginning of the sad-
dle, sweating and half-dead from lack of
water, Gaff motioned them to stop.

He had to swallow his dry spittle sev-
eral times before he could speak. It had.
been anged with Colonel T
the commander of Baker's right platoo
would move his men along the ledge
the trough cady to charge from
there at Саз whistle signal,
cause of this he unhooked his whistlc
from pocket. The saddle was about
0 or 25 yards across, and he spaced
them out across it. Because of the м
it fell the suongpoint below was still
invisible from here. "Remember, I want

wled along it, se

Ж)
nd be

nd be-

to get as close to them as we can before
we put the grenades to them.” To Bell's
mind, overheated and overwrought, the
Captain's phraseology sounded strange-
y sexual: but Bell knew it could not be.
Then Gaff crawled out in front of them,
and looked back.

“Well, fellows, this is where we sepa-
yate the men from the boys,” he told
them, “the sheep from the goats. Let's
crawl” He clamped his whistle in his
teeth d cradling his rifle while hold-
ing hand, he com-
menced to do so.

Crawling along behind him. and in
spite of his promise of a big beerbust
everything paid for by him, Сай vol-
unteers did not take too kindly to his
big line. S-—-, I could have done better
than that myself, Doll thought, spitu
out yet another grass seed. Doll h
already entirely forgotten his so ne:
escape crossing the open space, and sud-
denly for no apparent reason he was
rage which ranged all
ke some uncontrollable
Do nor fire until you see

transfixed by

through hi
woods fire.

the red of their ases, Gridley. You
may s-— when ready, Gridley. Damn

ad. Sighted
Japs. gr same. There ас no

m

atheists in foxholes, Chaplai — on
the enemy! Не was— for no reason at
all, except that he was afraid — so cn-
raged at Gaff that he could have put a
grenade to him himself right now, or
shot him. On his left, his major compe-
tition Charlie Dale crawled along with
narrowed eyes still hating all officers
anyway and as far as he was concerned
Gall’s final line only proved him right.
Beyond Dale, Big Un Cash moved his
big frame along contemptuously, his
rifle si on his back, the fully loaded
shotgun cradled in his arms; he had not
come along om this thing to be given
dumb slogans by no punk kid officers —
sheeps and goats my ass, he thought and
there was no doubt in his hard hack-
pushers mind about which side he
would be on when the count came. Witt,
beyond Big Un and himself the extreme
left flank, had merely spat and settled his
thin neck down into his shoulders and
set his jaw. He was not here for any
crapped up West Point heroics, he was
here because he was a brave m and
а very good soldier and because his
old outfit C-for-Charlie needed. him —
whether they knew it or not: and Gaff
could spare him the conversation. Slowly.
as they crawled, the extreme left of the
strongpoint came into v
away and about 90 yards below them.

On the extreme right of the little line
John Bell was not thi
Captain Gaff at all. As soon as Ga
made his bid for an immortal line Bell
had dismissed it as stupid. Bell was
thinking, instead, about cuckoldry. Why
that subject should come into his mind
ata time like this Bell didn't know, but

nking about yor

it had and he couldn't get rid of it.
Thinking about it seriously, Bell dis
lysis he
could only find four basic situations: sad
little husband attacking big strong lover.
trong lover attacking sad little hus-
id Tittle husband attacking |
strong wife, big strong wile
sad litle husband. But always it was
sad Tittle husband. Something about the
emotional content of the word automati-
cally shrunk all cuckolded h
ad little husbands. Undoubtedly m
strong husbands had been cuckolded
a their time. Yes, undoubtedly. But you
could never place them in direct con-
nection with the emotional content of
the word. This was bec

shands to

у

bi

ise the cmo-
tional content of the word was essentially
funny. Bell iv Ш fou
D ions ht was very painful, in
an exquisitely unpleasant, but very sex-
и And suddenly Bell knew — as
well and as surely as he knew he was
crawling down this grassy saddle on
Guadalcanal — that he was cuckold; that
Marty was stepping out, was sleepi
with somebody. Given her character
and his absence, there was no other
possibility. It was as though it were
thought which had been hanging
around the borders of his mind a long
ime, but which he would never allow
in antil now. But with one man? or with
several? Which did one prefer, the one
man which meant а serious love «Пай?
or the s
promiscuou:
he got home? be:
around? leave her?
grenade in her bed maybe. /
him the entire strongpoint
now, its nearer, тї
away, and only
their own hei

ic siti

eral which meant that she was
What would he do when
her up? kick her

y few yards below
ht now.

And it was just then that they were
discovered by the Japanese.

Five scrawny bedraggled Japanese men
popped up out of the ground holding
dark round objects which they lobbed
up the hill at them, Fortunatcly only
one of the five grenades exploded. It lit
near Dale who rolled over twice away
from it and then lay huddled
the ground as he could ge

close to
his face

turned None of its fragments hit
him, but it made his cars ri
"Pull and throw! Pull and throw!

Gall was yelling at them through the
noise of the explosion, and almost as
one man their six grenades arched at the
strongpoint. The five Japanese men who
had popped up out of. the ground. had
by now popped back down into it, But
it, two other, unlucky
anese popped up to throw. One
lit between the feet of one of
d exploded up into him, blowing
oll one of his feet and putting him down.
ments put the other опе down. All
of the American grenades exploded.
The Japanese with his foot off lay still

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182

a moment then struggled up to sit hold-
ing another grenade as the blood poured
from his severed leg. Doll shot him. He
fell back dropping the ignited grenade
beside him. It did not go off.

"Once more! Once more!" Gaff was
yelling at them, and again six grenades
hed in the air. Again all of them ex
ploded. Doll was a little latc getting h
away because of the shot, but hc got it
ой just behind thc others.

Th ¢ there were four Japanese
sttnding when the grenades lit, one of
them carrying а light МС. The explod-
g grenades put three of them down,
including the man with the Nambu, and
the fourth, thinking better of it, disap-
peared down a hole. There were now
five Japanese down and out of action in
the little hollo

"Go in! Go їп!” Gaff cried, and in a
moment all of them were on their fect
running. No longer did they have to
[тег and stew, or worry about being
brave or being cowardly. Their systems
pumped full of adrenaline to constrict
the peripheral blood vessels, elevate the
blood pressure, make the heart beat
more rapidly, and aid coagulation, they
were about as near to automatons with-
out courage or cowardice as Hesh and
blood can get. Numbly, they did the nec-
essary.

‘The Japanese had shrewdly taken ad-
age of the terrain to save themselves
ing work. Behind the holes into the
emplacements themselves was a. natural
little low area where they could come
out and sit in cover when they were пог
actually being shelled, and it also served
as а communication trench between the
holes. Now in this hollow the scrawny,
bedragsled Japanese rose with rifles,
swords and pistols from their holes to
mect Сай and his crew. At least, some
of them did. Others stayed in the holes.
Three tried to run. Dale shot one апа
Bell shot another. The third was seen to
disappear in a grand broadjump ov
edge of the rockface where it fell clear,
00 or 80 feet to the jungle treetops be-
low. He was never seen again and no one
ever learned what happened to him. The
others came on. And Gaff and his troops,
the Captain blowing his whistle shrilly
with cach exhalation of breath. ran to
meet them, in clear view of Baker Com-
ny at the ledge until they passed out
of sight into the hollow

Big Un killed five men almost at once.
His shotgun blew the first nearly in two
and tore cnormous chunks out of the
second and third. The fourth and fifth,
because the gun was bucking itself
higher each time he fired, had most of
their heads taken off. Swinging the
empty shotgun like a baseball bat, Big
Un broke the face of a sixth Japanese
man just emerging from a hole, then
jerked a grenade from his belt, pulled
the pin and tossed it down the hole after

him into а medley of voices which ceased
the dull roaring boom of the con-
stricted explosion. While he struggled to
unsling the rifle from his back, he was
attacked by a screaming officer with а
sword. Gaff shot the officer in the belly
from the hip, shot him again in the face
to be positive after he was down. Bell
had killed two men. Charlie Dale had
killed two. Doll who had drawn his
pistol, was charged by another screami

officer who shouted “Banz:

over and who ran at hi
bright, gleaming sword around his head
the ай. Doll shot him through the

his legs kept right on running м)
rest of him fell down behind them. Then
the torso jerked the legs up too and the
man hit the ground flat out with a tr
mendous whack. Doll shot him a second
time in the head. Beyond him Witt I
shot three men, one of them a huge
sergeant wielding a black, prewar US
Army cavalry забег. Taking the over-
head saber cut on the stock of his rifle,
cutting it almost to the barrel, Witt had.
butestroked him in the jaw. Now he shot
him where he lay. Suddenly there wa
enormous quiet except for the wail
chatter of three Japanese standing in а
row who had dropped their we;
There had been, they all realized, a gr
deal of shouting and screaming, but now
there was only the moans of the dying
and the hurt. Slowly they looked around
each other and discovered the miracu-
lous fact that none of them was killed,
ог even seriously damaged. Сай had a
knot on his jaw from fring without
cheeking his stock. Bell's helmet had
been shot from his head, the round разз-
ing through the metal and up and
around inside the shell between metal
and fiber liner and coming out the back.
Bell had an enormous headache. Witt
discovered he had splinters in his hand
from his busted riflestock, and his arms
ached. Dale had a small gash in his shin
from the bayonet of a downed and dying
Japanese man who had struck at him
and whom he subsequently shot. Numb-
ly, they stared at cach other. Each had
believed devoutly that he would be the
only one left alive.

It was clear to everyone that it was
Big Un and his shotgun which had won
the day, had broken the back of the
Japanese fight, and later when they dis-
cussed and discussed it, that would re-
m: the consensus. And now in the
strange, numb silence — still. breathing
hard from the fight, as they all were —
Big Un, who still had not yer got his
rifle unslung, advanced snarling on the
three standing Japanese. Taking two by
their scrawny necks which his big hands
went almost clear around, he shook them.
back and forth gaggling helplessly unt
their helmets fell off, then grinning
agely began beating their heads to-
gether. The cracking sound their skulls

E

the new,

made as they broke was loud

ing murderers

palpable quiet

he told them coldly. “Fling yellow
Jap bastards. Killing helpless prisoners
F-—ing murderers. F———ing prisoner

killers.” When he dropped them as the
others simply stood breathing hard aud
watching. there was no doubt that they
Blood from
eyes were rolled
k white, “That'll wach th i
prisoners,” Big Un announced
own guys. He turned to the third
who simply looked at him uucomp
hendingly. But Galî jumped in between
them. “We need him. We need him,” he
said, still gasping and panting. Big Un
turned and walked away without a word

It was then they heard the first shouts
from the other side, and remembered
they were not the only living. Going to
the grassy bank they looked out over
and saw the same field they themselves
had ied to cross last evening. Coming
across it at a run, the platoon from
Baker was charging the strongpoint.
Back beyond them, in full view from
here, the other two platoons of В had
left the ledge and were charging uphill,
according to Colonel Talls plan. And
below Сай and his men the first Baker

were dead. or ran

the

b

platoon charged оп. straight at them,
yelling,
Whatever their reason, they were a

little late. The fight was already over.
Or so everyone thought. Gall had been
his dily from the
ne in right up
it, and now here
Preparing to wave and
ind hoot derision at
Call's pre
d of a machinegun.

blowin! whistle ste
moment they first had g
to the end of the fig

came the heroe:

cheer. ironically
their
vented by the sou
Directly below the
tures, a single MG opened up and be
the Baker Comp
men w

“rescuers, men were

з in one of the aper-
n

y platoor
incredulously,

to lire а
As Gall's
two Baker Company went down.
Charlie Dale, who was standing nearest
to the door of the embrasure which w

tched.

men

firing, leaped over with а shocked look

on his face and threw а ide down
the hole. The grenade immediately came
flying right back out. With suangled
yells everyone hit the din. Fortunately,
too hard
>

те

the grenade had been throw

ud it exploded just as it fell over the
of the rocklace, where the broad jumping
Japanese had also disappeared, hurting
nobody. The MG below continued to
fire,

Look out, you jerk!” Witt cried at
Dale, and scrambled to his feet. Pulling
the pin on a grenade and holding it
with the lever depressed, he grabbed
rille and ran over to the hole, Leaning
around the right side of it, holding his
ville like а pistol in his left hand with
the stock pressed against his leg, he
hegan to fire the semi-automatic Garand
to the hole. There was a yell from
below. Still firing, Witt popped the gre-

nade down the hole and ducked back
He continued to fire to confuse the ое
сирах, Then the grenade blew up with
a dull staggering roar, cutting olf both
the scrabble of yells and the MG, which
had never stopped firing.

Immediately, others of the little force,
without
Gall, be

usin

any necessity of orders from
з bombing out the other four
holes go Witt’s They
bombed them all, whether there was any-
one in them or пог. Then they called to
the Baker Company platoon to come on.
Later, four Japanese corpses were found
huddled up or stretched out, accordin:
to their temperaments, in the small space
Witt had bombed. Death had come for
them and they had met it, if not particu-
rly bravely, at least with a sense of the
»cvitable.

So the fight for the stiongpoint was
And without exception something
new had happened to all of them. It was
apparent in the smiling faces of the
Baker Company platoon as they climbed

technique,

||

|

E

up over the emp!
their guys behind them. kunai
grass. It nt in the grinning
lace of Colonel Tall as he came striding
along behind them, bamboo baton in
hand, It showed in the savage happiness
with which Gal's group bombed out the
empty bunkers using Witt's safety tech-
nique: one man fing while another
tossed. the grenades. Nobody really cared
whether there was anyone in them or
not. But they hoped there were hun-
dreds. There was a joyous feeling in the
safety of killing. They slapped each
other on the back and grinned at each
other murderously. They had finally, as
Colonel Tall was later to tell newsmen

"d correspondents when they inter-
viewed him, been blooded. They had,

cement leaving five of

the

was ар

Colonel Tall was later to sted vic
tory. They had become
They had learned that the enemy, like

themselves, was killable; was deleatable,

“Sis must like you — she's wearing her big chest tonight.”

183

PLAYBOY

GENTLEMAN'S HUNTING ARSENAL (continued from page 79)

Ithaca Field Grade 12 bore, which rales
like a set of cheap castanets, cost about
$28.98 wholesale in 1939, and which
dispatches wounded leopards at six feet
with the same stolid unconcern that it
kills geese at 60 yards.

My two favorite swanky weapons
are a pretty plaything called a .244
Magnum, lovingly created by England's
Holland k Holland, which powers а pen-

derous as a mortar, hefts not much more
than a pistol, and incidentally belongs to
my wife.

So you can sce from this preamble
that my emotions are more than slightly
mixed on the kind and quantity of
weapons a man might need in his armory.

The topic of guns and their usage has
always ranked just behind sex and ahead
of religion and politics as a source of

cil-point projectile with a bottle noi ed argument when hunters
full of handsifted powder, and a dainty congregate over campfires and especially
little Lewis 20-gauge, which is as mur- at bars, and the ramifications and justifi-

A select assemblage of arms to meet your hunting needs from upland shoot
to African safari: 1. Soddle rifle with 4X scope, .30-30 caliber, American walnut stock,
by Marlin Arms, $134.95. 2. Side-by-side double-borrel Purdey shotgun, 20 gouge,
with hond-rubbed oil finish, French wolnut stock, straight grip, checkered butt, from
Abercrombie & Fitch, $2175. 3. Mark V rifle, 300 magnum, custom action, with 2X
to 7X scope, Buehler mount, custom Colifornio mesquite stock,gold inloy and engroving,
by Weatherby, $1153.75 (without gold inloy, engraving and scope, $3971. 4. Side-by-
side double-barrel wild-fowl shotgun, 10-gouge magnum, French walnut stock with
hond-checkered pistol grip, rubber recoil pod and silver initio! plote, from Continental
Ams Corp., $425 lless-ornate models ot $295 and $395). 5. Side-by-side double-
borrel shotgun, 12 gauge, Anson action, hand engraved, select Circassian walnut
stock, by Ferlach, $250. 6. African bolt-action rifle, 460 magnum, Colifornia mesquite
stock, 2% in. by 90X scope with Buehler mount, by Weatherby, $59875. 7. Semi-
outometic Winlite shotgun, 12 gouge, Model 59, with ultralight fiber glass ond steel
borrel, American walnut stock, by Winchester, $149.95. B. Pump-action shotgun,
12 gauge, beavertcil forearm, walnut stock, hond engroved, gold inloid, recoil pad,
by Ithaca, $2500. 9. Over-ond-under rifle, 458 magnum, Holland & Hollond action,
hond engraved, selected Circassian walnut stock, cheek piece, Hinsoldt 1Y2 in. by 6X
scope with clow-type mount, by Ferlach, $950. 10. Semicutomatic 22 caliber long
rifle, with Americon walnut stock, 4X scope, by Marlin Arms Co., $59. 11. Custom
grade Superposed over-and-under shotgun, 20 gouge, inlaid with 18K gold, hand
engroved, matched walnut stock forearm, by Browning Arms Co., $2000 (without
inloy ond engraving, $315). 12. Ultralightweight 22 caliber long rifle, with Weaver
borrel-mounted J2.5 scape, wolnut stack, by Browning Arms Co, $109.50. 13. Deer-
stolker corbine, 44 magnum, oil finished, Americon wolnut stock, by Sturm, Ruger & Co.,
Inc., $108. 14. Semiautomatic shotgun, 12-gouge magnum, with ventiloted rib, wolnut
stock, by Remington Arms, $174.25. 15. Double-borrel side-by-side knockobout

184 shotgun, 12 gauge, with walnut stock, nomeplate, from Abercrombie & Fitch, $150.

cations of personal preference arc as
myriad and catholic as taste in women.
It is possible for one man to spend a lifc-
time of contentment with one woman,
who will serve all his needs and desires.
Another gentleman, of more flexible
fancy, may be miserable without a harem
of fluctuating shapes and sizes and colors,
to fit a fleeting whim and a momentary
mood as well as а basic function. So it
is with weapons. The major difference
between guns and women is that there
are very few untrustworthy guns.

If you consider that this is an artide
for a hunter who might be fortunate
enough to go on an African safari or an
Indian shikar; who might want to shoot
an Alaskan brown bear or a Wyoming
elk or a Virginia whitetail or a Canadian
grizzly or a Connecticut woodchuck; who
ht wish to vary his bobwhite quail
th Vermont grouse and Chesapeake
4 and Louisiana honkers, and in
the end might even desire a dean way
out of a world that generally displeases
him, the choice of weapons is as personal
and every bit аз whimsical as preferences
in clothes and sports curs.

There is no North American game
animal that cannot be executed handily
with a 30-06, from polar bear to moose,
if you're good cnough to pop it through
the shoulder, hit it in the head or stick
ight down the middle. 1 have
wn a better weapon than Rem-
ington’s Model 721 for the majority of
domestic uses, but on the big bear,
brown, polar and grizzly, and even on
the heavier noncarnivores like elk and
moose, the classic 30-06 is giving away а
little weight. Hence, for big-game shoot-
ing on any continent but Africa, I'd say
the .300 Magnum with а Mauser-type
action is about the finest all-round me-
dium weapon made. It is flatter and
heavier than the .30-06, and has a most
а! ng Wallop. Winchesters Model 70

as potent a piece of factory-made ma-
chinery as you can buy.

If I were a man whose hunting needs
were largely confined to his own gross
area, for his annual limit of local deer,
but who hoped occasionally to slide over
to Canada or Alaska for the bigger bear
or moose, ГА settle for the scoped bolt-
action .300 Magnum as a basic rifle that’s
not too big for pronghorn but can ех-
tinguish an elk or a grizzly as definitively

anything the best English gunmaker
ever turned out. And the advantage of
the .300, no matter who makes it, is that
if a wealthy aunt's demise or a lucky
stroke in the market ever takes the mod-
est hunter to Africa or India, he is
already equipped with his basic rifle for
anything up to buffalo, rhino and ele-
phant. You can always rent or borrow
the heavier stuff from your safari or
shikar firm. I shot my way through the
entire Indian list once, including three
tigers and the biggest splithoof of them
all, the wild ox called gaur, with rented

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guns, and was not unduly pained.
ing you could only afford one me-
dium rifle, the .300 wins the argument,
but it’s a mite mighty for the tenderer
game. A second rifle, particularly [or
brush shooting, might well be the time-
rubbed .30-30 or .32 Special Winchester,
with iron sights, rabbit-ear or peep, ac
cording to preference. The old lever-
action has probably accounted for more
deer than any other single weapon for
the last 60 years or so. It's the fabled gun
of the hairy West, and has always been
the wee-pon that the cowboy stuck in his
saddle scabbard, whether he was out lor
antelopes, Injuns or cattle rustlers. The
carbines shoot straight, if not so very
far, and if you know your gun — well, J
Frank Dobie, the old Western writer,
took the head off à turkey at 200-plus
yards with a 30-30 th
as he is, just this last ye
course, he had to figur
а little, but you can quite often do that
with the aid of bourbon whiskey.

The indispensable second rifle, how-
ever, without which no larger-calibered
weapon is complete, is the good, work
у 22 long rifle. No real difference who
makes it—any of the Americans, Eng-
lish, Germans, ech Italians — and
whether it is motivated by bolt, lever or
automatic action is a matter of personal
preference, When 1 say a “good” 22, 1
don't пи one of the Hornets or Swifts
or the other hyperglandular guns that
pulverize little stuff or break up on the
outside of tougher game, and that travel
at such speed that a twig or a stout stalk
of grass will explode the bullet.

22 lispensable to
because the spit of
а .22 makes no more noise than a
snapped stick, making it invaluable as a
meat gun and particularly priceless for
finishing off wounded animals without.
rousing the neighborhood. Equipped
with a six-power or а variable-powered
scope, it kills birds you can't reach with
а shotgun, and animals so large that it
will amaze you. Using а .22 on anything
larger than a dik-dik is illegal ın Africa,
but to my certain knowledge leopard,
lion, and at least one nearchampion
lesser kudu have been killed with an
rimfire 22. My professional
friend Selby, who admittedly is a fantas-
tic shot, often killed eland (the world's
igest antelope, bigger than a Brahma
steer) with the .22 when he was a kid
living on the family farm outside Na
yuki in Kenya. Of course, he shot the
eland in the head.

On scopes
is lesser magnification for longer ranges,
because the slightest error on the tr
end missing-margin as
range lengthens. For this reason you
would not want much more than four
power on a heavier gun with a r
ably stout recoil, but you can take a
magnification up to six or eight power

ral, the thumb rule

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186

on the little .22, whose effective range
is not going to be much over a hundred
yards, but whose target is apt to be so
small that it can stand all the magnifica-
tion the law allows. We don't make any
bad scopes in America — Lyman, Weaver,
Bausch & Lomb and all the others turn
out fine examples, with fancy adjustable,
powered models to taste.
We've mentioned the old-timey
bine as a second medium rifle. But if 1
were living in a country that ran high
on hills, with litte opportunity for
jumpshooting that would warrant a
fascaction brush gun, I would certainly
scrap the carbine in favor of а reason
ably new weapon, the .243 Magnum as
Че by Winchester, or better, an even
г rifle, the .244 Magnum as pro-

A.

пе
duced by Remington over here and by

Holland & Holland in England. For ex-
tremely long shooting with maximum
accuracy, I've never seen the beat of
these little assassins.

We tuck the .243 and .244 in with the
scopes because these rifles are really an
extension of the scope, rather than the
other way around. These аге the guns
with which one shoots from a very steady
rest at extremely long ranges with utmost
magnification at hard-toapproach game
on the other side of the valley, with no
bush intervening to bust up the bullet.
These are the guns for the dim-distant
mountain goat ог crag-perching sheep or
the scary pronghorn on an open plain,
when close stalking is impossible.

I used the 244, which flings a tiny
100-grain bullet from а .300-Magnum
case, the first time during the last couple
of years, and found a whole fresh con-
cept of shooting. Developing a muzzle
velocity of 8500 feet per second, in that
thin African it was dead flat at 500
yards, and so fast that you could almost

Ken Jespersen and I played a sort of
pool — calling right or left eye — when
we were shooting zebra for hides and
camp meat, at dista E
ured yards. I also saw Harry Selby f:
puncture one Thomson’s gazelle, not
much bigger than a fox terrier, at 700
yards, just by holding a little high. We
shot all the big, tough antelopes like
topi and kongoni, and they went over
poleaxed. We shot Grévys zebra— a
Grévy is as big as a Percheron stallion
— stone dead with one bullet. I knocked
a leopard a good 12 fect off а limb, and
collected him in a crumpled heap at the
bottom of his tree. Any leopard man will
tell you that the average leopard, even
heart-shot with a heavicr rifle, will usually
travel a hundred yards or so before you
pick him up, and even then he might
have a little scratch left in his claws.
With a minimum two, and hopefully
three, rifles as a base, we outfit our
modest hunter with two shotguns. First
would be an automatic 12 bore for heavy
work with lead-carrying birds such as
duck, geese and turkey — in brief, for
sedentary shooting where the oppor-
tunity for action comes in sudden in-
frequent. flurries warranting fre
power. Perhaps some people still fancy
the pump gun: I can see little reason for
a pump action unless you are hopelessly
old-fashioned and rogantly skillful
with the trombone style of shooting —
not when you can get off the same three
shots by pulling the trigger three times
without wrecking the rhythm of your
swing. I specify 12 gauge only because
ducks and geese fly high and tote shot,
and a turkey comes seldom to a blind.
I know one man who consistently shoots
the heads off turkeys and kills ducks and
geese with a 410, but he is a Texan,
and Texans are not as other people.
But I would recommend 20-bore
double for rough shooting upland. be-
cause of its comparative lightness and

speed of handling, also bearing in mind
that anything you shoot over a dog in
the woods is apt to flush within easy
range and will be out of sight (and
range) by the time you've tripped off
two shots.

You can make it on one shotgun, of
course, with a spare set of barrels for
high waterfowl shooting, and if you have
to do it without the extra barrels, 28
inches is the all-purpose acceptable
length. Thirty is preferred by a great

many people for the reach-out gun, and
26 the best for shooting swift
stuff like quail and grouse over dogs,

because of the faster pattern spread.
There are chokeadapters as well to
screw onto your automatic or pump, if
you must be a one-gun, one-ser-of-barrels
hunter, but I don't subscribe to any all-
purpose weapon. Like amy other com-
promise, it sacrifices precise performance
for loose usage.

There is no advantage of single-barrel
over double, of side-by-side compared
to overand-under. 1 grew up with those
two fat side-by-side tubes under my nose,
and so could not hit the bull in the
brisket with an automatic, а pump, or
even an overand-under. The latter, to
me, is just another singlebarreled gun
that’s risen above its station. But it’s all
а matter of personal preference, and 1
know some gentlemen, including myself,
who really do not prefer blondes.

Аз а youngster in Carolina we were
very short on rifles—in the sandspur
and green swamp country you shoot
deer and even bear with buckshot — but
there was always а passel of shotguns
around the house. I naturally and
greedily formed the habit of taking two
double-barreled shotguns into the duck
or goose blind with me. It was not until
I was a man grown and suddenly acci-
dentally affluent enough to find myself
on a Scottish grouse-moor that 1 learned
that the 1005 always shot matched pairs
of doubl 1 that anybody who
showed up in a butt with an automatic
would have been drummed out of the
jolly old Highlands. What I do recall,
vividly and with great pride, is squatting
in a cornfield one day about 30 years
ago with two rusty old 12s that were al-
most as long as I was tall. A great flock
of geese came in off the water to raid
the corn and I do two coming
with one gun, grabbed the other and
clobbered two more going away. All of
a sudden the air was full of falling geese,
and 1 was the richest kid in the area of
Cape Hatteras. Much later on, I shot
three Bengal tigers in 10 days, but they
didn't pack the same emotional wallop
as those four Canucks tumbling out of
the to hit with a feathery crash on
that frozen ground.

The American shotgunner is not so
much a matched-pair man as the Euro-
pean, largely because of the availability
and types of wildfowl, not to mention

ned

something nasty called a legal limit.
But in shooting driven birds, or released
birds, the matched pair of doubles is
the difference between going first d
and not going at all.

Stocgers Shooter's Bible 15 mouth-
wateringly full of tempting rillery from
the houses of Winchester, Remington,
Marlin, et al., and the better gun shops
are crammed with bargains in fine sec-
ondhand tailormades from Britain,
Germany and Spain. But if I were
splurging a mite on the armory, for
largely domestic use, | would plunge
on the shotgun side and buy myself а
couple of tailor-mades. A shotgun should
really fit the shooter, since you swing it
i id of aim it, which means it
should be stocked to measure. I would
say that the English are all by them-
selves in the custom shotgun bus
Purdey, Greener, Churchill, Lewis and
Holland are some of the good old names
only because of the lovely grace of
their guns.

The bestgrade
weapon looks as if it had been gu
out of a log by a singularly untal
beaver when stacked alongside
lish custom shotgun (not too surpi
in view of the price dillerential), but
people like Winchester d Browning
turn out some magnificent custom
weapons that fire perfect patterns and
beat the Russians to the moon with
some of the stouter magnum loads. Now
long ago Winchester launched a new
automatic made of fiberglass wrapped
around a stecl tube, with aluminum mov-
ing parts, which is about a pound and a
half lighter than the old all-steel. 1 have
never fired a glass gun, but the Win-
chesters say their Model 59 is stronger
than steel, and Kicks litle despite its
lightness. No detectable uon has
been observed from London, where they
still make featherweight shotguns by
hand, from steel.

Half the fun of hunting is to have
the right gun for the right game, and jet
aircraft today has made exotic hunting
pretty practical in terms of time and
moncy for the hunter who, a very few
years ago, might never have dre
of shooting a tiger or seeing
phant. This hopeful gentleman с
completely mad when he considers the
choice of weapons the various manufac-
turers hurl at him.

He would now begin to fret about the
merits of the double express rifle as
opposed to the heavy magaziner, the
medium-heavy magaziner, the medium
mapaziner, the lightmedium magaziner,
the light magaziner, the whole range of
fanciful playthings. 1 can save him a
lot of time by telling him to add a
Winchester 375 Magnum to his .300
Magnum, his .244 or 243 and his .22
Jong rifle, and he is in business for any-
thing that roars, trumpets, bellows or
merely snorts. If this is ovcrsimplifica-

American fa

tion, shoot me — but preferably not with
the .375. It is not i people gun

1 favor the double rifle for dose we
оп wounded big, surly beasts such as
elephant, buffalo and rhino in thick
bush, where maneuverability is every
thing, and bullet weight counts. The
double is closer to being foolproof than
any other rifle, since there is no bolt to
hang up on you, and you can certainly
get off two shots — boom! boom! — faster
in the rough direction of something
large and nasty that suddenly blurts
you from six feet with only one th
in mind. But unless you 1 proles
sional—or at least а semiprofession
biggame hunter— the chances are vou
will not find yourself chasing up
wounded dangerous game in dense
thickets of thorn. Your hunter most
likely won't let you play at that busi
ness, because he can't risk Из reputation
by having you killed.

One major disadvantage of the classic
double is that it is largely uscless
ranges over a hundred yards, since the
two side-by-side barrels are constructed
to converge their bullets at that distance
and after convergence the bullets con
nt direc

tions. As big game gro
wilder, it quite often is not po:
approach within a hundred yards of a
good trophy rhino, buffalo or elephant.
This makes your double a terribly dicey
proposition, because the heavy bullet
falls like a thrown baseball after it passes
its limit of convergence, and you arc
shooting strictly by gucss and by God.

Another disadv; of the double is
its prohibitive price if bought new. А
first-quality, custom-built English double
will sting you for 00, without
too much fancy gold engraving. Few
people have them built anymore; you
Gan pick up good secondhand doubles ar
gunshops such as Abercrombie & Fitch or
through the weapons catalogs. Оп used
doubles, the maker's пацие of Hol-
land & Holland, Purdey, Westley-Rich-
ards, Jeffery, Merkel Bros. or J. Springer
of Vienna is an approximation of ТИ:
fany for quality. The stubby, relatively
light Jeflery /100 with which 1
bagged my last two elephants cost me
just $500, and 1 never owned a straighter
shooting gun — lor 100 yards.

The double is purely an insurance
gun for people who like shotgun action
for fast snapshooting at charging or run:
ning game. 1 wouldn't be caught dead
in the bush without one, but a man like
Selby, for instance, won't use one. Selby
would rather go into the thickets naked
with a dull knife than without his u
scoped long-barreled Rigby 416 maga-
ziner, which in his hands achieves the
jection of radar and the penen
titank gun. The 416 is gener-
ally accorded to be the punchiest bolt
action weapon made by anybody. Its
penetrative powers are only exceeded by

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PLAYBOY

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188 be i

the Westley-Richards .318 (man named
"Tony Henley shot an elephant in one
end with a .318, and the bullet came out
of the other end), but the .318 can’t
touch the 416 as a slugger. I have a 318
myself, a beautiful weapon, and can't
hit anything with I do much better
with the old .30-06, or with the .375 or
-300 Magnum.

The closest thing to a heavy m;
rifle factory-built by Americans i:
chester's brawling .458, which is far too
ig on this continent.
In that E I'd personally want my
heavy load propelled by а double.

Invariably when а man goes progre
sively mad with gun fever, he gets in-
volved with hair triggers. One time 1 was
forced to borrow some rifles, and they all
had hair triggers. For the first and only
time in my life 1 heard guns going off
before I was ready to shoot.
worse, I got addled and mar
shoot a leopard — ће only one I ever
wounded in a dozen years—and spent
the nastiest hour I can remember since
the war crawling around in a dark Kenya
swamp where you couldn't see an cle-
two feet
1 of you. Fortunately the leopard
dead when we found him, and the
whole horrible mess made 60,000 words
of useful fiction, but as a rule 1 prefer to
invent my own fictional devices. You
can carry rescarch too far.

I suppose by now you're wondering
what sort of armament I'm rodded up
with, and the answer is simply: too much.

I am witless in a secondhand gun
shop, and quite often wind up with toys
such as the last Rigby 275 with which
the fabled Karamojo Bell used to shoot
bull elephant in the earhole. I am like
Ado Annie in my ability to say no to a
beautiful bargain — usually after а mar-
tini lunch — in the musty back room of
the frightfully genteel shops that traffic
in vintage firearms. The result is that I
have weapons scattered pretty well
around the globe, and most of them
have become the tacit property of their
keepers.

But I did tick off the arsenal on my
last safari, and found from left to right
in the rack: a .30-06 Remington; Bell's
old 275 Mauser-action Rigby
Н. & Н. Magnum; the Jeffery double;
the 20-gauge Lewis shotgun; a 12-gauge
Webley & Scott double; the ancient
Ithaca 12; Selbys 416 Rigby; a 375
Winchester Magnum 243 Winchester
Magnum; and a Gzech Brno .22 long
rifle.

phan, much les a leopard,
ahe:

a brace of Spanish dou-
bles, now residing in Mexico or Т;
a matched pair of English 12s, now in
a Marlin .30-30 which lives in
another .375, lent to a friend on
818, safely stored with the
e ıd the .300 Magnum, in
the gunshop for rebluing and refinishing.

Perhaps we didnt need all this

hardware, but we used everything we
had along for its specialized purpose
(with the exception of the Bell gui
which we merely lug for luck). An ©
ample: My best buff was collected just
before dark on the last day in the
country. He a herd bull, a 48-incher,
d the day was so dark you could barely
ake him out with the naked eye, mill-
ing as he was in a mob of perhaps 200
other buffalo. There was no hope of get-
ting closer than about 250 yards, so 1
discarded my double and reached for the
scoped .375 magaziner. He came out
large and clear in the scope and you
could hear the first two bullets whistle
as they passed clean through his shoul-
ders. I was able to stick two more into
him as he lumbered away. Г wouldn't
have bi able to see n much less
shoot him, with the double.

The bull lugged four of my slugs and
two of Selbys 116s into very tough,
dense bush with him, with night falling
with appalli tness. When we dived
into the baleful black thorn — the Kenya
Game Department takes a very misty
view of professionals who don't follow
up wounded animals and 1 am classed
as at least а scmipro—1 had switched
again to the short double.

No heroics intrude here. We spotted
him standing, mean and sick, waiting for
us. Selby stuck one up his nose with the
416, and he went over, But he kept get-
ting up at a range of about four feet

nd I was very pleased to be wearing my
mouthed double. It's 2 great gun
for hipshooting.

We used the shotguns on huge flights
of sand grouse and picked off distant
guineas with the .22. Both the .30-06 and
the .244 were used on leopard. I got
close enough to а big trophy elephant to
down him with the [300. We fin-
ished everything that needed а bullet
in the brain with the .22, and shot camp
meat with the .243, collecting hides with
the .244. Selby killed a long-distance
buifalo for his own collection with one
shot from the .375. Altogether we figured
we didn't have too many guns.

There is very little in the way of
luxury а man may buy for himself, un-
less he fancies yachts, loppish jewelry, а
redundancy of automobiles or a stable
of ladyfriends. A battery of good weap-
ons has a decided advantage over both
women and yachts; the initial payment
is less, they don't need so much constant
е, don't fall out of fashion so fast, and
have a definitely more dependable trade-
in value. This I keep telling myself
ry time I succumb to another fancy
piece of weaponry and hate myself in
the morning.

But the way I see it, a man can’t have
а gun nut too much
and if it's status.
symbols you seek, ГА look silly as hell
jn a mink coat.

Ba

g swi

FASHION FORECAST
(continued from page 93)

suits with matching and
eo revers

ting waistcoats — so
bles (plain and patterned). others
sweaterlike double-knit jersey with silk
backs. Natural-shoulder styles will dom
nate beth Ivy and English models, but
a few of the new country sq
will include detailing for the unrecon-
structed anglophile: hacking pockets,
lap seams, tapered waistlines, full jacket
bottoms, wider lapels and veddy British
collar tabs; and coordinated trous
may sport deep cuffs, extrawide belt
loops and quarter-top pockets. We р
fer these suits with the hunting-lodge

е м

heartiness of a beefy tweed, hopsack,
suede or Shetland in earthy shades of
brown ranging from warm heather to

black coffee.

The same studied informality will sct
the understated tone in sports jackets as
classic Ivy styles acquire a landed gentry
look with the incorporation of such
British-inspired detailing as suede elbow
patehes, inverted front and back pleats,
leather or metal buttons, belted backs
and m type pointed pocket
Nappy tweeds, alpacas, Shetlands, che
iois and hopsacks — along with a smatter-
ing of smooth heeksuedes and cashmeres
in the top-drawer choice in muted
stripes, checks, plaids and herringbones
of deep blue, brown, gray, olive and
multicolor mixtures. In milder latitudes,
lightweight. Dacron-wools and worsteds
will be the favored fabrics in the same

—r

subtle shades and patterns. Except in the
Deep South and
rules

ar West, where white
s the year-round. Ior-
ar, the dinner-jacket drill dictates
unimpeachable black — tastefully contem-
porized with peaked lapels, satin facing
and trim, and elegandy enlivened with
figured vests of lush fabrics as a venture
some alternative to the traditional black
cummerbund. At the other end of the
social spectrum, blazers will be playi
significant supporting role in both si
breasted styles (some with Continental
one-button fronts) and double-breasted
yachting versions updated with side
vents, trim lapels and rococo linings, A
few wailblazers will be racking up lar-
out fashion mileage with bold burgundy
red and black in pin-stripe and com-
pound-color combinations; but most
models, mirroring the muted mood of
suits and sports coats, will be making
their presence quietly felt in solid blacks,
grays and classic navy.

‘The trim new line of trousers for tic-
and-jacket wear will be neatly pleatless,
Continentally cuflless and conventionally
tailored with belt loops and vertical side
pockets. Casual slacks will be striding on

vorte in

a

bands and quarter-cut pocket treatments.
Offbeat and orthodox styles alike will be
the same subdued patterns
(solids, stripes, checks, plaids) and shades

worn

(gray, black, brown, olive) that. promise
to predoi cket

and in crease-holding cs of fl
Hopsack, whipcord, sharkskin and reverse-
twist worsteds that warm but don't
weigh.

Belts for dress and sportswear will be
acinch to win favor in a strapping assort-
ment of ruggedly masculine models.
Classic black and brown in pigskin and
cowhide will remain the stylish sine qua
non of the wardrobe, but such swarthy
leathers as boar and elephant hide are
expected to become fair game in $
shades of natural gray and brown —
yough-and-ready for coordination with
the carthy pigmentation of the new slacks
and sports coats. Even
inclinations can be indulged with el
cized nylon and hopsacking belts in vari-
colored stripes, solids, madras, batiks
paisleys, madders and blanket plaids
Leather-and-fabric models — most notably
stretch hemps with harnessleather fronts
be notching up a fashion coup i
tion with the new country suit:

icy mono; Chinese-puzale
fastenings, happily. will be scrapped as
belts buckle down with impeccably un-
old and

Breaking boldly with conservative tr
dition, business shirts will be less deco-
yous and more decorati:
time since the esthetically abandoned
‘Twenties. With bodies tapered two to
four inches for a trimmer fit, oxford and
broadcloth models in regulation coat
styles and pullovers with half-button
fronts — convertibly cuffed and equally
acceptable with buttondown aud snap-
tab collars — will be wooping the colors
in solid tones and renascent regime:
stripes. Сорап». cocoas, вайгопз, cinn:
mons and even iconoclastic scarlet will
be showing up both as rich grounds with
white hairlines and as pinstriped p
terns on fields of white. Anothe: 8
cious old-timer, the patterned business
shirt with plain white spread collar, will
be reappc

more sportive

ms and

assortment of

з ап
plaids, checks and barber stripes,
With а turnabout v
theme: white shirt with colored collar.
Most effective in combinations of gray
white and black-white, this resurgent
style will be worn to best advantage with
gray flannel suits апа solid-toned ties.
For general city wear, stripes will be
eclipsing solids in ties as well as in
shirts. As a colorful counterpoint for
the cool hues of the new suits, slacks and
jackets, outspoken reps and regimentals

long

iation on thc samc

in two-tone blends of blue and brown,
buff and olive, and crimson with black
or green — some square-ended. for neat-

DD THIS with the world’s only *patented
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$2.50 Buttons
13.50 QU
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TUS Fe. 22819273
"folyeser Fiber

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write Prince Consort,
Empire State Bldg.
New York.

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Styled like a stereo speaker cabinet, Walnut wood
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door locks. Cocktail shaker, 10 glasses, stirrer,
Strainer, double jigger, cork screw, ond can opener
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Please send WALL-BAR

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189

PLAYBOY

er knots and looks— will be ador
ng the necks of the knowledgeable
wider dimensions (2-214 inches) than the
ultraslims of recent vintage, Understated
polka-dots, underknits and classic motifs,
meanwhile, will remain de rigueur for
more formal functions. A small but no
less essential accessory on such occasions,
cuff links can often make the difference
not only between propriety and prete!
sion, but, more subtly, between mere
correctness and true distinction in dress.
Wrought of gold or silver, the key links
for this season will be classically un-
embellished in shape and pattern: simple
designs for unimpeachable wear with Ivy
suits and jackets; set with small semi-
precious stones such as onyx, jade and
hematite to complement Continental
garb,

The sportshirt scene promises to be
а compatible marriage of tradition and
wailblazing. Conventional spread-collar
button fronts will prevail over pullovers
in bold circus stripes, dark solids, batiks,
foulard prints and muted madras plaids
aging from warm ochers to cool azures
ightweight hopsack. chambray, denim
and broadcloth; and in burly weaves of
corduroy, sueded cotton, burlap, hop-
sack oxford, cotton gabardine and bas-
ket-woven wools with a hefty outdoor
look. Long-sleeved knit pullovers will be
making themselves comfortably felt in
forthright solid tones and regimental
stripes. But the big news in topwear is
the unexpected emergence of the lowly
sweat shirt as an eminently presentable
stand-in for the sturdy sweater. Restyled.
in mid- and fullweight wool mixtures
with such outerwear detailing as crew
necks, contrasting-colored piping, draw-
string hoods and raglan sleeves —and
with such whimsical silk-screen motifs as
the busts of Beethoven, Bach, Brahms
for three-B buffs — these erstwhile ath-
letic rmers ar king a sizable social
sh in college classrooms and gridiron
ndstands alike.

Upbeat classics and offbeat departures
will be weaving a wild and wooly yarn
in sweaterwear. Standard pullovers (in
crew, boat, V- and resurgent turtle-
necks) will be overthrown as the ruling
fashion by a lightweight brigade of bright
new cardigans. Traditional V-necks with
six or seven buttons will be joined by
low-buttoned golfing models of hip-
length alpaca or chain-link knit in block-
atterns running from shoulder to
nd: by novel double-k
jacket-sweaters cut like a sports coat; by
conservative styles with saddle shoulders

de elbow patches; and by mili-

im West
shetlands, alpacas
and doubleknit Orlon-wools will domi-

190 nate the slopes in a polychrome assort-

ment of skiworthy argyles, abstracts,
stripes and most hand-
somely in burnt oranges, fire-engine тей
ions of black and white-
Doubletalk: that's the inside word on
outerwear. In а welcome revival of the
s' classic suit style, topcoats will
be circulating socially with
coaterie of double-breasted models: vel-
vetcollared Chesterfields, camel’s-ha
polo coats, jaunty belted versions with
deep top-to-bottom back pleats, and
ual split raglans with the proverbial
belt in the back. Single-breasteds will be
а sco scene with tweedy
British warmers in smart three-quarter
lengths, and р lly popular bal.
n both full-cut and slimmed-
fly-ront interpretations. Light,

and combin:

п exclusive

enn

down Ву
«dium and full-weight cheviots, hop-

sackings, wool blends and gabardine twill
will be the stuff these coats are made of
— chiefly in soft straw shades quietly
complemented by a solid-color palette of
olives, charcoals, chocolates and gray-
browns. Casual outer:
the seaand-ski scene
npe of ruggedly fu
m. car and surcoats in
hip- and three-quarter lengths, variously
accoutered with drop shoulders, shawl
collars and pockets in patch, flap, slash
and zipper treatments; hiplength Navy
pea coats with double-breasted fronts,
brass buttons, single vents, flapped side
pockets and slash breast pockets; revived
convoy-type warmers with rope

closures, welted yokes and v
ing; and versatile reversibles
jacket and parka lengths, usually with
су solid tones on one side and bold
ids or checks on the other. In tastc-
fully subdued natural browns, dove gray,
tan, olive, black and n
venturing out in ext
loden cloths, nylons, wool-Orlons, macl
naw-look wools, becfy corduroys, suedes,

in

shearlings, and even such exotica as
caribou hide.
Wetwear will be braving the elements

in autumnal plaids, stripes and solid
tones of navy, black, brown and olive
(some in iridescent tints), as well as
classic tam, buff and putty— mostly in
models with brightly patterned.
linings of wool.Orlon or lami:

trimmed in suede or leather) for max
mizing comfort in any clime. In weather-
proofed wools and tweeds sleek
gabardines and durable featherweight
cotton mixtures, this fall's foul-weather
friends will include tailored double-
br coats im ted
lengths; and fly-front models — both tra
ditio: ied. with su
back pleats, Con
button-off back belts. And in a long-
awaited comeback, the familiar private-
cye trench coat — complete with double-

ted abbre: knee

al and mod ls

h dew
rental yokes and

breasted front, belted waist,
apels, gun flaps and shoulder st
will be in again.

The new show of handwear will be
functionally customized for town and
country. Business and evening styles will
be handsomely on hand in black, chest-
nut and natural tones of hand-sewn сай,
pig- and Jambskin: and in natural shades
of gray and brown-gray suede and doe-
skin trimmed with special stitching and
seli-braid. Gloves for casual wear will be
glad-handing outdoor guys in teal-toned
d navy stretch knits. some with le:
nd wrist straps; and in action-
Keyed ski styles of soft but sturdy leather

ng

aps—

tea

palms

with clasi tbands, rugged stitching
d sewn-in | knuckle reinforce-

ments. Inside tip: a fresh new look in
linings is aborning as furlike synthetic
shearlings show up in mocha and cape
skin gloves; luxurious lightweight silks
and nylons in calf- and pigskin models;
and a snug knit inner glove to be worn
hand-in-glove with regulation leathers.

Shoewear will be stepping lively in
standard loafers, laced plain-toes, mod
fied wing tips and classic brogues — re-

t the Continental influence of past
seasons with trim shapes, supple leathers,
hand-stitched detailing and cushioned
insoles. With renewed interest rich
earth tones for slacks and suiting,
mochas, cocoas and bitterswect chocolates
(in lightweight cordovans, calfskins,
suedes and pebbled pigskins) should pull
close to frontrunning black as the shoc-
in favorite. hionable loot-note: look
for a boom in boots as a footloose coordi
nate for informal attire. Getting a boot
out of the higher cuffline in slacks,
venturesome males will be kicking up
their heels in ultracomfortable gauchos,
deserts and chukkas of muted gray,
and in bootlook
plain-toes of cordovan or pigskin in
brown and black models equally appro-
priate for informal urban or suburban
wear.

Topping off our rundown of upcomi
fashions, headgear will be high and hand-
some but far from wide. Ultranarrow.
brims, high crowns, pinch fronts and
tapered bodies will be setting a suave
style in dresswear with charcoal shades of
gray, olive and brown felt, Active and
mchair sportsmen will be flipping last
year’s lids for the new crop of nubby
tweed sports-car caps; stretch-knit ski hats
in unflinching solids, stripes and earthy
compound colors; ral ian styles
with fur trim and | па jaunty
Tyroleans in rich с
blacks and grays or smooth-
textured velour with braided
and pheasantfeather bands —
cappers for our semi-annual forec:
the last and latest word in fashion for
guys with the gift of g

brown and olive sued

WHO'S
. 0 ем у аот THE [.Sorme И tae
E i OVER AGAIN А COUPLE MORE 2Д soaesuose que Fm
cs “> TIMES, MISS РАМ! ANDI
(aa

BUT, MR. BATTBARTON,
ALL THE SOAPSUDS
[| HAVE DISSOLVED!

x "т K И
Hl, ANNIE SWEETI KI ©
ВИ (puc

SILLY, RUTHIE: |
WAS TALKING TO MY
WINSOM CIGARETTES,

SWEETIE! WELL™ NOT EXACTLY. IT'S а SMOKING
PARTIN A WINSOM CIGARETTE COMMERCIAL
“THE CAMERA ZOOMS IN FOR A CLOSE- UP x
THERE WE ARE“: ALONE TOGETHER. | LOOK UP
р THROUGH HALF-CLOSED LIDS-- MY MOUTH
J| овамаис | Bl SENSUOUSLY PARTED, MY HEART IS POUNDING!
ly TELEVISION B 1 RAISE MY LIPS, AND THEN. AND THEN -

NO. 1 SMOKE.
мүм NOT WITH

MMMM SO ү, ОР FRONT
SATISFYING ms. WHERE THE WINSOM*- PVE
SO FRIENOLY To TOBACCO BLENDS. TRIED THE REST,
MY TASTE WINSOM’S GOT IT AND YOU'RE THE BEST
ат BOTH ENDS-- BY TASTE TEST. OH,
WINSOMS SATISEY! WINSOM ~ | LOVE YOU!!

SOON YOU'LL ВЕ NNIE! SNAP гм SORRY,

GONE (SOB). WHAT WILL OUT OF IT! IT'S ONLY RUTHIE. 1GUESS
1 DO WHEN YOU'RE ї CIGARETTE! Oman | GOT CARRIED
NOIRE GONE!) | А CIGARETTE! CMON, амат. AFTER ALL.

WHEN YOU'RE ASHES! |
po eee E HONEY=- YOU'RE. ТИЕР. THEY @RE JUST

Б В WHY DON’T YOU HIT THE CIGARETTES. WELL,
DON'T LEAVE ME» 29. Е

О.К. ALL SET YOU KNOW DOOWAHH! ~~ DOOWAHH!
FOR THE SNARL WHAT TO DO, “TWO DROFS ОЕ SNARL HAIR-CREAM
HAIR - CREAM ANNIE, NOW E
COMMERCIAL = 1 IT DRIVES THE GIRLS RIGHT
E OFF THEIR NUTS -

0

"уны

“THREE DROPS OF SNARL HAIR

CREAM SEIS еа NO MORE STICKY

ЕЕ рон KID STUFF =~ CES Cul

ONNIE! РМ CRAZY "BUT
ABOUT YOU! AND YOU YOU'VE HAD
LOVE ME TOO! YOU'RE. (Our BATTBARTON г A TOUGH DAY,
NOT REALLY ACTING! eT WORK- WISE,
1 CAN TELL! THAT'S 9 НАК Шы KID! DO A FADE-
REAL LOVE-LIGHT IN T YOU e OUT! GO HOME |
К EYES ANNI \ TER

HEY HONEY = WHY ” —— YOU MEAN
SO DOWN IN THE MOUTH? є YOUVE GOT A CRUSH
ISN'T BENTON BATTBARTON
SHOWING FOR
DINNER TONIGHT?

Он, RUTHIE — !
CAN'T GO ON! HIS COMMERCIALS
ARE TAKING $0 MUCH OUT OF
ME-- IT'S JUST ONE BIG
EMOTIONAL ROLLER COASTER
RIDE.

PLAYBOY

MERO HI, RUTHIE LET'S TRUCK OVER ТО Е
WELL, ГМ LATE FOR |, SUGARI (cross
MY DINNER DATE. WHAT'S ON THE ма а ZOON DISSOLVE!)
YOU'LL HAVE TO TELL _ SHOOTING E =
ME THE REST WHEN | Д SCHEDULE FoR © EE
GET HOME ~- OH TONIGHT? / Yoo, baby! BN
Hi, BENTON! i — Ў з У

WE COULD WRITE А
GREAT SCENARIO
TOGETHER, SUGAR.

LET'S SPLICE OUR 1 LET'S GWE

SOUND-TRACKS INTO |

\ ONE MASTER TAPE

TN

EVERYTHING А о ic S
FAST WIPE AND FADE J| ==> 2052
IN WITH ANEW A MISTER

SCENE BATTBARTON!

Im IN LOVE
WITH MY BAR OF
ZESTFUL SOAP,

МУ HEART ә
IT HAPPENED WHILE

A ED | WAS REHEARSING MY
в UPCOMING COMMERCIAL.

FOR THE WELL DINNER'S ГМ UPSTAGED BY Ө

FIRST TIME IN. & ALMOST RU LOUSY CAKE OF

MY LIFE | FEEL TAN MR, BATTBARTON. WHY ZESTFUL SOAP?
REALLY M rl DON'T YOU WASH UP2

WELL---EVERY THING'S: Ni 7 MR. BATTBARTON!

ON THE TABLE! BENTON? | KNOW 1 TOLD YOU TO WesH

~ WHAT'S TAKING YOU SO ОР, ВОТ ISN'T A SHOWER
LONG 2m WHY ARE YOU CARRYING THINGS

RUNNING THE SHOWER?

195

PLAYBOY

196

ZEST-FUL IS FIRST
IN EVERY POLL~

I'M BACK SOONER
THAN 1 EXPECTED, HONEY!

JUST SKIPPED PAST ME
IN THE HALLO.

"NO NEED TO CLEAN Y
BETWEEN
EACH MEAL
ONE CLEANING GIVES

YOU SINGING
THE ZESTFUL
COMMERCIAL? 4

WOOPS!

THERE IT GOES!

-QUICK ZOOM
OUT THE.
WINDOW!

ОН RUTHIE =»
THE LOVE IN MY
LIFE IS GONE!

BAR OF ZESTFUL, HONEY, SO’S
ICOULD GET SOME OF IT TO
М ( RUB OFF ON ME, APPEAL-WISE .
NOW MAYBE WE CAN ООА
€LOSE- UP!

»' " j... JUST BORROWED YOUR

NOT EVEN WITH А PINKIE, BAB)
FOR THE FIRST TIME IN MY LIFE, |
TOO FEEL REALLY CLEAN! CLEAN!

CLEAN! BODY, MIND AND SOUL! ООН
Т 00 BELIEVE FLL GET HOME TO BED
BEFORE | CATCH А CHILL! MUMS

NO! NEVER. THERE'LL
NEVER BE ANOTHER LIKE.
THAT BAR OF ZESTFUL «.

BUT THE SHOW MUST GOON.
TOMORROW РМ SCHEDULED

TO DO A CLEENTEX-
TISSUE COMMERCIAL AND
РО BETTER GET SOME
REST! ~My, BUT IT НАЗ
A LOVELY TEXTURE THE
KIND YOU LOVE TO TOUCH...

SO SOFT AND NON-

IRRITATING ~

! DO BELIEVE
Гм GOING TO
LOVE DOING THE

CLEENTEX-TISSUE Ш

LUCKY DAY

Fahrenheit, As his Excellency slept, his
clothes were taken away and replaced by
others. precisely the same in pattern, but
just a little more worn. 1 also arranged
that his clothes should be made pro
gressively а hairsbreadth larger, so that
the young gendeman grew gradually
convinced that he was becoming shriveled
and wasted with long imprisonment."

"Oh, clever, clever!" cried. the Duke.
with a slight shudder. “1 tl
the whole, given the choice, Га choose
the Iron Boot, the thumbscrew or the
ack. Proceed.”

“Аһ, but there is no question of
choice, your Gi this method of
mine depends for its effectiveness upon
complete ignorance of the surrounding
ces. Do T make myself clear?

“Your object being, to plant a firm
illusion that there bas been a prolonged
passage of time, whi ter of

e; for

rcumsta

fact, only hours have elapsed,"
Duk

“Just so," said Hyrax- "I have write
a carefully annotated. "Procedure" for
your Grace’s perusal. 1 can make four
minutes last 48 hours, їп the conscious
ness of the prisoner. 1 hasten to reas
your Grace that no common hand
laid on his Excellency, your nephe
Stanislaus. His table was almost as well
Grace’s own; only he
had the delicacies of the season out of
season. And, allowing for certain in-
evitable margins of error, the young
gentleman seemed to live a long month
in half an hour. Between. your Grace

breakfast and di he passed approx;
mately а whole year.
"Well" said the Duke, "tha

teach the pup a lesson, not to plot
hi
the

poor old unde, who uscd to think
world of him. Well.
point. What made Stanislaus betray his
tri They are my ene ише,
but... well, I think the worse of him
notwithsta

Colonel Hyrax said, “But his Excellen-
not betray his friends, your

come to the

"Will you tell me what the devil you
are talking about?” roared the Duke.

о, no, your Grace, The drugs were
nd sparingly,

weeks.

used discreetly,

only for the first three
ne, Time was the ill
I took the liberty of bedazzl
young gentleman — Time ay Man knows
it, through the contemplation of mere
extemal change. Men and
seemed to come and go. Once, on my
order, a guard let fall a newspaper. Tt
was postdated 15 years: І had had one

(continued from page 108)

copy only printed before the type was
broken up. and it was full of news of
people and alfairs his Excellency had
never heard of.

"Most damnably clever!" ex
the Duke. "And my poor — 1 mean that
wretched fellow who is supposed to be
my brother's son, and couldn't even keep
ith with his fellow-criminals: did he
write nothing

“Only some verses, your Grace.

“About me?”

"About worms. But 1 see
v is anxious to be after
so 1 will conclude for
young gentleman had been in th
ber about 40 days, 0
by a young offic

that your
the boai

After the
t cham-

now.

door wis opened
strange uniform
Е у d an olde
officer. in the same colors, but having a
dolman trimmed with sable, n. fell
on his knees, led your nephew
martyr, sa leader. The Duke,
he said, was dead, the New P
in power, and Stanislaus м:
your throne.”

The Duke laughed. “Ha! And I sup-
pose my nephew jumped for joy

Not so. your Grace. He said — and T
quote, so you will forgive me — he said,
“The old ruffian was kind to me once
upon а time Then he said. "And all
my [riends, I suppose, are dead, or old —
which is worse."

"Aha!" cried the Duke, "We are com-
ing to it, now!”

"Yes, your Grace. The Commanding
Officer said. “If you will tell me whom
you mean, your Excellency. 1 shall
mediately ascertain.” Whereupon, your
phew recited a list of 40 names, which
are on the paper which I have the honor
to place in your Grace's hand.

“Hyrax.” said the Duke, “you are
hellishly clever! Aud my nephew = how
is he?”

7] was listening to the proceedin;
а concealed aperture, and did not sec his
Excellency at first. Then, when he came
into my range of vision, I was astounded.
For where, a few weeks before, 1 had
seen a sanguine young man of 24, 1 now
beheld a decrepit and enfeebled man of
Gor

The Duke was silent. Colonel Hyra
pointed to the paper upon which the
names of the conspirators were written.
Grace will hang them?” he asked.

“No. I shall shock the wits out of them
hy pardon id make 40 frie
islausz"

me

пу was
to sit on

into the barga
“Asleep. уо Colonel

Hy

X.

ou arc an astonishii

ly clever ma
Hyrax,” said the Duke. "Did I not sy
that if you cleared this matter up Га
make a nobleman of you?
“The work is its own
Grace,” said Hyrax.
“No, you have

те

rd, your

arned my gratitude.

1 hereby confe
of Opa, with all li
ining there
‘Oh, your Gr
press ——"
"—Save them, then. Leave me, now.”
Hyrax having bowed himself out of
his presence, the Duke called for his
secretary. А soberly attired gentleman
me nd made his obeisance. “Your
Grace?
“Colonel Hyrax is now Colo
Baron Opa. Make a note of
Yes, your Grace."
The Duke paced the
s beard. "And write me an order to
the Lord Provost,” he “Write as
follows: "Bearing in mind the new dig
nity of Colonel Hy ve
recently created Baron of Opa, you will
proc Ik cord and hang him forth.
with.” Scrawling his signature at the
foot of this document, and impressing
the warm wax with his great carnelia
ng. the Duke muttered, “One could no

upon you the Barony
nds, rents and reven

x! Words са

пог ex

floor, tu at

‚ whom we h

as

longer sleep with such а man awake. He
is too clever by half.
А nameless cold bad cept into his

rt. He looked loi
morning sun, and liste
than usual attention to the portentous
licking of the great bronze cloc
(dy, he said to his secretary.
the men. 1 hunt no boar toda
"Yes, vour Grace."
"| desire to see Sta
I he be sent for?
o. 1 go to him."
The secretary, а good-hearted m:
ventured to ask, “Oh please, your
— is it your gracious intention magnani
mously to pardon the unhappy young
gentleman?”
The Duke growled, “No. My G
intention is humbly to beg the u
young gentleman. out of his magnanim-
ity to pardon те.

d anxiously at

ed with more

Dismiss

The proprietor said, "You gave this
person five dollars, you зау?”

“He asked 20," said the Editor. “I ad-
vanced him five."

"And what docs the confounded
author call himself?”

“Ethan Arthur Pol:
I think he’s the man who wrote The
Raven, Edgar Poe, по less

“You throw my dollars about lik
at a wedding, my friend. Yes. you
my leave to print. Let the fellow have
five dollars more, if he pr A Latin
tide is a drug
out of context,” said Mr. Bozma
of context, out of context. And since I
m paying for the job and writing it
too, sign it Bozman— John Helliwell
Bozman. Incidentally, you owe me five
dollar

So saying, the proprietor of The Balti-
neral Press walked sedately ou

1. Confidentially,

more ©

of doors.

197

PLAYBOY

198

PLAYBOY
READER SERVICE

Write to Janet Pilgrim for the
answers to your shopping
questions. She will provide you
with the name of a retail store
in or near your city where you
can buy any of the specialized
items advertised or editorially
featured in PLAYBOY. For
example, where-to-buy
information is available for the
merchandise of the advertisers.
in this issue listed below.

Alligator Coats is
PIMC Sports Cors 22.12.1

[e
Reeves Sourderat
Rooster Ties

Shelby. AC.Cours

Medico Pipes „>. Бо үмм Slacks

formation about other featured mer-

Use these tines for
Eras

Miss Pilgrim will be happy to
answer any of your other
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
lescription of the items

when you write.

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ENVELOPE PAGES 63 & 139

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zone

PLAYBOY’S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK

BY PATRICK CHASE

THIS DECEMBER We suggest you gift your-
self with a holiday in Europe, one that
combines a jolly English Noel with
schussing on ncarby Continental slopes.
In London, a prime spot to mark Christ-
mas isat the Scarsdale Arms on Edwardes
Square; here you jump feast first into
the traditional festive spirit with such
n renewal as hot. punch, turkey or
pheasant and. boar's head and, of
brandied Christmas pudding
borne in aflame. Or, if you'd prefer to
spend the holidays in the country, do as
the roaming do: head for the rustic pleas
ures and ruddy good sustenance of such
hostelries as The Courthouse in Newton
Ferrers or the Lygon Arms at Broadway,
а charmaden village in Worcestershire.
Having fared well in England, you'll
Бе set to swing into Europe for a brac
ing go at big-league skiing. The locales
for it are legion, of course, but we've
id ап easily accessible trio that offer
come-ons. First con
forts of Austria's Mittersill С:
Century citadel that provides g
with a baronial banquet hall and inv
ing private chambers; this Middle Age
sprea than 20 minutes
from the Zell am Sce ski slopes where,
from the top of the Schmittenhóhe
cable car, you are offered carte blanche
to a ski wail that transits 10 peaks aver-
aging, 6500 fect in altitude.
uc word from France has it that
tions for the world championship
: ski races at Chamonix in Febru-

is situated les

ary have led to an upgrading of already
good facilities and accommodations
through all Mont Blanc ski-area resorts.
At the snowbiz center of Chamonix there
are now 19 ski lifts and 60 miles of
marked trails to complement the 20
hotels modernized in the last couple of
years, the spanking new casino and three
festive boites de nuit.

The ter set will also find a new
trail added to the great white ways about
Zermatt: the Théodule
between Switzerland and Cervinia, Italy
now accessible through the drawi
power of caterpillar-type tractors.
exceptional and exhilarating tran
riding by cable car from Zermatt
zsee, then skiing a few hundred
yards to another aerial lift that май
you to the Théodule Glacier, where
snowcats trailing ropes haul you up the
spectacular Furgg Glacier. The
can zip down to Cervin К
ils and return

different

allivanting can also be done in
the States, notably at E s.
which i al Southwestern.
n Christmas and
he lively agenda of
must-dos ranges from the Sun Bow! col-
lege football game, polo matches, and
flat racing at Sunland Park to bullfights
across the border in Juarez.

For further information on any of the
above, write to Playboy Reader Serv-
ice, 232 Е. Ohio St. Chicago 11, Ш. ED

Paso, T

NEXT MONTH:

NEW YORK—PLAYBOY ON THE TOWN IN THE CITY OF SUPERLATIVES.

“THE PLAYBOY PANEL'—A DISTINGUISHED SYMPOSIUM DISCUSSES.
BUSINESS ETHICS AND MORALITY—WITH SENATORS PHILIP A. HART
AND JACOB K. JAVITS, AFLCIO'S JAMES B. CAREY, WILLIAM
BENTON, MARQUIS CHILDS, VANCE PACKARD AND OTHERS

“BARBARA GIRL” А ROMANTIC SAGA OF THE SEARCH FOR LOVE
THROUGH THE BYWAYS OF A BIG CITY'S BOHEMIA -BY HERBERT GOLD

“THE LITTLE WORLD OF STAN FREBERG''—THE ACE ENTREPRENEUR
OF SATIRE AND HOW HE GOT THAT WAY—BY RICHARD LEWIS

“PLAYMATES OF HISTORY”

A PULCHRITUDINOUS PICTORIAL ON

HOW FAMOUS FEMMES FATALE OF YORE MIGHT HAVE LOOKED IF THEY
HAD POSED FOR OUR GATEFOLD--BY MARIO CASILLI

May we never want a friend in need, nor а bottle to give him!"

‘from Dombey and Son by Charles Dickens,
‘eminent patron of Justerini à Brooks

Flavour unsurpassed makes J & В Rare Scotch Whisky the favourite bot-
tle almost anywhere you go these days. After all, the venerable house of
Justerini & Brooks has been guarding J & B's sterling quality with typical
British determination for many, many years. Try J & B yourself.

) rare scotch whisky

Pennies more in cost...worlds apart in quality

"WORLD'S FINEST" SOLE IMPORTERS: THE PADDINGTON CORPORATION, NEW YORK CITY - 86 PROOF BLENDED SCOTCH WHISKY

Leefines away harsh flavor...
refines away rough taste...
Jor the mildest taste of all!

THE FINER THE FILTER, THE MILDER THE TASTE
©1942 Ронан Со.