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ENTERTAINMENT FOR MET AY 1964 • 75 CENTS

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PLAY BILL °° woe

posed cover girl, and
in a May poll of the editors,

choice for Playmate of the Y

achieves withii

these pages a special distinction. Our П-раре

pictorial paean to December Playmate Donna's singular

charms is a page longer than the previous record holder for a

photo takcout devoted to one girl — the unforgettable Marilyn
Monroc (MM Remembered, January 196:
rapher Pompco Posar, the m
male of the Year pictorial, is a quietly charming Continental
type. An Italian from Trieste who came to this country in

увоу photog-

an behi

id the lens in our Play-

1955, Pompeo joined rravsov
four years ago after his frec-
lance photographing of sev-
eral. Playboy's Penthouse TY

SHEINWOLD

ions caught the eye of
Fditor Publisher Hefner. Pom

peo's env

in on Donna Michelle ni
his ninth shooting of a Play-

mate for the m

с.

Our May issue is filled with
material no less ench
than Miss Michelle. On hand

anting

the second part of Lan Flem
ings latest James Bond sc

p
tingler, You Only Live Twice,
wherein Bond, on the prowl
in the Orient, finds himself in

the direst of straits. Ken W.
Purdy, who can turn out grip-

ping fiction and authoritative
articles with equal aplomb, is
teller of a terror tale this

outing. His Portrait of Charles

ic dis-

Boyd, depicting the t

integration of an artist,

artistic tour de force of shat

tering intensity. Wi

ser's I’m Just a Traveling Man

unwinds thuough the streets of Pari:

ted h

to Wiser who expa mself to the City of Light, where,
grew a beard and found а pad in the Paris red-
t off the Rue Saint-Den: His stay there, which
was followed by a justcompleted year in Mexico City under
a fellowship granted by the Centro Mexicano de
bore fictive fruit. ї one other
story scheduled for a forthcoming issue of rrAvnoy.
There is probably no more versatile or respected
Hollywood today th

he says,

light dist

itores,

п Traveling Man and at le:

ctor in
a the subject of this month's. Playboy
Interview, Jack Lemmon. Engagingly candid, Lemmon dis-
plays an estimable offsercen awareness of his professio
an art and as a business — which makes for fascinating read-
ing. Equally esteemed in his own field, Alfred Sheinwold,
author of this month's Big-League Bridge (he's shown above,
through a glass tabletop, hard at play), is one of the foremost
chroniclers and. practitioners of such pasteboard pastimes as
bridge (he has а nationally syndicated column in over 200
newspapers, is Associate Editor of Modern Bridge, Editor of
Tutobridge and author of the bestselling Five Weeks to Win-

—as

ning Bridge, has won national championships and is one of
aked players in the United States) and gin
rummy (he is the chief judge of the апп ional Gin
Rummy Tournament held in Las Vegas). Chief of Crypto-
graphic Security for the OSS during World War II, Shei

wold sent us an

the highest-r

uncoded communiqué revealing two

mportant events upcoming: publication of his The Pocket
Hoyle (with Albert H. Moreh
riage to—you guessed й—а na

As п Castro's Hav
champions Ernest Hemingway and Tennessee Williams was

ad) and an impending ma

ional bridge champion.

gular meeting

а between literary

arranged and set down in Papa
and the Playwright by Eng-
1
c

POSAR
ad's most celebrated theater
who is

erary mani
ain's National Theater. Tynan

proved to be the discomfited
d amused third party to a

comedy of noncommunication
between the celebrator of vir-

ile masculinity and the laurc-

(dence.
ance of

ate of Southern cde

The premier appe:
what should prove to be one
of PLAYbOY'S most popular fca-

tures—A Playboy's Pad — is
yet another facet in our conti
uing appraisal of the urban

ach to mod-

and urbane appr
erm living. West Coast archi.
tect Fred Lyman’s d

matic
digs, photographed by a recent
addition to the pLavnoy photo
still, J. Barry O'Rourke, is the
first stop on what promises to

be a fascinating tour of so-

phisticated bachelor quarters
throughout the world.
Invading the world of the most

quently ua

hly specialized and fre-
lated form of Japanese poetry, PLAvBoy's comedic
ry Siegel, offers his own va
and honorable ve

stalwart, Lin

ations on an ancient
е form in Hip Haiku. Larry, co-author of
Vaughn Meader's latest LP, Have Some Nuts, bases his claim to
expertise i

Sessue Haya

ipponese on the

ict that he's seen all of

's movies and owns a Nikon came

mption that men of science are humorless is proved
ard in another of scientist and science fictioncer
Arthur С. Clarke’s visionary voyages into the future, The Food
of the Gods; his theme is at once pointed and satiric

Food and Drink Editor Thomas М

rios Gin Fling, on the
per berry, has been strikingly illustrated by
Chicago artist Roy Schnackenberg, whose painting enhanced
PLAYBOY'S Folk, Folkum and the New Gitybilly (June 1963).

Other musts for May include Fashion Director Robert L.
Green's New Moves Afoot, and a second fashion feature on
convertible warm-weather garb, Double Exposure; our cool
May miss, Playmate Terri Kimball: and On the Scene. All of
which should make May a memorable month.

juice of the jun

PLAYBOY.

Summit Encounter

Ploymote Winner

P
ot
Bachelor Pad

GENERAL OFFICES: piaveoy вуне, 232 E.
coriRIGHTED ©) tose BY HMH PUBLISHING CO. INC.
MOWING MAY BE REPRINTED IN WHOLE OR IN PART
MAGAZINE AND ANY REAL PEOPLE AND PLACES IS
DONNA MICHELLE. DESIGN BY ARTHUR PAUL, PHOT
согон}. MALINOWSKI (BLACK в ант), Р.
ADAMS. GOWLANE, PIP, CASILLE. P. 89 DRESSES ву
Тн PONPIAN SHOP, P. 40-92, DONNA MICHELLE S
WARSTYE шт FRED'S SHEARS. ANO CHEERS

vol. 11, по. 5—may, 1964

CONTENTS FOR THE MEN'S ENTERTAINMENT MAGAZINE

PLAYS = 3
DEAR PLAYBOY. E 7
PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS 21
THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR cem El 47

PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK—travel......
THE PLAYBOY FORUM... PR 53
PLAYBOY INTERVIEW: JACK LEMMON—candid conversation 57
PORTRAIT OF CHARLES BOYD— fiction ... KEN W. PURDY 66
A PLAYBOY'S PAD: AIRY AERIE—modern
н!
YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE—novel. =
GIN FLING—drink

DOUBLE EXPOSURE—at an ROBERT 1. GREEN 85
IM JUST A TRAVELING MAN—! = WILLIAM WISER 87
GOING HOME—playbcy's playmate of the month- . 88
PLAYBOY'S PARTY JOKES—humor. fas 94
PAPA AND THE PLAYWRIGHT—article KENNETH TYNAN 97
BIG-LEAGUE BRIDGE—erticle. > I ALFRED SHEINWOID 99
PLAYMATE OF THE YEAR—, хее vea e ъала у 101
THE FOOD OF THE GODS—!
NEW MOVES AFOOT—attire. EM
THE ANGUISH OF ANSELMO—ribold classic.
PLAYMATES REVISITED—1957—pictorial =
THE CREATURE FROM THE BLACK TEEVEE JEEBIES—satire SHEL SILVERSTEIN 124
ON THE SCENE—persenal

HAIKU—humor LARRY SIEGEL 77
____ЈАМ FLEMING 78

THOMAS MARIO 82

cec ARTHUR С. CLARKE 113.
- ROBERT 1. GREEN 115
MIGUEL DE CERVANTES 119

HUGH

HEFNER editor and publisher
А. с. SPECTORSKY. associate. publisher and editorial director
ARTHUR PAUL art divecior

JACK J. KESIE managing editor VINCENT T. TAyuRL picture editor

SHELDON WAX senior edilor: FRANK DE BLOIS, MURRAY FISHER, NAT LEHRMAN, DAVID
SOLOMON associate edilors; ROBERT L. GREEN fashion director; DAVID TAYLOR associate
fashion editor; тиомлх manio food & drink editor; PATRICK CHASE Gavel editor;
J. PAUL GETTY consulting editor, business & finance; CUARLVS BEAUMONT. RICHARD GEI-
MAN, PAUL KRASSNER, KEN W. PURDY contributing edilors; ARLENE DURAS copy chic;
MICHAEL LAURENCE, JACK SHARKEY, RAY WILLIAMS assistant edilors; BEY CHAMBER-
Lats associate picture editor: BONNIE NOVIK assistant picture edilor; MARIO CALL,
TARRY GORDON, J. BARRY O'ROURKE, POMPEO POSAR, JERRY VULSMAN staff photog
raphers; SEAN MALINONSKI contributing photographer; reen GLASTR models stylist:
REID AUSTIN associate art director; KON BLUME, JOSEPH PACZEK asistani ait. direc

lors; WALTER KRADENYCH art assistant; CYNTHIA MADDOX assistant cartoon. editor;
JOUN MAstRO production manager; FERN H. CANMANN assistant production man
адет * HOWARD W. LEDERER advertising director; JULES KASE caslern advertising
manager; JOSEPH. FALL midwestern advertising manager; JOSEPH GUENTHER Detr

advertising manager; NELSON. FUTCH promotion director; DAN CZUBAK promotion
art director; WELNUT LoRSCH publicity manager; BENNY DUNN public relations
manager; ANSOX MOUNT college bureau; тико FREDERICK personnel director; JANET
PILGRIM reader service; WALTER HOWARTH subscription fulfillment manager; ELDON
SELLERS. special projects; ROBERT PREUSS business manager & circulation director.

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DEAR PLAYBOY

E] apres PLAYBOY MAGAZINE - 232 E. OHIO ST, CHICAGO, ILLINOIS 60611

COVER KUDOS

I cannot take my eyes off the cover of
your 1964 The young
lady in the pink dress is the most
intriguing-looking person Гус seen on
any page of pLaynoy, and there have
been some very attractive women over
the years.

February issue

John R. Leopold
Clinton, New York

On the cover of the February issue
you have an exceedingly good-looking
girl, but you failed to mention her name.
Who is she?

Robert Cherry

Boyd Garber

University of North Carolina
Chapel Hill, North Carolina

You're not reading the “Playbill,”
1s we noted. there, our February
cover girl is Assistant Cartoon. Editor
Cynthia Maddox. In the nearly [ive years
that Cynthia has brightened vtvuov's
editorial offices for fellow staffers. she
has also made innumerable appearances
in the pages of the magazine, including
two previous covers (February 1962 and
March 1963).

boys.

PLAYMATES REVISITED

I'm certainly enjoying your Tenth

Anniversary reprise of rrAvmov's Play-
mates and am looking forward to the pic-
ture story on the readers own favorites
те. My

mates

promised for the December
own choices for the top ten PI.
of the first decade are Janet Pi
July 1955; List Winters, December 19.
Elaine Reynolds, October 1959; Barbara
Ann Lawford, February 196; Heidi
Becker, June 1961; Christa Speck, Sep-
tember 1961; June Cochran, December
1962; Toni Ann Thomas, February 1963;
Connie Mason, June 1963; and Donna
Michelle, December 1963. 11] be inter-
ested to see how my own favor
pare with those of the other readers.

Robert Wilson

Evanston, Illinois

In approaching the delightful dilemma
of picking the ten best Playmates from
PLAYEOVS first ten years of publishing,

I have to begin with Christa Speck and
Donna Michelle — my two all-time favor
ites. After that the becomes
considerably more difficult, but 1 will
cast my remaining eight votes for Jayne
Mansfield. Ellen Stratton, Connie. Ma-
son, Christine Williams, Stella Stev
Phyllis Sherwood, Joyce Nizzari and
Unne Terjesen — though not necessarily
in that order.

selection

Chuck Smith
Dallas, Texas
Readers are invited to submit their
own ten favorite Playmates from the first
decade of pLaywoy and the most popular
will appear in а special "Readers
Choice” portfolio in December.

SS-TATORY
‘The Jack Guss story in your Febr
issue proves two thi

ary
gs (1) We have
time in our racial problems
when we can face some of them with а
sense of humor. This isa great and most
welcome мер. (2) Jack Guss is an origi
nal. There is no one quite like him.
‘There will be no one like him. I hope
you bear him into working for rLaynoy
often in the coming years. You belong
together. Congratulations to you both
on your first meeting,
Ray Bra
Los /

come to

1 found February's Where Does It Say
in Frend? by Jack Raphael Guss to be a
delightful combination of wit and poign-
ancy and therefore consistent with the
quality of most of the material found in
riaynoy, Would it be possible for you to
give us some more of his work?
Theodore A. Paulson

Hyde Park, New York

Coming up shortly.

BARE BECKET

Although уош is a men's magazine,
Tam sure you must appreciate your large
feminine readership. As one of your
women readers, I have a complaint. to
make. 1 know al attitude
that the female body, especially nude,
is a thing of beauty and a joy forever
and all that, but frankly, all those breasts

your editoi

PLAYBOY, HAY, 1964, VOL. V
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about them—slip one on, and watch out!

and buttocks don’t send me. As far as
I'm concerned, it’s just another case of
"So what else is new?" Take that stupid
sequence in your February issue of Peter
O'Toole and Richard Burton with some
naked actress [Im Bed with Beckel,
PLAYBOY, February 1964]. A poorly con-
ceived, tiresome treatment of a trite s
ject. But had the actress been dressed, and
Mr. Burton and Mr. O'Toole nude — ah,
then your women readers would surely
have wondered what you buy one half

for women, please!
Mrs. Robert Mather
Grass Lake, Michigan

BALDWIN BROTHER

James Baldwin claims he does not
know anything about music [The Uses
of the Blues, тїлүвоү, January 1964].
You don't have to know anything about
music to know anything about the blues,
but you do have to be born in the u
tion. Since Baldwin is an American
Negro, he qualifies; anyone who is not
a Negro and claims to know about the
blues is an impostor. A cultured quack,

I first heard the blues sung when I
was t00 young to know much more than
my name—way down in an Alabama
cotton field:

Days are lonely, nights are so, so
long

Days are lonely, nights so doggone
long

I tried to be а good man

But I done been treated wrong.

Now, I do not daim to have known
at the time the meaning of the blues,
but before I was seven or eight, 1 re
alized that something inside me re-
sponded sharply whenever | heard
them. I know now what it was. It wasn't
the music. It was the mood — the mood.
ebony that is an clement of every
Negro's most enduring psychic state.
It is something that becomes а part of
what he is, and a reflection of what he
is because of the peculiar focus of forces
that have created him in the рати
image by which he is known and judged.
Bessie Sr ticulated the judgment
and the futility of innocence:

Some people call me a hobo
Some call me a bum

Nobody knows my name
Nobody knows what I've done.

Asa college boy I walked the streets
of Memphis Гог four years haunted by
the songs and the sounds around Handy
Park, the cafés and the clubs that
reached out for me, tugging at туу
cera and demanding recognition, affi
ation. And if I resisted recognition, I
knew then (and I know now) that I was

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PLAYBOY

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I was born in the

ly afüliated.
y.

I got the one and two blues
They haunt me night and day.

So has James Baldwin, On any chance
meeting. we could d probably
would) share the same blues, and neither
of us would have to say а word.

C. Eric Lincoln
Clark College
Atlanta, Geor

SILVERSTEIN SONG

TI goddamn Silverstein is the fun-
t and cleverest n to come down
the pike this century! If you don't have
it planned already, have him add a
fourth part to his “History of Playboy,
entitled “The Future Years” — then run
the whole series over n. That guy
fractures me, and it is nothing but pure
delight,

R. C. Weekly
Norfolk, Virginia

Shel Silverstein’s series on the History
of Playboy proves once again that he is
a master of humor. Гуе thoroughly en-
joyed this series and everything that he
has had published in rrAymov.

Kenneth. Novarro
New York, New York

As a young female who firmly believes
that one of woman's most important
roles is the entertainment of men, I
picked up a copy of рїлүпоу some
months ago. with only the idea of kcep-
ing abreast (no pun intended?) with
what entertains them, and to cut a long
story short, I have been devouring every
copy since with the greatest of interest.
ng this letter to express my
on of that master car-
verstein, His coverage of
nudism (again, no pun intended!), his
Lafcadio, the Lion Who Shot Back
[pLaynoy, November 1963]. his History
of Playboy are gems of perfection. In
my humble opinion, Shel Silverstein is
quite without peer.

Jennifer Self
Victoria, British Colum

toonist, Shel Sil

BATTLE OVER BRUCE

nkly, the autobiography of Lenny
Bruce has left me with mixed emotions.
I do think, however, that he is an
extremely talented

Kaye Ballard
New York, New York

The only recourse a reader has when
a magazine becomes objectionable is to
at I am going to do.
Lenny Bruce has а perverted mind and
a poor policy for you to
his perversion. The only
les is in the clinical ex-

refuse to buy it—U

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PLAYBOY

nmm Wii

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ploration of the ill and if you intend to
continue your policy of “unrestricted
thought and expression,” you should
plan future articles such as “Ihe Great
Pleasure in Raping Small Girls" and
“Boys Are More Fun.” Sex is wonderful
— filth is d

gusting-
Dean Collom
Denver, Colo

A movement is growing rapidly in this
area to form a citizens’ committee with
the sole aim of seeking Lenny Bruce's
appoimment as disarmament advisor
and chief negotiator in this field for the
United States Government. It has
become increasingly obvious to the mem-
bers of this movement that the approach
used by the present negotiators on both
fruitless and pointless because of
the lack of introspection. Also totally
ng in these discussions is the ability
the real imernation:
problems and the motivating forces be-
hind them. The world needs Mr. Bruce,
with his record of brilliant public service,
as exemplified by his clearing up the
Sherman Adams incident. We in our
group feel that he possesses both the
abilities and the stature required for the
job. We have searched our hearts in an
effort to find the one man capable of
carrying on productive conversations
with Khrushchev, Mao Tse-tung and De
Gaulle all at the same tin
d M. Shapiro
adelphia, Pennsylvania

MANAGERIAL MISFIT
Vance Packard, in his January artide,
On Being а Managerial Misfit, did a
good job of highlighting some of the
current practices in managerial selection
that appear slightly ridiculous to the
layman. | expect it would be possible
то do the same thing with any profession
at any point in time. Current. practices
re always bound to be a mixture of
folklore, unproven new theories, and a
good solid core of things that have been
found by practical experience to work.
‘The field of psychological testing
that readily lends itself to ridicul
i» quite casy for a
» individual question from any test
and present it in а contest that would
make it scem silly. It would be unfor-
tunate if an entertaining treatment. of.
this sort were to prejudice the very real
value that properly constructed and val-
tests. have the
hands of a qualified user. I think Vance
Packard made a good case for the fact
that he would not make a good manager.
nd I hope we
shall see many more stimulating
flowing from his gifted pen
Н. В. Maynard, President
Maynard Research Council
Pittsburgh, Pennsylvania

most anyone to select

He is an exceilent writer

tides

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It is high time that someone put a
clear glass before Mr. Vance Packard's
ideas and removed some of their distor-
tions. He has evolved a formula (deride
Lig business with exaggerated pictures of
the executive's life and times) that has
caught a portion of the public fancy and
that supports. among other expenses,
his spacious suburban home in New
Canaan, Connecticut. However lucrative
the formula for Mr. Packard. personally,
it nevertheless appears to be
akrupt in balanced, unbiased descrip
tions of the big-business situation.

What makes Mr. Packard’s pronounce-
ments difficult to wiscramble is the fact
that cach of them begins with one or
more truths. Thus it is a truth that some
big companies use tests as one deter-
minant of whether an individual should
or should not be hired or promoted —
and onc or these i
ацетре to determine whether the in-
dividual prefers mother or father.

Far be it from me to call Mr. Pac
ard's ideas insignificant. They are, in
fact, quite entertaining and imbued with
a good deal of shrewd insight. But I
would caution any reader lest he take
them too much to heart.

Апет all, many of us look forward to
a certain standard of living and are
willing to work hard to attain it. That
Mr. Packard has achieved a comfortable
standard through hard work in belittling
business is no reason for young men
to abjure hard work in building business

Lowell Laporte, Assistant to "Treasurer

The Flintkote Company

New York, New York

nearly

more of [ м

I thoroughly agree with Vance Pac
ard – he should give up the idea of
becoming а chief executive and stick to
his typewriter.

He is a Democrat — many Democrats
have excellent qualities, but usually not
as heads of large corporations. Most
upright Democrats seem to be in favor
of spending us into bankruptey and
that does not fit in very well with
managing a large corporation. Stock-
holders wouldn't like it and he would.
soon become less than popu

Then, wo, his letter-writing ability, he
confesses, is rather 1 that
would be a great handicap to him. He
could. of course, turn this function over
to others, but after all, stockholders,
potential and current customers, do like
that intimate touch to come directly
irom the Big Boss.

Failure to show supporting evidence
that he gets along well with people, is
a patron of the arts, is out of debt, carries
his liquor well and may or may not be
averse to the feminine appeal could
easily be the controlling factor in deter-
nining his ability — aside from being a
Democrat — to become a chief executive
of national importance.

limited

On the other hand, he confesses to
having plenty of drive, believes he could
get along well with people and can as
sume responsibility. While important
and credible factors, they do not in the
main offset the previously recited re-
strictions.

АШ in all being an outstanding
author of books on the executive, he
should stay at home, continue writing
and keep everybody happy, including
himself.

Allan Р. Kirby
Morristown, New Jersey

TALLYHO

Upon reading Fox Hunting — Who
Needs 11? [praynoy, January 1961] by
P. С. Wodehouse, 1 was pleased to dis-
cover that others also derive enjoyment
from hunting the wily fly. I became an
aficionado of this growing sport while
residing in the flyinfested. southern-
Michigan region, where the creature
abounds, and where the hunt could
easily be deemed a public service. No-
where else is the hunting as challenging,
plentiful and beneficial as there — espe-
cially during the late summer months
when the fly is quite eager to venture
indoors and is at the height of its skill
in cluding its determined pursuers.

I was taken aback, however, by the
authors somewhat heavy-handed tech-
nique. His use of folded magazines and
newspapers is quite unsporting, really,
and might be likened to using an atomic
bomb upon a rabbit. True huntsmen,
it seems to me, would prefer the more
challenging eight or. twelve-inch ruler,
which, possessing some spring or snap,
allows the huntsman to bring his quarry
down on the wing. Е

rthermore, the use

of the ruler weapon requires close prox-
imity to the prey and no small degree of
marksmanship and skill. Indeed, only
through this technique can the thrill of
a good chase be enjoyed to the utmost.
Good hunting and Tallyho.

Charles Witham

LaGrange, Illinois

GETTY
1 would like to compliment you on the
series of

form

tive and enjoyable ar-
ticles that pLayBoy has been featuring in
recent issues written by Mx. J. Paul Getty
on the subjects of business and finance.
In fact, 1 have suggested to my students
in finance that they read these articles
whenever possible. As you can imagine,
this is one suggestion that they follow
quite readily. Please encourage Mr.
Getty to continue writing these articles,
as his practical insights on business and
finance are useful both to businessmen
and to students of business administra-
tion. In fact, 1 hope PrAvmov will cn-
courage Mr. Getty to write a book

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based on his PLAYBov articles. Such a
book would ЕШ a real need for practical
advice on business and finance — the
kind of advice that can only be given
by a succesful businessman such as
Mr. Getty.
Dr. Donald Grunewald
Assistant Professor
School of Business
Rutgers University
Newark, New Jersey
As our Consulting Editor on Business
and Finance, J. Paul Getty will continue
to contribute regularly to the future
issues of PLAYBOY.

BOND CRITIQUE
In reference to Ian Fleming's The
Property of a Lady [рілувоу, January
1964]. I'm afraid that “in the grim chess
game that is secret service work," each
side has lost a queen. If Mr. Bond is
capable of making an educated guess
that the Resident Director might be the
underbidder, then the K. G. B. will sin
larly deduce that the Purple Cipher
Operation is a hoax. The loss of a key
man in a week's time after the auction
will cause the K. G. B. to link these wo
major events, If the Resident Director
had been identified as the underbidder,
then the British must have known that
the jewel was payment to Maria Freu-
denstein. The big question would then
be, why did the British allow Maria to
occupy her position? The Purple Cipher
would, therefore, be suspect by the
К. С. В. After finishing the story, I alm.
thought to my: Sood old Bond
but then I realized the consequences of
deporting the Resident Director.
Leonard likin
Philadelphia, Pennsylv

1920 VARGAS
Your January issue has got to be one
of the very best yet. I have collected your
magazine as a subscriber [or five years
and your embarkation into the second
decade deserves cong
The section on The Vargas Girl Circa
1920 was а real surprise. It was a treat
to sce some of Vargas’ carly work. 1
would like to recommend that the maga-
zine continue offering samples from this
great artist's collection in future issues,
in addition to the current Vargus Girls
who appear regularly.
John D. Walraven
Comstock Park, Michigan

READER RE READER VICE
This is not a request for information.
It is simply a thankyc note, for your
courteous respo:
for inforn the past two
years. I have written you quite fre-
quently, requesting such outofthe-
ordinary information as the address of

The next affair
you have,
make it formal.

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PLAYBOY

18 OUTSIDE THE U.S, AND CANADA

IMPORTED EXTRA DRY VERMOUTH

MARTINI ROSSI

mrs С ШШ

Ross Hunter, a Hollywood producer.
amd the address of the American Sun-
bath
responded in the most courtcous way,
and for this ] am very grateful.

Ray L. Geflcl

Онин AFB, Nebraska

ig Association. You have always

LINER NOTE

Good things come in small packages.
February's Joe Meets Sam was not only
in the groove storywise, but from the
production standpoint as well. “The
album cover was à gas, the liner notes
kicker м
the technical data that followed the
liner not.

were too much, but. the 1 s

Monis I. Diamond
National Promotion Director
Mercury Records

Chicago, Illinois

GRABBER

Murray Teigh Bloom's February arti
cle, The Moneygrabbers, grabbed me and
held me to the last illicit dollar. If hed
fictionalized his facts, they would have
coustituted the least credible story since
Little Red Riding Hood. As it is, though,
he's assembled а clutch of clutchers of
whom I for one have never heard, told
their tall tales fascinatiugly. and woven
them together into the kind of piece
that makes а fellow stop and think. At
least, drav’s the effect this work produced

in me: E sat there thinking how great it
would be to have the brains and the
gull to become one of Bloom's roster of
happily retired, high-livir
Then Т had to stop thinking —and go
back to earning an honest dollar to divvy
up with the Internal Revenue. Service.

Ted Ayres

Springfield, Massachusetts

amoralists.

TIN.PUN ALLEY

1 enjoyed Jack Sharkey's historical dis.
cussion of the origin of some ol our
popular songs in Februarys Lady Lurk
and the Lyricist, but 1 can't. understand
why he left out the story of how Vernon
Duke met Hugh Downs

t a party
got imo a discussion of existentialist
philosophy. 10 seems that Duke had a
very superficial knowledge of the subject,
which eventually irritated Downs to the
“I's obvious that

point of exclaim
you have read Sartre, but you certainly
don't understand him very well!” To
which Duke replied. with abundant
sarcasm, “I'm brokenhearted "cause I
can't get Sartre's wit, Hugh" — aud
rushed out of the room in search of a

piano,
James Ransom
Palo Alto, California

Why
Fortrel?

Ask the economist.

The one with a materialistic
slant on leisure —

who knows what his shirt-
jac is made of. And why.

The fiber is Fortrel. Keeps
his shirt looking
crisp. Neat. Wrinkle-free.

Through deck-chair debates
on the Common Market.
Barbecue discussions of the
Stock Market.

Shopping trips to the
Farmer's Market.

Good reasons to look for
Fortrel in all your clothes.

Donegal's “Bucksport Isle" shirt- jacs
of Galey & Lord's Fortrel polyester

and cotton. In checks, solids and stripes.
S, M, L, XL. About $8. At fine stores
everywhere or write Celanese Fibers Co.,
522 Fifth Avenue, New York 36, N. Y.

CONTEMPORARY FIBERS

19
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PLAYEOY

MANCIN
TRACKS
THECA

HIS NEWEST FILM SCORE, “The
Pink Panther,” is full of

feline fun and Mancini mirth.
Joyous, romping melodies
like “It Had Better Be Tonight,”
“The Pink Panther Theme,”
“Something for Sellers,”

“The Tiber Twist” and
“Champagne and Quail.”
Your record dealer has the
“Panther,” stocked. Capture
it today. It's a cat of a
different color!

+ the
PINK PANTHER
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HENRY MANCINI Fd

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PLAYBOY AFTER HOURS

he word “exotic,” as a description of
the wondrous ways of the Orient, h
always struck us аз apt, but we never
quite realized how apt until we received
a brace of advertisements from Japan

n a recent mornings mail If these
circulars are any indication, those in-
scrutable Nipponese. impatient with

their image as imitators, have apparently
decided t0 be innovators — and. leaders
— in at least one held: sexual exotica.
Circula
succinctly

number one states its purpose
in the opening paragraph
“Restore your sexual vitality with Won
der Drink (A)! Our curiosity whetted,
we read on to learn that “the 56 years
old inventor” of this “erogenous wonder
drink fulfills a man’s duty three times а
day and has now set out to satisfy 1600
of the fair sex.” Impressed by this pro-
dipious perform ип,
tention was diverted from the inven
ijikawa
whose accompanying capsule autobiogra-
phy informed us that he stumbled upon
his “vitalizing noble hormone" before the
War while seeking a cure for tubercu-
10515. After test-drinkiny new herbal
concoction one day, Fujikawa —in a
discovery scene rivaling those assoc
with Newton, Franklin and Edison —
awoke the next morning to find his
blanket being pulled up as if it were
ive.” Evidently not wishing to burden
his wife with the details of his invention,
Fujikawa probably exclaimed “Eureka!
(in Japanese, of course) and, we ате told,
hastened forthwith to a Jow geisha house
of his acquaintance. “I challenged a girl
who was said 1o have faced 3000 men.”
he relates. “It took me two hours to
finish one act. Her waist was almost
paralyzed the second time

Reading on we were further assured
10 learn that it not only remedies semi-

ince and pro, our

tion to the inventor, Yuzaburo F

ted

impotency and premature ejaculation,
but is recommended as a specific for
gastroenteric complaints, heart disease,
scrofulosis, diabetes. kidney and liver
ailments and several other grievous afflic-

tions. At the end of the circular we

five satisfied
users, whose attestations seemed impres-
sive — until we noticed that every one of
the men happens to be employed in Fu-
jikawa’s laboratory, Our disillusionment
deepened when we learned that Fujikawa
purports not to sell u

to subscribers

found testimonials from.

drug, but to give
ic away who contribute
"supporting lees" as high as $500— al-
most a year’s salary for many Japanese
workmen.

Satisfied that we were being intro-
duced not 10 an important and original
contribution to the science of sexology
but to ап exotic adaptation of that time
known
we turned to circular number

honored institution s the con,

two: a
compact eight pager distributed by the
Atafune Drug Company of Yokohama.
The title, Sex Instruments, Advice, Med-
icine and Sex Problems, led us to believe
that Akafune might be connected with
Fujikawa, but further perusal disabused
us of this notion. Rather than pharma-
ceutical miracles, the Yokohama company
modestly offers merely "Safety and РІ
ше First" The first category of prod-
ucts advertised in the booklet is headed
For the benefit of eroti-

“Aphrodisiacs.

cally ignorant readers, the authors
Id. parenthetically, “Make Passionate.”
Among the love potions described are

"Pluspin," which is “taken in coffee or

drink in wine is much better”: and a

second variant of the same drug which
“drains the cup of pleasure to the dregs.”
Perhaps to sweeten the taste of these
dregs, Pluspin is also offered in “choco-
late form,” and the authors assure us

that йз “indispensable to those men
who want to gather life's roses

The next grouping of aids to amour is

tabbed “Novelties.” of which the first
item is a "Surprise Box (Sex Kit) — very
паре for
prising present lo partyshow or your
lovet!” In the same а collec
tion of “Sex Simurants.” highlighted by
"TugenoL" which will help “aged E
that are too roomy to regain same con-
ition as virgin."
We found the third classification,
"Long Time Medicine.” a bit obscure
at first glance — and even more so alter
reading the explanation: “It accelerates
the intoxication, thereby perpetaating
the agitation, and resulting in the most
isfactory climax," But the pièce de
résistance of this grouping is a collector's
item called the "Gold Music Ball —
with every movement of it, a very сх
citing sound will be heard to your excite-
ment.”

As suggestively picturesque as these
blurbs may be, one must reluctantly con-
dude that, like Fujikawa's
they add little to our knowledge of
maleria medica. We do think, however,
that the Akafune folks have made one
unique contribution — to. nomenclature
if not to science — with their catalogs
description of birth-control pills, which,
with admirably candid accuracy, they call

“Nobody Medicine.

E your sur

your souvenir or

alegory

ies

nosu ums,

Untold story of the month, from the
s of Columbus, Ohio's The
Booster: "Man's wedding old and
platinum, 5 diamonds. sz would
like to trade for shotgun, МА 24259,

classified ра

After four unsolved burglaries in si:
teen months, the residents of a West Side

AT 28, MIKE CUESTA is onc of New York's hottest photographers. Drop by
his studio and you'll find him in khakis, T-shirt and tennis shoes. But out on
location, with a client along, you'll see a different Mike: button-down shirt,
repp tie, Cricketeer poplin suit. Mike prefers the easy, understated look
of Cricketeer. It's a sure sign of good taste. And isn't that what they pay a
photographer for? CRICKETEER"*

Cricketeer Shirtweight Poplin suit about $45.00. Other Cricketeer summer suits from $45.00 to
$65.00. At your favorite store, or write Cricketer, 1290 Avenue of the Americas, New York, N.Y.

New York apartment building posted a
sign in the entrance hall which read
NOTICE VO THIEVES — OTHERS HAVE PRE-
CEDED YOU. ALL CAMERAS, HIFI SYSTEMS,
TRANSISTOR RADIOS, DIAMOND RINGS, PEARLS,
NECKLACE AS WORTHLESS AND
WORTH AVE BEE?
TILCUED FROM THESE PREMISES. THERE'S
NOTHING LEFT TO TAKE. They were wrong:
the sign was stolen.
artening evidence that the Armed
rvices have begun to adopt а more en-
ightencd attitude coward individual ini
officers comes to us in the
om the Air Fore
SC Newsreview: “WAP OFFICER CLAIMS
TWO POSSIBLE FIRSTS IN PROCUREMENT

lants on trial in Leicester, Eng
1 be checred to learn that the
application of 57-year-old John Coles
nption from jury duty. on the

that he is totally blind and
Virtually stone deaf, was refused by
cout officials ith the explanation
that his s were insufficient to jus
tify cis а ways heard that
hadn't occured to

lso be hard.

One secret we have not the slightest
intention of becomir y to ds the
one. evidently ed in а new cook.
book, The есте! of Cooking for Dogs

RIST RESIGN: * “ST JOHN TO
HEAD YOUNG REPUN When we
ran across these eye-opening headlines
on the Irom page of the Albuquerque
Journal, we couldnt help wondering
why the wire services hadn't picked up
the double scoop — until we learned in
the ies that the wor
thies in question are known to th
friends as Harold and Bob. re
both are local civic leaders

In the interest of revitalizing the
moribund аш of conversation, we'd like
to suggest a few apt replies that might
be made ro the perenn

low are you?” By an egotis:
pendous, thanks." By a flagpole sitter
“Тїр top." By an East Berliner: "Gant

2” By à vampire: "Dead on my
7 By û used-c
dition.” By Harve:
By the Jolly Green Gi
season: "Peas poor.” By a juvenile
delinquent: "Punk." By tractive
sculptress: “Pretty By a
ayer: By a
happy Eskimo: "Top of the world." By
ıı unhappy Eskimo: “Not so hot” By
а pop song writer: "You know how it

gocs.” By Lawrence Welk: “Wunn:
wunnaful." By a tamp: “Lousy.” By
Madame Curie: "Radiant," By a judg
“Finel” By Beau Brummell: "Dandy."
By Robespierre: “Peerless.” By a white
hunter at the end of an arduous salari:
“Bushed.” By a seamstress: "Soo." By
а mental patient: "Crazy, man," By Tar-
Swinging." By Commander White-

Curiously refreshing." And by
one of PLAYpOYS Playmates: "In the
pink.”

he:

Poetic Justice Department: Our man
in Hollywood reports that the secretary
of the Southern California Communist
Party was recently ticketed in El Se
gundo — for making an illegal left turn.

Owners of obsolescent secondhand
premium gifts may be interested to learn
that Сом Junk Yard at 4th Street and
Avenue C on Manhattan's Lower Fast
Side is now giving Plaid Stamps with
every purchase,

Incidental Intelligence: A Dutch vet-
crinatian has developed a bovine
brassiere designed to keep cows (and
possibly а few overgenerously endowed
movie queens) from stepping upon their
udders while arising from a prone
position.

А sign on the back of an Elizabeth-
town, Kentucky, g truck reads:
SATISFACTION GUARANTEED —OR DOUBLE

YOUR GARBAGE BACK,

Congratulations would seem to be in
order for Marylanders Richard. Bolling
and Jim Grant Akin, who were listed in
а recent issue of the state's Rockville-
Montgomery County Sentinel among the
couples applying for marriage licenses.

On the menu of a Chicago short-order
food emporium called Mr. Shrimp is
a disquieting disclaimer, tucked incon-
spicuously between the pizza and the bar-
becued beef, which reads, "Because of
the nature of this business, service cannot

always be perfect. If we should lose a
customer, it will be due to an error or
something out of our control.”

Ouch Department: The Bird Man of
Alcawaz, according to a movie ad in
Alabama's The Huntsville Times, "con-
summated his marriage through stecl
nd stone,"

The Government Printing Office in
Washington is still pondering over the
letter it received recently from a resident
of Miles City, Montana, which we quote
its entirety: “Dear Sits: You wrote a
letter to me saying that the pamphlets
1 ordered were out of print. 1 never sent
any and, if so, you never sent them. But

if you did, I never received them. But if
L did, 1 must have returned them. But
if I didn't, 1 won't.

Notice posted in a popular Manhattan
pub: NOT RESPONSIBLE TOR PEOPLE LEFT
OVER 30 DAYS.

BOOKS

Emest Hemingway's posthumous book
A Moveable Feast (Scribner's, 51.05) is his
best since For Whom the Bell Tolls, The
flatulence of his later fiction is absent
from this account of his life in Paris in
the cally Twenties. From first to last it
is filled with beautifully remembered
days of youthful pride and poverty, of
love, of Paris before it be
of Disneyland. We watch him discovering
and making the Hemingway style tha
had such impact on writers around the
world. His accounts of his friendships are
fascinating. Ела Pound is here shown
as а great poet, a good friend and a
marvelously skillful literary advisor.
Gertrude Stein is seen clearly and in-
timately. Scott Fitzgerald is revealed in
an unflauering but touchingly human
light. They met when Fitzgerald was al-
ready celebrated and Hemingway strug-
gling: the story of the auto trip on which
the celebrity invited the unknown is
hilarious and. biographically
As for Zelda Fitzgerald, whom Heming-
way disliked for herself and for her in-
fluence on Scott, he reports on a visit to
their Riviera home: “1 knew everything
... was going to turn out well in the
end when she leaned forward and said to
me, telling me her great secret, "Ernest,
don't you think Al Jolson is greater than
Jesus? . . . Scott did not write anything
anymore that was good until after he
knew that she was insane." Hemingway's
tions with his own wife (his fi
a bit too good and brave and true à
A Farewell to Arms; but this book is a
memorable memoir for everyone who has
ever been interested in Hemingway, the
writer and the man. And who hasn't?

me a kind

important.

AL first you feel about More Roman Tales
(Farran, Straus, 51.75), Alberto Moravi:
new collection of stories, as the n:
of one of them, Operation Pasqualino,
feels about Roman ruins: "They say it's
a Roman ruin: but there doesn't seem
to me to be much sense in calling a ruin
Roman when it's at Rome anyhow. . . .
If it was, say, at Frascati, it would be a
ascati тїп instead." In the same way
it seems, these are Roman tales simply
because they are set in Rome. About
hallway through, however, you realize
that from Ше lead story, The Chim-

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panzee, Moravia has been creating Rome
and Romans in a far-from- al fash-
ion, The ast. Moravia's cha
acters are nowhere and everywhere,
hopping from one job to another. to
unemployment, to petty thievery, to be;
ging. Passions. good or bad. sexual or
Occupational, are rare amd dangerou
еп good passions are dangerous, since
they may turn into bad ones: The one
аасциги Roman in this volume turns
from passionate gardcner (good passion)
to passionate lover (bad passion, because
he steals to help out his girl, is caught
and sent to prison, leaving the girl preg-
nant and unmarried). Short and to the
point, these tales (two of which orig-
inally appeared in рілувох) all have the
same staccato pace that impresses itself
upon you until you know this is Rome
and d these would be Roman tales
even if you changed the strect names
and christened the girls Judy and the
men James. Moravia is very good. To
call him the Italian. Dick: would be
little too much; to settle for the It
O'Hara would be much too little.
Early in The Cured Alcoholic (John Day,
5). psycholog i

us he was once "an adver
utive.” Who would doubt it? H

ace ds

which he presents himself as his
drunken brothers keeper—is a hard-
hitting advertisement for the wares and

talents of Arthur Н. Cain. "I couldn't
give up on them," he explains, referring
to some alcoholic soldiers in his com-
pany. “I had to live with them and work
with them; they were my buddies.” So

andons his advert

alcoho
to have come up

ith “r

‘w concepts in
d r QE JN
t these new cot
cepts arc, but the heart of the maner
scems to lie in the word "cured." ‘The
orthodox view, as espoused by Alcoholics
Anonymous, holds that the A.A. member
is always just “one drink away from а
5 ‚ however, insists that he
has had alcoholic patients whom he has
cured completely. They can now take
drink, he says, without lo:
епа. s arc inte
wishes he would explain them inst
of trying to promote them — in a hod
podge style and а tone that is alcoholic
than-thou,

alcoholism treatment a

week-

1k Spofford,

lous old chicken
goatish and alcoholic poet named Gowan
) McGland’s biographer,

Englishman named АМ
these are the lea
Reuben (Little,

Mopwortl
ig figures in Reuben,
Brown, $5.95), Peter De
Vries’ new satire on American sex and
society. The scene is Woodsmoke, Con-
necticut, a village taken over by Madison

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Avenue commuters and now sprouting
a church so modern they're thinking of
making divorce a sacrament.” Spofford
has become a “DP in his own back
yard,” and when his granddaughter,
Geneva, is jilted by а scion of the new
gentry, he declares а war of economic
revenge on the commuter community
His adventures lead him into the tangled
lives of dozens of oversexed. missexed
and unscsed new citizens of Woodsmoke.
In all of this, De Vries delights in
language for its own sake, never passing
up a pun. He mocks with perfect parody
the mannerisms of specch that give away
his characters. The Woodsmoke matrons

"puc ‘ish’ after everything and ‘sort of
in front of it . ‘Sort of һу.” Mop-
worth courts two students at а girls’
college in New England who decide that

his chasing is proof of flight from latent
they spout psychiatric
ty “pry” for probably — “Pry
he’s а fag.” All of the characters exhibit
the erotic and intellectual short circuits
of a society sick at heart and in the
glands. Reuben, Reuben is vintage
De Vries.

homosexuality:

slang and

In The Noked Society (David McKay,
85.05) Vance Packard warns th.
all nowadays inhabiting a kind of fish
bowl. The theme of his disquieting re-
port is that individual privacy is vanish-
ing: If we phone a Government agency,
our conversation may be secretly re-
corded: if we apply for a new job—or
even a new charge account — our. life
history may be investigated and per-
maneutly embalmed in
if we visit the supermarket to buy a loaf
of bread, our movements may be moni-
tored by a cleverly concealed dosed-
circuit television camera. "Millions of
Americans,” cautions Packard, “are liv-
an atmosphere in which peer
eyes, undercover agents, lic
detectors, hidden tape recorders, bureau-
crac investigators and outrageously
intrusive questionnaires are becoming
commonplace . . . facts of life.” He ас
tributes this state of allairs in part to
the new clecirouic gadgets which. make
зруй part
to the Cold War, which has made every
hody a bit edgy. “Although not the
least bit militaristic as а people." ob-
serves Packard, "Americans are being
swept toward being a martial — and thus
watched — state.” Our compliments to
PLAYBOY Packard for this docu-
rented blast at the. professional snoop-

we are

secret. dossier

ing
electron

à ycar-round festival. d i

Eros Denied (Grove, $7.50). by Way-
land Young, is a muckraking bouilla-
baisse of sex in Western society. In the
nd most precise language,
member of Britain's House of
Lords, tilts with “the doubt and con-
tempt of E—— — ing [the dashes are ours,
not milord's] which lie at the heart of

culture.
‘There is no ori
as we shroud ourselves

Christian
clerical —
cept
Young leans hard the other w
permissive about incest and

Formidably
nal si

orgies,
balking at sadism only on practical

grounds: “The limitations of sadism as a
practical way of life are severely factual.
Alter skimming the broad field of sexual
custom and morality, Wayland is way
laid by a vision of an idyllic world:
“There will next be a time of perfect
sexual freedom, by which T don't me
everybody laying everybody else regard-
less, but perfect freedom for everyone
to live in the manner he has been condi-
tioned по by chance and society, or has
chosen by introspection and will.”
Prophet Young may be unduly optimis-
t t in
the right place.

. but

eformer Young has his hes

Eros is far from denied in The Perfumed
Gorden (Putnam. S6), the Arabian love
manual which, since Sir Richard Burton's
(uo relation) evocative translation was
privately circulated in England about 80
yews ago, has gained а place for itself
as one of the classics of erotic literature.
This (6th Century work, credited to
the Shaykh Umar ibn Muhammed al
Nelzawi, treats physical love with respect-
ful candor, explicit detail and edifying
anecdotes. and with nary а snigger or
wink. It is to be hoped that the rever-
ence for human nature which pervades
these pages. now belatedly available to
ıl public along with an inform-
Man Hull. Wal-
ton. will infect some of ow self-appointed
sex suppressor. A ghince at the first

paragraph may help liberate them:
“Praise be given to God, who has placed
man’s greatest pleasure in the natural

pans of woman, and has destined the
natural parts of allord the.
greatest enjoyment to woman

man to

resounding affirmation. of.
love— 1152 pages, two volumes and
boxed — is provided by The World of Love
(Braziller, $17.50). Editor Isidor Schnei-
der has selected from the literature ot
many centuries and countries the specu-
philosophers, psychologists,
anthropologists, posts. novelists and.
others on this multifaceted, multifasci-
nating subject. Among the 90 authors
represented are Freud, Goethe, Tolstoy,
Nietzsche, Chekhov, D.H. Lawrence,
Shaw, Proust, Mark Twain and De Mau-
passant. Whether this hefty anthology
will really help you comprehend the
Meanings (Volume 1) or the Experience
(Volume П) of Iove. we do not venture

A further

lations of

ading.

Since 1964 is the year of the New York
World's Fair, we can expect more books
than usual auempting to explain that

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He may spend half a concert

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he studied). He may deliver

the kind of blues you'd expect

to hear in smoky San Fran-
cisco clubs (where his career

began). Or amuse himself with

intricate dialogues in the

form of 18th century canons

between himself and sax virtu-
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special occasions when some-
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—a groove opens. A rapport

develops between the per-
formers that comes across

with the force of an electric

charge. And the Quartet be-
gins playing music, as Time

put it, “the strangest and

loveliest music since jazz was

born.”

The electricity was there when

they recorded their latest

album, Time Changes. On one

side a full symphony orches-
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‘ Serti
ol excellence in this line is New York: True
North (Doubleday, $7.95). The photo-
aphs — ungimmicked, unsentimental
and uncommonly incisive — are by Sam
Falk of The New York Times. 10 is the
text, however, which makes the volume
wenparcil. Gilbert Millstcin, for шапу
the only prose stylist on the con
scientiously monochromatic Times stall.
has astutely collected. the observations

us city new standard

nivor

of witnesses” to the city's swirling
diversity. Among his guides are a hooker,
а reabestate mogul, a junkie, a surgeon,

а jae musician and the omnipresent

David Susskind. Milstein, moreover
adds his own acutely knowledgeable and
often mordant reportage. The book's

cont

theme is underlined by (t
tant pastor: “You might say this is two
cities —a city of light and of darkness:
of heroism and deprivation and degener
ation... . Which of the two cities will
extirpate the other is the big question

And Millstein himself concludes: “It has
become very nearly impossible for me

live in New York, bur it has also become
possible for me not to.

Earl Wilson's New York (Simon & Schuster,
) nore conventi troduc-

м
tion to the city. With the help of six

"experi" including his secretary, the
amiable syndicated columnist. offers the
usual lists of restaurants, theaters and
th anecdotal (and
occasionally uous) descriptions of
New Yorks various neighborhoods. А
reader in need of such fragments of in-
formation can find out the going vate for
prostitutes, the location of “the swi
ingest gas station in Queens,” and how
to recognize a sommelier (“He's the
joker with the chain around his neck").
Although Wilson's prose is gee-whillick
crs journalistic, his bewildered allection
Tor the city and his undiminished sense
of wonder at the swiftness of its chai
do come through engagingly.

с New

cums along w

зде

18:

York is,
s. a photographer's delight is
lenced vet again by Andreas
inger in New York (Viking, S10),

mo,

with
hypedbup commentary by Kate Simon.

fine lens has caught the атеш
several dozen of its countess
moods. focusing on beauiks aud. beach
niks, skyscrapers and ocean liners. spring

streets and snowbound

some tribute to the big town,

MOVIES

James Bond returns
Love — the second of lan Fleming
and Luger |
screened,

(Dr. No, ri

From Russia with
lust-
stories 1o be
nd superior ro n
LAYTON, Мау 1963)

spy

mbe

one
This yarn,

which begins in Turkey. is a lot of Istan
bul, bur it writhes with surprises. as
Bond — played again by Sean Connery
— deliberately walks into а trap on the
chance of gening a Russian decodin
machine. The атар is blondely baited
with a Russian code clerk (Daniela Bian
chi): but what Bond doesn’t know is that
she’s really being used by
the third force that plays West
East —and she's the girl who сип pla
The tension is tangy. the color
zesty. Through ‘Turkish cellars. gypsy
camps, and that good old European train
with the separate compartments. Ag
007 makes his way and his women.
aware that he is one lap beh
schemes of Robert Shaw, а cool,
kille:

SPECTRE,

inst

un-
d the
carcful
1 Lotte menace.
like
you think it's
nother tasty hunk of

sausage 1
along comes
But what's wrong with
"s this enjoyable?

loney
when

Louis Malle about 30 — опе
nd old men of the New Wave.
His pre ms (The Lowers, A Very
Private Affair, Zazie) have all had thei
moments, but not enough. His latest, The
Fire Within, repeats this pattern — and
keeps repeating it. He deals here with

now
of the gr

the last 48 hours of a dipso who has
dite with death. The fellow has been
dried out in a rest home but now, de-
prived of sauce, he's heading for th

brink. He wanders around Paris, visi
old haunts and haunting old fricuds.

Jeanne Moreau and Alexandra Stewart

are old flames who flicker on the edges

of his despair. What's best about the pic
iure is the malleable Malle techniqu
He cin make a camera sit up und d
inks in film terms. А!
се Ronet gives the leadi

tricks and he d
though Маш
part pathos and portent, the hero is a
selfnominated Hamlet. There simply
isn't enough to him or to his proble
as presented, to strike à true note of
modern malaise.

The Pink Penther is à gem. but the movie
doesn't always sparkle. This one would
seem to have a lot going for it: |
Sellers as a bumbling French detective,
David Niven as the classy criminal, direc
tion by Blake (Breakfast al Tiffany's)
Edwards. color photography in Gortina
d'Ampezzo. And additional scenery by
Claudia € ale. Sellers is
the Phantom, an elegant gor
collecting, people's. jewels
Peter doesn’t know is th

4t 10 catch

Г who is
What
t his wile is

other

i ү shoots — and. then some — with the
thief, The whirl whizzes from the ski
resort to a villa n Rome and а mad

masquerade in which the Pink Panther
disappears. The detective himsel! is ar
rested, and са

ew ima

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Fond Adieu in New York. That’s me saying, "Au Revoir,
cherie,” to Susy at the Playboy Club in New York. Oh, how
she hated to see me go id I look so ravishing in my
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I Love Paris and Vice-Versa. Decision made! That's me and
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handicapped by Capucine, as his wile
she's nothing if not a comedienne and
she's not a comedienne. David Niven is
nifty as of yore, but the yores are taking
their toll.

Paris When It Sizzles presents Audrey
Hepburn under a disadvantage — the
script. Written by George Axelrod, this
is based on an old French flick
as no riot in the original. Axel
adaptation tells about an American
typist in Paris who goes to work for an
American movie writer with only two

days in which to deliver an original
script. In his swank «uite he and the girl
gaze out at Paris and improvise — with
themselves as the leading characters; а
we see their imaginings in an imaginary
movie that stops, goes back, changes facts
and story line as they wish. ‘The idea is
capable of endless variations, which is
precisely its trouble: It's so wide that it’s

wild. a pipe dream parody that no highly
paid hack would have hatched, and the
dialog that Axelrod has supplied is a
series of soggy build-ups searching for
payoffs. Noel Coward is around briefly
as a producer: William Holden is around
quite a leaden lot as the writer: Miss
Hepburn struggles girlfully with her
role, but not even she can spark Paris
when it fizzles.

"The only thing wrong with Yesterday,
Today ond Tomorrow is the title — not only
ийе but untrue. The three stories t
make up the film take place in today’s
Italy. АП, in their differing ways. are
good: Sophia Loren and Marcello Mas-
Goianni, who play in all three, are even
better. The three scripts are by Eduardo
De Filippo. Cesare Zavattini and Alberto
Moravia. In the first, Sophia is a preg
nant Neapolitan wife supporting hc
unemployed husband by selling black-
market cigarettes, She learns that she is
immune from arrest because of her ten-

der condition, and will remain immune
for six months after the event. Struck
with the justice of this, she calls on her
husband to keep her in the family way.
It works a half-dozen times, but then
his, shall we say, touch falters... . In
the second vignette, a brief and biuer
sophia is a Dolec Vita Milanese. he

one, $
is an Ivy Ligurian. . . . The third finds
Sophia as a topflight Roman footy.
Marcello a Bolognese businessman who
runs down regularly for a little ‘appiness
on the Appian Way. Her penthouse is
right next to the apartment of an old
couple with a grandson studying for the
priesthood and, for a while, she gets him
out of the habit. With three contrasting
characters apiece, Sophia and Marcello
shine like the stars they are, and Vittorio

De Sica has directed con amore.

But they grow lemons in Italy, too.
and one of them is The Empty Canvas, from

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a novel by Alberto Moravia, which
is a study of mor: Dino в а
young Roman painter who has тип out
of spiritual gas. His rich American
mother wants him to return from his
studio to her villa, and even provides
a buxom maid to spread the welcome
mat, But he insists on going it alone,
except for the company of mom's cash
He gets involved with a teenage blonde
who was the mistressmodel and model
mistress of an old painter who died
while he was with her. She is a child of
very open nature, and Dino questions
her feverishly about the dead man and
some live ones. He works himself up
into jealousy, then love; and it is
through persecution of himself (because
she never fights and rarely lies) that he
stings himself back to life. It's all tenu-
ous and talky. The best thing about the
movie is the good-natured compliance
of Catherine Spaak, the girl Dino is
played. by Horst Buchholz, once a prom-
ising actor but now Horst de combat.
The mother is Bette Davis, who is weird
but wasted.

THEATER

After the Foll is Arthur Miller's first
play in eight years, and at least eight
years of suffering and soul-searching
have gone into it. The play inaugurates
the new Lincoln Center repertory
theater, and almost as many years of
suffering and goal searching have gone
into that. The disappointing new
that although the play has much
favor — a timeless theme of tragic dimen-
sion, man's search for guilt within
himself; several scenes of unflinching
honesty; a first-rate cast; fluid direction
on an open stage by El —in the
end, as a work of dramatic art, After
the Fall fails. 10 is no secret that the
play is autol ill about. Mil-
with Congres
committees and with wives, and
bout his marriage to everym

is called Maggie, а а pop
singer, but as acted by Barbara Loden
a blonde wig and scanty negligec, she
looks like Marilyn, talks like her, and
ends like her. The author
cruciatingly frank about his marital

pleasures and pressures (Maggie gives
sex ike Christmas goodies, later
proves not only suicidal but wants her

husband, Quentin, to deliver the death
pill). However, in other, crucial wa
Miller is not quite са
in the central ch.
a lawyer, not an a
2 is analytical, not intellectua

ept that he writes pi
Is. This robs the marriage of one of
its most intriguing conflicts,

In another second he'll knot that tie
and reach for his coat. I don't want
him to go. I love him so. And when
Isee him in a shirt like that...bolder,
brawnier, ten times the shirt any
other man would wear... | know ex-
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Good old Van Heusen 417. They
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today...

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success — and also makes Quentin a dull
boy. He is onstage for the entire play,
three hours, to prove it. "Hello," says
Jason Robards, Jr., as Quentin, to the
audience, and immediately whips into
a windy confession in which he conjures
up people from his past. Much of what
he says is interesting, but like
trial lawyer in love with his own words
and forgetting the jury, he gabs on and
on, recounting his transgressions until
the play falls victim to Quentin's
sin-drone. At the ANTA Washington
Square, 40 West 4th Street.

hammy

Foxy is a makeshift musical with a
middling score. dances that are busy in-
stead of bouncy, and cardboard scenery
that looks swiped from a road-company
Little Mary Sunshine. Nevertheless, it
is a delight, partly because of second
banana Larry Blyden as a lovable scoun-
drel, partly because of the wacky book
(derived from Ben Jonson's Volponc)
hut Lahrgely because of its lead clown,
Bert Lahr. He is Foxy Jim Fox, one of
the gold rush's greediest buck squcezers
who decides to put the screws on h
greedicr friends. "Money isn't every
thing.” goes one of Johnny Mercer's
snappier lyrics. “Die just once and you'll
эсе”— and Lahr and his co-conniver,
Doc Mosk (Blyden), decide to stage a
dying — Lahr's. The crooks court hiin as
he croaks (and cach croak, cough, wheeze
is a laugh), plying him with champagne.
gold mines and girls, all in hope that
Foxy will name them heir. Lahr spends
most of the play in and around the
deathbed, and in and out of а toe-length
poncho of white feathers, an cven loi

gray nighishirt, and a shroud of a
In the la
trial for rape (of ingénue Julienne Marie,
who. oddly enough, was pursuing him),
Pinching and pursing his mouth into a
tiny o, sucking in his cheeks, and hud-
dling in a wheelchair, he is the ultimate
in decrepitude. Blyden demands the case
be dismissed “on the grounds of absurd-
ity,” which is the understitement of the
evening. After 50 years in the theater,
Bert Lahr is still incredible, inimitable
and inspired. At the Ziegfeld, 54th Street.
and 6th Avenue.

ter, he comes to court to stand.

Dylan Thomas м:
appetite of an elephant — for whiskey,
women and verse—a shaggy, shocking,
roistering Welsh reprobate. Alec Guin-
ness is a small, sober man of great
reserve, famous for understating. He
would seem to be an odd choice to play
Dylan, but play him he does, in curly
wig. tipped-up nose EY pa
and it is hard to think of anyone pla
ing him more convincingly. Like its
chief source, John Malcolm Brinnin's
Dylan Thomas in America, Sidney
Michaels’ play follows Dylan through
his two poetry-reading tours of America,

a poet with the

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which ended in death from alcohol. The

gives the picaresque highlights of
later life, in а kaleidoscopic series
of scenes, tailing him from bed almost
to bedlam, from his arrival in America
(1 am here to continue my lifelong
search for naked women in wet mackin
toshes") to boozy evenings at the White
Horse Tavern in Greenwich Village to
butterflies backstage at the Ү.М.Н.А, to
lecherous evenings on college campuses
For the quick, slick scene changes, d
signer Oliver Smith has constructed a
huge whirling cocktail table, which oc-
cupies almost the entire stage. As it
spins and spins, it succeeds in mak
the audience dizzy and in giving it
iff neck at the same time. Other 1
lin Thomas (Kate Reid), Dylan's
loving, vengeful wife, the minor char-
acters are as sketchy as the scenes, Only
Dylan has any life, and that largely be-
cause Guinness has pumped his own
lifeblood into him. At the Plymouth,
936 West 45th Strect.

Sandy Dennis is the comic actress of
the Broadway season. She can be chatter-
ing away like Ruth Gordon, telling hcr
entire sad life's story and proposing halt-
ingly to a strange young man at the same
time, when suddenly, with a quiver, she

T S GREAT TO BE HUGGED realizes what she has been saying (or
most of it) and collapses in tear. And
the audience collapses in laughter, In

Any Wednesday, а comedy by new pl
wright Muriel Resnik, Sandy plays a 30-

p "EW chi year-old mistress with a heart as big as
in a Flex Fit shirt of a balloon (her dream of happiness is, in
Wamsutta 'Huggamatic'^ stretch cotton fact, a roomful of balloons). She is kept

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nis out of her “special arrangement.”
This arrangement calls for this executive
sweet's executive suite to be paid for by
Porter’s firm, to be used only by the
boss, and only on Wednesdays. Through
the bumbling of Porter's new secretary
on the day of the play both wife and
competitor turn up at the love nest, with
lunatic complications. The plot is flimsy,
but the lines are funny, and Sandy Den-
a scatterbrained delight. At The
Music Box, 239 West 45th Suet.

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Washington, D.C., long mourned as a
61-square-mile tombstone to night life,
is showing signs of shaking its late-hour
lassitude. Witness The Shadows (3125 M

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Street, N.W.) a musical monument to
youthful enterprise. Bob Cavallo, who
ownership with Declan
Hogan and Stephen Sanders, cut undei
graduate study hours at Georgetown Uni
versity to parlay a borrowed $10,000 into
one of the brightest lights in the city's
rather dim entertainment galaxy. From
its lush, wall-to-wall crimson carpet to its
tapestry-draped and dark-paneled walls,
the bistro is de: xl to relax nerves
fraycd by Washington's hectic political,
governmental and commercial life. Sub.
dued modern paintings dot the walls and
candles flicker above red-clothed tables.
Upstairs. The Dark Room, an entertain-
ment lounge, operates sans cover charge.
The Shadows’ emphasis on young per-
formers draws a diverse crowd — ranging
from besweatered college folk to Brooks
Bros.'d businessmen — to hear folk talent
like Miriam Makeba, Odetta, and The
Tarriers, flamenco guitarist Juan Serrano,
and comics of the caliber of Woody Allen.
‘The limited but adequate menu provides
assorted. sandwiches (80¢ to $1.25) and
a IGounce, inch-anda-halfthick sirloin
served. with potato, vegetable, toasted
French bread, and tomato-and-lettuce
garnish (3.05). The Shadows’ alley en
trance opens at 8 P.M, and doses at
2 ant, Monday through Saturday (after
midnight on Saturday, The Shadows
turns into a coffeehouse — courtesy D.C.
blue Jaws). Sunday, the folkniks seek
their entertainment elsewhere. The coy-
er, Monday through Thursday, is 52,
which inflates to 52.50 on weekends.
‘There's never a minimum.

now shares

Our February review of Chicago's new
Chez Paree in these columns was not yet
on the newsstands before that night club
closed its barely opened doors. ‘The
abrupt demise of the Chez, followed soon
after by the folding of the long-running
Gate of Horn, were the latest in a con-
tinuing series of shutterings that have
spread across the country in the last few
years like Asian flu. In 1963, Nick's in
New York, Fack's in San ncisco, Fred-
die's in Minneapolis, The Frolics in Sali
bury Beach (Massachusetts), the
Detroit, the Colony Club in Omah
Chicago's Sahara Inn. (which had a long
hiatus before it reopened), all gave way
to an inexorable combination of forces.
Name acts (the ones which are assured
drawing cards) have priced themselves
out of the market, and that old devil
vidco offers for free most of the names
that customers are being asked to spend
money to sce in clubs. It is increasingly
apparent that nighteries can exist only
when the entertainment is an adjunct
to the total dub picture (as in the
Playboy Clubs, where good food and
drink at reasonable prices, attractive
decor and convivial atmosphere are the

solid foundation upon which the enter-
tainment offerings are buil) or when
the clubs cater to a specialized
as do the highly successful Basin Street
East (for the jazz aficionados) and. the
hungry i (for the folk fanciers). The basic
ailment of those clubs whose lifeline
is completely dependent upon the ability
of name acts to attract customers appears
to be chronic.

udic nce.

RECORDINGS

Mel Tormé Sings “Sunday im New York" &
Other Songs About New York (Atlantic)
should do more for Gotham than the
World's Fair. From the movie tile song
right on through the oldie There's a
Broken Heart for Every Light on Brond-
way and the ageless Sidewalks of Ne

York, Mel — aided by the arrangements
of Johnny Williams, Shorty Rogers (who
comes off with top honors as far as we're
concerned) and Dick Hazard — turns
New York into a yearround song festival

A swinging MJQ makes The Sherift/The
Modern Jazz Quartet (Atlantic) one ol its
best cuttings to date. А bit [reer than
they've often been in the past, Messr
Lewis, Jackson, He.
through the title melody, by 1
а half-dozen others that include Heitor
Villa-Lobos’ Bachianas Brasileiras, Black
Orpheus’ Carnival amd the standard
Mean to Me. The feeling throughout is
outgoing rather than introspective and
on the MJQ it sounds good.

Barbra Streisand/The Third Album (Colum-
bia) tops her second but is not quite as
good as the first. Wel qualify that:
ink contains

h and

Side two of this LP we th

her very best efforts — As Time Goes By.
It Had to Be You. 1 Had Музе a True
Love — all of which ате stellar ollerings
Occasionally on side one Miss Streisand
lapses into that nasal stridency that is
more frenetic than forceful, but all in
all, album three is better-than-aver
Barbra, which is very good indeed.

A brace of LPs from the Woody Her
man bag should leave you exh
happy — Hey! Heard the Herd? (Ver
Woody Herman: 1964 (1
mer is of somewhat carl
sill profits handsomely from the pres
ence of pianistarranger Nat Pierce —
a chanmaker exiraordinaire — and. the
work of such jazz luminaries as Chubby
Jackson, Don gerquist, Urbie Green,
Kai Winding and Ernie Royal who help
cook up a baker's dozen of highly caloric
goodies, Woody Herman: 1964 is the
current crew under а full head of steam

usted but
e) and
The tor

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wildly orchestrated by Pierce and several
other helpmeets. with tenor man Sal Nis
tico, Billy
man Phil Wilson leading the troops into
battle.

Hunt, and bone

trumpeter

Folk music will never be the same
after Hootenanny My Way / Terry Gibbs
(Time). Vibist Gibbs’ five-man wrecking
crew turns such musical homelies as
Polly Wolly Doodle All the Day. Tom
Dooley and Boll Weevil into models of
swinging urbanity

Whatever his mood, Tony Bennett on
The Many Moods of Tony (Columbia) proves,
with few exceptions, a joy to the car. If
you disregard musical mistakes such as
The Kid's a Dreamer and Spring in
Manhattan, the offering is exem
With a handful of arrangers doing the
charts, and backed by Bobby Hackett's
cornet on several wacks (including the
aforementioned Dreamer), Bennett has
a constantly changing supporting cast
No matter — Tony is top dra

wer.

Dizzy Gillespie & the Double Six of Paris
(Philips) is a marvelous amalgam of
creativity and electronics. Recorded in
Paris, New York and Chicago, the ctch-
ing. made up of Gillespie originals played
by Dizzy and a pair of small groups. and
overdubbed by the amazing Gallic vocal
sextet, is charged with aural excitement
The Double Six’ rapport with Gillespie
& Co. (principally, a quartet that in
cluded the estimable Bud Powell and
Kenny Clarke) is of the hand-inglove
variety. It left us speechless except for
an occasional “Zut alors!”

Together Again! /The Benny Goodman Quar-
tet (Victor) is a technical gem of polished
brilliance and with about as much
warmth, Working with consummate skill,
Goodman, Hampton, Wilson and Krup
have managed to turn back the clock
years to produce a session that evokes
billowing clouds of nostalgia but little
else.

The not-too-well-known warbler Shir-
ley Horn won't have to wait long for
fame to claim her if Shirley Horn with Horn
(Mercury) gives any indication, Abetted
by Quincy Jones’ orchestra and her own
piano, she handles arrangements. by
Quincy, Billy Byers, Thad Jones and Don
esky with а soft assuredness. А varie
gated program includes Wee Small
Hours, That Old Black Magic and Let
Me Love You, a beautiful Bart Howard
ballad,

Definitive is a strong word. but it is
the one most applicable to Glenn Gould's
playing of Bach's The Well-Tempered Clavier,
Book 1, Preludes and Fugues 9-16 (С

PLAYBOY's

PLAYBOY TAKES YOU THERE...

€»
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<»

SPECIAL NOTE:
There's Still Time to Hop
Aboard the May 5
European Departure.
But Hurry . . . Space on

Ail Playboy Tours Is Limited
and Reservations Are on
a First-in Basis.
SEND IN YOUR COUPON
TODAY!

New Departure Dates:

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See your travel agent or тай this reservation form now to: 3
PLAYBOY TOURS, 232 East Ohio St. Chicago, Illinois 60611 ФЙ Y

Please make my reservation aboard the European Tour departing: Ww

D Nays O July 13 O September 1

O Гат enclosing my check lor $10250 (10% of tour price) to hold my reservation and look forward to
receiving all the exciting details. 1 understand that balance is due 30 days prior to departure. (H reservation
is made less than 30 days from departure, full payment mus! accompany this form.)

LJ 1am a Playboy Club keyholder. Charge deposit to my Key, number. a
NOTE: Full refund will be made until 30 days prior to departure. At any time thereafter, a nominal $25
Late Cancellation Charge will be made.

please print

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PLAYBOY

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shows shapes,

lumbia). the second of a series, Of all
the contemporary pianists, no one seems
as close to the heart of Bach as does
Gould; his performances are

evelatory
The electric Lena Horne has lost nonc
of her high-voltage vocalise. Here's Leno
Now! (20th Century-Fox) includes the
radiobanned Now!, which is a monu-
ment to the timidity of some of our
broadcasters. On hand, too, are a group
of show tunes including Once in a Life-
time. The Eagle and Ме, Lost in the
Stars and Wouldn't 11 Be Loverly. Miss
Horne. in front of Ray Ellis’ orchestra
makes it loverly. indeed.

Miles Davis / Quiet Nights (Columbia)
finds Miles working with Gil Evans’ or-
chestra orchestr
Summer Night, which features the D:
Quintet). The beat is basically Brazilian
and the results are exceptional — a dra

step past his Sk
Evans is in the process of proving himse!l
one of the best arrangers in the business:
Davis doesn’t have to prove anything,
Together they form an ear-tingling team,
For contrast, latch onto Diggin’ with the
Miles Davis Sextet (Prestige)
of 1951 Miles leading a group that in-
cluded a callow youth named Sonny Rol
lins. It is bop just out of its puberty, still
ng vitality but with
lulthood. appar-

and

ous (except for

а reissuin

possessed of a pul
signs of sophisticated
ent, Pushed by Art Blakey's surging
drums, Davis and alto man Jackie. Mc
Lean (19 at the time) are. particularly
dynamic.

Once more the en
Hariman — his failure
а in
thrust at us. 1 Just Dropped By to Say Hello/
Johnny Hartman (Impulse!) is a line, sensi-
tive etching. With the Jones boys — Elvin
on drums, Hank on piano — guitarists
Kenny Burrell and Jim Hall, bassist Milt
Hinton and long-time tenor man Illinois
Jacquet helping out. Johnny produces
Some beautiful sounds on the likes of
Gharade, Slecpin’ Bee, Stairway to the
Stars ht others. Theres nary a
clinker in а carload of deep Harma

па of. Johnny
to be one of to

sensations — is

s popular s

and e

baritone notes.

Vaughan with Voices (Mercury) has the
divine Sarah backed by a Danish choir
and orchestra charted and led by Eng-
lishman Robert Farnon. The results
from this musical UN are astounding; it

unique LP. Sarah and her foreign
nds turn into sonic gems an agenda

that includes Charade, This Heart of
Mine, Days of Wine and Roses and Alec
Wilder's melancholy PH Be Around.

For those who dig jazz that is experi-
ntal without being cacophonous, we

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unni
OF LONDON

heartily recommend The Joe Daley Trio ot
Newport "63 (Victor). Chicago tenor man
Daley. with drummer Hal Russell and
superlatively inventive bassist Russell
Thorne, borrows from the classics. third
suream, soul and bop, bur the end prod

uct is very much his own invention.
Mark the Joe Daley Trio as a threesome
to be reckoned with.

Jazz et Jazz (Philips) offers. as the liner
notes say, jazz experiments by the re-
nowned French composer-critic André
Hodeir. And, we might add. highly suc
cessful ones, at The imaginative
Frenchman employs a large orchestr:
including expatriates Kenny Clarke and
Nat Peck and the great Gallic pianist,
Martial Solal — plus a number of elec
попіс ks." Hodeir offers much
musical food for thought through two ex-

tended pieces, Jazz Cantata and Le Palais
Ideal, and five shorter but no less effec
tive efforts.

Lou Rawls / Tobacco Road (Capitol) is
another rung up the vocal ladder for
the young singer. Rawls is a belter of the
old school — rough-hewn and blue at the
roots, as witness his treaument of the tide
tune, Colton Fields. Blues for a Four
String Guitar and St. Louis Blues. Onzy
ihews wild, driving band keeps
percolating behind Rawls.

One of the best horn men in the busi-
ness plies his trade with extraordin:
сизе and invention on Clark Terry/Tread Ye
Lightly (Cameo). Terry operates on both
trumpet and Flügelhorn, pouring forth
scade ol sparkling sound on items
ige Пот the funky title tune to
ners highly polished Misty

Martha Schlamme / Will Holt: A Kurt Weill
Caberet (MGM) provides an intimate set
ting for the best of Weill. Folk singers
Schlamme and Holt are well equipped to
impart the sardonic, biting sounds of the
composer whose works were singularly
original. Included here are The Barbara
Song, Mack the Knife, September Song,
Surabaya Johnny, The Bilbao Song and.
perhaps the most beautiful of all Weill
creations, Lost in the Stars.

One of Nat Cole's best records in a
long while, ters Face the Musi pitol)
resounds with the type of tune that's
Nat's special province — the ballad given
the upbeat. lilt, the standard dusted off
and dressed up. Backed by Billy May's
orchestra, and adding his own organ ac-
companiment (a first for Cole), Nat is
loose and luminous on Day In — Day
Out. Bidin’ Му Time, Let's Face (lie
Music and. Dance, and others.

H, D. Lee Company, tne,

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What every bartender knows about people

He knows volumes. way he listens to the "latest" story
There's no subject too deep for him

ear to troubles, or
to discuss. Philosophy. Н

smoorhs our an a . 2 1 CIES
Sound him out about sports or politics his tavern is such a cheerful place Ci, > 4, : CI
айак Ten ina Ает EE ned endene 2 ети ДА aaan OUO
table library of information, May is National Tàven

ө.

“The Best In The House" in 87 lands
good time to stop by and see him. an ide ЖЕНЕ ГӘ
Make it а point to do it tonight, х Н ;

But his real strong point is human г
lations. Just watch the good-humor

THE PLAYBOY ADVISOR

Fm faced with a touchy problem. І
have been invited to a dinner party next
month, and the girl I plan to take is а
Negro (Em white). Would I insult either
hostess or date by calling the hostess in
advance to inform her of my intention?
New York, New York.

you would. Ten years ago you
might have been justified in making the
call, lo avoid discomforting either date
or hostess. However, in 1964, this sort of
pussy[ooting is tantamount to giving aid
and comfort to the enemy. Certainly
your girl has encountered prejudice be-
fore, and most likely she will again.
With you at hey side, it’s doubtful that
she'll be seriously distressed by any pos-
sible turn of events during the course
of the evening. And probably, in а so-
Phisticated, urban setting. the evening.
will pass pleasantly and without incident.

ІМІ... and more of my fr
donning cloth hats of the Rex Har
Are these acceptable with a bu
ness suit? — K. D., С Rapids, lo

Plain cloth hats are perfectly accept-
able topping with a business suit —
they're light and comfortable. When
worn in town, the more casual checked or
houndstooth varieties should be doffed
after six for a more formal fedora.

Coua
the word
Utah.

Webster credits и to Creole patois, in
which it means “to speed up"; it was
applied — incorrectly in some instances —
lo syncopated music. Peter Tamony,
writing in the now-defunct magazine
Jazz. says that in the 1880s the Creole
word “jaser” and iis clipped forms
“jas” and "jazz" were frequently voiced
in the game of craps as appeals to the
dice. "The American Language" gives
Jour or fue different derivations, con-
necting the word with “Jasper,” the
name of a dancing slave in New Orleans;
with ha ha
of a Vicksburg ragtime drummer; and
with various American folk words mean-
ing, among other things, sexual inter-
course. It finally concludes — correctly,
we think —that the real origin of the
word is unknown. The Father of the
Blues, the late W Handy. was quoted
as saying he hadn't heard the term un-
til some time after he composed "Mem-
phis Blues” in 1911, Tamony states that
the earliest printed appearance of the
word, applied to music, occurred in a
news story in The Bulletin, San Fran-
cisco, March 6, 1913.

son

u fill me in on the ori,
jazz"? — T. P.

the nickname

[Ми too tong ago 1 had the misfor
tune of cating at a restaurant where the
food was bad and the service impossible.
Our waitress was not just slow; she was
also rude, boorish and clumsy. I didn't
leave a tip, much to my wife's chagrin.
(She said the girl probably had a family
to support, etc) Though 1 don't antici-
pate going back, l'd like to know if you
think 1 was justified in not leaving hey
so much as а dime. — R. M., Whitman,
Massachusetts.

Certainly you were. If it ever happens
again, you might consider leaving just
one dime — lo indicate clearly that your
fatlure to tip wasn’t just oversight. If
she does have a family to support, she'll
soon learn thal her tips vary with the
qualtty of her service.

Please senle ап argument between
two duffers who h: trouble m
980-vard green in two. What is the n
of the longest-hitting golfer off the tee?
=N. L and W. D., Memphis. Tennessee.

The pros generally agree that Jack
Nicklaus is golf's longest hitter today.
In a driving contest in the 1963 РСА
Tourney, Nicklaus walked off with the
laurels afler clouting the ball a record-
breaking 341 yards. George Bayer, и
ner of the Canadian Open in 1957, was,
in his prime, probably a consistently
longer hitter than Nicklaus, His longest
measured belt was a prodigious 420
yards in the Las Vegas Invitational in
1953. The ball might have gone farther,
but it hit a spectator.

TON

[Рус had а rocky marriage for several
A

rs, but through patience and hours of
consultition I think the worst is past.
most everything is roses now, and.
my wife and 1 both enjoy our new-found
intimacy. However, du

ing our bad days
1 indiscretions, which

mitted sever
I'd like to reve:
olf my chest. Do you think this
able? — L. M., Los Angeles, California.
No, we don't. Though we applaud your
patience and your enlightened approach
to your marital problems, we don't think
a confession would accomplish the ends
you seek. Apprising your wife of past
peccadilloes might ease your conscience,
but it is doubtful that it would help the
marriage. Keep your own counsel. be
thankful you've worked out your diffi-
culties, and time will do the rest.

to her, just to get them
advis-

Give her L’Aimant...
before someone else does

ШШ

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PLAYBOY

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it more masculine.

А completely unique
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Bin going to Europe shortly and plan.
to buy a car when 1 return. I would
like to know if it's true that I can save
money by buying the car there, driving
it around for a month or two, then
bringing it back to the States. = L. D.,
Greenwich, Connecticut.

Yes. You'll have the advantage of
cheap transportation im Europe and.
because of lower import tariffs on “used”
cars you can, in some instances, save
enough on the purchase price to pay
your round-trip jet fare. For example,
a Volkswagen sedan selling for around
$1610 in the U.S. can be purchased at
Wolfsburg for $1302; a Jaguar XKE
roadster sells for $6100 Stateside and
can be purchased at Coventry for
around $1350. Make sure you rack up
enough European miles to satisfy the
Customs definition of "used" (check
nth the manufacturer to find out how
many kilometers (urn. your particular
make into a used car) and you will save
greatly on tariffs, which will yun only
between $60 and $200 or so. depending
on the car—a saving of from $200 to
$1350 over new-car tariffs. Shipping costs
and European registration will add
another 5150 to $250, but all in all you'll
still save plenty.

ММ... is the difference between a Brit-
ish warmer and a polo œa? М. S,
Chicago, Ilin

A British warmer is patterned after an
army officers coat; double-breasted,
three-quarter length, belted, fitted to the
body, and often topped. with epaulets.
The fabric varies. A polo coat is single-
breasted. full length, loose, tied with an
overlength sash belt, and is usually cam-
“їз hair.

Five been thinking of switching to
pipes, because I've heard that the pipe
smoker is more likely to id a berer
job. because he looks wiser, more self-
assured, more mature and is a good
bet to live longer. I'm 22, just starting
ош, and want to have as many things
working for me as possible. Do you
think I should switch? — P. 5., tte-
ville, Arkan:

There ате several reasons why you
might consider switching to pipes. If you
enjoy a pipe, if you feel that pipes
minimize dangers to health. or if you're
just in the mood for a change, then
switch, As far as impressions go, what
you smoke ts much less important than
how you smoke, but neither should af-
fect your employment prospects. As a
matter of fact, Н. L. Mencken once fa-
celiously advised against employing pipe
smokers. he said. they're much
too busy pultering with their pipes to
get anything else done.

Fm 29. Would I face dangers marrying
4 woman of 39? What additional prob:
Jems might 1 cncounter with her 20-year
old son, who been raised by his
mother m a manner of which 1 strongly
disapprove, and is spoiled?—P. M., Fresno,
California.

Its difficult enough. to make a mar-
riage work in the best of circumstances
1o attempt to bring one off with a bride
а decade older than yourself and a step
son only nine years younger is suicidal.
Although they live longer, women age
physically more quickly than men, and
the gap between you would widen, as
the years pass. Since the son is more
your age than the mother is, you and
he will probably be cast in competitive
roles, with every contest alicnating you
from the mother, because you blame her
actions for his faulty character.

Some Southerners I've known
over the joys of bourbon and branch
What, may I ask, is branch?—B.K.,
Chicago, Ilinois.

Ninety-nine times out of a hundred it
will be just ordinary tap water. Orig
inally, it meant water from a tributary
stream — от branch — supposedly clearer,
cooler and better-tasting than ordinary
drinking water. Particular bourbon-and-
branch men use bottled water as then
mixer to avoid the chlorine taste that
“city” water imparts.

B was drafted right after high school
and my hitch will be up in a few months.
1 want to go into business, and quickly.
because 1 think Гуе wasted euough time
already. I'm considering enrolling in a
two-year business college, because this
will provide me with the most training
in the shortest time. However, friends
have told me that I'd be better off going
the regular four-year route, postponing
the business training until after gradua-
tion. Suggestions? — D. L., San Francisco,
California.

If, as you say, your sole desire is 10
get into business quickly, then the two-
year business college is certainly the

answer. It will train you for a lou
echelon managerial position, leaving
subsequent advancement up to you. Bul
if you have an eye for long-range gains,
you'd probably do better to follow your
friends’ advice and put in four years
at a good liberal-arts college, with sub-
sequent business training if you [eel you
need it. Executives usually rise to the
lop not because they boast detailed
knowledge in a single field, but beca

se
of their ability to integrale a wide range
of skills drawn from the sort of back
ground they are more likely to develop
with a liberal-arts education.

W our advice to J.H. of Florida in
your December column is all wet.
“Smoking” on an invitation doesn’t
mean "black tie,” it means “tuxedo.”
Why, if he meant tuxedos, would any-
one send out invitations requesting
guests to wear black ties? — E. $, Mur-
ray, Iowa
“Black tic,” as we thought evcryone
knew, is synonymous wilh “tuxedo”
(which we prefer to call a dinner jacket)
and is the accepted method of indicating,
оп an invitation, that dinner dress (din-
ner jacket, black tie, formal trousers and
accouterments) is to be worn.

Please settle an argument that has
disturbed the tranquility of my poker
weeks. What is a
and how did it get
}. Ly Philadelphia, Penn-

sylvani

The dead man's hand consists of a
pair of aces and a puir of eights, sup-
posedly the cards that James Butler
(“Wild Bill”) Hickok held when he was
shot by Jack McCall during a late-eve-
ning poker game in Deadwood, South
Dakota.

IMA) girl and т have a really great
thing going, with one ption: She's
demanding as she is affectionate, aud
constantly wants to hear little. endcar-
ments from me. We've talked about it,
and she says she just enjoys a constant
stream of love talk. Not long ago I got
disgusted with this state of a
dammed up. until her on ap-
proached tantrum level. I'm beginning
to feel like a stuck record, and wonder
if you сап help me out of this groove.
(Please don’t give me your “dump her"
line. Fm. genu fond of this girl,
and want to maintain our otherwise
blissful relationship.) — G. A., Detroit,
Michigan.

You're just going to have lo take
the bitter with the sweet — and. taking
the bitter in this case means giving the
sweets. Your options are quite clear:
You can either satisfy her appetite for
endearment, deny it and endure the
tantrums that follow, or (your admoni-
tion notwithstanding) dump her,

All reasonable questions — from fash-
ion, food and drink, hi-fi and s
to dating dilemmas, taste and etiquette
— will be personally answered if the
writer includes a stamped, self-addressed
envelope. Send ай letters to The Playboy
Advisor, Playboy Building, 232 E. Ohio
Street, Chicago, Minois 60611. The most
provocative, perlinent queries will be
presented on these pages each month.

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PLAYBOY'S INTERNATIONAL DATEBOOK
BY PATRICK CHASE

s to get
a private yacht,
where the accent is on leisure, informal-
ity and freedom of movement. The near-
by Leeward and Windward Islands of the
tern Caribbean (or the shores and
islands of the Mediterranean for those
wishing 10 go farther afloat) awe perfect
for vacations of this nature. One firm,

ONE OF THE MOST satisfying м

away from it all is on

boasting a wide variety of ships, both
ollers package ary
ments for charter trips for private parties,
and all of these, regardless of the size
of the ship, guarantee courteous, effi-
cient crews, complete seaworthiness and
a high standard of comfort. Whether or
not vou opt for a planned itinerary or
decide to sail with the winds, vou are

ind. sail

literally the ship's master: the captain
will comply with all reasonable whims.

Aquatic fun of another sort is avail-
ible just a hop. skip or jump from
Miami. aboard a new ship called the
Tropic Rover. Based on the two islands
jointly called Bimini, this
catamaran carries up to 60 passe
ten-day cruises through the Out
of the Bahamas.
provided by the

enormous

A sightseeing extra

Tropic Rover is

imderwater viewing quarters with Ple:
slas picture windows. Through these, a
myriad of undersea vistas populated by
fantastic sea life cin be seen in the
sunlit, crystal-clear depths.

The Caribbean also offers pleasure for
Jandlubbers who wish to make tracks
outside of continental U.S. A
Rico, thanks to San Juan, has long been
known for its cultural and recreational
facilities, which include elegant resort
hotels, gambling casinos, night life,
swimming, ballet, theater, tennis and
golf, art museums and excellent res-

Puerto

Now, because of the island's
multiplying carrental agencies, the in-
terior regions are more readily available
for touring. Over 3000 miles of good
roads weave among towns and villages,
amd enthusiasts can sample native dishes
at hospitable eateries, spelunk in lime-
stone caves, visit collec. plantations, or
just enjoy

taurants.

the incomparable tropic
scenery of this stillunspoiled island

M it’s a touch of adventure you
want, to add piquancy to high-gloss
living, vou can find it right here in the
United Stites. Resorts in the Grand
Teton mountains of Wyoming are be-
coming as plush as anythi

g you'll find.

e only
wilderness, un-
marred by power lines, railways or super-
highways. Here, you can take raw nature
in small doses, like a day's run in a rub-

in more urban regions, yet they'

steps away from pristin

ber raft down a churning mountain rive
(or a full ten days of the same for $250),
or comfortably reassuring lessons in the
manly art of mountain climbing (with
a chance to apply the lessons if you go
for the Mallory Line in two-day dimbing
trips with guides and equipment fur-
nished lor about 530). Indeed, mountain

dimbing is becoming а hip sport for
summer vacationers who want to escape
the heat and. by expending a little
energy, make that evening sack just a
little more inviting. The increasing
number of mountaineering schools at
several national parks has elevated. this
form of recreation to put it on a par, for
thrills. with skiing. Some of the higher
peaks — Mt. Rainier in the West and Mt,
Washington in the East
don't even require any training: You vir-
tually walk right up to the top. But
you'll want to be prepared if you tackle
the peaks of Devils Tower. Grand Teton,
Mt. McKinley and Rocky Mountain
National Park

The comforts of urban living, set in
the midst of an incomparably scenic
locale, are also available in thc East.
New York State's Adirondack Moun.
tains, less than a day's journey from the
Apple. offer the most up-to-date and lux-
urious accommodations. virtually set in
boundless wilderness. Here, in close prox-
imity, are grand opera at Lake
and riding in a cavalry charge at Fron-
tier Town. Modern resorts offer golf,
tennis. swimming, boating, summer the:
ters and open-air concerts; all these are

for example —

Georg

cheek by jowl with the untrodden beauty
of the Adirondack Forest Preserves (over
2,000,000 acres) and а covey of splendid
lakes (Placid. George, Schroon, Saranac)
and streams where you can go hiking,
comping, mountain climbing, canoeing,
hunting and fishing.

Finally, if the very thought of climb-
ing mountains has wearied you, we can
recommend Great Britain. While you're
there, don't forget that this year marks
the celebration of Shakespeare's 400th
of a 1б
at Stratford, a full cycle
of historical plays at the Royal Shake
speare Theatre beside the Avon, and an
exhibition devoted to the Ше of the
playwright in a special pavilion on the
river's banks. The latter is being moved
to Scotland. for the Edinburgh Festival,
August 16 to September 5, and then to
London later in September.

‘or further information on any of the
above, write to Playboy Reader Seru-
ice, 232 E. Ohio St., Chicago, HI. 60611

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THE PLAYBOY FORUM

an interchange of ideas between reader and editor
on subjects raised by “the playboy philosophy"

SEX LEGISLATION
Your report on sex laws in the United

States is 4 ghtening. Since these

are both unenforced and unenforce-
able, they diminish public respect for

Taws

other, enforceable laws, For this reason,
1 agree they should be abolished. The
Mann Act is possibly the weakest piece
of legislation ever to come out of the
halls of Congress. The idea of convicting,
a man on the basis of his intentions,
moral or immoral, is absurd.

E. A. Fielden

College Park, Mary

ind

DIVORCE, JAPANESE STYLE

I agree with your analysis of divorce
laws in the United States as oudined in
the February Philosophy. Perhaps а
more sensible attitude has been taken
in Japan. There divorce can be granted
by mutual consent, provided the custody
of minor children is settled. Both parties
ign a form, have it witnessed, and file
it at a city office, Divorce is then im-
mediately granted.

If either party decides to contest the
divorce, it is more difficult to obtain
than in most other countries. More tha
90 percent. of the divorces in Japan are
by mutual consent, and most Japanese
officials think that their law is working
well.

Carl Hirsch

Akron, Оһо

The Japanese officials are right, if in-

frequency of divorce is a criterion. Latest

slatistics show U.S. divorces are 2.2 per

thousand persons cach year, as opposed
to Japan's .73.

THE SCHOOL-PRAYER DECISION

In the January Forum, a leuer by R,
Jay Mollar stated їз part: “The very
point which the atheists have been fight-
tice of a religion in public
schools. is brought up again when the
absence of a religion (the atheists own
religion) is forced upon those secking
fice expression of their beliefs.” Mr.
Mollar is equating the absence of rc
gion in schools with athcism, and this is

ing, pr

incorrect.

The Supreme Court school-prayer rul-
ing does not mean that atheism has
become the established philosophy for
public schools. If this were true, then
teachers would be free to offer negative
opinions to students concerning all reli-

free to tell children that man created
God out of fear; that the doctrine of
original sin has caused untold misery
nd guilt among humans; that there are
just as many arguments against the exist-
ence of a personal god as there are for
such a god; that the Church has through
the ages tortured thousands of persons
both physically and mentally for
greeing with its beliefs; and that ortho-
dox religion must change if it is to
survive the age of reason. The separa-
tion of church and state in public-school
education simply means that teachers
must maintain absolute neutrality; they
may not speak lor or against апу reli-
gious belief,

r example, teachers would be

disa

Robert W, Everett, Jr.
New Orleans, Louisiana

LOSS OF HUMANITY
І want to congratulate Hefner for

writing and printing The Playboy Phi-
losophy. The real evil in our society is
not sexual emotions, but, rather, their
suppression. Most of us go through Ше
suppressing human emotions and in the
end realize that in doing so we have lost.
our humanity.

Frank Davis

New Orleans, Louisiana

SEXUAL RESPONSIBILITY

Statistics show that the offspring of
people who think that pregnancy and
wedding always come in alphabetical
order are primarily responsible for опг
nationwide increase in juvenile crime
and other, lesspublished but just as
undesirable, changes.

The sexual revolution is a good thing
— however, just as a knowledge of the
facts of life alone is insuficient, so is
the removal of the psychological sexual
taboos that now surround us. Each must
be accompanied by the feeling of 1e-
sponsibility that is necessary to protect
those involved.

Ed Reed
Seattle, Washington
Agreed; so Hefner repeatedly
stated in “Philosophy.”

has

THOUGHT-PROVOKING STATISTICS

I cannot take you to task when you
answer charges that you advocate free
love by saying you do not advocate a
more sexually promiscuous society, but

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PLAYBOY

simply “a more enlightened attitude to-
ward behavior that already exists.” But
when you go on to sity that you believe
society should not lower its values. but
raise them, I question how The Playboy
Philosophy can contribute to this noble
t that you

im. For one thing, the
present behavioral statistics as a “phi-
losophy" will be interpreted by many as

a statement of approval of the status quo.
In the final analysis, don't our moral
problems boil down to one single ques-
tion — whether or not there are
universal, eternal truths? A philosophy
must do more than explain present H
havior. lt must examine the present,
certainly, but it must concern itself with
something morc — it must present a creed
for the future, providing goals, aims
nd principles to guide mau as he seeks
objectives,
The statistics you ha
certain proof that man today is in dire
eed of а personal philosophy; but they
are not in themselves a philosophy.
They do deserve recognition, however,
a that they are certain to stimulate
selfappraisal. Above all, they should en-
courage each of your readers to examine
his personal philosophy, if he has one,
or to begin formulating one if he has
not. Too little of what we read today
can claim to be that thought provoking,
Jacqueline Fishman
Dayton. Ohio
Hefner agrees that before presenting
a creed for the future one must examine
the present (and the past), and this is
precisely what he has been doing in
“The Playboy Philosophy.” In later in-
stallments he plans to spell out his per-
but, as you point out, in the
sis cach person must formulate
his own philosophy.

any

SUPPORTING SEPARATION
My husband and I both want to ex-
tend 10 you and your colleagues our
¢ in seting
forth frankly the insidious dangers that
beset our country when certain relig
zealots impose their beliefs upon others
through the machinations of the law.
The Playboy Philosophy is most timely
in its support of the separation of church
ıd state, Continue your good work!
Dorothy Smith
Detroit, Michigan

Imiration for your cow

jous

CATHOLIC ANTISEXUALITY

At long last, after successfully with-
i itury upon century of here!
ilts, the writings of St. Paul
п before the incisive intellect
of Hugh M. Hefner, It scems paradoxi-
cal that the great body of moral and theo-
logical thought contained withi
august organization, the Rom
Church. should be so thoroughly
refuted by such an innocuoussound-
ng work as The Playboy Philosophy.

Yet, if one desires proof of this mortal
blow to the vitals of the Vatican, mercly
refer to the January issue of rravnoyv
and The Playboy Philosophy therein.
There, in three short pages, Hefner
tosses Catholic moral theology into a
cocked hat.

Our first reaction to this awe-inspiri
work was one of unrestrained hilarit
Hefner, for all his verbal prolifera
manifests a marked lack. of
the true nature of Catho)
vone who seriously cont
Catholicism is imbued with antisex
notions should reconsider h
Catholicism, as a Christi

tion,

n mode of

existence, recognizes both man's spirit-
ual

and his physical needs. Catholics, in
tempt to realize a balance of values
r lives, аге not unmindful of the
iciple hat sexual grati
be but a part of man's total
To place the varied elements of
reality in proper perspective is to view
reality as reality —something u Hef-
ner has repeatedly failed to do. Concen-
tration on one aspect of life's panorama
necessarily obscures the perspective of
the whole. In this vein, the noted theo-
logian and critic, William F. Lynch,
wrote Christ and Apollo: “Nor, obvi-
ously. is there anything wrong with the
biological level of love. But concen-
trate on it alone is to prevent again the
total vision of love. So that here we
must note a very fascinating principl
It is that sacrifice is more than a nega
tive and ascetical. principle of theology;
it is also a very positive principle . . .”

The Catholic Church, far from being
venerates the physical love
of a man and a woman, while requiring
that this love be subordinated to a
higher love of God. Unlike Hefner. in
his near-psychotic state of sexual pre-
occupation, the Church relegates sex and

intisexual,'

does not constitute a suppression of
sexual. behavior once viewed in light of
total being. It i
z of sex within the context of
whole existence. It is a positive
act which opens the mind to the greater
vision of the life surrounding and in-
cluding sex. It is highly presumptuous
— indeed. ridiculously во — оГ Hefner to
label the Catholic Church as "anti-
sexual" merely because that body does
not share his p lar sexual affiliation.
This is titude of a fa
tastically antiquated nature.

Hefner speaks of his “freedom from
rel 4 we ask Hefner, how may
we free ourselves from him and his
intellectual pretense? We respectfully
submit that you confine your magazine
to the treatment of animal husbandry,
mixed drinks, and whatever else is nec-
essary to project the PLAYBOY image to

your inadequate public. Leave the
philosophical treatises to those who are
ble of exhibiting at least a modi-
cum of intellectual. integrity.
L. George P
T. Allen. M;
Georgetown University
Washington, D. C.

If. in dealing specifically with anti
sexual elements in both Protestant and
Catholic moral history, Hefner managed
to toss 20 centuries of Catholic moral
theology “into a cocked hat” then this
theology would be frail indeed. Beneath
your sarcasm we detect a suspicion that
Catholicism will weather the blow, and
we concur. Your implicit criticism that
Hefner cannot see the forest for the trees
belies your own inability to see the trees
for the forest. Hefner never criticized
Catholicism on any other grounds than
those growing directly from its anti-
sexuality —a charge he documented
amply in the August and September,
1963, and January 1964 installmenis of
“The Playboy Philosophy.” Hefner has
more than once — most recently їп the
January installment — applauded the
trend of modeyn liberal Catholicism.

rry, Jr

CATHOLIC BIRTH CONTROL

In the Ja Philosophy Hefner
says: “Catholic dogma still. proclaims
that the sole purpose of sex is procrea-
tion and so forbids all mechanical means
of birth control.” While the Church
does forbid certain birth-control prac-
tices, it docs not maintain the sole pur-
pose of to be procreation, but
teaches that its primary purpose is the
reproduction of the species. The Church
affirms that expression, physical pleasure,
and satisfaction of primitive drives are
necessary, valuable and valid purposes
of sex. They may not be indulged in,
however, to the frustration of the pri-
mary purpose. as the case would be if
minate birth control were prac-
Any sexual intercourse, within
in which the natural processes
Howed to take place is compatible
h law. Thus the rhythm
method of birth control is permitted,
provided it is used for а valid reason,
such as the limitation of a family for
economic reasons. Mecha birth con-
tration of the normal con-
that it prevents i
contact between the se
vents the semen fron
ural course.

There is a slight d
sideration of the pill, however. An oral
contraceptive produces an artificial con-
dition which prevents ovulation by
slightly altering the menstrual pattern.
The Church prohibits use of the pill
when its sole purpose is to prevent preg-
nancy. But if a woman is so irregu
that her menstrual cycle is unpredict-

indise
ticed.

ference in con-

able, the pill may be used as a treatment
of the condition, even if it is necessary
to continue its use indefinitely to main-
in normal menstruation.

Hefucr also states that “Ie [the Catho-
lic Church] also forbids abortion — even
bortion, condoned by many

Jews and Protestants.” Since many рео-
ple regard an abortion as any operation
that results in the death of the unborn

ad to à common mis-
conception — that all such operations are
prohibited. by Catholic teaching. When
a pregnancy becomes dangerous to the
life of the mother, an operation atack-
ing the irregularity, defect or disease
that is responsible is permitted, even
though such surgical action. may result
in the destruction of the fetus. An op-
eration may never be directed at а nor-
mal fetus, however. If a pregnant woman
is found to have cancer of the uterus,
for example, it is permissible to remove
the uterus to save the mother’s life. even
though the pregnancy is destroyed. If
there is no abnormality except a condi-
, such as a weakness of the uterus
that might result in rupture. from which
it is possible for both mother and child
то survive, every clfort must be made to
preserve both lives.

On the other hand, if a pregnancy de-
velops in the tube rather than in
the womb, thus threatening the life of
the mother, there is no possibility for the
1 of the embryo, An operation
ng the cause of order.
in this case is the extrauterine
pregnancy, is permitted, even though it
is a direct attack on the ife of the un-
born child.

It is not permissible under any cr-
cumstances to attack dircaly a normal
pregnancy.

1
that there
within the Church. lt is m
ings like those I have just discussed that
often obscure this fact.

William A. Wheatley
Rice University
Houston, Texas

Many non-Catholics are baffled by the
distinction between the “naturalness” of
rhythm and the artificiality of oral
rontyace plion — or any other means of
preventing pregnancy — since the user's
intention would seem to be the logically
operative factor, rather than the means
to achieve it. However, we would not
deny the right of Catholics to make any
distinctions they wish: we do oppose the
imposition of these distinctions (via
birth-control laws) upon others.

l this may 1

surviv

a glid that you went on to state
element

is а more liberal

THANKS FOR THE SERPENT

I have read in your Febru
Mr. Bob Barres concern for man's
unfortunate ejection from the Garden of
Eden. Apparently, Mr. Barrett's formal

ry Forum

education stopped some 3000 years ago.
Let me attempt to bring him up to 1872
with an excerpt from The Gods by
Robert G. Ingersoll; “If the account
given in Genesis is really true, ought we
not, after all, to thank this serpent? He
was the first schoolmaster, the first advo-
cate of learning, the first enemy of
ignorance, the first to whisper in human
cars the sacred word liberty, the creator
of ambition, the author of modesty, of
inquiry, of doubt, of investigation, of
progress, and of civilization.

“Give me the storm and tempest of
thought and action, rather than the dead
calm of ignorance and faith. Banish me
from Eden when you will: but first let
me eat of the fruit of the tree of knowl-
edge.”

Perhaps — as Ingersoll says— we are
better off with less insurance and more
insight. Anyway, E suspect that man will
not be readmitted 10 the garden in the
In the interim, 1 am
ices of those who would
contribute ideas and beliefs to the solu-
tion of social problems will continue to
be heard over the din of those who
would suppress the exercise of free
speech.

sui

R. W. Minster
Hartford, Connecticut

HUMANIST HUZZA

you
ng man's cu
rent problems. You have a clear head
in a confused world.

n Humanist Association.
Yellow Springs, Ohio

ENCROACHING BIGOTRY

The increasingly popular trend of i
norant. sel-righteous bigotry is опе we
must destroy, lest we dissolve into a
nation of ignorant, puritanical perverts.
I don't wish to sound militant, but this
trend extends into nearly every facet of
American life and we, as Americans
must remain acutely aware of its evel

y us the fate of this
kind of thinking in the past. With the
ergence of groups а ag
strict censorship, particularly surround-
ing the subjects of religion and sex, I
believe we are witnessing the last gasp
of ignorant faith. Let us do what we can
to enshrine reason and rid our fine na-
tion of the curse of ignorance.

Max Bittiker
Macon, Missou

dvo:

FAITH VS. REASON

You assert that your Philosophy is
that man is a rational
ty is knowable, and
that society should be based upon rea-

son, rather than irrational faith or
mysticism.” This sounds very noble, in-
deed, until you consider that most
modern philosophies reject the rational-
istic tradition quite completely, for if a
universal code of ethics could be known
by reason alone, then why, after thou-
ds of years, has mankind failed to
discover it?

Kant also attempted to base morality
solely on reason: “Act only by that
maxim whereby thou canst at the same
time will that it should be a universal
But there is nothing in this atti-
tude to protect society from the rapist
who is willing for everyone to be a
rapist. Reason alone cannot provide us
with ethical universals, so where do we
discover a criterion unless we look be-
yond reason?

Denny G. Wise
Rocky Mount, North 1

Kant was proposing a rational personal
morality, not the absence of morality
as exemplified by the unbalanced (
rational) rapist who thinks rape is fine
for everyone —as unlikely a hypothetical
straw man as we've heard of in a long
time.

law

Carol

TRUTH AND REASON

As I browse through the letters in
The Playboy Forum, my mood alternates
between delight in the existence of peo-
ple who look to reason as the only
available vehicle in the pursuit of truth.
and despair in the many who are so
dull-witted that they cannot conceive of
the possibility that the assumptions on
which they base their beliefs are not
self-evident to the rest of u:

Perhaps, considering its inadequacies,
the mystics have ight to scoff at dedi
ion to rationality. But, if truth exists,
is there any other possible path to it?
If one hopes to find it in revelation or
authority, he still is forced to rely on
reason to decide which of the many
claimants does constitute authority, or
has had a genuine "revelation."

OF course, the rationalist also faces a
dilemma. He has no way of knowing
when his sensory observations have been
faulty or the re
nated by prejudice or emotion. He
only take satisfaction in the knowledge
that cach falsehood exposed must lead
one step closer to the truth.

It is to Mr. Hefners credit that.
enumeration of the irration
and hypocrisies of our society, he ma
no attempt to substitute his own view-
point. Rather, he continually empha
that cach man must, in the last analysis,
be his own judge of the truth. Truth, if
it exists, must be objectiv cach
man's conception must be his own.

F. Peter Gersbacher
Lafayette, Ind
(continued оп pag

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owe SACK LEMMON

a candid conversation with hollywood's kinetic

In two recent film-industry surveys,
Jack Lemmon was named the nation’s
number-one box-office personality, come-
dian and dramatic aclor, For the 39-
year-old star, esteemed as one of the
screen’s most versatile performers, this
triple crown caps a ten-ycar film carcer
already studded with such honors as an
Oscar for his portrayal of the irrepress-
ible Ensign Pulver in “Mister Roberts,”
Oscar nominations for his memorable
roles in “Some Like It Hot,” “The
Apartment” and “Days of Wine and
Roses,” and most recently, his selection
as т.с. of this year’s Academy Awards
presentation,

Such laurels have taken their psychi-
atric toll of many who've occupied Holly-
wood's catbird seat, but most of those
who know him swear that Lemmon re-
mains engagingly unaffected. Some have
attributed. his modest self-assurance to
his monied Bostontan upbringing and
to his years at Andover and Harvard;
others to his two-year hitch as а naval
ensign at the end of World War I1,
and to the eight years of professional ap-
prenticeship in New York drama schools,
summer stock, radio soap opera, TV
drama and Broadway comedy which
preceded his movie debut in 1954
Opposite Judy Holliday їп “It Should
Happen to You."

Whatever the reasons for his success
and his sense of balance, he has been
characterized as “the most rational man
in the business,” “a guy with no artistic
temperament, no glandular pushiness,”
“an actor who saves all his acting for
the camera.” When he is acting for the

“To make it, you have to do one thing
that no human really wants to do:
You've got to expose yourself. You can’t
be afraid. You can't cover up. That's
what separates the men from the boys.”

camera, however, Lemmon is said to
hurl himself into each vole with an
intensity which many friends find diffi-
cult (o reconcile with his otherwise ex-
troverted, easygoing nature—even in
light comedies such as his latest picture,
“Good Neighbor Sam.” in which he
plays the seemingly undemanding part
of a bumbling adman who finds an in-
criminaling picture of himself with an-
other man’s wife plastered on billboards
as an advertisement for one of his own
accounts.

In the hope of plumbing this paradox,
we approached Lemmon recently with
our request for an interview. Looking
and sounding exactly like the Пу
Leaguer he so often portrays on the
screen —except for graying temples and
a deepening tracery oj lines around the
eyes—he greeted. us in slacks, sport
shirt and suede slippers at the door of
his $165,000 home in Beverly Hills, a
recent, but opulent, concession to star
status. Ushering us into his study, he
offered us a drink, sprawled comfortably
on a chaise longue beneath a shelf
holding the leather-bound manuscripts
of his 19 films, and invited us to “fire
at will.” We did, and he proceeded to
fire back, in the longest interview he's
given to any magazine.

PLAYBOY: Until your marriage to actress
Felicia Farr almost two years ago, the
Tan-magazine public was led to believe
that you were one of the swingingest
bachelors about town. Were yo
LEMMON: That was a lot of nonsense. 1

“The old diehards may have something
when they mourn the passing of the
golden era in films, when the star was
the Olympian antithesis of the guy next
door, unattainable and unapproachable”

Seriocomic

went out with Farfel for almost five
years——

PLAYBOY: Farle]?

LEMMON: That's what I call Feli

way, I had been going steadily with her
most five years before we got m
ried, and when we finally did, it was
like celebrating our fifth anniversary.

PLAYBOY: Yet throughout your courts
the gossip columns were sprinkled with
ms lin
iber of your ing ladies. V
there no truth to any of these report
LEMMON: I don't believe most of the ра
bage I read about me and | don't b
the public does either. I've had warm,
wonderful relationships with almost all

ilyn Monroe, Doris Day.
nc — but nothing of an intimate
I really didn't go out much when
I was single. Not that I was a recluse;
but 1 preferred to have a nice long din-
ner and sit around. with nds rather
hit the night dubs and the pr
cs. I had a little bachelor pad i
Rel where friends fell in. I will ad-
mit that things could get pretty wild
there on occasion. I remember a couple
of years ago I was ready to leave for a
New Year's Eve party, when a big brush
fire broke out nearby. The house is
located on top of a steep hill and built
on solid rock; I thought it was inde-
structible. But before I knew
flames were 25 yards away. Luckily, they
didn't get any closer, so I celebrated my
good fortune by standing on the roof

"l'ue neuer known a good actor who
was dumb. He can be an emotional baby,
but stupid, no. Sensitivity and brightness.
seem to go hand in hand with а quest for
understanding people, a desire to dig.”

PLAYBOY

Of course, you know what a Bacardi.

is... (where the guests bring the
um and the host supplies all
s he сап think of) .. . but
when are you going to have your next
one? Let us know, and we'll send you
a little kit with (1) two recipe booklets,

(2) a special “Do Not Disturb” sign
and (3) a jim-dandy chart to end the
fuss of mixing up to 432 Daiquiris. But
better do it now: They say 20 million
people read boy. and goodness
knows how many millions give Bacardi
Parties!

Crna

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with a hose in one hand, a marti
the other, dressed in a tuxedo, yelling
"Happy New Year" as I watered down
the bushes, the patio, myself and the
whole damn c
PLAYBOY: Cranis
I use words like “clyde” and
all the time because nobody
knows what the hell I'm talking about.
There are certain slang expressions and
idiot words that 1 use — I suppose be-
cause everything in Holl
tional” or “stupendous.
abnormal pressures of th
tend to make people behave in extremes.
PLAYBOY: Is it possible that these pres-
sures also account in part for the abun-
dance of psychiatrists serving the movie
community?

LEMMON: Quite frankly, І don't know
whether there's a higher pera
people in analysis in the acting profes-
sion than in other professions. But I
wouldn't be surprised if it were true. This
is a nerve-racking business at best. Most
art forms are, because you're not dealing
in anything concrete. You're dealing in
wisps of emotions. You're trying to sell
ng that is absolutely intangible.
ad of being able to come home and
I sold five nce policies today,
dear," you say. “I did a hell of a scene
today, dear.” The only trouble is that out
of every 50 people who sce that scene, 25
of them may hate it. You're the one who's
getting criticized day in and day out, and
offering yourself for acceptance, You're
not offering a product. I'm sure this is a
shattering thing to many actors.
PLAYBOY: Have you been in analysis?
temmon: I don't think I've ever needed
one. I'm not too cei type, but 1
love to talk to psychiatrists І meet at
parties. I just like to ask them qucs-
tions —like all the old crap about the
dilemma of the only child, be
опе. They all tell me that
cate there's a much higher percentage of
successful marriages that involve an only
child. So the only child doesn't
be the lonely child or the эро
adjusted child. Such reassuring words
interest me for a while. But more im-
portant, it's struck me that the deeper
I get into acting, the greater the parallel
I find between analysis and acting. An
actor is interested in the why ol
son's behavior. His job is to s
is why nd then transmit it 0
е — аз the analyst does to a patient.
1 don't pretend to be a two-bit shrinkcr,
but I've read everything I could by
Jung, Adler and others, because it be-
came mort d more pertinent to acting.

vood is "sensa-
The normal
y industry

The more fully 1 grasp not just Лош a

people and my understan
grows. 1 seldom get mad.

PLAYBOY: And when you do?

LEMMON: When I do, which is only now
and then, it's bong, then forget it. H
someone is unpleasant, the first thing
that occurs to me and fascinates me as
an actor is: “I wonder why he’s like
that.” Rather than sayin at son of
a bitch," like I used to, like most people
would. I'm not setting myself up with
the patience of Job, but I know this for
a fact. Maybe it’s also that I've grown a
little older and a little more mature. I'm
now 39, and when I was 30 I wasn't the
same. My insecurities, whatever they
have been, my apprehensions, have
turally diminished a little bit, since I
ve fortunately gone from being an
actor to being a successful actor. Within
myself I have become less and less dis.
turbed about many things—like the
image people pur up of what a human

being, emotionally, is supposed to be.
PLAYBOY: How do you mean?
LEMMON: An awful lot of people are too
terribly concerned about their every emo-
tional reaction. Possibly out of ignorance
or maladjustment, they worry about
themselves tremendously and set up some
kind of idiotic ideal of what a person is
supposed to be. By doing so, they deny
themselves the luxury of normal human
failings. It doesn’t bother me that Fm
a fallible, fairly unextraordinary human
being. It did when 1 was younger and
knew less, But by now 1 have no pre-
conceived idea of what I'm supposed to
he, so I'm. not dissatisfied with myself
Related here is something 1 think really
helps to mature an actor, the one final
plateau he must reach il he's going to be
good. To make it, you have to do one
thing that no human really wants to do:
You've pot to expose yourself, You can’t
be afraid. You can’t cover up. That's
what separates the men fom е boys.
annot consciously or subconsciously
y away from anyth
the time in actors. I can spot it like that,
when an actor is back ay from fear
of failure, from exposing aspects of him-
self that he doc If you can
finally just o breath of
fresh air. I don't think this happens ший
there's enough faith within yourself to
know that you're all right within your-
self even if you're called a complete and
total 1 justments com-
ined with the control of your own tech

You

. This you see all

ure. Personal a

ctor — when those two meet,
You've become a professional
1 don't particularly care if I ever become
a star, or if L already am one. But I do
care about being professional

PLAYBOY: What other y icks do you
feel make an actor professional?
LEMMON: For one thing, intelligence, I've
never known a good actor who was
dumb, Не сап be an emotional baby,

nique

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but stupid, no. Sensitivity and brightness
seem to go hand in hand with a quest
for understanding people, a desire to
dig, an inquisitiveness, Talent — which
is only about 20 percent of acting —
comes in, as I said earlier, after an actor
understands why a character bel
he then uses h
transmit this insight to the audience.
Once he v ids this, he must real-
ize that the director is more creative
than the actor, He has a much greater
opportunity to make an overall per-
sonal statement than an actor does. A
good actor can bring all sorts of shad-
ings to a role that were never there, that
go lar beyond what even the author or
director intended. But an actor, in my
mind, most of the time is not a creator
at all; he's an interpreter. He is given the
words thc scenes, then he
interprets them for the author and the
director. I've seen а good performance
in а bad movie, but I've ly
seen a bad picture come off because of a
good performance, and I never will. The
longer I'm around, the more respect I
acquire for the writers and directors who
hand me the tool.
PLAYBOY: Including, of course, Billy
Wilder, your writer-director for The
Apartment, Some Like 1t Hot and Irma
la Douce.
LEMMON: I'd do the phone book with
Wilder if he said he had a part in it
for me. When he offered me the lead in
Irma, 1 signed for it without even seeing
a script. I knew the plot of the Broadway
musical, but I figured they might as well
throw it right out the window for what
Wilder would do in revising it. I was
right.
PLAYBOY: Do you think his revisions were
improvements on the original?
LEMMON: They may have improved the
story, but some of them certainly didn't
improve me any. Remember that scene
where I get buried bencath a mob of
streetwalkers in the back of the paddy
wagon? Well, it may have been funny
s without ques-
tion one of the most uncomfortable and
unpleasant scenes I ever had to shoot.
You'd think it would be wonderful, one
guy and all those sexy girls; but it’s hot
and confined, and hard as hell to do a
scene where you're uying to keep Just
an сус showing and to get the lines right
with everybody screaming. It couldn't be
a melee, but it had to be frenetic, and yet
y
hem. And at the finish of the scene, after
two or three days of this bellam, when
these 13 or 14 girls pile on top of me in
the paddy wagon, I want to tell you I
was just a wreck. Everybody was scream-
ing and groaning. The girls were bruised
One of them ended up with her leg in

lent to

idersi

and and

never тед

clean and crisp — kind of organized ma

a cast. God, it was a disaster are:
PLAYBOY: In the picture, you play a Paris
gendarme who succumbs to the charms
of a kookie tart — played by Shirley Mac-
Laine — becomes her pimp, and proceeds
to monopolize her trade in the guise of a
well-heeled client. Did you “motivate”
your part by doing any firsthand re
search?

LEMMON: And how. Shirley and I went to
and talked to the
madam and the girls for about five
hours. The girls would say “Pardonnez-
moi" about every ten minutes and go
rolling upstairs They had some pretty
speedy customers, because some of the
girls were back downstairs in about three
minutes.

PLAYBOY: Ihis was your sccond picture
with Shirley, a consummate comedienne
who's stolen. many a scene from her
male leads. Do you work well together?
LEMMON: Beautifully. She's a ball to be
with. 1 might be attracted to а woman
with a gorgeous figure or a fine mind,
but I only respect the woman who isn't
a stereotype. а woman with authentic,
individual qualities of her own. Shirley
has all of these, and besides, she’s a nut.
Her sense of humor alone makes her that
much easier to work with. In /rma, we
had this scene where she's in the bath-
tub and I'm in the other room getting
dressed. | come to the bathroom door
and she’s soaping herself. Actually, she's
wearing, lile bikini, but its flesh-
colored so that when her back is turned
to the camera the audience thinks she's
ing anything. 1 come over and
sit on the edge of the tub and we have
this conversation. and we go to kiss at
the end. 1 want to tell you, it's pretty
hard to lean over a tub and put your
arms around someone for a fade-out
clinch when she's in the tub and you're
on the edge. Well, 1 fell in. Down 1
went on top of her, clothes and cvery-
thing. Shirley kept breaking up, and
it took thrce takes before I could do thc
thing without falling in. It may have
been a very tender moment, but 1 was
bent in the shape of a pretzel. propping
myself up with my foot
out of camera range. Be all this aggr:
tion as it may, whenever Wilder wants
me to do another picturc— in a tub, in
drag. in a paddy wagon, in a Beatle wig
— Vm his man,

PLAYBOY: Do you think as highly of di-
rector Richard Quine and writer-director
Blake Edwards, who have worked
you in a total of six pictures?
LEMMON: All three suffer from old
theatrical disease that is kind of rare —
talent. Billy's shows most of all, naturally,
because he was making movies when the
other two were kids. Billy has a style, an
individuality, which never dominates to

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PLAYBOY

the detriment of a picture. But all three
have it. When a director's style is so
individual that it becomes the dominant
factor in a film, and the audience be-
comes aware of it, then a director defeats
his own purpose. Wilder, Edwards and
Quine, thank God, do not impose direc
tion so that the audience becomes

aware of it. The minute that happens
you lose involvement and identifica-
tion in the story. You sit there and say:

"Gee, look what he did with the cam-
cra," Unless, of course, the director is
deliberately doing it for shock. which

Edwards did a few times in Wine
and Roses. A sudden cut to a face right
up into the cameras and d.ts— i

wring to the

done on purpose. It wasn't j
flow of the story at all.
PLAYBOY: Do they have anything else in
common?

LEMMON: Yes. I can work things out with
them because with all their talents, they
have security as directors. But they
never, ever arbitrarily impose th
ideas on an actor. "OK," they say. "Lets
read it over. Do what you want," They
don't say a word more until they sce
what you bring. Now, all three might
well know what they want, but they
will not disallow the fact that the actor
ght add something fresh to what they

had in mind already. You'd be amazed
how many so-called good directors. es-

pecially under the economic pressures of
getting a film done, adhere religiously
to the ideas they've set up in advance.
Another thing about those three: They
do not give extensive, deep direction. In
опе sentence they can accomplish what
an awful lot of guys who are sitting there
motivating their grandfather's raincoat
take hours to do.

PLAYBOY: That sounds like a dig at the
psychoanalytic Actors Studio technique.
Is it?

LEMMON: I must admit I get griped when
I see every young punk in a torn T-shirt
called а Method actor. But if some guy
feels he must vomit in a corner in order
to get a sick feeling for a scene, and it
works, more power to him. I just don’t
go for that stuff. 1 saw one guy spin
himself around in a circle for a drunk
scene and he got so off kilter that he
smashed through a door and practi
destroyed the whole damn set. Nat
every actor to have some kind of
method of preparing himself for a role,
but this doesn't happen to be minc.
PLAYBOY: What is your method?

LEMMON: Well, years ago if a director
told me to “be happy" on page ten, I'd
say, “I can’t play ‘be happy. Tell me
why 1 should be happy.” After | got
deeper into it, I realized that the only
опе who can supply the why of a cha
acter's behavior is me — not through in-

tellectu lysis, but through instinct
and intuition. After working with a lot
of young, bright directors who explained
lyzed the hell out of everythin;
e me great motivations, 1 began
to beg for them to give me the result
they're after and let me worry about how
to realize it.
PLAYBOY: Do you worry about how to
realize it

LEMMON: I guess I do. When I get in
really close to something 1 care about,
1 get terribly apprehensive, because I
place such a high value on it that it
imost can't come off the way I hope it
ight. When we finished The Apari-
ment, Y felt 1 had failed in the part. 1
didn't want to see the film. I felt that
I hadn't fulfilled the character, that
nobody would even know if I had done
a good acting job. Since I was so close
to the character, 1 was afraid it wouldn't
scem like a performance.

PLAYBOY: Do you identify so completely
with all the characters you play?
LEMMON: With all the ones that any
real depth, yes. To perform a serious
role to my own satisfaction, 1 have to
go into a little world of my own. I com-
pletely become the character in the film.
1 guess I bug everybody with it, because
Гуе been told that people have come
into my dressing room and heard me
holler, “Get lost! I don't want to talk
to you! Don't disturb me!" I never re-
member doing it later, and I have to
walk around like an ass apologizing to
everyone. But even on nights and week-
ends when I'm with friends, I'm still the
guy in the picture I'm making. 1 have to
be that way. He is me and I'm him.
When I was making The Apartment,
for several months 1 was that poor little
schnook who didn't completely know the
score. I was so close to him that I was
afraid, with all the sweat, all the emo-
tional blood I had put into it, that
nobody would know a damn thing about
it. I had the same fecling on a totally
different level with Some Like I Hot,
which was a broad farce. I was worried
that the farce would fall flat. I got an
Academy Award for Mister Roberls —
and I've never seen the ending, because
Г was so mad at what I did in it. I knew
I had a great part to. play, beautifully
written. But it became so important to
me that it was difficult to satisfy the high
level of acceptability I had unconsciously
imposed on it.

PLAYBOY: Didn't the Oscar help convince
you that you'd succeeded?

LEMMON: Not really. Success is always
somebody else's opinion of you: but it
doesn't amount to a damn compared to
your own opinion of yourself — though
naturally I felt honored to get the award.
Honored? I was thunderstruck. 1t made

a nervous wreck out of me. I remember
оп Oscar night 1 took a wi
ing to the Pantages and got there late
There were all these klieg lights and
hundreds of people milling around out-
side, and all the nominees were being
interviewed on television. I sort of got
swept up in the surge of people and to
support myself grabbed a guardrail. It
was wet with paint. There I stood, i
my grandfather's white tie and tails, with
green paint om my hand. I tried to
reach in my pocket for a handk
No handkerchief. So 1 put my h
my other pocket and began міріт
off on the inside, At that moment, of
course, the television cameras focused on
a full-length shot of me. Very fast, they
cut to above-the-waist shots. What the
viewers had seen for a moment was very
odd-looking, shall we say, to appear оп
the screen. It looked like I had tch
in the damnedest place. When 1 finally
got out of that situation, I walked to the
entrance and reached for my tickets. No
kets. I had left them at home; so I
had to talk my way in, and they had
hell of a time with me because they
didn’t know where I was supposed to
эй. And then, when my name was an-
nounced, ] was so excited 1 almost fell on
my prat getting up to the stage. I still
had the green paint on my hand when
I took the Oscar. But at that point 1
couldn't have cared less if it was purple
or black paint on my hand or whatever.
I was in shock.
PLAYBOY. You received rave reviews —
and an Oscar nomination— for your
portrayal of an alcoholic in Days of
Wine and Roses. Were you dissatislied.
with that performance, too?
LEMMON: In many ways, yes — though 1
would have regarded the picture
success even if it, and 1, hadn't gotten
good notices — simply because it wasn't
in the traditional mold of a Hollywood
film. The writer refused to rely on the
tried-and-true formulas. There wasn't
суеп a happy ending. That takes courage.
But who the hell cares about a stock
performance or an average play? Much
better to try and really do something,
go all the way, do it as professionally as
an. Ies the only way you can do
something to raise the level of the craft
you're in. I know that Billy Wilder, fo
instance, feels that a film had better
come in from left field, or forget it, that
it doesn't mean a damn thing mercly to
make a good picture anymore. It must
be something really provocative, some-
thing you arc willing to go out of the
house to sce — through. the Geschrei of
baby sitters, dinner, parking the car, pop-
corn, people talking. You've got to want
to get into that theater to scc it because
you ain't gonna see it anywhere else —

ong turn driv-

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PLAYBOY

certainly not on that box at home. That
is in large measure why The Apartment
and Some Like Jt Hot and Irma wer
enormously successful. The public will
no longer accept the pap they've been
prone to for years. A pr
the new, leftfield picture w
Hustler. Well, formerly, if you w
a studio and said, ^I want to make this
picture about a pool player," the first
thing you'd get was: “About a what?
How many women in the world ever
cared about a pool table, let alone a
pool shark?" But they went ahead and
made it—and the public lined up to
see it. These old rules of thumb don't
apply anymore. Like: What appeal will
it have for teenagers? Will children.
buy it? Is it family fare? Forget ‘em.
‘They're all out the window, thank God.
PLAYBOY: Do you feel that the result has
been to make Hollywood films more
mature as well as more "adult"?

Е In some cases, yes. It used to
Can you s mn" or "Hell"
Now we have pictures about everything
under the sun — which, in a sense, reflects
what has happened to Broadway, mi
roring a tiny kernel of life mainly with
plays about estranged and deranged peo-
ple who and often
unsympathetic, but for whom maybe you
have compassion. The supreme example
is Tennessee Williams, who has
ceeded only because of a complete w
ing genius. He has written about people
with whom 99 percent of his audience,
both in films and the theater, cannot
identify. Unfortunately, what he and
people like Shelagh Delancy have done
is kind of obtuse. They've taken the
pendulum and brought it all the way in
ihe other direction. Williams has taken
bnormal people, made them his heroes
nd heroines, and said these people may
be sick by your terms, but they're stil
human. Understand them. They are not
like you, but don't dismiss them. You
may not have slept with your mother,
you may not be a homosexual, you may
not be a cannibal, or whatever, but they
suffer, and they fecl, and they love like
other people. Care about them.
PLAYBOY: Most of the characters you've
played, by contrast, have been eminently
normal and well-adjusted — so much so,
a fact, that one critic has called you
“the incarnation of the all-American
hoy.” Do you feel that you project this
kind of image?

LEMMON: Let's face it: I didn't make it
in Hollywood on the strength of Jack
Armstrong looks. I just don't have
the clean-limbed, square-jawed, simple-
minded sex appeal of a Tab Hunter or
a Troy Donahue. Гуе never had the
animal magnetism that elicits an ava-
lanche of fan mail from kids — or what-

are unfamil

ever it is that makes them squeal and
holler. I don't even have a sincere-
sounding squ: wed, allAmerican
ame like Hunter or Hudson. I remem-
ber when I came out to Hollywood to
make my first picture, 74 Should Happen
10 You, the late Harry Cohn, head of
Columbia Pictures, called me into of-
fice and told me he didn’t like my name,
and he wanted to cha
giving me all kinds of arguments. “The
critics will use it like a ball bat, They'll
hit ya with it" “Let ‘em,” I said.
“How can I have а name like Lemmon
up there? They'll laugh it off the serce:
he said. "I'm not going to change it," I
told him. “You gotta change it,” he said.
“To what" I asked. "To Lennon," he
“They'll think I'm a Ru
lutionary," І told him. “No,” he said.
“That's Leneer. I looked it up.” Well,
I fell off the chair, and he got mad
because I was laughing at him. But 1
didn't change it—and things scem to
have worked out all right anyway. IE
the day comes that I start worrying about.
a public concept of me as an actor, ГЇЇ
be in serious trouble. Because then 1 will
start performing not as an individual,
not as a guy playing a part; ГЇЇ be trying
10 create some hypocritical image. I'd be
a complete liar. If the all-American boy
comes over, and maybe it does, I really
couldn't give a damn. But if the per-
formance is good, there I care a great
deal. T'm going to be around when I'm
60 —if I'm not hit by a producer or a
car — but only if I'm a good actor, not
a “person:
PLAYBOY: Despite the fact that you've
established. your acting credentials
both comic and serious roles, do you
think the public may still regard. you
more as a funnyman than as a dramatic
actor?

LEMMON: Sure they do. They don't think
of me ıl comedian, walking or
talking i п way or with any spe-
cial shtick, but Tm still identified pri-
marily with comedy in some form or
other. If they think of a Jack Lemmon
picture, they automatically think it’s
funny —or supposed to be. The only
reason is that I did a couple of comedy
films when I started, and they worked,
зо 80 percent of the pictures submitted to
me since have been comedies. But this
only underlines my complaint against
those who feel they have to label a
drama a drama or а comedy a comedy.
Labeling pictures is a pet peeve of mine.
You can't label life. Anybody who calls
The Apartment a comedy is a nut. It was
a drama апа a romance and a comedy —
all three. The few critics who reviewed
The Apartment unfavorably agreed al-
most unanimously on the single point
that the picture couldn't make up its

in revo-

mind whether it was a comedy or a
drama. Now that, to me, is absolutely
irrelevant. Why do we have to conform
to some idiotic preconception of a pic-
ture as one or the other? That's a lot of
bull. Life is both. Thats why I did
Wine and Roses — the story of an alco-
holic. For the first third of the picture
there's a hell of a lot of comedy, lightness
and romance, and I'm acting pretty
much like the kind of character the audi-
ence would normally expect me to play.
I wanted to communicate his gaiety and
his other warm qualities so that when he
got into trouble, when it did get dra-
matic, when this guy finally hit the deck,
they would care. Rather than some
clinical damn study of an alcoholic,
where they leave the theater and say,
“Gee, being an alcoholic is really rough.
We better watch how we drink.” The
hell with that. I wanted them to care
about this guy as a person. Alcoholism
or anything else was secondary. We were
telling a love story about two people,
PLAYBOY: We take it that you're not a
fan of "message" movies.
LEMMON: Well, I think there's some truth.
in that old screenwriting saw, “If you've
got a message, call Western Union." If
a writer becomes obsessed with making
his personal point of view too strong
within a play or a film, so obsessed that.
the scenes become the author's commen-
tary and the characters merely speak the
author's intention, he has defeated i=
self. Actors must behave as human be-
ings, creating identification with an
audience. The situation they're involved
in is where the authors commen:
should emerge, but so seldom does. An
mple of the right way to do it is
The Apartment. This picture was a pcr-
sonal comment about business and the
way we live in a segment of socicty
today. Wilder did а simple thing: He
grew a rose in a garbage pail in order
to make his point. He made you care
about a guy and a girl The circum-
stances they were in showed his point of
view; the characters were not simply
the authors mouthpiece. Many young
playwrights do not understand this,
PLAYBOY: Are you speaking from personal
experience?
LEMMON: Yes. I did a Broadway play
about four years ago; I went in and out
of the Eugene O'Neill Theater like a
pistol shot in a thing called Face of a
Hero, written by a very talented fellow.
1 felt he made a mistake, because sud-
denly I realized I was just mouthing the
author's point of view. I didn't have a
character. I was just making long speech-
es that the author wanted said. The
thing folded inside of a month.
PLAYBOY: Despite losing Face, would you
(continued on page 146)

WHAT SORT OF MAN READS PLAYBOY?

A young executive standing on the threshold of success, the PLAYBOY reader is equally adept at turning
a handsome profit or a fair femme's head. And PLAYBOY, in ever-increasing numbers, is the magazine
he picks up first and lays down last. Fact: PLAYBOY is now delivering an average paid circulation of
1,965,456 copies each month, including the largest single-copy sale of any quality-priced magazine in
America. Multiple readers per copy? More than any other million-plus publication. And you sell this
audience best in the magazine that sells itself—PLAY BOY, for men who make living an art. (Sources: State-
ment to Audit Bureau of Circulations, second half, 1963; Sindlinger & Co.’s Magazine Audience Action Study.)

Advertising Offices: New York * Chicago • Detroit • Los Angeles * San Francisco • Atlanta

fiction By KEN W. PURDY The studio had been built

for a muralist. He had worked with very big cartoons. The
studio was three stories high, and the blackcrayon out-
lines of many sketches mazed the walls. In certain lights
they seemed to waver and tremble: it was as if one were
looking into a giant Chinese carved-ivory ball made of layer
after layer of pierced walls cut by windows not quite in line
with each other. The phenomenon irritated Charles Boyd.
He often resolved to whitewash them over, or paint or
repaper the wills. He was incapable of doing anything of
the kind, and he knew it. He did not consider the man
from whom he had bought the place an artist in the sense
that he, Charles Boyd, was an artist, but clearly he had not
been a carpenter either. He had been a creator, if in
rather a limited fashion: he was a kind of artist, and Boyd's
soul squirmed at the idea of obliterating lines laid down by
another man. He tried not to look at the walls on се n
days when the sky was thinly overcast, when, in late after-
noon, the light seemed. peculiarly to reach into the maze
of lines

He tried, but he could not always help himself, He v
staring into a corner of the cciling, on a November after-
noon when he was, probably, between 40 and 45 years old
(he was an orphan and illegitimate and had no way of
knowing his exact age), trying to fix in his mind the gray-
green ol a lichen on a certain rock in a Vermont meadow
when his суе slipped, as it were, and fell to the wall. He
noticed a square of red high on the wall, a spot of red paint,
it looked to be, or a piece of paper. It did not look bigger
np. Charles Boyd was startled.
nk I've ever seen that before,” he said to

than a posta

"I don't th
himself, aloud.

He set his palette down on the table behind him, carefully,
without looking around, and moved closer to the wall. The
red mark did not, as he half thought it might, disappear.
He pulled a ladder along the wall, put the brush he was
carrying between his teeth and went up. The red spot was a
dab of paint, and dearly it had been there a long time.

Charles Boyd came down the ladder and sat on the second
rung of it. bemused, and feeling fear come up in him, a sad,
sickening, slow-rising kind of fear. Be calm, he said to him-
self, let me think. It was a small matter, after all, to
missed seeing а spot of red not 2 inches square on a wall 20
feet high. But that wasn't at all the heart of the thing.
Working in a single room for 14 years, was it possible that
he would not have noticed a single blot of red on а brown
wall? He knew that it was not, It was out of the question
that he had not s
it, hundreds of times, must have done, had to have done.
"The terror was that he had forgotten seeing it, forgotten so
utterly that, when he had noticed it just now, it was as if a
door had been slammed or a gun fired,

A cheap foot-square mirror hung over the litle washbowl.
He looked into it, He saw a «тавру, scarred, squared-off
face, black hair, beady black е 1 obvious despei
gripping — like a pirate's knife between his teeth — a number
12 red-sable brush. He grinned at himself. He opened his
mouth and let the brush fall into his hand. He threw it over
his shoulder,

"You want а drink, Boyd?" he asked the face in the mirror.

The big head nodded ponderously.

He rinsed the surface dust out of a dirty water glass and

n и. He had seen it, noticed it, remarked

there in the clutter of his creative life
he felt fear come up in him, a sad,
sickening, slow-rising kind of fear

PORTRAIT OF CHARLES BOYD

PLAYBOY

half-filled it with whiskey. He drank
that, half-filled it again, ran a little water
into it, holding it up to the light to watch
the spiraling, oily mixing, and dropped
into his chair, waiting for the whiskey to
do its blessed short-circuiting. It was a
brightbrown stream running down a
narrow trough in the middle of his head,
lapping at the bare bright wires, shorting
out this one, skipping the next three,
drowning the next two, running around
the next four... an ugly idea, he
thought, and stopped it.

He looked up at the spot. He drank
half the whiskey water. He could reach
his palette from the chair. He mixed up
a little burnt umber and chrome yellow
and zinc oxide and picked it up on a
flat brush. He went briskly up the ladder
and covered the red spot. Back in his
chair he could pick it out only because
it glistened wetly. Dry, it would be gone
for good. He would put it out of his
mind, too. The whiskey was running in
him now and he took half of what was
left in the glass. He wasn't frightened
anymore. He switched around in the
chair to look at the easel.

He had stretched a big canvas for this
опе. Lately, his stuff had been mostly
very big. When he began, living in
Stockholm in a small cold room — God,
how «0181 — іп Akversgaten, he had
rarely done anything bigger than a foot
square, and it wasn't because he had no
money for canvas. И he had wanted to
make a big painting he'd have put it
on the white plaster wall of his room.
And in Paris the same thing. But lately,
the last five years, six, he had used big
canvases. It hadn't to do with success,
either. “I don't care if it's on a rolled-up
newspaper or the back of your hand,"
he had heard his agent say, “if I offer
you a Boyd for $2500 today you'd bet
ter buy, because it'll be $3000 tomor-
Tow.”

No, it was just that he felt like big
canvases lately. He had more to say.
Sometimes he could feel the great weight
of all he had to say rolling and bubbling
and boiling inside him. He thought of it,
now, as something thick like soup but
in every color— would that be possible,
every color, no, there was no such con-
cept as every color — but in, say, a thou-
sand million colors, bubbling, spilling
over, over what, well, spilling over what
it was in, he thought of his own skull,
but 20 feet across and sawed off evenly
on top, a great seething caldron, but
that put his face in the fire under it, he
didn't like that idea. It broke the train
of his thought. He got up for more
whiskey.

This painting, now, was ten fect by
cight, that's to say ten feet long by
eight high. Boyd had been working on
it for 32 days. He was a slow painter,

and also he was fussy about the ground.
He prepared a canvas very carefully. He
set it up to last. He did not intend that
paintings of his should be crazing and
cracking and flaking in 100 years

A landscape. most viewers would say
about this latest Boyd, a valley in the
foreground and hills behind rising to a
violet sky. Some might move on, having
seen nothing more, but there was more
to see. For one thing, a foremost, there
was the so-called “Boyd veil.” The critic
Hugelet first called it that, the exten-
sion of the backlight up, across the roof
of the scene, as it were, and down, hang-
ing like a gauzy curtain in front of the
painting, although it was the painting
-.. he had begun doing this weird thing
in 1950. Tt was not a trick or a stunt, it
was merely light. Some people did not
notice the Boyd veil until they had been
shown it, and some of them then would
stare for a long time. So there was that
to see. And much more. A landscape?
Boyd looked at it through the brown
whiskey. A clod might say so. But a wise
man, now, whether seeing the painting
suddenly, booming, as a whole, or, be-
ginning at the lower left corner and fol-
lowing the cunning spiral path that wove
through it to the top, a wise man would
know that the painting spoke of love,
love from the very аре men chittering at
each other across their dripping caves,
past love of man for woman, for jus-
tice, for country, to the love of love
itself, love of the unscen gods for men
centuries dead, love of the living for the
yet unborn and the never-to-be-born,
and, as was natural, in this painting
Boyd spoke of profane love as well.
Near the comer of the woods in the
middle ground, just past a stunted ash
tree, in the daisies of the meadow,
there would be, if you looked care-
fully, first. one bare foot in an odd
attitude, then, just a fingertip's width to
the left . . . Boyd smiled. His own vision.
was freakish, probably past 10/20, and he
could see that little bare foot from the
chair, though it wasn't an eighth of an
inch long. He looked at the ash tree,
and then to the right, it was there, or a
shade higher, or lower, or to the left.
Odd. He lifted himself out of the chair,
careful not to spill the whiskey. He
moved to the painting. There was no
little foot, not by the ash tree, not in
the daisies, nothing of that sort any-
where near. He set the whiskey on the
floor, and squatted. No. Nothing. Where,
then? Nowhcre. He went over the paint-
ing inch by inch, grunting and whufiling
as the breath whistled in and out of him.
The two little naked people that he
knew he had hidden just past the ash
tree were not there, He pulled a drawer
out of the taboret and grabbed a six-
inch magnifying glass and with it held

to his face he moved up and down and
across the whole canvas one more time.
No.

He looked to the wall where the little
red spot had been. It was not there and
he knew why it was not. He could re-
member what he had done about it. He
had painted it over. Where then were
the two little people in the high grass?
Had he painted them over? He grabbed
the magnifying glass again, squeezing
the handle in his short thick fingers and
looked for thickened paint, for an out-
line. No, nothing.

He sank to his heels and sat on the
floor. I will do the calm thing, he said to
himself. It is much like getting lost in
the woods, and that is when you must
do the calm thing. So. I must be think-
ing of some other painting, I must have
something else in mind. 1 never put it
into this one. He named to himself vari-
ous paintings: the one of the three dogs,
the yellow tree, the year with four sum-
mers—he went through two dozen or
more. It was perfectly obvious that the
little nude figures were not in any of
these paintings — were not, that is, if he
could remember them. But supposing he
could not?

He scrabbled across the floor on his
hands and knees — it wasn't far enough
to be worth getting up — to the steel-
framed rack in which he stacked paint-
ings for storage or for drying. There
were more than fifty of them. He
snatched them out one after another: a
quick jerk, a short tossing motion, a
catching in the middle of cach riser.
"here was nothing to be seen in the
first eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen.
Fourteen. Fourteen. Fourteen wasn't his.
work at all. His heart jumped. He felt
his brain bulge his skull wide at the
temples.

“1 never painted this picture!” he said
aloud. “I never!”

Holding it in front of him like a mir-
ror, he walked across the room, bellow-
ing.

“J never!" he yelled, “I never! I
never!”

His knuckles hit the far wall. He spun
around. He lifted the painting over his
head, to look around it. He saw the
whiskey glass on the floor. He kicked it.
It caromed off the wall without break-
ing.

“J never!” he screamed. “I never laid
a brush on this goddamn picture, never,
never!”

Greta came in. “Charlie, what the
hell?” she said. “J can hear you in the
house!”

He rushed at her and held the paint-
ing for her to see.

“Did I paint thi
I? Did Е paint this?”

(continued overleaf)

he screamed. “Did

“Mother will be disappointed if you don’t come in for at least
a few minutes, George. She's expecting to meet you tonight."

PLAYBOY

She looked. А tall, calm, brown-eyed
irl.

тт you did, darling,” she said.
"Last summer. You did that one in
Levana.”

“Bitch!” he screamed at her. “Bitch!
Liar! I never painted it in my goddamn
life! Some mothering son of a bitch
sneaked it in here, and you know god
damn good and welll”

He scaled the taut framed canvas
across the room. He spun with it, he
sent it off with a savagery that unjointed
the frame before it left his hand; it
flew crazily into the wall, one side of
the frame splintered, the canvas bak
looned, buckled, slid to the floor.

Greta Boyd watched. He glared at her.
He was something to frighten a brace
of waterfront cops; not а tall man, but
200-odd pounds formed by frantic physi-
cal exertion for four decades. he seemed
to have no wrists, his forearms ran, no
more tapered than bludgeons, straight
to his knuckles. But Greta was not afraid
of him. She knew his nature, which was
that of the May lamb. There had been
a time in his life when he had hurt
many people and killed some of them,
but it had been long ago and they were
people who had gone to endless trouble
to outrage him.

“Come down out of the tree, Charlie,”
she said. “You silly son of a bitch.”

He grabbed her and threw her, back-
ward, through the screen door. She
landed, sitting, on the grass, and rolled.
She looked up. He was standing in the
doorway, peering through the hole in
the screen like an ape through the bars
of its cage. As she watched he began to
сту. Greta got up, wondering if she was
going to make it. She went up the three
steps and across the tiny porch, marvel-
ing that she had never touched them thc
last time she had been that way. She
opened the gaping door and reached in
for him.

"Come on, Charlie," she said. "Come
on. We'll put a steak on the fire."

He would not tell her what he had
been looking for. He wouldn't say any-
thing about it. In the morning he went
into the studio and carefully separated
his own paintings, the authentic ones,
from the fakes. There were $4 real Boyds
and 14 fakes. He put the fakes carefully
to one side against the wall. He half-
decided to burn them. He went back to
the easel and spent the morning paint-
ing in the two little people he remem-
bered making love so happily beside the
ash tree. At one o'clock Greta gave him
a sixounce martini and he ate a big
lunch. Afterward he took her to bed.
When he went back to the studio he
felt fine and his mind was made up. Hc
would burn the fakes. But to be certain

he went over everything in the room
again, the real ones and the fraudulent
ones together. This time he separated
out 19 frauds. Now there were 28 real
Boyds and one he couldn't positively
identify either way.

He fought down the idea that they
had been in his studio in the night.
faking his pictures again, changing them
to frighten and confuse him. He knew
better, and rejoiced that he knew better.
He spoke to himself, slowly and care
fully.
“No one has been here,” he said. “No
one. There is nothing to be afraid of.”
He thought about that for a time, a
happy idea, a big, warm, brown-black,
good idea, strong and sturdy, an idea
like a tree. He could see himself, bare,
rubbing his back against that good
strong comforting idea, it was a mother-
idea, and indeed as he watched, the
boughs at the very top of the tree parted
and his mother smiled greenly and
leafily at him, and he caught himself,
as he thought just in time to cut off a
terrible idea, a bad idea. He tried to
remember what he had stopped beii
frightened of, and he did remember: the
idea that people had been in the studio.
What, then, was left to be frightened
of? He knew the answer. He could sec
aswer, a long way of on the plain,
ight, pointing away
„ but slowly, slowly turning.
lt came around, and hit him right in
the face. What was to be afraid of? That
he could no longer recognize one of his
own paintings, or remember why he had
done a painting, if indeed he had done
it, or when, or where.

He found the glass on the floor.
Whiskey had dried stickily in iu He
rinsed it carefully and filled it four-fifths
up. He put a layer of water on the
whiskey, as he thought. and drank it
slowly and carefully. He halffilled it
again and sat in his chair to wait the
necessary two or three minutes for the
chemical to start its happy work. While
he was waiting he looked over at the
painting on the easel. He looked for
the litle bare foot. This time, by God,
he saw it.

“The bubble in my brain," he would
say to himself, "is getting bigger." Or,
it might be, he would say, "is getting
smaller" He didn't know which was
best, that was one odd thing about it,
among the many.

He had not often been frightened in
his life but now he was frightened much
of the time. He could not tell when he
would slip away from himself. He tried.
hard to discover the premonitory symp-
toms, but he could establish по useful
pattern. When he surmised that an
episode might be forming he would lock

himself in the studio, but he was more
often mistaken than not. Sometimes he
knew that he had been, as he thought of
it, out of himself, and sometimes he did
not. He came to dread the most casual
conversations, because he could not
iow when thc terrible blow might fall.
"Charlie," someone would say, a good
nd, perhaps, showing a tight smile,
"Charlie, that was a pretty lively lunch
the other day, no?"

His heart would jump, really jump
in its cage of ribs, and Һе would say,
thinking desperately, trying hard to re-
member, "Oh, I suppose you could say
so."

"You hear anything from "Tarrancc?"

"No, nothing."

"You didn't call him?"

“No.”

“Jesus, Charlie, don't you think you
ought to? What the hell, you did break
his nose, and, honestly, Charlie, none
of us could figure out what it was about.
What did he do to you, anyway?”

Charles Boyd would shrug. “Long
story,” he'd say. He would go away, his
soul screaming silently inside him. One
afternoon, making love to Greta, he
turned her on her side and saw a bruise,
big as a saucer, low on her back. He
was so startled that before he could
think he asked her what had happened.

Something flashed in her eyes, but
she subdued it and said, “I bumped into
something. J fell.”

He knew it must have been a hard
punch, it must have knocked her down,
and it must have hurt terribly. His right
hand was just at her hip joint, he looked
at it, he must have hit her with that
terrible thing, a club of thick fingers
and lumped knuckles. Hc trembled.
Tiny waves ran under his skin. He
closed his eyes. He could see everything
leaving his body, out through the tiny
baby's soft spot in the top of his skull,
out, everything, in a steamy vapor, not
just joy, not just passion, but his soul
and with it the will to live. Greta broke
the image by pulling his head down to
her and kissing him. Then she began to
try to bring him back and ultimately
she did so, but even knowing him so
well she was a long time about it.

There were bad times on the street and.
in his friends homes when he went to
them which was not often, and in bed.
but the meanest hurts came to him in
the studio. He no longer allowed him-
self to sort his paintings, to tell the
fakes from the real ones. He tried to
work faster, to get more done. When he
had finished a painting he put it in
the rack. He tried to keep himself from.
looking back over his work. When hc
did go back he saw terrible deterioration,
every painting was inferior to the one

(continued on page 142)

MM
NON

modern living

A PLAYBOY'S PAD:

AIRY
AERIE

spotlighting a west coast architect’s dramatically designed oceanside digs

Not only for ор, but far out, is architect Fred Lyman's designed-for-pleasure, redwood-ond-gloss bache-
lor's pad, seen perched on c high ridge overlooking Malibu Beach. Ir boosts such highlights as floor-to-
ceiling French doors and, directly under the eaves of the roof, a canvas-enclosed bedroom-study whose
tentlike sides may be raised to admit the bracing air, bright sun and fabulous sea-and-mountoin scenery.

^ 71
PHOTOGRAPHY BY J. BARRY O'ROURKE

Above: An interior view of the airy oerie. Fred Lymon, th or, sits on woll-
length counter which serves os desk ond bar. Behind the counter, a storage wall
with open ond closed shelves for books, records, sculpture, paintings, chino ond
hi-fi components. Flanking the cabinets, two movable speaker enclosures with 15"
Bozoks. In the foreground, a closed Philippine mohogony cobinet. To the right, the
cobinet is transformed into o culinary utility island with stainless-steel countertop
ord sink, electric burners, undercounter refrigerator ond storage cabinet. One end
folds out to form counter space and reveal о rotisserie oven. The back of the
cobinet houses blender, tooster, juice squeezer ond telephone. All mojor wirin
and plumbing is contained within the island, where it is readily accessible. Left,
A glimpse of the house's unusual cantilevered redwood carport. Hidden bracing
mokes i! resistant to the minor eorth tremors occasionally felt in the Malibu oreo.
Left, center: A shover's-eye view of the separate bathhouse's luxurious ablutionary
appointments. A utility counter, designed by ceromist John Moson, holds such
necessary appurtenances os lavotory bowl, hot-water heater, spoce heater ond
medicine cabinet. The sliding doors of o roomy wardrobe spon the woll. Left, bot-
tom: A Mason-designed sunken tile tub, big enough for two, receives adornment by о
iting mermoid. Wooden doors lead to a private corner of the garden for sunbathing.

| Il [|

ИТҮ i

EER dynamic young California architect Fred Lyman
was kept so busy designing highly imaginative homes up
and down the scenic West Coast, he had to put off plans to
construct intimate retreat of his own.

Not long ago, however, Lyman finally was able to transform
the stuff a bachelor's dreams are made on into architectural
reality. After searching the Pacific shores with the discriminat-
ing eye of a man who knew precisely w
and wouldn't settle for less, he discover
17 miles north of Be Hills, where the sprawling foothills
of the purple-hued Santa Monica mountains suddenly become
steep slopes and plunge down to palm-and-eucalyptus-fringed
Malibu Beach.

"There he envisaged a modern Jair, an ultrapersonal domain
where he could relax and enjoy sun-drenched days, panoramic
Pacific su; star-clustered nights and the spectral, sea-
spawned fogs that invade adjacent ravines at dawn.

The dramatic realization of his plans stands today, sentinel-
like, on the ridge of a hill overlooking Malibu. Its main room

Below: Leading up to the central living
area, a clean, graceful redwood-ond-
Douglas-fir stairwey creates a dramatic
entrance to the pad. Below, center: A look
under the big top of the tent reveals the
Attic charms of an offbeat spot for sleep
ard study. Bottom: The flaps are up, the
light conditions perfect, and architect-
pointer lyman soaks up scenic inspira-
fion for another canvas. Columns, not

shown here, support the independently
suspended fireproof asbestos cement roof.

commands views of the ocean to the
south and, over a landscape of tre
and gardens, imposing Saddle Peak
Mountain to the north. The upstairs
sleeping area is positioned east and
west to catch the moonrise over the
mountain and the morning sun's first
rays.

"The overall structure was ingen-
iously designed as a house within a
house. The inner shell rests on red.
wood support columns which, in turn,
are anchored by steel plates to con-
crete beams. "The main body of the
house is an adjustable box with floor-
toceiling French doors facing south
to the Pacific and north to the moun-
tains. The planks forming the walls,
Hoor and ceiling slide freely along
the beams but are not connected to
the columns, so that they may be
adjusted for expansion and contrac-
tion. The columns pass on up to sup-
port the overhanging asbestos cement
roof, which hovers above the box but
is totally unconnected to it. Between
the inner box and the roof hangs a
tent, the sides of which may be rolled
up for ventilation and alfresco living.
Within the tent is a combination bed-
Toom-studio.

Primarily, Lyman wanted to design
a home in which it would be enjoy
able to worl as play: “I want
to emphasize that my pad was built
for pleasure, That is essentially what

AYxOY is about, and it is also essen-

lly what architecture is about. The
house was designed so that every as-
pect of life within it could be experi-
enced joyously. Where every social
or solitary activity — dining, relaxing,
sleeping, working, and even bathing
— could be celebrated and savored.”

In keeping with Lyman's architec-
tural philosophy, the interior is or-
ganically linked to the surrounding
scenery and bracing sea air by entire
walls—not just sliding glass doors
here and there — that may be opened
wide to embrace the salubrious Ma-

Far left: Another example of the architect's rich ond
original sense of design, this time applied to a rug-
gedly masculine all-mahogany furniture set. The mas-

е armchair is ingeniously slung with canvas. The
wood-shaded lamp beside it is built into the adjacent
coffee table. These pieces were crafted by lyman
before the pad was built as studies of classic wood
construction, and are unhampered by nails ond other
hardware. Left: The 38" cast-bose capper fireplace,
seen resting on Mason ceramic tiles, was designed
by Seattle architect Wendell Lovett. Right: An in-
viting view, from without, of nocturnal festivities
within the main room, whose interior appears below.

PLAYBOY

libu climate. Thus, the structure exudes
an atmosphere of openness, comfort and
beauty, sheltering the occupants and
affording privacy without imprisoning
them in traditional, cell-like rooms.

Social activities take place in the
main body of the house, which consists
of one large room, measuring 24 by 30
feet. A storage wall and a freestanding
utility island separating the kitchen and
dining areas form the сам end of the
room.

The utility island, which appears to
be nothing but a richly grained Philip-
pine mahogany cabinet, actually contains
— once its top and sides are folded out —
a wellappointed modern kitchen in
which the most intricate culinary delights.
may be prepared with ease and economy
of motion. Lyman modeled the unit
after The Kitchenless Kitchen (pLaysoy,
October 1959).

‘The storage wall is a compact office,
library and bar. A counter runs the
entire length of the wall, serving as a
desk at one end and a bar at the other;
above are a variety of shelves, open and
closed, which hold stationery, books,
records, sculpture, paintings, china and
the components of the high fidelity sys-
tem. On each side of the storage wall
are paired speakers. These are light
enough to be moved easily to any part
of the room, thus providing for a vari
ety of acoustical arrangements.

At the west end of the room is a
freestanding copper-hooded fireplace
resting on a specially designed tile
hearth. Mahogany chairs, tables and
lamps, magnificently hand-crafted with-
out the use of nails, are found on either
side of the fireplace, positioned with
a view to the views.

Although the bathroom (or,
properly, bathhouse) is а separate build-
ing, it is casily accessible, Its eaves and
those of the main building overlap, so
that even during inclement weather, one
does not get wet. Moreover, the climate
in Malibu is so mild that even on chilly
(for Southern California) nights, walking
a few feet out of doors is no hardshi
it can be, in fact, a most welcome fresh-
air break during a close-quarters cock-
tail party.

The bathing area boasts such ablu-
tionary virtues as a centrally located
ceramic counter that houses such pleas-
urable necessities as a lavatory bowl,
medicine cabinet, a hot-water heater and
a space heater. A playboy-sized wooden
wardrobe spans an entire wall of the
bathhouse. On the other side of the
utility counter is a five-foot-by-fiv
tub, two-and-a-half-feer deep and swim-
mingly spacious. Wooden doors beside
the wb open on a fragrant private

foot

garden enclave for sunning oneself dry

A simply constructed carport, north-
east of the main structure, was all the
shelter deemed necessary for Lyman's
Austin-Healey in the felicitous climate.

Special building techniques and ma-
terials were required to insure the sta-
bility and weatherworthiness of such an
"open" structure, which accounts in
large measure for the $40,000 tag on the
«ost of constructioi r aesthetic as well
as practical purposes, Lyman vsed native
lumber to const pad. H
wood because it projected an unrivaled
quality of warmth and vitality when
handled sensitively. (His love of wood,
incidentally, was passed down to him by
his grandfather, a cabinetmaker; his
father, an architect who favored wood
dwellings; and, after his father’s death
when Lyman was a child, by his lumber-
man stepfather.) Redwood and Douglas
fir—both strong, extremely beautiful
and plentiful on the West Coast — were
selected because their particular qual-
ies make them ultraversatile.
Douglas fir, which generally is not
considered a hardwood, is nevertheless
strong enough to make durable flooring,
walls, doorframes, steps and cabinets—
areas which are subjected to constant
strain and wear. For all its strength,
however, it has very poor resistance to
and when unprotected, soon
tes. Redwood, on the other
hand, while soft and easily damaged,
contains Jarge amounts of a natural oil
which is an excellent deterrent to rot
and termites. It was therefore used for
all the major wooden structural compo-
nents, particularly where there would be
exposure to the elements.

Wood has remarkable strength in
bending but little strength in bearing.
Bearing is the ability of a piece of rigidly
fixed lumber to support a given weight
at a focal point on its length. The bear-
ing factor tends 10 make wooden con-
struction weak in the joints. Because of
this, Lyman decided to use а few well-
constructed joints to allow his timbers
to remain free of excessive overlapping,
and thereby avoid decay from moisture
and vermin. For all the important points
of stress, he employed the mortise,
tenon and bolt system, which is perma-
nent. The tenon is a rectangular “key”
at the end of a beam, which is inserted
into the mortise, a corresponding rec
tangular cavity in another beam, The
two ends are supported by a heavy bolt.

A concrete foundation was con
de rigueur, for it would never асса)
would support the weight of the build
ing with ease. Moreover, it is an excel-
lent material to use next to steel, which
serves as an impregnable buffer between

chose

act

and

the foundation and
columns.

The roofing problem was solved by
using an asbestos cement shingle. Unlike
the traditional wooden shingle, it is both
permanent and fireproof.

Seasonal riations in the Malibu
weather picture arc slight — there are
no great summer heat waves or inca-
pacitating winter snowfalls. However,
windstorms of satanic proportions (“San-
tanas,” the Spanish conquistadores called
them), frequently sweep down from the
mountains with incredible velocity.
Their intensity tends to dry the wild
vegetation that clings to the hills, leav-
ing the land acutely flammable.

As a protective measure, a deep circle
around the building site was scrupu-
lously cleared of brush and wild grass
before the first redwood
hoisted into place. With the corrugated
asbestos roof over his head, and the
Santanas force thwarted by the bolted
redwood beams and the ship-rigged
canvas, Lyman is charmed, rather than
intimidated, when the Santanas’ might
iest squalls go roaring down Malibu's
slopes on their stab seaward.

Especially so, because he knows that
he has successfully employed his archi-
tectural creativity to exploit even the
negative qualities of Malibu, not just its
normally benevolent climate and excit-
ing mountainand-maritime panorama.
He states: "When the light winds roll in
{тош the occan, the surrounding hills
soak up the moistureladen sca air,
wansforming the ground cover from a
parched brown to a delightfully fire-
resistant green. Shortly after 1 built the
pad, however, those grass- and brush-
searing fire winds came whistling down
from the north with such unbelievable
fury that I lost the canvas tent that
encloses the upstairs and had two door-
frames break.

“Then I devised bolts on the doors, so
that I can cinch them up airtight and
secure. 1 also applied various sailmakers"
tricks in rigging and constructing can-
vas properly, so that the Santanas have
become enjoyable, When their greatest
squalls strike the house, I can feel che
canvas tighten against them and the
house creak like a great gallcon .
it is not the creaking of imminent de-
struction, but of the stresses being taken
up as I know they should be—a good
sound, one of the joys of living dose to
the outdoors without succumbing to its
occasional excesses

And that’s another way of saying that
even nature's most threatening gestures
have been transformed by this playboys
pad into pleasurable pluses.

the supporting

beam was

FIRE DANCE

Frail and lonely moth,
Seeking warmth in candles flame...
Goddamn idiot!

FADED LOVE

Oh poppy flower...
The bee tastes your kiss no more...
You have gone to pot

DEATH SONG

Greedy Eskimo...
Winters gone, but you have paid
For your night of love

MATING SEASON

Forgive foreign eyes
Oh intricately shelled clams...
{want to see how

AMPHIBIAN LOVER

Seeking kicks in mud
And damp sea grass, what are uou...
Some kind of a newt?

HIP HAIKU antic variations on an ancient japanese verse form By LARRY SIEGEL

The most popular of all poetry forms in Japan
today is— as it has been for the past several cen-
turies — haiku. The form is so popular, in fact, that
haiku cults have sprung up in this country and in
many other parts of the world, Haiku, as anyone
remotely familiar wich them knows, are three lines
in length and contain exactly seventeen syllables —
the first and third lines having five syllables each,
and the second, seven. They invariably deal with
such subject matter as nature, animal and insect
life, love, and other emotions. Here are some
classic examples:

Buzzing the bee trades
Peony for peony
With the butterfly -rma

Oh do not swat them . . -
Unhappy flies, forever
Wringing theirthinhands -ssa

Without wishing to knock the bittersweet beauty
of such traditional handiwork, the thought occurs
that no one has yet plumbed the possibilities of
modernizing this Zen Buddhist art form, impart-
ing to it a livelier sense of the contemporary. So.
with a bow to the above-quoted masters and to
Basho, Buson, and other great haiku writers, and
with the fervent hope that they do not gyrate too
swiftly in their ancient, illustrious graves, 1 here-
with offer my own humble contributions to this
unique verse form.

GEISHA GIRL

Aesthetic functions
Have their place, but you would be
Made in U.S.A.

NATURE FILM

The queen bee beckons...
But 90 workers tarry...
Where is Walt Disney?

THE BEAVER

Industrious fool...
Your lover calls. but you say
Not by a dam site

THE SALMON

Bravely leaping falls
For love.. they'll never call you
Chicken of the Sea

THE RABBIT

Twenty-nine new sons
Between now and end of sev-
Enteen syllables

YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE

it was a ten-thousand-to-one bet that james bond would
not make it — but he was willing to take that chance

Part II of a novel By IAN FLEMING

ILLUSTRATION BY DANIEL SCHWARTZ

SYNOPSIS: The end of the career of James Bond on Her
Majesty's Secret Service seemed to have arrived. After the
death of his bride at the hands of Ernst Stavro Blofeld,
mastermind of SPECTRE, the malignant cartel of international
crime, Bond went downhill, gambling and wenching to
excess and eventually becoming, at least in the view of his
Chief, the ineffable M, a dangerous security risk. Reluc-
tantly, M decided to discharge Bond, but eventually he was
prevailed upon to give him a final chance. With a frosty

Bond had no difficulty in keeping up with the twinkling feet and the twin white mounds of her behind.

smile, M assigned Bond to a mission in which the latter's
chances of success were ironically expressed as “totally
improbable.” In essence, Bond was told to acquire for the
British the secrets of MAcic 44, an infernal machine used to
decode Soviet dispatches, now in the hands of Japan. This
machine was controlled by Tiger Tanaka, chief of the Jap-
anese Secret Service, whom Bond would contact through the
aid of Dikko Henderson, top Australian agent in Japan.
In Tokyo, Bond met Tanaka and was informed that the

secrets of MAGIC 44 would come at so high a price that the
British Foreign Office could not conceivably afford it. At this
point Tanaka launched into a description of the activities of
a mysterious Doctor Guntram Shatterhand, who had estab-
lished an exotic park on Kyushu island embellished with a
castle and a priceless collection of plants and shrubs. But the
park was actually a garden of death, its woods stocked

poisonous vegetation and crawling with snakes, scorpio

spiders, and its lakes alive with the deadly piranha. As а

PLAYBOY

result, the park had become a suicide
haven for the Japanese, and a menace
to the nation’s morale.

To unlock the brain of MAGIC 44.
Tanaka concluded, Bond must face an
unusual test. Bond shrugged impatiently.
“All right, Tiger. What is this ridiculous
test? Some typical bit of samurai non-
sense, I suppose."

“More or less,” agreed Tiger Tanaka,
with equanimity. “You are to enter this
Casile of Death and slay the dragon
within.”

тнк BLACK TOYOPET hurtled through the
deserted streets which were shiny with
the dew of what would be a beautiful
day.

Tiger had dressed in casual clothes
as if for a country outing. He had a
small overnight bag on the seat beside
him. They were on the way to a bath-
house which Tiger said was of a very
special, a very pleasurable nature, It was
also, Tiger said, very discreet, and the
opportunity would be taken to make a
start in transforming Bond's appearance
into something more closely resembling
a Japanese.

‘Tiger had overridden all Bond's ob-
jections. On all the evidence, this doctor
was a purveyor of death. Because he
was mad? Because it amused him? Tiger
neither knew nor cared. For obvious
reasons of policy, his assassination, which
had been officially agreed to, could not
be carried out by a Japanese. Bond’s ap-
pearance on the scene was therefore very
timely. He had had much practice їп
such clandestine operations and, if he
was subsequently arrested by the Jap-
anese police, an adequate cover story
involving foreign intelligence services
could be cooked up. He would be tried,
sentenced, and then quietly smuggled
out of the country. If he failed, then
presumably the doctor or his guards
would kill him. That would be too bad.
Bond argued that he had personally
nothing against this Swiss botanist. Tiger
replied that any good man’s hand would
be against a man who had already killed
500 of his fellow creatures, Was that not
so? And, in any case, Bond was being
hired to do this act in exchange for
macic 44. Did that not quiet his con-
science? Bond agreed reluctantly that it
did. As a last resort, Bond said that the
operation was in any case impossible. A
foreigner in Japan could be spotted five
miles away. Tiger replied that this mat-
ter had been provided for and the first
step was a visit to this most discreet bath-
Here Bond would receive his
first treatment and then get some sleep
before catching the wain on which Tiger
would be accompanying him. And Tiger,
with a devilish grin, had assured him
that at any rate part of his treatment
would be most pleasurable and relaxing.

house.

The exterior of the bathhouse looked
like a Japanese inn—some carefully
placed steppingstones meandering briefly
between dwarf pines, a wide-open, yel-
low-lighted doorway with a vista of
polished wood floors behind, three bow-
ing, smiling women in traditional dress,
as bright as birds although it was nearly
five in the morning, and the inevitable
row of spotless but undersized slippers.
After much bowing and counterbowing
and a few phrases from Tiger, Bond took
off his shoes and, in his socks (explana-
tion by Tiger; polite giggles behind
raised hands), did as Tiger told him and
followed one of the women along a
gleaming corridor and through an open
partition that revealed a miniature com-
bination of a bedroom and a Turkish
bath. A young girl, wearing nothing but
tight, brief white shorts and an exiguous
white brassiere. bowed low, said, “Ex-
cuse, please,” and began to unbutton
Bond's trousers. Bond held the pretty
hand where it was. He turned to the
older woman who was about to close the
partition and said, “Tanaka-san,” in a
voice that pleaded and ordered. Tiger
was fetched. He was wearing nothing but
his underpants. He said, “What is it
now?”

Bond said, “Now listen, Tiger, I'm
sure this pretty girl and I will get along
very well indecd. But just tell me what
the menu is. Am I going to eat her or
is she going to eat me?"

Tiger said patiently, "You really must
learn to obey orders without asking
questions, Bondo-san. That is the essence
of our relationship during the next few
days. You sec that box? When she has
undressed you, she will put you in the
box which has a charcoal fire under ii
You will sweat. After perhaps ten min-
utes she will help you out of the box
and wash you from head to foot. She will
even tenderly clean out your ears with
a special ivory instrument. She will then
pour a very tenacious dark dye with
which she has becn supplied into that
tiled bath in the floor and you will get
in. You will relax and bathe your face
and hair. She will then dry you and
cut your hair in the Japanese style. She
will then give you a massage on that
couch and, according to your indications,
she will make this massage as delightful,
as prolonged as you wish. You will then
go to sleep. When you are awakened
with eggs and bacon and collee you will
kiss the girl good morning and shave,
or the other way round, and that will
be that.” Tiger curtly asked the girl a
question. She brushed back her bangs
of black hair coquettishly and replied.
“The girl says she is eighteen and that
her name is Mariko Ichiban. Mariko
means ‘truth’ and Ichiban means ‘num-
ber one. The girls in these establish-
ments аге numbered, And now, please

don't disturb me anymore. I am about to
enjoy myself in a similar fashion, but
without the walnut stzin. And please,
in future, have faith. You are about to
undergo a period of entirely new sensa
tions. They may be strange and surpri
ing. They will not be painful — while
you are under my authority, that is.
Savor them. Enjoy them as if cach one
was your last. All right? Then good
night, my dear Bondosan. The night
will be short, alas, but if you embrace
it fully, it will be totally delightful up
to the last squirm of ecstasy. And,” Tiger
gave a malicious wave of the hand as he
went out and dosed the partition, “you
will arise from it what is known as ‘a
new mar

James Bond got, at any rate, part of
the message. As Mariko’s busy fingers
proceeded to remove his trousers and
then his shirt, he lifted her chin and
Kissed her full on the soft, yielding,
budlike mouth,

Later, sitting sweating and reflecting
in the comfortable wooden box, very
tired, slightly, but cheerfully, drunk, he
remembered his interview with M, and
М saying that he could leave the hard-
ware behind on this purely diplomatic
assignment; and the lines of irony round
Bond's mouth deepened.

Mariko was looking into the wall mir-
ror and fiddling with her hair and eye-
brows. Bond said, “Mariko. Out!”

Mariko smiled and bowed. She un-
hurriedly removed her brassiere and
came toward the wooden box.

Bond reflected, What was it that Tiger
had said about becoming a new man?
and he reached for Mariko's helping
hands and watched her breasts tauten
as she pulled him out and toward her.

It was indeed a new man who followed.
Tiger through the thronged halls of
Tokyo Main Station. Bond's face and
hands were of a light-brown tint, his
black hair, brightly oiled, was cut and
neatly combed in a short fringe that
reached halfway down his forehead, and
the outer corners of his eyebrows had
been carefully shaved so that they now
slanted upward. He was dressed, like so
many of the other travelers, in a white
cotton shirt buttoned at the wrists and
a cheap, knitted silk, black tie exactly
centered with a rolled-gold pin, His
ready-made black trousers, held up by
a cheap black plastic belt, were rather
loose in the fork, because Japanese be-
hinds are inclined to hang low, but the
black plastic sandals and dark-blue nylon
socks were exactly the right size. A much-
used overnight bag of Japan Air Lines
was slung over his shoulder, and this
contained a change of shirt, singlet,
pants and socks, Shinsei cigarettes, and
some cheap Japanese toilet articles. In
his pockets were a comb, a cheap, used

(continued on page 112)

J, Charley — wasn't that a пісе

“Now

GIN FLING

drink By THOMAS MARIO

offbeat employment of the i
Juniper berry s jubilant juices
‘THE NEXT TIME someone asks, "Who

is Sylvius?" be prepared with the
answer: He was the inventor of gin.

Sylvius’ proper name was Franciscus
de la Boe. Не was a professor of
medicine at the Dutch University _
of Leiden, and the |
which Dr. у dite
the oil of juniper berries was
intended as a blood cleanser for sale

in apothecaries rather than

taverns. It was the 17th Century,
when drinking most distilled liquors
snapped the neck and created

a lingering ball of fire in the throat.
The professor's comparatively smooth
and inexpensive nostrum soon not only
cleansed the blood of countless native
Hollanders but also juiced up the

PAINTED ESPECIALLY FDR PLAYEDY BY ROY SCHNACKENBERG

PLAYBOY

minds and bodies of English soldiers
campaigning in the Lowlands. English-
men brought the new Dutch formula
back to thcir cold foggy islc, and a great
mass warming of an entire nation took
place over the next several centuries

Beginning in England with the reign
of William of Orange, gin drinking be
came a mark of the highest patriotism.
The number of amateur gin makers
mushroomed until eventually every
fourth house in London was a gin shop;
English workmen were even paid a share
of their wages gin. In the late 19th
Century, the elaborate Victorian gilded
and mirrored gin palaces came into
being, and gin rose to a peak of glamor,
reaching its apex with the introduction
to England of the American cocktail
not even Prohibition’s bathtub gin,
generations later, nor the runaway rise
of vodka, could cause gin to fall again.

The greatest hymn to the juniper
berry in our time is the gin and nothing.
In most of the tall standard mixed
drinks. the old ounce-and-a-half jigger
is decidedly obsolete. Into such potations
as the collins, the rickey, the tonic, the
fizz or the daisy, you now pour two
ounces. If a man's merely interested in
anesthetizing his senses, let him drink
pure grain alcohol. He shouldn't drink
gin, for good gin is an artful distillate
not only of grain but of herbs, barks,
seeds. flowers and fruits from every cor-
ner of the globe.

АП dry gins are created equal; that
is, they all start out as pure neutral
spirits made from grain. They're later
redistilled in the presence of juniper
berries and other forms of flavor sorcery
1 coriander, bitter almonds, carda-
mom. cassia bark, angelica and lemon
and orange peel. It’s the latter step
which reveals the gin maker's art and
which accounts mainly for differences in
gins. Deepest flavored of all is the im-
ported Holland gin, called Genever or
Hollands. (The English word “gin” is a
tion of the Dutch genever or the
French genièvre, both meaning juniper.
and has no relation whatever to the
Swiss city, Geneva.) Holland gin makers
use fresh juniper berries chopped right
into their mash before the final dis-
tillation takes place. They distill their
gins at lower proofs than the English
distillers, and this technique imparts an
odd. impressive flavor. Holland gin
seldom pears in a mixed drink,
because its flavor is simply too assertive.
You drink it biting cold and neat, and
while the first gulp is always somewhat
surprising to Americans, it leaves you
with a rich aftertaste much like a mellow
brandy. Englishmen use matured dried
juniper berries, and their gins, with a
few notable exceptions, generally carry
much less flavor than the Hollands but
e than the American. In both
agland and America, men who take

their martinis without noticeable benefit
of vermouth go for the more heavily
scented — the “gin

The word “dry
word or two of explan
recently it meant unsweetened. But all
dry gins are unsweetened. When barmen
speak of dry gin, they mean one which
is more muted in flavor, though not
pallid, and above all, smooth. Actually
the only nondry gin is the English Old
Tom gin which is made with added
sugar syrup as а sweetener, and із ex-
ported mostly to the Orient.

Like vodka or aquavit and other mem-
bers of the European "snaps" or
"schnapps" family, most gins аге unaged.
А few gins in both England and Amer-
ica, however are aged in wood for
further blending and flavor development.
They can be recognized by their clear
suaw color, although American law
don't pennit gin labels to carry any
statement of age. There are a few fri
flavored gins on the market, but the:
not a significant segment of the gin
world. Sloe gin, incidentally, isn't gin at
all but a liqueur made with the sloe
berry of the blackthorn.

Gin is the truest aperinf in the world.
It not only sets your hunger on edge,
but keeps it there until the very moment
inner is served. As а day-to-day drink
it's completely immune to ennui

While our own preference is for a five-
toone martini, we'd never be foolhardy
enough to attempt to be an arbiter on
this most disputatious of all drink topics.
Within the martini pattern we especially:
like those variations in which a few drops
— literally drops — of another liquor such
as benedictine or Scotch are swirled
around the mixing glass with gin before
the martini is poured.

Over the centuries English gin drink-
ers have created their own terminology,
and some of it has spilled across the
occan. Pink gin, for instance, is simply.
gin with a dash of Angostura bi
while gin and “it” is a blend of gin

Italian yermouth. One of the things ths
will probably never be disassociated

from what remains of the British Empire
is a delightful drink, the gin sling. Ws
sold bottled as Pimm’s Cup, and needs
merely a glass or silver mug, ice cubes
and 7-Up or lemon soda. The Singapore
n Sling recipe given here is in the
same genre.

Gin makers in both England and
America naturally never reveal their
well-guarded formulas, but among the
many flavors which give gin its mystic
aroma are lemon and orange peel In
mixed gin drinks, too, gin seems to have
a particular affinity for citrus juices. It
goes without saving that a discriminat-
ing gin man will squecze lemon. lime
and orange juice to order. АП of the
following recipes (except where noted)
are for a single drink.

FROZEN ORANGE BLOSSOM

2 ozs. gin

2 ozs. orange juice

% oz. curacao

% oz. lemon juice

2 drops orange-flower water

Yo cup coarsely cracked ice

12 orange slice

Into well of electric blender put gin.
orange juice, curacao, lemon juice,
orangeflower water (available at drug-
stores) and ice. Blend 5 to 8 seconds.
Pour into deep saucer champagne glass.
Place orange slice on top.

HORSE'S NECK WITH GIN

Peel of whole lemon

2 ozs. gin

% oz. lemon juice

Iced ginger ale

To peel lemon, start at stem end, using
a sharp paring knife, and cut peel about
% in. wide in a continuous strip until
lemon is completely peeled. Place peel
in а I2-oz. highball glass so that top of
peel overlaps rim of glass, with the rest
spiraling down into glass. Fill glass with
ice cubes or coarsely cracked ice. Pour
gin and lemon juice into glass. Fill with
ginger ale. Stir.

SINGAPORE GIN SLING

1% ozs. gin

1 oz. cherry liqueur

1 oz. freshly squeezed lime juice

Iced sparkling water

Lime slice

Pour gin, cherry liqueur and lime
juice into cocktail shaker with ice. Shake
well, and strain into prechilled 12-07.
highball glass containing two large ice
cubes. Fill glass with sparkling water.
Stir. Place lime slice on top.

GIN DAIQUIRI

14 оз. gin

1 or. light rum

1 oz. freshly squeezed lime juice

% oz. grenadine

Rim prechilled cocktail glass with
sugar by dipping rim into cup contain-
ing about V4 in. grenadine and then
into superfine sugar. Let glass remain
inverted in sugar about а half minute

before filling with drink. Pour all ingre-
ice.

dients into cocktail shaker with
Shake very well. Strain into glass.

GIN AQUAVIT
(Serves two)

2 ors. lemon juice
2 teaspoons sugar
1 egg white
1 tablespoon heavy sweet cn
Put all ingredients into cockta
with ice. Shake усту well. Strain into
two prechilled old fashioned glasses,
each containing two or three ice cubes.
(concluded on page 180)

DOUBLE EXPOS U Inde

attire By ROBERT L. GREEN well-suited accessories for dressing up and dr

How to enlarge your wardrobe without really buying:
Accessorize the same suit contrastingly for urban and
suburban pursuits. Observe our divergent double expo-
sure of a versatile Dacron-rayon«otton suit with flap
pockets, three-button front, center vent, by Palm Beach,
$49. Blonde prefers gentleman informally accoutered in
broadcloth sport shirt with semispread collar, barrel
cuffs, by Van Heusen, $5; houndstooth print silk bib

ing down

ascot, by Handcraft, 57.50; hand-sewn black calf mocca-
sins, by Bostonian, $16. Impeccably appurtenanced for
city wear, our guy earns equally affectionate approval
in cotton broadcloth shirt with high-band snap-tab col-
lar, French cuffs, by Aetna, $6; houndstooth check Swiss
silk tie, by Seidler, $5; silk handkerchief, by Handcraft,
$3; unimpeachable black calf bluchers, by Verde, $16;
classic Panama with grosgrain band, by Knox, $16.

“Carl is always so interested in people.”

Fm just а
traveling man

ARIS IS A TOUGH TOWN and I was get-
Pine tough breaks one after the other.
And then to have those two big-winged
white birds run off with my money that
night, that was the worst. It was raining
again when I got back to my hotel room
and the old femme de chambre had
busted my looking glass with her mop
handle. I didn’t know whether that
meant more bad luck for me or for her.

I shouldn't never ought to've got
mixed up with white people in the first
place. | was making out OK with my
guitar the way it was till І got the
dumb idea to go into partners. Now
I had my money stole from me, hungry
and out of cigarettes and a headache
besides.

‘That hotel didn’t have the least heat,
so whenever I layed down on the bed
it was like laying down on perfectly wet
sheets, like somebody'd sprinkled the
room with a sprinkling can. I'm too
young to get rheumatism, but you can
easy catch TB in a place like that.

Every damn which way I looked I
either saw blotchy wallpaper all hanging
loose or my big feet propped up on the
bedstead or that bad-luck busted mirror.
It was just that time of night nobody
had their radio tuned up so I couldn't
even at least hear a little music coming
out of someplace. I’m a man likes his
music. You hear enough real-life sounds
before you die, got ta break it up some-
times with a jazz trumpet, or guitar
strings. But all I heard all night that
night was drunks down on Rue Jacob
getting in and out of taxicabs.

I was just as solitary as you can get
and the only comfort I could think up
was strumming a little private guitar, but
1 got to be in a goodluck mood for
that. When 1 play guitar all to myself 1
want to have a little supper in my stom-
ach or at least some prospects of supper.
In a lite while, feeling low down like
that, I knew what it was I wanted. I
wanted to take off.

I wanted to pick up and dezr out—
not only just out of that hotel but all
the way out of Paris, maybe all the way
out of France. 1 sat up straight in bed,
thinking about it, Almost broke out
sweating over it. That's the way notions
come to me, like a bolt, I smiled and
relaxed and hummed a іше tune 1
wrote onc time, hummed Рт Just а
Traveling Man, trying to vemember how
the words went and all the time I was
humming I was thinking about getting

addicts have a special sense of humor
all their own—that’s the trouble when

you try to do business with a junkie
fiction By WILLIAM WISER

on the go. I wanted right then to go
оп off someplace, someplace warm and
sunshiny where 1 could sit outside night-
times and daydream.

But travel takes money. If I had a
credit card I'd Go Now, Pay Later, but
all I had stuck in my sorry billfold was
a card copy of my Army discharge and
a bunch of punched-out métro tickets.
Travel, anyway, is cash and carry. Travel
works up an appetite and you want to
have supper money come suppertime, I
play guitar and I figured | could al-
most near play my way down to Spain.
Hitchhike for transport. I started putting
my shoes on again, all excited, thinking
fast, thinking: Got to start with some
cash someway. I had to at least get up
a sinking fund, in case I got sunk,

I added up all the people I ever
knew that bought me a café noir when
I was broke. "There was that guy André
Somebody that stole suitcases out of cars
parked around Gare de Lyon—but he
was French and had better sense than
to lend me money. My sculptor buddy
with the big arms worked out at Les
Halles loading fruit nights, but I don't
like to borrow money off of working
people. There was always that NAACP
lady from Washington, D.C., U.S. A.,
but she lived on the Right Bank and the
concierge wouldn't've let me in this late.
"The only legitimate touch I could think
of for sure was Roger.D Rogers. Hc һай
the steadiest job in the world. He had
a prostitute working for him.

Roger-D was white, but I always try
not to hold а man's color against him.
I been done plenty of dirt by white-
colored people, but actually some of my
best friends are white. Roger-D's hotel
was in Little Algeria on Rue de la
Harpe, on the wrong side of Boulevard
Saint-Michel. Lot of couscous dives off
from there and some North African
night clubs — every place decorated up
to look like a Turkish bath, Arabs talking
Arab right next door to Frenchmen talk-
ing French. Streets all around through
there were trouble streets right then.
Not long ago France was having a big
fight with Algeria. Pretty mean times
on the side strects. If the club you joined
had the wrong jals your best friend'd
knife you down. People were blowing
people up with plastic bombs like no
tomorrow. Í never saw such meanness.
But I wasn't too afraid to go in there
by myself. (continued on page 96)

CHRISTIANSEN

PHOTOGRAPHY BY РОМРЕО POSAR

our may playmate terri kimball rejoins her family for a week on cape cod

GOING HOME

“I had dreamed about а trip home for such o long time thot | sometimes couldn't separate made-up memories {гат real ones. I've
been soving regularly for college, and consequently don't have much money left over. Finally | wos able to put oway enough to make
а trip East. | got to the airport оп a Sunday morning, alter working lote the night before. | fell asleep just after the plone took off, and
didn't woke up until we reached Boston. | then cought o bus in Boston, and reached Hyannis three hours later."

WHEN OUR MAY PLAYMATE, Terri Kimball, recently returned to Cape Cod, her homecoming represented much
more than a routine reunion. She was returning to visit her three younger brothers, whom she hadn't seen in that
many years. Nineteen-yearold Terri, a sparkling blue-eyed Bunny hutched at the Chicago Playboy Club, had
been separated from her brothers since she left Massachusetts in 1961 and journeyed to St. Louis, where she lived
with relatives for more than a year, working as a doctor's assistant. Speaking with a slight New England accent
that barely suggests her Cape Cod upbringing, this freckle-faced charmer told us about her brothers: "We're
so very close that telephoning and writing were just not enough — I finally had to get home to see them. The four
of us grew up together in Hyannis, a small town on the south side of the Cape, and the fact that our parents
are divorced probably made us even closer than we might have been otherwise.” Terri acknowledges that her
brothers idolize her (justifiably, we think), and when our 5'5” Miss May arrived at the family homestead, she
wasn't too surprised at the burst of affection that greeted her. Brothers and sister spent the next few days just
getting reacquainted. “They were all so big," Terri told us later. “My brothers were just children when I left —
and young men when I returned. Biff, the oldest, who's eighteen and a diehard ғілувоү fan, was bowled over
when he learned | was rooming in the Bunny Dormitory with Pamela Gordon, a former Playmate who is an
all-time favorite of his. In fact, he told me he has Pamela's Playmate pose pasted inside his prep-school locker,

Home at last. When my cab turned the corner and ! saw that white picket fence, | knew | was finally hame. Three years is a long
lime to be away from people you love. That's my grandmother, Mrs, Gertrude Grinnell; she raised my brathers ond me after cur parents
separated. My brother Rick is in the striped shirt. He's 12, a seventh grader ot St. Andrew's Schaol in Rhode Island. He's going through
o rather wild phase right now, but hell grow out of it— 1 hope. That's Biff in short sleeves; he's the oldest, and also goes to St.
Andrew's. My brother Bruce is in the long sleeves: he's 15, quieter, mare seriaus than the others, and a real gentleman. Yau соп see
it didn't take us lang ta stort horsing around. Rick began doing acrobatics in o tree, and Biff and 1 teamed up ta ge! him down. We
finally got together for a snapshot. Later in the afternoon, | found а moment alone ot the ald mill near my home."

“Неге ore Rick ond | at Provincetown, at the very tip af Cope Cod, where | took all three af my brothers ane Чоу for
lobster and sight-seeing. On the beach we had a shell-thrawing contest, and | came close to hitting a passer-by.
Though I'm nat much of a pitcher, | am a baseboll fon, ond usually get to the ball pork o! least a dozen times a season,
mostly to root for the Cardinals; | first began following them when I lived in St. Louis. In the afternoan, Rick and |
hod о good long conversation as we walked along the shore. He hod some school problems — minor ones, but
important to him— which we talked out. He's really precaciaus, at the top of his closs at his school in Pravidence.
Loter we stopped for salt-water tafly and candy apples — l'd forgotten how good Cope Cod toffy is."

and I promised to have Pam call him on his birthday. And when I told them I'd been chosen
May Playmate, they were totally overwhelmed." Though her visit lasted only a week, our pert,
raven-tressed Miss May found time for her favorite pastime, deep-sea fishing in Cape Cod Bay with
brother Biff. She later escorted brothers three on a daylong junket to Provincetown, there treating
them to a lobster repast, with Terri herself savoring a steak. “I'm allergic to seafood,” she told us.
“I guess if I liked it a lot this would be a real tragedy, especially for а Cape Cod girl, but —
fortunately for me —I'm not a fish fan anyway." Of her brothers, Terri won't pick a favorite (“They're
all great"), but says she most resembles Bruce, her middle brother. “He's fifteen, and a loner, like
me. In fact, he and I could be two fingers on the same glove. We're both something of an enigma:
rebels, possibly too independent for our own good, and yet sometimes we become quite dependent
on others.” Our 36-23-36 Miss May is delightfully formed of equal parts Cherokee and Trish. "My
mother was born on a reservation in Arkansas, which I visited once, when my great-grandfather
died. It didn't take me long to learn that I'm related to half the state — I found more cousins than
I could count.” When in Chicago, Teri is a videophile whose preferences range from The Beverly
Hillbillies to The Bell Telephone Hour. She also voices a musical weakness for classic jazz — both
New Orleans and Chicago style, and among vocal entertainers especially enjoys Fra inatra
and Sammy Davis Jr. Her ideal evening on the town consists of a quiet meal at a good restaurant
with a man who's tall, dark and assertively masculine. No need to add that our Playmate herself.
is assertively feminine, but skeptics may refer to the gatefold for pictorial proof.

PLAY BOY’S PARTY JOKES

The difference between a beautiful girl and a
female robot is that the robot stops making
noise when it gets oiled.

Once upon a time there were three coeds—
a big coed, a medium-sized coed, and a little
tiny coed. One night they came home from a
dance, and the big coed said, “Someone's been.
sleeping in my bed!”

‘The medium-sized coed looked in her room
and said, “Someone's been sleeping iu my

bed!
nd the little tiny coed said, ". .. Well,
ht, girls!”
A polite and rather timid young man, after

buying a ladyfriend a pair of gloves as a
birthday present, scrivened the following note
to be sent along with the

"I hope you find these а welcome. birthday
gift, since T noticed — оп our last few dates —
that you weren't wearing any. They are re-
versible, so if you get them soiled you can
wear th inside out and thus wear them
longer without having to wash them. I'm only
sorry I cannot be there at your party to watch
your smiling face as you try them on.

He left the note with the saleslady, who
promptly sent it off with the wrong pack
a pair of silk panties.

Historians at the Aztec. pyramids in Mexico
have finally deciphered the last words of the
famous emperor Montezuma, found inscribed
upon an ancient scroll: “Will someone tell
those damned Marines to stop singing in the

hall

Seeing an attractive girl sitting alone in the
cocktail lounge, the young man approached
her politely and ollered to buy her a drink.

А motel!" she shricked.

"No, no," he said, embarrassed, “I said a
drink...”

“You expect me to go to a motel with you?!”
she shrieked even louder.

Definitely daunted, the young m:
a dim rear booth of the lounge; to avoi
stares of the other patrons. A few mi
later, the girl came back to where he was
seated and said softly, *
for making you so uncomfortable
You see, l'm studying psychology at the un
versity, and I wanted a chance to study the

ctions of the people her
To which the young man replied, in a re-
sounding roar, “Seventy-five dollars?!”

We knew a guy whose fect were so big that
even when he danced with Jayne Mansfield
he stepped on her toes.

Our u

bashed Dictionary defines wolf as а
n who has a retirement plan for girls.

The pretty young thing approached the ship's
steward. “Can you tell me where I might find
the captain?” she asked.
The captain is forward, miss," he replied.
“Thats all right,” she said, giggling. “This
is a pleasure cruise, isn’t it?”

hy fea

Our Unabashed Dictionary defines alimony as
а system by which, when two people make a
ake, one of them has to pay for it.

The weeping bride poured out her heart to
the eminent marriage counselor. “Isn't ther
without turning into a nag — that
1 keep my husband in line?"

The counselor scowled. “Young lady," he
said, "your husband shouldn't have to wait
in line!

Heard a good one lately? Send it on a postcard
10 Party Jokes Editor, vLavnoy, 232 E. Ohio St.,
Chicago, Hl. 60611, and earn $25 for each joke
used. In case of duplicates, payment is made
for first card received. Jokes cannot be returned.

“Hiccups may not sound very serious to you, Doctor, but ..

PLAYBOY

traveling ШАП (continued from page 87)

not even nighttimes. I got good protec
tive coloring to get me past African-type
trouble.

Walk up Roger-D's hallway and you
sec right away how French hotels scgre-
gate their customers. First floor all plush
and plaster— picture map of Paris in
the lobby — padded stairway carpet and
the wall fresh painted. Second floor al-
most nearly the same, but the paint's a
little streaked. Third floor no pad and
the carpet's got holes in it. Fourth floor
no carpet, filth floor no paint. Roger-D
lived on six and you had to strike
matches to find him. The door was off
the w.c. and the smell like to blew your
matches out.

When I found his number I knocked;
по answer. Knocked again and thought
I heard somebody say something or some-
body belch and tried the knob. The door
slid open by itself. Room was lit up
bright white with a single Ldon'tknow-
how-many-watt bulb in the ceiling—
whole room was whitewashed white and
about the only furniture was a plain
kitchen table and а ruptured-looking
bed. Roger-D sat in the window sill
smiling a happy cat smile at me, all
dressed up in those pointy Tangier bed-
room slippers, T-shirt and a jockstrap.
He had a pencil stub stuck behind
his ear.

“It's only just me,” says 1. "Comment
ça v

He didn’t say nothing, just giggled
a little and goggled at me. He was his
normal self. А little high on Stuff. Stuff,
that's what he called it, the stuff he took.

I told him I just came by to say hello
and worked the subject around to
money...

"... next thing I knew they ducked
out on me, took all the cash we already
collected and 1 got left holding the big
fat empty bag."

Old Roger-D just busted out laughing.
He stuck his head out the window and
his laugh went all up and down the айг
shaft. He like to scared the pigeons off
the next-door rooftop.

And here 1 thought I was singing him
the blues.

“Got right out from under you, you
say?” he said, still giggling. But he at
least came back inside the window, rain
all in his face from leaning out—or
tears from laughing, I don't know which
—so 1 knew I was getting through to
him.

"Yeah," J said, trying to sound sick.
“With every bit of the cash money. I
ain't even got cigarettes.”

Which was the wrong thing to say;
hc got to laughing all over again. Damn
fool. I never saw anybody to laugh like

that over tragedy. Gets on a person's
nerves. He told me that’s what | got
from smoking cigarettes,

"Nicotine'll rot your brain out, you
know that?"

Roger-D never smoked, but he was a
first-class full-time addict. He shot every-
thing under the sun, and some more be-
sides. He figured it was plenty funny to
razz me about plain ordinary French
tobacco I smoked. Sometimes he could
hardly talk from giggling. Too stoned
out to rub the rain out of his eyes.
Addicts got a special sense of humor all
their own. Here I was trying to be seri-
ous. At the same time I was trying to
figure out whether he was just coming
off a high or just going into one. "That's
the trouble any time you try to negotiate
business vith a junkie.

"I don't so much mind the cigarettes,
but I sure in hell need some supper to
eat

That didn’t get through to him any
too good either. Roger-D gave up ea
long time ago. And he looked it, looked
like a skeleton sitting there his
‘T-shirt. His prostitute must've practically
had to feed him soup with a hypo
needle. He was on a steady dict of dope,
and that’s a one-course all-day meal.

I felt sorry for him, looking at him
that way. See a man down to bones like
that—a man that used to be somebody
— sce that man in а bare-ass room laugh
ing like a maniac over nothing, sitting
in his flophouse window in his jock,
getting rained on (you can get double
pneumonia that way), his inside arms all
shot full of needle holes like about a
million mosquito bites, only 26 years old.
and the skin on his skull shrunk up
like an old man's, all yellow-faded, his
pulse probably down to about ten and
his brain all clouded up with smoke . . -
scc a man like that make you almost
cry. I nearly did for a minute,

"What you want with money for," he
said between giggles. “You just get in
trouble.”

But he could be aggravating as hell
when he got cute on you like that. I
didn't answer him.

He finally said, "How much you
need?"

"Can you spare fifty?"

"Old francs or new?" And his own
joke just about collapsed him. Old
francs, that'd be about ten cents. He
laughed his self into a fit and rocked
back out the window again. Made me
half mad, half nervous at the same
time. I got to worrying about him, afraid
he would fall out the window.

"New," says 1, dead serious. "That's
only about ten bucks.

He finally poked his head back in
again. He was a pitiful sight. I was sit-

ng on the edge of the bed and got up.
and took him the tore-up French army
blanket that was on it I layed the
blanket around his skinny shoulders to
keep him halfway warm.
1n a little while he took in some fresh
r and turned dreamy. Kind of gargled
a little bit like a baby and started to
fade. Even with а blanket on him his
bones showed through. He was staring
into that big bright light bulb, looking
for the Word or the way out or I don't
know what. I figured right now was my
last chance to make contact, so I bent
over his car where the pencil stub was
stuck behind it and told him: “I got to
get fifty francs, I got to get it. I got to
take off out of this town. I'm going out
of my skull in this town. I'll die in this
town if I don't get going. Do me a favor,
Roger old man, and let me have fifty
francs, travel money.”

I whispered it, sang it— almost cried
it in his ear — but all he said back was,
“You're interrupting the music.”

“Twenty-five, then.”

But his inside eye was inside that
light bulb and his head went to nodding,
keeping time, nodding to some particu-
lar music only Roger-D Rogers was
hearing.

"I got to have some толеу, Roger

1 had my own song to sing, but no-
body was listening. By that time Rog
was reaching out into thin air, playing
a piano that wasn't anyplace in that
room, wasn't anyplace anywheres. Looked
like a little boy lost, the look on his
face. Gave me the willies to watch him.
1 went and sat back down on the bed.
He went right on playing, all to his
self — fingers moving just the same as
if there was ivories under them. His
long skinny arms stuck way ош of the
blanket and when he went to make a
fancy chord and crossed his arms over,
the blanket fell down and one of his
Tangier slippers dropped off. It was а
sorry sight. It was pitiful, I just sat
there, not able to help none, taking in
the whole sad scene.

You see, Roger-D Rogers was one time
one of the best jazz piano men there ever
was, back before jazz got corrupted to
hell. Back then RogerD was special
numberone ace of them all. Ask any-
body—anybody who knows anything.
But that's all over and done with. When
people start paying six-fifty minimum
with everybody's elbows in everybody's
drinks to sit listening to some quartet
in tuxedos and berets, it's goodbye jazz.
‘The only music you'll get out of night
club jazz is cash registers ringing, People

(continued on page 180)

РАРА
AND
THE
PLAYWRIGHT

article by

KENNETH TYNAN an olympian encounter between ernest hemingway and tennessee williams

THERE USED TO нк a popular literary pas-
time called “Imaginary Conversations.
The idea was to bring together in imagi-
nation great men or women who never
met in reality, and improvise dialog to
fit the situation. The more disparate the
pair, the better: What, for instance,
would St. Francis of Assisi have said to
the Marquis de Sade? And what would
a fly on the wall have gleaned from a
chat between Noel Coward and Lenin?
I often play the game in шу mind, and
one of the pairings with which | have
toyed is that of Ernest Hemingway and
Tennessee Williams. How would the
great extrovert react to the great intro
vert, the big game hunter to the hot-
house plant, the virility symbol to the
student of deviation? I never got very
far with that confrontation, and usually
passed on to something simpler (like
Casey Stengel and Sappho); but it per-
sistendy nagged at my imagination until
a spring day some five years ago, when
I was offered a chance of translating my
abortive fantasy into accomplished fact.
The time was April 1959, and the
place Havana. | had come to Cuba to
write а travel article and, hopefully, to

meet Fidel Castro, who had then been
n power for less than four months. The
rift with Washington still far off:
younger readers may not believe me, but
there really was a period when it was
not thought un-American to approve of
Castro's regime. (That was before he
began to nationalize American business
interests in Cuba.) The city was bursting
with libertarian fervor: you felt in the
midst of a genuine, do-it-yourself revolu-
tion. Although the brothels and blue
cinemas were closed, J did manage to
attend a private showing, arranged by
a young American writer I knew, of a
genuine, do-it-yourself erotic film. The
secrecy was terrific. We had to lie prone
on the floor of an abandoned whore-
house while the movie was projected
onto the wall from a distance of less
than three feet, producing an image
about the size of a credit card. It de-
picted a teenage boy disastrously failing
to make love to a burly, maternal tart.
The male star, who also directed the film
and worked the projector, apologized to
us for his inadequacy, explaining that it
was his first picture, and he was not used
to the hot lights, Would we not wait for

the second recl, in which he actually
made it with a Chinese sailor? But we
had left.

On my second day in Havana, I went
to sec Hemingway at his estate in the
suburb of San Francisco de Paula, where
he settled soon after the end of the
Spanish Civil War. No ADMISSION EXCEPT
ву ATPOINTMENT, read a sign on the
heavy iron gates; but I had an appoint-
ment, and pressed on to the ramshackle

ansion, full of books, unopened mail
Wife (stuffed and skinned),
which he shared with Miss Mary, the last
of his wr I had met him first in
al years before. Expecting
a booming titan, I had been amazed to
ands with a gruff, gigantic boy,
shy and reticent in manner despite the
heroic head and white, Michelange-
lesque curls, The lips, thin like а stu-
dent's, belied the massive physique, and
would part, at moments of enthusiasm,

in an eager, adolescent grin. The blue
eyes were moist and plaintive behind
the steclrimmed glasses, though in

transports of fury they could become
oppressively baleful. 1 noted that Hem-
ingway was a (continued on page 138)

ES
8
E

“How come I

Y ї

ДА

ЗҮП:
BRIDGE

a as | article By ALFRED SHEINWOLD

the best players of america, italy, argentina and france square off in a world-championship card-table encounter

THE ITALIANS HAVE MADE A HABIT of winning the world championship at contract bridge ever since
1957, when Carl Alberto Perroux brought his then-unknown Blue Team to New York to meet — and
defeat — the biggest names in bridge. They did it in 1958 and 1 they did it in 1961 and 1962 — and
they did it again in 1963, just as most of the world expected. This time they won in the tiny Italian resort
town of Saint Vincent, while less dedicated mortals strolled on the mountain slopes under a brilliant
June sun or played chemin de fer at the casino under the brilliant chandeliers.

Jt was this same Casino of the Valley that had played host in 1960 to some hundred bridge experts
from a dozen countries who had come up for a day from the world championship in nearby "Turin.
On that occasion Johnny Crawford, least inhibited of the American experts, had walked out with some
$20,000 worth of lire bulging from every pocket. This time only four countries were up for the world
championship, and there were no Crawfords among them. The pickings for the casino, conveniently

across the street from the Hotel Billia, where the nine-day tournament was held, were destined to be
very slim.

France, Argentina and the United States, cach representing a continent, sent teams to Saint Vincent
to play against Haly, which had won the previous year. They found Perroux's Blue Team already in
possession, winding up a weck of practice.

Jt was quite typical of the Italians to take an extra week away from their work to train for the
nine days that were to come. The food and water might be different from that of Rome and Naples;
the altitude was almost 2000 feet. Perroux is father and mother to his team; he takes no avoidable risks
with the physical condition of his middle-aged ragazzi.

It was Perroux who had persuaded the management of the casino, which owns the Hotel Billia,
that there would be good business and good publicity in furnishing free accommodations to the four
teams and a bevy of tournament officials. If the invading bridge experts succumbed to the lure of
roulette or chemmy, that was none of his affair; boys will be boys. But Perroux made sure that his
boys stayed away from the tables of the casino; their job was at two very different tables across the street.

Perroux, a Knight Commander of the Order of Merit, has carned fame and honors in his career
as а trial lawyer and allround spellbinder, but he would have earned his knighthood just as surely
if he had done nothing but bring glory to Italy by captaining the Italian team to six world champion-

PLAYBOY

100

ships. (Two of his players, Pietro For-
quet and Benito Garozio, as yet un-
known except for their prowess at the
bridge table, were made Chevaliers of
the Order in 1962.) Perroux begins each
world championship sadly predicting
that his team will finish last and ends
by explaining why they shouldn't have
won. Between times he keeps a watchful
eye on the form of his players, at and
away from the bridge table.

Among ordinary bridge players Per-
roux would rank as a great expert, but
to his own team Perroux's bridge is the
subject of much irreverent humor. This
does not seem to handicap him in his
task of judging which four of his six
players are cquipped to play the next
session or which players he will need to
keep fresh for the most important
match. When Perroux fell ill at Turin
in 1960, and the Italians lost the world
championship to France. Forquet in-
sisted that Italy would have won if
Perroux had been able to stay at the
helm.

Forquet, star of the Blue Team, is not
the man to give credit lightly to anybody
else for the long string of Italian suc
cesses. Slim and still boyish at 38, For-
quet looks on the heavyset 58-year-old
Perroux as a father whose authority is
needed to keep the other children obe-
dient and diligent.

‘There has never been a conflict. be
tween the young man and the old man
lor primacy on the Blue Team. They
compete only in physical nction —
Forquet with his matince-idol good looks,
and Perroux, a tall man of huge bulk,
with his dignity and authority. Forquet
is content to overpower his rivals at the
bridge table, and at Saint Vincent he
encountered. perhaps the only player in
thc world for whom he has an abiding
respect — Howard Schenken,

Schenken, star of the United States
team. was once picked almost unani
mously by American Life Masters as the
partner they would want if they were
playing for their lives. Some experts be-
lieve that at 59 Schenken is not. the
player he once was; others, accepting
this es te, think he is still the best
player in the world. (The opinion is no
longer unanimous: Some Americans
would plump for Lew Mathe or Tobias
Stone, and most Europeans would name
Forquet or England's Terence Reese.)

Four teams seemed to be involved in
the struggle for the 1963 world cham-
pionship. Only two had a real chance
id the soul of each team was its star
performer. The world championship at
Saint Vincent was actually a contest
between the noonday sun and twilight.

The United States drew Argentina as
its opponent for the first day of play, a
stroke of luck for the Americans. South
America has sent a team to the world

championships ever since 1958. but
bridge in South America is not up co
European or North American standards.
Nobody in the World Bridge Federation
would be beastly enough to say so. but
the fact is u the gallant South Ameri-
cans clutter up the world championship.

Clauerers or not, the U.S. team wel-
comed them. The American rookies had
a few attacks of jitters, as expected. play-
ing some hands like the senior class of a
finishing school for young ladies. Fortu-
nately, there were other hands —not all
of the U.S. players were rookies — and
there were always the amiable Argen-
tines. The first session ended with the
United States leading by the slighty
ridiculous score of 62 to 19 international
match points It was like winning a
World Series game by a score of 20 to 15.

Meanwhile, Italy had demolished the
French in the first session of their match.
49 to 5. It was a merciless exhibition,
designed to put the French in their
place. Many bridge journalists had pre-
dicted that the French would win at
Saint Vincent, but after the first set of
hands the smell of roast crow permeated
the press room.

Some of the European bridge writers,
out in full force at Saint Vincent, gave
their readers a scoop: The Italians,
despite changes in the makeup of the
team, were greater than ever; the Ameri
cans were barely able to cope with
Argentina; there would be a slaughter of
the innocents the next day, when Italy
and the United States met for a full day
of play.

The rest of the first day lent color to
these predictions. Italy continued to
crush France, and the United States con
tinued to stumble ungracefully against
the lowly Argentine.

A crowd of some 300 bridge enthusiasts
jammed the Bridge-O-Rama room at the
Hotel Billia for the beginning of the
match between Italy and the United
States on the second day of the tourna-
ment, The spectator at a world cham
pionship watches the lights go on and off
upon a large electrically operated board
that dominates one wall of the room like
the screen of a moving-picture theater.
The board shows all of the cards of the
hand currently being played, much as
they would appear in the diagram of a
newspaper bridge column. A loud
speaker blares out cach bid and play,
spoken into a n
ment official who sits beside the players
on another floor of the hote

During pauses in bidding and play an
announcer relates what happened when
the hand was first played. In all team
contests а hand is first dealt and played
normally and then sent. with the cards
restored to their original positions, to
be bid and played at another table by
the two other pairs from the opposing

rophone by a tourna

countries, with the team that held thc
weak cards now getting a chance to play
the strong ones. In theory, the results at
both tables should be the same, produc
ing a tie score for each hand.

"The crowd, scanning the cards on the
clectric board, buzzes excitedly about
who should bid what, how good old so-
and-so is sure to play the trumps right,
and what the score will be if the play
takes such and such a turn. The crowd
includes many of the most knowledge-
able players of the five continents, idle
members of the competing teams, coaches
and scouts, wives and girlfriends, the
leading women players and their escorts,
even a few children and an occasional
dog. All, including the dog, are willing
to sit for hours їп а darkened room, spec
ulating endlessly on how things will go
or how they should have gone.

It is a situation in which every man is
a world champion. Everybody in the
audience can see all 52 cards of each
deal; the players, looking at only 18
cards during the bidding and 26 cards
during the play, must laboriously work
out the location of the unseen cards. The
kibitzer can select a bid or a line of play,
discuss it with a neighbor and then reject
it and try again from his starting point;
the players, with nobody to turn to for
advice or even friendly conversation,
must stand or fall on their first bids or
plays— not all their piety nor wit can
cancel a. played card.

Sometimes the kibitzers, seeing all the
cards and knowing the result at the first
table, fail to understand how a player
can miss the right bid or the best play —
or how a player of established reputation
can make a simple human mistake. On
опе occasion an excited rooter for the
Italian team jecred Eugenio Chiaradia
in the lobby of the Hotel Billia shortly
after he had fumbled a crucial contract.
‘The equally excited Chiaradia, 52 years
old and about 110 pounds r
back a menacing fist but was restrained
hy obliging friends. Bridge experts,
whose only exercise comes from snapping
down an occasional ace, are usually care-
ful to telegraph their punches in an
incident of this kind, to give bystanders
every opportunity of averting violence.

When Italy scored seven points on the
fst hand of the match, the crowd ap
plauded and settled back to enjoy itself.
Silence greeted the next hand, as the
United States took the lead, but the
crowd recovered its voice on the third
hand when 13 points went to Italy. An
Italian audience does not attend a world
championship to cheer the opponents.

The pace slackened after a few hands,
and the session ended with Italy in the
lead, 37 to 22. It was not a score to set
the cans to dancing in the streets,
using, The Italians were
(continued on page 134)

ide, drew

Playmate
of the

Year
december's
delightful
donna michelle
is our choice
as the

choicest

of the
previous
twelvemonth’s

gatefold girls

When faced with. the happy dilemma of

an oversupply of Donna Michelle's

exciting test shots for our May cover,
PLAYBOY's editors put them to good

use in this—our longest, loveliest one-girl
pictorial ever. Above, Donna strips off
leotard top for barer variations on cover pose;
below, she relaxes between takes and, on
facing page, demonstrates her uncommon

physical coordination with a puckish
armstand, and then a handstand (we tried
it and fell on our face), from whence

she gives us the eye through a stray curl.

PHOTOGRAPHY BY POMPEO POSAR

Despite the bumper crop of beauties adorning our gatefolds in 1963, the seler

tion of Playmate of the Year proved stunningly simple once Donna Michelle
appeared as Miss December. Originally spotted in a high school play by a co-
performer, the daughter of West Coast photographer Edmund Leja, Donna was
subsequently snapped by him, and appeared on our pages shortly after her 18th
birthday. She received a call from Otto Preminger the same week the issue went
on sale, and TV and movie offers have since begun pouring in. Delectable
Donna’s first film appearance will be in the Arthur Penn production, Mickey
One, for Columbia, starring Warren Beatty. The initial beneficiary of a newly
instituted program of additional largess to be heaped on the usual prestigious
Playmate of the Year honors, Donna will receive several thousand dollars’
worth of prizes, induding an entire wardrobe and matching luggage in
Playmate Pink (a new shade conceived by the magazine) and a special all-pink
version of Ford’s spanking-new sports car, the Mustang. In the midst of
television and motion picture assignments, plus personal appearances and pro-
motions for PLAYBOY, Donna is continuing her studies via night school sessions
at UCLA. Although rumors persist that our top Playmate’s male classmates have
had their powers of concentration seriously impaired, there have been no com
plaints. "They obviously welcome higher education's most attractive distraction.

After a leisurely lunch on the Playboy Studio set, Donna disencumbers her curves and limbers
up for further shooting. Lithe and lively Donna, who possesses a dancer's quicksilver grace

that makes her a photographer's dream, has performed with the New York City Ballet. Now a
classical keyboard virtuosa, the multitalented Miss Michelle was once a pig-tailed piano prodigy.

Beneath Donna's exquisite exterior, there's the soul of

an aesthete and a quick and active mind; she's a fountain of

youthful know-how on hi-fi, sports cars and all the arts.

In the Red Room ai The Playboy Mansion (the plush setting for previous Playmate favorite.
including 1961's Playmate of the Year, ista Speck), Donna strii
and languorous, is obviously no photographie letdown as she |

í A

Of Russian, Swedish aud German ancestry, all-American Donna is a girl any nation would
be proud to claim. In this panoramic picture of our eye-filling Playmate of the Year, she proves
one photo (of Donna) is worth Јат more than the proverbial thousand words—in any language.

PLAYBOY

YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE

wallet containing some 5000 yen in small-
denomination notes, a wrist watch, and
a stout pocketknife which, by Japanese
law, had a blade not more than two
inches long. There was no handkerchief,
only a packet of tissues. (Later, Tiger
explained. “Bondo-san, this Western
habit of blowing the nose and carefully
wrapping up the result in silk or fine
linen and harboring it in your pocket as
if it were something precious! Would
you do the same thing with the other
exactions of your body? Exactly! So, if
in Japan you wish to blow your nose,
perform the act decorously and dispose
at once, tidily, of the result.”)

Despite his height, Bond merged quite
adequately into the bustling, shoving
crowds of passengers. His “disguise” had
mysteriously appeared in his room at
the bathhouse and Mariko had greatly
enjoyed dressing him up. “Now Japanese
gentreman,” she had said approvingly
as, with a last lingering kiss, she had
gone to answer Tiger's rap on the par-
tition. Bond's own clothes and posses-
sions had already been taken away.

“They and your things from the hotel
will be transferred to Dikko's apart-
ment,” Tiger had said. "Later today,
Dikko will inform your Chief that you
have left Tokyo with me for a visit to
the macıc establishment, which is, in
fact, a day's journey from Tokyo, and.
that you will be away for several days.
Dikko believes that this is so. My own
department merely knows that I shall be
absent on a mission to Fukuoka. They
do not know that you are accompanying
me. And now we will take the express
to Gamagori on the south coast and the
evening hydrofoil across Ise Bay to the
fishing port of Toba. There we will
spend the night. This is to be a slow
journey to Fukuoka for the purpose of
training and educating you. It is пес
essary that I make you familiar with
Japanese customs and folkways so that
you make as few mistakes as possible —
when the time comes.”

The gleaming orangeandsilver ex-

press slid to a stop beside them. Tiger
barged his way on board. Bond waited
politely for two or three women to pre-
cede him. When he sat down beside
‘Tiger, Tiger hissed angrily, “First lesson,
Bondo-san! Do not make way for women.
Push them, trample them down. Women
have no priority in this country. You
may be polite to very old men, but to
no one else, Is that understood?”
Гез, master,” said Bond sarcastically.
nd do not make Western-style jokes
while you are my pupil. We are engaged
in а serious mission.”

“Tiger, you're а cruel taskmaste

Tiger grinned with satisfaction.
“Bondo-san, you don't know the half of

(continued from page 80)

it. But now let us go and get something
to eat and drink in the buffet car. All
that Suntory you forced on me last
night is crying out for the skin of the
dog that bit me.”

“The hair,” corrected Bond.

“One hair would not be enough,
Bondo-san, I need the whole skin.”

James Bond wrestled with his chop-
sticks and slivers of raw octopus and a
mound of rice (“You must get accus-
tomed to the specialities of the country,
Bondo-san”) and watched the jagged
coastline, interspersed with glittering
paddy fields, flash by. He was lost in
thought when he felt a hard jostle from
behind. He had been constantly jostled
as he sat up at the counter—the Japa-
nese are great jostlers— but he now
turned and caught a glimpse of the
stocky back of a man disappearing into
the next compartment, There were
white strings round his ears which
showed that he was wearing a masko,
and he wore an ugly blackleather hat.
When they went back to their seats Bond
found that his pocket had been picked.
His wallet was gone. Tiger was aston-
ished. "That is very unusual in Japan;"
he said defensively. "But no matter. I
will get you another at Toba. It would.
be a mistake to call the conductor. We
do not wish to draw attention to our-
selves. The police would be sent for at
the next station and there would be
much interrogation and filling out of
forms. And there is no way of finding the
thief. The man will have pocketed his
masko and hat and will be unrecogniz-
able. I regret the incident, Bondo-san. 1
hope you will forget it."

"ОЕ course. It's nothing.”

They left the train ас Gamagori, a
pretty seaside village with a humped
island in the bay that Tiger said housed
an important shrine, and the 50-knot
ride in the hydrofoil to Toba. an hour
away across the bay, was exhilarating.
Аз they disembarked, Bond caught a
glimpse of a stocky silhouette in the
crowd, Could it be the thief on the train?
But the man wore heavy horn-rimmed
spectacles, and there were many other
stocky men in the crowd. Bond di:
the thought and followed Ti
the narrow streets, gaily hung with
paper banners and lanterns, to the
usual discreet frontage and dwarf pines
that he had become accustomed to. They
were expected and were greeted with
deference. Bond had had about enough
of the day. There weren't many bows
and smiles left in him, and he was glad
when he was at last left alone in his
maddeningly dainty room with the usual
dainty pot of tea, dainty cup and dainty
sweeumcat wrapped in rice paper. He
sat at the open partition that gaye onto

a handkerchief of garden and then the
sea wall and gazed gloomily across the
water at a giant statue of a man in a
bowler hat and morning coat that Tiger
had told him was Mr. Mikimoto, founder
of the cultured-pearl industry, who had
been born at Toba and had there, as
a poor fisherman, invented the trick of
inserting grains of sand under the man-
Пе of a live oyster to form the kernel
of a pearl. Bond thought, To hell with
Tiger and his crazy plan. What in God's
name have I got myself into? He was
still sitting there cursing his lot when
Tiger came in and brusquely ordered
him to don one of the yuhatas that hung
with the bedding in the single cupboard
in the paper wall.

“You really must concentrate, Bondo-
san," said Tiger mildly. “But you are
making progress. As a reward I have
ordered sake to be brought in large
quantities and then a dinner of the
speciality of this place, lobster.”

Bond's spirits rose minutely. He un-
dressed to his pants, donned the dark-
brown yukata ("Stopl" from Tiger.
“Wrap it round to the right! Only a
corpse wraps it round to the leít.") and
adopted the lotus position acros the
low table from Tiger. He had to admit
that the kimono was airy and comfort-
able. He bowed low. “That sounds a
most sincere program.”

The sake came. The pretty waitress
knelt on the tatami and served them
both. Tiger had been thoughtful. He
had ordered tumblers. Bond swallowed
his at one gulp. Tiger said, “The gross-
ness of your drinking habits fits well
with your future identity.

“And what is that to be?”

“A coal miner from Fukuoka. There
are many tall men in that profession.
Your hands are not rough enough, but
you pushed a truck underground. Your
nails will be filled with coal dust when
the time comes. You were too stupid to
wield a pick. You are deaf and dumb.
Here,” Tiger slipped across a scrubby
card, creased and dog-eared. There were
some Japanese characters on it, “That
is ‘Tsumbo de oshi’—deaf and dumb.
Your disability will inspire pity and
some distaste. If someone talks to you,
show that and they will desist. They may
also give you a few picces of small coin.
Accept them and bow deeply.”

“Thanks very much. And I suppose
I have to account for these tips to your
secret бапа?"

“That will not be necessary.” Tiger
was wooden-faced. “Our expenses on this
mission are a direct charge on the Prime
Minister's purse.

Bond bowed. “1 am honored." He
straightened himself. "And now, you
old bastard. More sake and tell me about
the kamikaze. In due course I am pre-
pared to become a deaf-and-dumb miner

(continued on page 152)

ШЕЕ FOOD Cg THE

fiction By ARTHUR С. CLARKE

STU GROSS

descendent from generations of carnivores, man now had uncovered surprising new ways to assuage his appetites

it’s ONLY FAIR to warn you, Mr, Chair
man, that much of my evidence will be
highly nauseating; it involves aspects of
human nature that are very seldom dis
cussed in public, and certainly not before
a Congressional committee. But 1 am
afraid that they have to be faced: there
are times when the veil of hypocrisy has
to be ripped away, and this is one of
them.

You and I, gentlemen, have descended
from a long line of carnivores. 1 see from

your expressions that most of you don't
recognize the term; well, that’s not sur
prising — it comes from a language that
has been obsolete for 2000 years. Perhaps
I had better avoid euphemisms and be
brutally frank, even if I have to use
heard in polite so-
advance to anyone

Until a few centuries ago, the favorite
food of almost all men was meat — the
flesh of once-living animals. I'm not try-

ing to turn your stomachs; this is а sim-
ple statement of fact, which you can
check from any history book —

Why, certainly, Mr. Chairman. I'm
quite prepared to wait Senator
Irving feels better. We professionals
sometimes forget how laymen may react
to statements like that. At the same time,
I must warn the committee that there is
very much worse to come. If any of you
gentlemen are at all squeamish, or
become easily upset, I suggest you fol-

113

PLAYBOY

low the Senator before it's too late . . .

Well, if I may continue. Until modern
times, all food fell into two categories.
Most of it was produced from plants—
cereals, fruits, plankton, algae and other
forms of vegetation. It’s hard for us to
realize that the vast majority of our an-
cestors have been farmers, winning food
from land or sea by primitive and often
backbreaking techniques; but that is the
truth.

"The second type of food, if 1 may re-
turn to this unpleasant subject, was meat,
produced from a relatively small number
of animals. You may be familiar with
some of Шеш — cows, pigs, sheep, whales.
Most people — I am sorry to stress this,
but the fact is beyond dispute — pre-
ferred meat to any other food, though
only the wealthiest were able to indulge
this appetite. To most of mankind, meat
was a rare delicacy in a diet that was
more than 90 percent vegetable.

If we look at the matter calmly and
dispassionately — as I hope Senator Iry-
ing is now in a position to do—we can
scc that meat was bound to be rare and
expensive, for its production is an ex-
tremely inefficient process. To make a
kilo of meat, the animal concerned had
to eat at least ten kilos of vegetable food.
— very often food that could have been
consumed direcdy by human beings.
Quite apart from any consideration of
aesthetics, this state of affairs could not
be tolerated. after the population explo-
sion of the 20th Century. Every man who
ate meat was condemning ten or more of
his fellow humans to starvation ...

Luckily for all of us, the biochemists
solved the problem; as you may know,
the answer was one of the countless by-
products of space research. All food—
animal or vegctable — is built up from a
very few common elements. Carbon, hy-
drogen, oxygen, nitrogen, traces of sul-
phur and phosphorous — these half-dozen
elements, and a few others, combine in
an almost infinite varicty of ways to make
up every food that man has ever eaten or
ever will cat. Faced with the problem of
colonizing the Moon and planets, the
biochemists of the 21st Century dis-
covered how to synthesize any desired
food from the basic raw materials of
water, air and rock. It was the greatest,
and perhaps the most important, achieve-
ment in the history of science, but we
should not feel too proud of it. The vege-
table kingdom had beaten us by a billion
years.

"The chemists could now synthesize any
conceivable food, whether or not it һай
a counterpart in nature. Needless to say,
there were mistakes — even disasters. In-
dustrial empires rose and crashed; the
switch from agriculture and animal hus-
bandry to the giant automatic processing
plants and Omniverters of today was
often a painful one. But it had to be
made, and we are the better for it. The

danger of starvation has been banished
forever, and we have a richness and vari-
ety of [ood no other age has ever known.

In addition, of course, there was a
moral gain. We no longer murder mil-
lions of living creatures, and such revolt-
ing institutions as the slaughterhouse and
the butcher's shop have vanished from
the face of the earth. It seems incredible
to us that even our ancestors, coarse and
brutal though thcy were, could ever have
tolerated such obscenities.

And yet— it is impossible to make a
dean break with the past. As I have al-
ready remarked, we are carnivores; we
inherit tastes and appetites that have
been acquired over a million years of
time. Whether we like it or not, only a
few generations ago our greatgrand-
parents were enjoying the flesh of cattle
and sheep and pigs— when they could
get it. And we still enjoy it today.

Oh dear, maybe Senator Irving had
better stay outside from now onward;
perhaps 1 should not have been quite so
blunt. What I meant, of course, was that
many of the synthetic foods we now cat
have the same formula as the old natural
products; some of them, indeed, are such
exact replicas that no chemical or other
test could reveal any difference. This
situation is logical and inevitable; we
manufacturers simply took the most pop-
ular presynthetic foods as our models,
and reproduced their taste and texture.

Of course, we also created new names
that didn't hint of an anatomical or zo-
ological origin, so that no one would be
reminded of the facts of life. When you
go into a restaurant, most of the words
you'll find on the menu have been in-
vented since the beginning of the 21st
Century, or else adapted from French
originals that few people would recog-
nize. If you ever want to find your
threshold of tolerance, you can try an
interesting but highly unpleasant experi-
ment. The Classified section of the Li-
brary of Congress has а large number of
menus from famous restaurants — yes,
and White Housc banquets — going back
for 500 years. They have a crude, dissect.
ing-room frankness that makes them al-
most unreadable. I cannot think of
anything that reveals more vividly the
gulf between us and our ancestors of only
a few generations ago.

Yes, Mr. Chairman —1 am coming to
the point; all this is highly relevant, how-
сусг disagrecable it may be. | am not
trying to spoil your appetites; 1 am
merely lying the groundwork for the
charge I wish to bring against my com-
petitor, Triplanetary Food Corporation.
Unless you understand this background,
you may think that this is a frivolous
complaint inspired by the admittedly
serious losses my firm has sustained since
Ambrosia Plus came on the market.

New foods, gentlemen, are invented
every week; it is hard to keep track of

them. They come and go like women's
fashions, and only one in a thousand be-
comes a permanent addition to the
menu. It is extremely rare for one to hit
the public fancy overnight, and 1 freely
admit that the Ambrosia Plus line of
dishes has been the greatest success in
the entire history of food manufacture.
You all know the position; everything
else has been swept olf the market.

Naturally, we were forced to accept the
challenge. The biochemists of my organi-
zation are as good as any in the Solar
System, and they promptly got to work
on Ambrosia Plus. I am not giving away
any trade secrets when I tell you that we
have tapes of practically every food, nat-
ural or synthetic, that has ever been
eaten by mankind — right back to exotic
items that you've never heard of, like
fried squid, locusts in honey, peacocks’
tongues, Venusian polypod . . . Our enor-
mous library of flavors and textures is
our basic stock in trade, as ii with all
the firms in the business. From it we can
select and mix items in any conceivable
combination; and usually we can dupli-
cate, without too much trouble, any prod-
uct that our competitors put out.

But Ambrosia Plus had us baffled for
quite some time. Its protein-fat break-
down classified it as a straightforward
meat, without too many complications —
yet we couldn't match it exactly. It was
the first time my chemists had failed; not
опе of them could explain just what gave
the stuff its extraordinary appeal — which,
as we all know, makes every other food
зеет insipid by comparison. As well it
might, but I am getting ahead of myself.

Very shortly, Mr. Chairman, the Presi-
dent of Triplanetary Foods will be ap-
pearing before you — rather. reluctandy,
I'm sure. He will tell you that Ambrosia
Plus is synthesized from air, water, lime-
stone, sulphur, phosphorous and the rest.
That will be perfectly true, but it will
be the least important part of the story.
For we have now discovered his secret —
which, like most secrets, is very simple
once you know it.

1 really must congratulate my competi-
tor. He has at last made available un-
limited quantities of what is, from the
nature of things, the ideal food for man
kind. Until now, it has been in extremely
short supply, and therefore all the more
relished by the few connoisseurs who
could obtain it. Without exception, they
have sworn that nothing else can re-
motely compare with it.

Yes, Triplanetary's chemists have done
а superb technical job; now you have to
resolve the moral and philosophical
issues. For though it is true that Am-
brosia Plus is purely synthetic, and has
never known the spark of life, it is also
true that no scientific test can now dis-
tinguish any of us from cannibals.

i mileage will be logged barefoot. | Many of those queried said | ABOVE: H:
phos Fashio PR Таке non c cde ILU e alison
mpressive Steps for the foot-loose to examine |—heftier footwear, with dis- tip, full-cushion filler, by Cros-

By ROBERT I. GREEN their shoeracks, to make sure | tinctively masculine lines and | by Square, $20; on top of the
Special to Playboy that they're properly and styl-|rugged textures— has taken heap is pebble-grain Italian

In two months of normal|ishly shod for every occasion over with surprising speed. leather semiboot
walking, fashion experts say, during the months ahead, — One of the most unexpected sewn moccasin. stitching, by
the average executive will cov-| А gallop poll of shoe stylists — and applauded —aspects of|Verde, $15; at foot of front
ег 315 miles — the equivalent | reveals that footwear fashions this trend, according to more | page is flexible high-tongued
of a hike from Boston to are expected to continue their than one reliable source, is the | black calf slip-on with hid-
Philadelphia and then some.|drift away from the pointed fact that it has taken place dem elastic gore and moceasin
Since only a fraction of this | look of the past several years. ү һу French Shriner, $25.

ging by its heel is|
medallion wing

Continued on Page 117, Column 1

зау, wal

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з of | the pigeons break up over his sporting feet. | —1

the | hanoh ite бейле will vamnin ^ lees fachinn | the

|HEADLINED: This page, clock-| eyelet I

wise from Ti: Wax-finished
slip-on with cushioned crepe
sole, by Winthrop. $12; black
calf dress boot with plain toe,
elastic side gores, by Bostoni-
an, $28; Scotch-grained leath-
er loafer with hand moccasin
stitching, by Dexter, $14; black
Hama calf slip-on with cres-
cent toe, hidden elastic side
gores, by Winthrop, $16; three-

m formal shoc of NEWSWORTHY: Opposite, on with moccasin stitch-
black calf and silk shantung, | clockwise from 1 lack calf ing, by Johnson & Murphy,
by Verde, $11; ebony leather (wing Up slip-on’ with elastie|$i2; black calf slip-on with
boot with two eyelets, raised side gores, by Bostonian, $28: elastic side gores, by Wall-
heel, by Johnsonian, $11. Toe- veal-hide «i ip-on with con- Streeter, $21; black patent-
ШЕШ ear kiaticenteriBinck семей saddles (ichibylWesere|leathent higictongued орта
shrunken calf tassel slip-on | berg, $16: black llama calf shoe slip-on, by Capezio, $19; brown
ith plain toe, by Wall-Streeter, with two eyelets, hand stitch- Hama calf slip-on with full
$20. Atop front bundle: Wax. | ing. by Bostonian, $30; cordo- kid lining, by Connolly, $22;
finished leather shoe with me- van-finish. s vith high alligator shoe with three eye-
dallion wing tip, full-cushioned tongue. moccasin stitching, by lets, black tassels. moccasin
filler, by Crosby Square, $20. Dexter, $14: brown calf tassel toe, by French Shriner, $95.

у aid
ten gra
the in
ое” айс
dev

EEE ET ETT рл GE Se Sai

without a sacrifice of lightness | {The return of the brogue- ing to a consensus of the | though its color. will remain a

or comfort. [ish look, while avoiding the | well-dressed, are once again classic. One leading fashion

As evidence, the experts cite: |elephantine cumbersomeness | whittling away at the popular- | forecaster, when queried, said

New oxfords and slip-ons, | which characterized past ver-|ity of black. The earthy new | that moccasin styles will prob-
with fuller toes slightly sions. This sleight of foot is browns аге deep, rich and lux- ably edge out wing tips this
squared, which are reportedly aided by the use of sturdy, urious, replacing their country | season as first choice with
becoming more and more pop- grained upper leathers, often | cousins, the too-light tans. sports jacket and slacks. He
ular for business as well as|in bold patterns, and with the| While grained leathers are|said the boot look is still in,
casualwear. While the soles of addition of such “more shoe” regaining popularity in virtu-|and added, with tongue in
these models are more sub-|devices as storm welts, ally all shoe styles, many ob-|shoe, that “shoewise, college
stantial than earlier versions, The rising acceptance of servers look for the appeal of|men are back in the saddles
they are still light and flexible. | brown leathers, which, accord- | cordovan leather to diminish, | again.”

“Now both you and
my hairdresser know
for sure, Mr. Brighton.”

Ыы

У а
= а=.

Ribald Classic from Don Quixote by Miguel de Cervantes

IN FLORENCE THERE ONCE LIVED a suspicious young man named Anselmo who became des
ретше to discover if his wife, the beautiful Camila, was faithful to him. After much
reflection, he resolved 10 have his good friend Lotario attempt to seduce her, for he
believed that if his wife were thus overcome his friend would not carry the conquest too
far. How mistaken was Anselmo.

Lotario, with disturbing eagerness, acquiesced to the plan, and within a fortnight had
established with Camila a liaison sublime, He then blandly informed his friend that his
wife was a paragon of virtue, a canard the gullible Anselmo was delighted to digest.
Nevertheless, he pressed. Lotario to com rescarch, and to this suggestion, the
wily deceiver readily agrecd.

Camila, meanwhile, had confided her secret to Leoncla, her maid of many years; and
the latter, in turn, bad confessed that she, too, had a lover whom she entertained with
regularity.

All went well in the home of Anselmo the Innocent until one night Lotario, now
completely entrapped by the charms of Camila, observed Leonela's lover stealing aw
from the garden, and since he knew not of Leonela’s liaison, he leaped to the condusion

the man was perhaps another lover of the fickle Camila. Jabbering with jealousy, he
went at once to Anselmo and told him that he thought that Camila was at last about to
submit to his ardors. “Tonight,” he suggested, “tell your wife that you are going away,
then hide behind the tapestries and you will be able to observe with your own eyes
her betrayal.”

The amazed Anselmo, who thought his wife had emerged unblemished from his friend's
simulated seduction attempts, promised to do as Lotario suggested. In the meantime,
however, Lotario learned from Camila that her maid also had a lover. Realizing then
that the man he had seen stealing from the house had been another strumpet's stag, he
unhappily told Camila what he had foolishly conveyed to her husband, ad
Anselmo would be hiding behind the tapestries that night to observe her infidelity.
Overcoming with remarkable agility her alarm and anxiety, Camila came up w
1 designed to preserve both her own situation and that of her paramour.
That night, alter ascertaining that Anselmo was behind the tapestries, Camila and
Lotario cntered the room. At once Anselmo heard his wife begin a tirade against
Lotario. “Beast!” she shouted. "When were your amorous pleadings not repelled, your
lavish gifts not scorned in this house?" The very picture of outraged virtue, she cried,
“It is my intention to slay you to satisfy my vengeance. Then I shall punish myself for
any bit of carelessness of mine that may have engendered your evil passion!”

At this point she dramatically withdrew an unsheathed poniard from beneath her
robe and fell upon Lotario with so evident an intention of burying the blade in his
heart that he was half in doubt as to whether it was a false show or not. He had to use
ай the strength and dexterity at his command to prevent her from impaling him against
the wall. Finally, unable to use the dagger on Lotario, she, with a great virtuous cry,
plunged the knife into herself — but, very carefully, into an arca well protected by flesh —
and then she fell to the floor in a faint

After Anselmo had made exit from his hiding place. and restored his wife to conscious-
ness and couch, he sought out Lotario that both, over a pewter of hock, might discuss
the unshakable virtue of his wile. Great were the praises bestowed upon her. And thus
did Anselmo remain the most delightlully deceived husband in Florence.

—Retold by John D. Keejauver EB

119

Pla nates ‘Revisited - 1957

playboy encores its fourth year of gatefold girls

OUR TENTH ANNIVERSARY CELEBRATION continues with the fourth chapter of PLAYBOY'S
Playmate primer, a fetching review of pulchritude past. Subsequent years will be graph-
ically remembered in each succeeding issue until December, when a Readers’ Choice
portfolio will feature the decade's ten most popular Playmates. The first Playmate of our
fourth year was June Blair, who appeared before our camera on her 23rd birthday
appropriately birthday suited. June is now married to David Nelson, Ricky's older
brother, and her considerable talents have been kept in the family — she's a regular on the
Ozzie and Harriet TV show. Sandra Edwards’ March Playmate appearance led to a movie
contract with Warner Bros; December's Linda Vargas went on to Hollywood, too, and a
contract with Jerry Wald that included a part in The Best of Everything. Since June
Playmate Carrie Radison's foldout feature, she's become a permanent part of the Playboy
scene, gracing Playboy Clubs in Chicago, Phoenix, New York and New Orleans as one of our
most popular Bunnies. Readers needn't wait for the final installment of Playmates Revisited
— votes for Playmates from December 1953 through December 1963 are welcome at any time.

A A.

SANDRA EDWARDS, March 1957 COLLEEN FARRINGTON, October 1957

JUNE BLAIR, January 1957 BALLY TODD, February 1957
d F

CARRIE RADISON, June 1957

DAWN RICHARD, May 1957

MARLENE CALLAHAN, November 1957 DOLORES DONLON, August 1957

GLORIA WINDSOR, April 1957 ~ JEAN JANI, July 1957

LINDA VARGAS, December 1957 35 JACQUELYN PRESCOTT, September 1957

THE CREATURE FROM THE BLACK TEEVEE JEEBIES

salire By SHEL SILVERSTEIN

think I'm а weakling, huh? You want to see me
your arm harder? . . . Harder?! . . . Harder???

“Ltold-you-not-to-wear-those-carri
with-the-damn-hooks ...!

“You know, I never realized before that these little “And the next time either one of you makes
cars have room for a spare...”

” P"

a crack about Mr. Clean

"It's simple — you just hold your hand up to the light “Now then, young man, you're going to take my
like this, sce .. . ? And the shadow looks like a bunny daughter by the paw and ask her to dance —
rabbit, see . . . ?" and you're going lo ask her nicely!”

tongue-in-cheek dialog for television’s late-night movies

“Of course, you have to visualize how it will be with “And I never want you to wear
a new coat of paint and different furniture . . .” these damn falsies again!”

“Marge thinks T should use a more effective mouth- “Well, maybe if you started eating raw eggs, oysters and
wash. What do you think, Charlie?” things like that instead of those silly sandwiches . . ”

[^
n Pte
Щ Шәл D

hd EIE

"Please, Fred —not. in front of the children ...!” “Me? You want me: to dance with you?”

PLAYBOY'S TEEVEE JEEBIES, A PERMANENT COLLECTION OF SHEL SILVERSTEIN'S FAR.OUT CHANNEL CAPTIONS,
15 NOW AVAILABLE IN BOOK FORM FROM PLAYBOY PRESS, 232 E. OHIO STREET, CHICAGO, ILL 60611, FOR $l.

PLAYBOY

126

“I'm not saying she isn’t being fair, but I'd like to
know how come he picks the short straw every time!”

PLAYBOY FORUM

LOW BLOW
I have been reading The Playboy

Philosophy with interest. What а low
blow to the American public, resorting
to facts, reason and logic.
ill Frampton

Las Vegas, Nevada

SOCIAL COBWEBS
1 would like to compliment you on
The Playboy Philosophy. It is а real
spot of hope to see — from Pennsylvat
where you can't get а bottle of wine
with your meal on Sunday — someone
attempting to scatter a few of the social
cobwebs that pervade America toda
Perhaps truth is not dead. I am proud
of my country and I am proud to have
served it for the last 20 years, but after
three years in Naples, it is rather diffi-
cult to accept some of the stupiditics
that almost everyone accepts here.
Your articles are tremendously re-
freshing. 1 don't agree with all your
points. of course, but God. it’s good to
hear someone tying to make some sense.
Please, please keep up the good work.
Lt. Cmdr. R. Е. Meckoll
Warrington, Pennsylvania

PHILOSOPHY — OR. SOPHISTRY?

Your Philosophy docs not appear for
the firsc time on the intellectual horizon
as а supreme protagonist of humanity
Neither is Hefner the first. neurotic
ventor of such “philosophical” theories
to occupy a lage and glorious place in
the human imagination, only to be
missed in the end as merely an unmiti.
gated scoundrel.

Schools of thought such as your own
existed before. Their founders, however,

were not called “philosophers.” but
"sophists." And it took a fortified deter-
gent like Plato to root out the dirt.

tentions were, like yow

potheses based on distorted reality and
strabismic conceptions, and to present
them as undigestible and toxic materials
for die nourishment of the human mind.

Hefner says that "the suggestion that
sex outside marriage is ugly and not en-
joyable is absurd." Applying his “ph
osophical" synthesis T would “sugges
next time that he be sexually aroused
while entertaining some Playmates
one of the fabulous rooms їп The
Playboy Mansion, where his own real
mother. his “legal” wife, his only sister,
and his daughter (not illegitimate), all
imultaneously have sexual intercourse
with other “philosophers.”

If he still maintains his high sexual
potency during this particular scene, and
if he still thinks sex outside marriage i
beautiful, enjoyable and rational, 1 will
һе very glad to offer psychotherapy; if

(continued from page 55)

not, let him change the title of his work
from “philosophy” to “sophistry.
Steven Р. Makis,
Chicago, Mlinoi
Physician, heal thyself. The sick scene
you have fantasized does not change our
original statement, which you misquote
—the simple observation that not all
sex outside marriage is ugly or unen-
joyable — but it may reveal something
about your own psychic problems.

M.D.

FANFARE FOR FORUM
Whatever the practical effects of your
crusade. 1 hope that one will be espe-
cially prominent: the principle that
magazines should be used as forums. I
have long thought that the various news
media could do more to perpetuate free-
dom of speech and of the press by
increasing the number of different views
they print on all issues. The claim of
newspapers that they uphold freedom
of the press is dubious. rrAYBoY, how-
ever, provides its readers with frequent
panel discussions and a monthly forum.
Long live both democracy and the
freedom of expression that allows it to
ningful. 1 hope that letters re-
sponding to The Playboy Philosophy
do not thin out as the idea becomes less
n innovatioi

Harry E. Mongold
Joliet, Illinois

Far from thinning out, "Forum" letters

ате increasing in number each month. аз

more and more people become aware

that these pages constitute a meeting

place for the exchange of disparate view-
points and ideas.

A FEELING OF INCOMPLETENESS
When an important magazine begins

a rigorous examination of its own role
it behooves sei

n a social structure,
writers to pay some attention to thc
resulting statement. Accordingly, Т have
followed The Playboy Philosophy avidly.
1 am not certain that 1 would agree with
many aspects of its analysis of our so-
ciety, but I haven't found any current
commentator with whom I can agree as
much. It is not that I find myself. basi
ly at odds with your propositions:
ather. 1 find something missing, the
kind of totality of thought one expects
Perhaps this
g of incomplet s my own
interjection. Certainly it is too early to
make such a final diagnosis of ills on
your series

са

jonetheless, 1 thought it desirable at
this juncture ro emphasize how
tant I feel your series is at this time. If
nothing more, it has brought intellec-
tual scrutiny to some fundamental issues
of our day. As it has with те, I hope it
serves others (and, particularly writers,

the sector of the public with which 1
am most concerned) as a catalyst of
thought. I sense today a vague un
ness, a kind of halhidden awareness,
just beneath the turf. of our social con
jousness, that all is not right with our

and their philosophical
rpinnings. Some sectors of our
society are undergoing an almost psychi-
tric analysis, indicating that some great

neurosis has afflicted the body politic
1 theme of existence tod

one of escape. Only among a sn

group is there the ncc
analytical and intellectu:
philosophical соп
amination, We do not need
psychiatric soul-probers, but we do ne
some objective, rational, informed,
tellectual analysts who can distinguish
real social problems from alleged ail-
ments. You have contributed deeply to
what may well be one of the most fruit
ful periods of self-examination this na
tion has ever experienced.

I shall read the ensuing
of The Playboy Philosophy eagerly.
thoughtfully and — I hope—with a crit.
ical eye toward my own beliefs and
values.

iry objectivity,

sections.

Harold Ellithorps, Editor
Author & Journalist
Denver, Colorado

WHAT NOW?

Plato distinguishes two reasons by
which a thing can exist: by means of its
own being and by means of its not
being. To date Mr. Hefner's iconoclasm
has being onl of the latter.
We have scen what is practiced and we
have delighted in smashing what is
preached: however, now that we are
standing among the splinters, what can
we dare construct

Robert D. Jansen
Department of Philosophy
University of. Wisconsin
Milwaukee, Wisconsin

In later installments of his editorial
series, Hefner will establish what he con-
siders to be the specific criteria for
healthy personal morality and а rational
society —and how man may best atiain
both.

EVOLUTION AND REVOLUTION
Thave found The Playboy Philosophy
fascinating. enlightening and provo
tive. My reactions have ranged from
“Bravo!” to "Now just a cotton-picking
there!" But will you please

minute,
hurry up and finish? I've missed а few
and dont want to waste my money
buying reprints until the entire series i
completed. Down here in the Bible Belt
there are a few people I will want to
lend it to. I might go so far as 10 buy
es (Scottish ancestry notwith-

that Hefuer will push

127

PLAYBOY

128

a great many people off the wrong side
of the fence. Don't you think easing
into these things with a little more
diplomacy would be more efective?
The sudden removal of restraints, un-
just as they may be, leaves the average
п helpless, bewil-
dered and blundering about into all
sons of tragedies. Evolution is almost
always better than revolution. God bless
the idealist, but God help him if he is
not also practi

or below-average m

Walter W. Lindse

Lubbock, Texas
Pleasant though the thought may be,
Hefner's criticism of the hypocritical
and irrational restraints that burden
our society is not likely 10 provoke
their sudden disappearance. But it may
shed some light where darkness has pre-
vailed, and be logically persuasive with
a generation that is increasingly unwill-
ing to walk hobbled by the fetters of
antiquated superstition. As for “the avei
man," we think him a statistical
myth; the only thing we know surely
about him is that — in his name — а great
many people are treated condescend-
ingly and underestimated. There is mass

age

"ver — gray and faceless, living
by rule and rote handed down by others
— and the sooner he regains his individu-
ality and learns to think, the better. The
glorification of the herd, the “average
man," is a leftover from the Great De-
pression, a period whose slogan might
have been, "Passive acceplance of things
аз they are is good for you.” Newly en-
lightened people don't blunder in be-
wilderment, they blaze new trails.

man, hou

FOOTBALLS IN THE SUNSET

The Playboy Philosophy is not always
enjoyable reading, but it certainly is
engrossing.

Nurturing the individual is an un-
American attitude. Typical American
taining starts with nursery school. Chil-
dren go through motions with lite pur-
pose or meaning, solely for the pl
of doing the same thing as everyone else.
Group adjustment is important, and
with a little effort all the children will be

sy-bitsy spiders together.

When ihe girls grow older. Barbie
Doll sets inculcate the proper attitude
toward adult life. Boys аге given plastic
machine guns and herded into Little
League baseball or Pop Warner football
The goal for girls is obvious: а group-
adjusted woman with the sincere charm
of Miss America, the spontaneous cn-
thusiasm of a cheerleader, and the inner
security that comes from using a good
deodorant. What we want our boys to
become is not so clear, but they should
be able to throw grenades, or drag bunt.

Won't the world be lovely 20 years
Пот now? Barbie and Ken, throwing
footballs into the sunset. If I have a
choice, Vl pick the future you paint.

Mrs, Carol Nelson
Pacific Palisades, California

asurc

UNCOMMON ANARCHIST

PLAYBOY, according to Hefner, speaks
for the "uncommon man" in this gen-
eration. The uncommon man is unlit
dered by conventions, and highly

selective in his tastes. He surveys what

“Please! ГЇЇ have to ask you not to fiddle with the
buttons on my desk while Tm going over your form!”

the world has to offer him, takes inven-
tory, and then carefully chooses what
he thinks
happiness,

is conducive to his own
trampling into the dust,
the Jaws, emotions and re-
"common people"
beneath him. In actuality, then, the un-
common man is

n anarchist
Greig M. Olivier
New York, New York
By formulating your own definition
of the “uncommon man,” you have per-
suaded yourself that you've proved your
point. The objective fact ts that a roster
of the greatest benefactors of mankind
would be composed exclusively of un-
common men. So would a list of the
world’s worst criminals and tyrants. The
phrase “uncommon man,” alone. has по
implications of good or of evil. As used.
by Hefner in “Philosophy,” however, it
was clearly placed in opposition to the
notion that there is something intrinsi
cally good or worthy about the so-called
“common man,” a concept that has been
exploited to breed suspicion of intellect,
independence, individualism, and lead-
ership toward a better and happicr so
ciety.

VIGILANTES IN CALIFORNIA

Below is a copy of my letter to our
local newspaper, The Garden City (Cal-
ifornia) News. Your experience with “de-
cent literature" groups prompted our
early reaction to a local vigilante com-
mittee.

My husband and 1, as parents,
commend the News for its thorough
coverage of the organization called
the Garden Grove Parents for De-
cent Literature group. As parents,
we are deeply interested in w
our children read at home and
school. However, we prefer to de
cide for ourselves w childie
are exposed to at home. While it is

possible that the opinions of this

Broup may coincide with ours, we
are reasonably certain that they will
not coincide with everyone's.

Of particular interest to other
readers of your news stories should
bc the series entitled The Playboy
Philosophy, specifically as printed in
the November 1063 pLaynoy m
пе. In this issue Publisher Hefner
ns of Roman Catholic Decent
h have be
come doctrinal censors, While the
Catholic origin of the Garden Grove
group may not necessarily ally it
with the national groups, we believe
your readers should seriously and i
di ly investigate its opinions.

Certainly, parents should be aware
that some literature is unsuitable for
children of all religious persuasions,
and parents should know what their

Literature groups w

childre
should not
teachers to prev
tion of certain books as outside re:
ing. Not so long ago, the News
reported such pressure in a neigh
boring school district involving the
play J. B. Another danger in orga
ized. “decent literature" crusades is
their support of current efforts of
some Orange County residents and
politicians to prohibit the teachin
of evo as fact, in its public
schools.

The Garden Crove group pur-
ports to be protecting the com-
munity’s children. Tt intends to
request removal of “offensive” ma-
terial from stores. Are all Garden
Grove residents children? How is tl
group qualified to decide whatshould
De readable? Are they using the list
of disapproved reading that
pared by the National Organization
for Decent Literature, referred to
55 of the November

News, in the рам, has edito-
ly opposed censorship. We ex-
pect it to do so again.

Mrs. Dale A. Cowan
Garden Grove, Calilornia

CENSORING CHAUCER

L learned about censorship carly. In

high school (New York City) 1 had
chosen Chaucer's Canterbury Tales for a
book report. 1 went to the school library
and. found the book. In leafing through
it I discovered that several pages had
been removed. I reported this vandalism.
to the librarian and she told me
the school authorities had removed these
pages because they were unsuitable for
students to read. Of course, I got an
uncensored copy and was surprised to
find that the portion that had been
removed was not. to my thinking. ob-
scene. The only persons who could have
offended were Catholics.
1 most of the books currently
under fire before I was 16, and I am not
a pervert. 1 have been married for nine
years and have three children. I fervent!
believe, as a parent, that if a child is
old enough to understand what the
words mean, he is old enough to decide
for himself whether or not he should
read them.

You mentioned that my all-time favor-
ite book has been banned by someone. I
wonder if you would explain who found
The Grapes of Wrath offen ind why.
And for heaven's sake, what's wrong
with Mister Roberts?

Mrs. E lier
Browns Mills, New Jersey

Seven months after the 1939 publica-
tion of “The Grapes of Wrath,” three
copies of the book were ordered burned

“My lawyers will handle the fine print.”

by the Saint Louis public library because
of "vulgar words” spoken by the char
acters. After a protest by the National
Council on Freedom from Censorship,
the book was placed on a shelf “for
adults only.” H was also banned in
Kansas City and in towns in Oklahoma
—a slate toward which the principal
characters in the book had a few griev-
ances. In California, the Associated
Farmers of Kern County, whose policies
had been implicitly attacked in the book,
mapped a state-wide ban in schools and
libraries.

The National Office for Decent Litera
ture (NODL) blacklisted the paperback
version of “Mister Roberts" in 1955 for
“sulgar language.” In 1956. however,
the NODL changed the status of “Mister
Roberts” to that of borderline, and re-
moved it from its black list.

The NODL black-lists a book if “it
has been found objectionable for youth
by the decency committee.”

SOUP-BOWL SMUT

I have thoroughly enjoyed your com-
ments about censorship. I recently came
across a letter to the editor in our local
newspaper which I thought you would
find amusing. since it reduces the issue
of censorship to its absurd extreme. The
letter:

While much has been said about
the filth in Tropic of Cancer and
the Dictionary of American Slang,

I am shocked and amazed that no
one seems t0 have noticed the
smutty nature of certain common
Y y. for example,
down to a steaming bowl of
alphabet soup. As I began to eat,
four tiny leuers drifted together.
forming a word most foul! So upset
was I that I stirred the soup vigor-
ously. But once again the letters
drifted together forming a word
even more revolting than its prede-
cessor. Alarmed and disgusted. I
found that by moving the lett
around with the tip of my spoon,
I was able to piece together over
300 vile words aud phr nd
several of the more piquant passages
from Tropic of Cancer.
Gentlemen: What would
if those phrases and passages had
appeared before the eyes of
preschool child. or
teenager? What calamities would
they wreak upon such pure, ui
sullied psyches? I'm.
as alarmed about thi
am and will be glad to know that
Fm founding an organization cn-
titled: “The White Anglo-Saxon
Protestant. Committee for Abridged
Alphabet Soup." Our aim will be to
spark the enactment of laws probib.
iting vowels in soup. thereby r
ble the chance of
s. Inspection
boards will be installed at the soup

happen

128

PLAYBOY

130 ka

meries to guard against any Com-
munist plot to mix those scarlet
vowels in with our decent Ameri

consonants,

Marv Hoover
South Pasadena,

Califor

CENSORSHIP IN SOUTH AFRICA
l am surprised that in the course of
your discussion of the dangers of the
church-state relationship, you have not
drawn upon the finest example of these
ers currently available, T refer to
the Republic of South Africa
for its governments avowed policy of
partheid,” a policy that is backed in
full by the Dutch Reformed Church,
which, being the church of the politically
powerful Afrik: ng group. is
well-nigh the official religious organiza-
tion of the country. Many of the crimes
d can be directly ascribed to
e taught
rtheid is a God-ordained way of
evidence of this, 1 would refer
you to the enclosed letter from ап Afri-
ner Doctor of Divinity to an anti-
partheid Johannesburg newspaper, the
Star, portions of which you might care
to reproduce. [For the letter, see below.]

APARTHEID IS RIGHT WAY OF
LIFE. GOD CREATED WHITE
AND DARK HUMANS

Our Creator created a white and
a dark-skinned human of more or
less similar sl 1 proportions
but endowed the White with a much
faster mental development and ca-
ity than the dark-skinned, with
the inevitable result that the White
human has far outstripped his Black
fellow human in practically every
sphere of life.

Our Creator, however, to test the
White's obedience to His will,
commanded the White to be kind to
the Black and help him 10 develop
himself.

He did not specify how and also
did not specify that the White
should intimately associate with the
Black to guide him in the right
direction.

History has shown, and is showi
us now, that familiarity with the im-
mature breeds only contempt and
resultant trouble; vide the United
States today and the Netherlands of
yesterday.

notorious

parth

Dr. J. A. duToit
Rooispruit, South Africa

Several of the Church's more promi-
nent theologians, who came to the con-
dusion that “Love thy neighbor" was
possibly a more correct interpretation of
Biblical teachings, have recently been
condemned on a charge of heresy. Even
the Bible is not net: in the Afri
ns translation, the Song of Solomon's

acra

"Thou art dark but comely" becomes
"Even sunburnt art thou beautiful."

I feel that in your desire to produce
all evidence lor the dangers of the
churchstate relationship, you have lost
many of your better points in а mound
of verbiage. Perhaps I can make these
dangers more apparent by reference to
some of the laws introduced in but
15 yeas of church-sanetified government
South Africa.

One of the more recent developments
is the introduction of censorship, in spite
of vigorous opposition [rom many sides.
A board of censors, made up of profes-

sors from Afrikaner universities [or
“Christian Higher Education," and
no teachers, gets together an impres-

sive list of bannings, including: vLaynoy,
ntings of a blackskinned Christ,
The L-Shaped Room, the novels of Stuart
Cloete, and that classic horse story, Black
Beauty

Personal freedom for both black and
white is abridged to a marked degree.
Detention for a series of 90-day periods
with no hope of trial is al
» the case of severe criti
state by
met by

Ost automatic
the
a citizen, and lesser criticism is
“banning” order, whereby the
critic is placed under house amest and
forbidden to communicate with anyone
except for his daily needs. (Nobel Peace
Prize winner Albert Luthuli is currently
the black there
restrictions — job, food,
amily life are at the

over,

ism of

home and even
mercy of government decree. Ma

the law is severely weighted against him
— a white farmer has been known to be
fined but $150 for horsewl g a black
laborer to death, yet an African may be
executed for taking part in a robbery.
Much of this is justified by a form of
anti-Communist propaganda that makes
the ravings of McCarthy sound like the
rantings of knee-jerk liberals. Fhe Afri-
kaner church is but one outlet for
this propaganda, for is it not well
known that Godless comm s anti-
Christian:
In the realm of sexual freedom, since
ny form of interracial relationship is
banned. it is not surprising that

acial sex is forbidden to a degree un-
is it a

heard of elsewhere. Not only

crime against the state, but the oll
may expect every form of social ostra-
cism — Alan Paton has given а ma
cent description of this in Too Late the
Phalarope —and naturally the Church's
voice may be heard railing against the
transgressors, (But not too loudly, since
a few prominent ministers of the Church
have been caught flagrante delicto.)
Among whites, sexual freedom is granted
grudgingly and, one suspects, only with
a view to increasing the ratio of white
to black, which at present is roughly four
to one. АП displays of the undressed
body are suppressed. Even statues must

be dothed—one offending form, com-
missioned for the Department of Census
and Statistics, was removed almost as
soon unveiled. Blue law
also severe — a police cricket team play-
ing on a Sunday was once arrested. by
their counterparts from a town 100 miles
And at one of the Afrikaner Col-
leges for Christian Higher Education,
the swimming pool is not open to both
sexes at the same time, and a type of
square dancing is tlie only form of phy
contact permitted at official social
functions. It is not surprising that at
this same university, Darwinian evolu
tion continues to be regarded as heresy,
a student organization distributes prop-
anda to the effect that the carth is
flat, Jews and Catholics are not admitted
to the student body, пог non-Calvinists
to the faculty. These faculty members
apparently intelligent, vet live
ignorance of the facts of 20th Century
life, examples of which are many in the
cosmopolitan and ultrasophisticated gold
сйу of Johannesburg, which is but a
few miles from the u i

I have purposely p.

the other side is the fact that its people
(black, white or brown) are healthier,
wealthier and better edu у
where else in Africa. If the conditions I
have described have come about in
15 short years, there is some hope that
15 more years may see rea
There are many white South Africans,
of which 1 am one, who remain
cably opposed to the present s
affairs, and who look forward to the day
when all— black or white— may enjoy
to the full the advantages of this land.
However, we have to fight flourishing
ouy and hypocrisy, which is encour-
aged by the state and nurtured by the
. I want to continue this fight,
and if you should wish to publish this
letter, 1 can only do so if you make
identification of its author impossible,
by omitting any reference to my name or
whereabouts. 1 make this somewhat unu
sual request since I feel that there can
be no more eloquent testimony to the
dangers of this relationship between
church and state, than that an individual
should have to fear lor livelihood and
freedom on account of what he believes
to be true
(Name and address

withheld by request)

“The Playboy Forum" offers the oppor-
tunity for an extended dialog between
readers and editors of this publication
on subjects and issues raised in our con-
tinuing editorial series, “The Playboy
Philosophy." Address all correspondence
on either the "Philosophy" or the
orum” 1o: The Playboy Forum,
PLAYBOY, 232 Е. Ohio Street, Chicago,
Illinois 60611.
У]

e FON

131

attitude, Benedictus.”

“1 don't like your

132

MARVIN KONER

JONATHAN MILLER jolly good showman

GREAT marrAIN'S entry in the uncommon market is
versatile, ebullient, 29-year-old Jonathan. Miller, а
scalpel-witted neuropathologist, satirist, playwright
and essayist and one of the outstanding comic mmes
of our cra, As costar (and coauthor) of the highly
irreverent revue Beyond the Frin
of all trades first besieged our shores 18 months ago
and since then his Fringe benefits have induded a
television show (Trip to the Moon), a stint as TV
and movie critic of The New Yorker, and an off
Broadway play. An equally acerbic observer of our
manners and mores off stage or on, Miller's conver-
sational repartee bristles with epigrammatic insights.
Samples: On American women — “Here the

, this union jack

irl to commit is to be ugly." On TV —
“The worst minds in the world go into television
On himself am given to frivolous generaliti,
He is also given to soaking in the bathtub all day,
stalking Manhattan all night and reading prodi-
ously, Next for restless author Miller: а novel, a
book on pathology, à series of ar PLAYBOY,
nd a return (with wife and two small tads) to Eng
land where people, he holds, actually see them-
selves as they really are se of downs,

crime for a

SEIJI OZAWA occident. prone

WHEN А vorTurtr. conductor ascended the podium
at Chicago's Ravinia Music Festival last summer. his
expectations were modest — he was only substituting
for an aili collca
of the cliché about the artist who achieves suardom

But, in a real-life enactment

er a pi

wh:hit performance, ©

a ji Ozawa was in-
vited to return as Musical Director and Resident
Conductor for 1964. This distinction climaxed a long
train of triumphs for the 28-year-old maestro, Alter
completing his studies in. Japan, he lelt for Europe

ad eventually guest-conducted some of ше Con-
tinent’s best orchestra:

Under Leonard Bernstein's
subsequent tutelage, Ozawa's work with the New
York Philharmonic was unanimously acclaimed.
So far, the only blemish on his brilliant career was
received in Japan, when Tokyo's NHK Orchestra
resenting his youth and American training, refused
to honor a conmact to play for him in 1962. The
concurrent brouhaha strengthened his position. for
it earned him a commitment to tour Japan with a
competing orchestra. thus reversing the maxim about
prophets lacking honor in their own lands and
underscoring Ozawa’s worldwide future — which
should indeed be filled with both honor and profit.

JERRY YULSMAN

BILL COSBY subways are for laughing

A 25-YEAR-OLD NEGRO with the build of a fullback
(which he was at Temple University) and a gende
disposition, Bill Cosby also possesses a wit inven
enough 10 h
to the upper echelons of comicdom. Onstage, Cosby
eschews the black ("There's room for only one Dick
Gregory’) and the blue, preferring instead to dwell
at length on the wonders of karate ("After you've
graduated from karate school there's no better feel-
ing than walking around knowing you can wipe out
your whole neighborhood”), the New York subway
system (“I a threcact show from West 4th
Street Street, This woman w
condemning everyone. She was so great, when she
got off we gave her a standing ovation."), and greasy-
Kidstuff commercials ("... Now lets compare
combs. See, Yours is green, mine is orange. Now
lets go out and get us some women . . .”). Today,
with a successful LP, top TV appearances, several
concerts, and а string of nightclub triumphs (Basin
Street Fast, Mister Kelly's, the hungry i) behind him.
Cosby finds it difficult to avoid making $1500 а week,
which isn't bad for a young fellow who not too long
ago was scutlling for $60 a week as a barkeep-comic.

ye brought him in less than two years

ent around

133

PLAYBOY

134

BIG-LEAGUE BRIDGE (continued from page 100)

but human, and the Americans were not
pushovers.

When play was resumed at 5:30 the
Americans sliced four points from the
Italian lead. After dinner, America took
the lead and ended the day 37 points
ahead, giving the Blue Team the worst
drubbing of its

Back in the press room the American
s they
news-

arcer.

ists tried not to look smu:
hammered out stories for thei
papers. Then they sat around in the bar
to hash over old times with members of
the international bridge set.

They harked back to 1950, the year of
the first official world championship,
when an American team led by Schenken
won the title in a three-cornered contest
against Great Britain and a mixed
Sweden-Iceland team. They recalled 1951
when Schenken took much the same team
over to Naples to win from an Italian
team that included the youthful Forquet.

There had been no match in 1952, but

urna

they spoke of 1953, when Sweden won
the European championship and sent a
team to New York to take an ineffectual
crack at Schenken and his playmates.
n 1954, a vintage year, when the U.
Californians and three Mid-
westerners to Monte Carlo to show the
world that America could win without
Schenken and Co. They won the cham-
pionship and much attention in the
French press for their Hawaiian shirts
nd their casual custom of wearing
brown shoes and green Argyle socks with
dinner jackets.

The U. S. had won four years in a row,
and many American bridge players
thought that the best European teams
should be invited to play in the Ameri-
can national championships to settle the
world title. It was clear that any of a
dozen good American teams could beat
Europe's best, and it was а waste of good
money to send six players to Europe to
beat a bunch of second-raters.

Those were the days, and the memories
linger on the tongues of the journalists.

They did not linger on the bad days
that followed. In 1955 Great Bi n
sent a tcam over to lift the. Bermuda
Bowl from the United States' apparently
secure grasp. The next year the U.S.
sent a team to Paris but failed (o get the
Bowl back, In 1957 the Blue Team made
its first appearance in world champion
ship competition: they have won ever
ce, except for 1960.

In recent years European experts
sometimes suggested that the U.S. send
its best team to play in the European
championship to compete for the world
tide along with Iceland, Spain, Lebanon
and the like. The shoe felt horribly dif.
ferent, now that it was on the wrong foot.
as tactless enough to renew
this suggestion at the Billia bar th
night. Instead they wondered whether
Schenken would have the honor of ta
ing the Bermuda Bowl back to Ame
after its long stay abroad.

They enjoyed that night in the bar.
Eight years is a long time to wait for a
псе to howl.

'obody w

"The schedule now called for a three-
day wait before the United States could
resume the match against Haly. The
match with France came next — or. morc
accurately, the st Pierre
Ghestem and Réné Bacherich, the slow.
the world. The
individual record for slow play is held by
a Toronto expert (he once took three
minutes by the clock to put his last card
down on the table), but Ghestem and
Bacherich have no rivals In the
1954 world championship Ghestem took
so long to consider а bid that young
William Rosen, his American opponent,
keeled over in a faint and had to be
revived by the tournament director.

It would be unfair to suppose that
Ghestem and Bacherich use their bian
tactics for the sole purpose of wearing
out their opponents. They need more
than the normal amount of to
choose the best bid because they play the
most complicated bidding system thus
far presented to public view.

In the Ghestem system a seldom
has its accepted meaning. Usually a
bid, revealing

match

à p:

Sometimes a player makes a "t
bid, demanding that his part
suit as yet unnamed. Where ord
bidd а conversation in a lang
that everybody at the table (including
the opponents) is expected to under-
stand, bidding in the Ghestem system is
a series of messages in code,

hestem and Bacherich would take
minutes to choose cach bid, looking sev-
eral moves ahead, like chess players. It

was not strange in the case of Ghestem,
a burly fruit wholesaler who was once
world champion at dames, а form of
checkers widely played on the Continent.
Bacherich, a diminutive textile mer-
chant. reputation at chess or
checkers but doubtless has some equally
good reason for his inability to get past
a given point.

"Their American opponents would
sometimes ask the meaning of a bid in
the middle of the auction, but would
usually wait until the end of the bidding
to find out what each bid meant, usi

has no

an interpreter provided for just this pur-

pose. (АП bids and plays are made in
English at an international tournament,
but the few words needed for this pur-
pose are the only words that
Ghestem and Bacherich know. The
American players knew no French.)
What with one thing and another, the
first set of 16 hands consumed the full
three-and-a-half hows allowed by the
tournament regulations. (In American
national championships, players are al-
lowed about one-and-a-half hours, and
those who consistently take more time
are disqualified.) The second session
‘gan an hour behind schedule and.
agged on for another threcand-a-half
hours. The final session of the day be;
at 1 pst. and van until almost 3:30 а
Penalties for slow play h:

nglish

м.
n

1 not Бе

set ир, but the tournament director, Dr.
Ing. Silvio Carini Mazzacara, addressed.
an outraged note to players and team
captains, warning them not to repeat the
offense. Thereafter Ghestem and Bach-
erich kept carefully within the three-and-
achalf-hour limit.

It is interesting to note that Baron
Robert de Nexon, captain of the French

team, put Ghestem and Bacherich in
against the United States for the first

cight of the nine ms played by the

been
more

to Italy. partners
through Amer
national tournaments, in many of which
they had played Schenken's new biddin:
system.

They had
dozen or

Robert Jordan and Arthur Robinson,
were the work horses of the team. Both
young (Robinson celebrated hi
birthday the

2'ith
y before the tournament

had the stamina and
patience to play workl-championship.
bridge for ten hours a necessary.

sion of the last day when it was obvious
that nothing could affect the final stand-
He played Ghestem and Bacherich
in only five of the nine sessions against
Italy and only four times against. Argen-
tina.

Slowpokery got the French nowhere at
Saint V The United States won
the first two sessions and tied in the
marathon session that night, ending the
y with a lead of 182 to 76.
So far. so good. The U.S. had р
one full day against each of the t
reaching the one-third mark. It was well
ahead in cach of the three matches, and
it looked as though America had at last
picked three pairs that could bring home
the bacon.

Schenken's partner
ийи, with whom he bad played in the
1961 world championship at Buenos
Aires, taking the customary second place

cent.

was Peter Leven-

dan was itcm D

С. Robert N. James О. Jacoby
were the partnership least favored by the
American captain, John Gerber. They
1 been playing with great success
American tournaments for more Шап
year, but Gerber thought that young
Jacoby (sou of Oswald Jacoby, lead
American tournament player) needed
ng. This est
result in the most dramatic incident of
the tournament a few days later.

"The second set of three days produced
no change in the standings. The U.S.
pulled away from the Argentines, leading
by 347 to 177 at the two-thirds mark,
then dropped half of its lead. against
Italy, but still led them 216 to 196. The
Americans crawled through three more
sessions against lead 249
to 19

more season nate was to

(ce to

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PLAYBOY

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Tt was on the second day of the match
inst the United States that Forquet
mbled on а grand slam for which he
1 only an even chance. It boiled down

to finding the king of spades in one
opponents hand rather than in the
other's. Leventritt held the king, and

Forquet made his grand slam. If Schen-
ken had held the king, Forquet would
have gone down and the U.S. would
have won the world championship (as
it turned out) by six points.

It reminded the harassed Americans of
a hand on the first day, when Forquet
had bid another grand slam, this time
with the odds sl Luck
had been with him then, too. The world
championship would have gone the other
way if either grand slam had failed.

The Italians reached another grand
slam on the second day of their match
with the United States, largely be
Giorgio Belladonna cannot brin;
self to pass if any bid is conceivable
Perroux once remarked ruefully: *
teams have trouble with a prima donna
We have Belladonna.”

This time Belladonna’s optimistic
opening bid influenced his partner,
Camillo Pabis Ticci to bid a grand slam.
It was a sound contract, and luck did not
seem to be a factor. Still, if anybody but
Belladonna had been dealt those very
same cards . . .

or.

When the United States hegan its last
st Argentina, Gerber broke up
the partnerships. pairing Schenken with
Nail and Leventritt with Jacoby, osten-
sibly to let the players relax in a match
they couldn't lose. Actually, the Ame
can captain had another project in mind:
If conditions seemed 10 warrant it. he
could play Nail with Schenken USE
Italy in the q@ucial match scheduled Гог
the next d;
By this time the scores made it clear
that the world championship could be
won only by Italy or the United States
The winner of their match was sure to
win the title, and with 18 hands to be
played, the U. 5. һай a lead of 20 points,
The first of the thre
gainst Italy brought to mind the story
of the crapshooter who ran a two-dollar
bet up to a million dollars and then lost
it all on the next roll of the dice. “How
did you make out?” a friend asked.
“Nothing much happened," the
bler replied. "I lost two dollars.”
America gained only one point in t
set of hands, but quite a bit happe
The hands shown in the Bridge-O-Raima
room told only part of the story. Much
of the drama took place behind locked
Чоо:
The two teams seesawed for the first
13 hands. On the next, hand 110. Chi
radia decided against bidding a slam
with Forquet. As it turned out, the slam

final sessions

im-

was there for the taking. Forquet silently
пене and hurled the match
st the opposite wall.
kept his eyes carefully away from
his partner.

When Forquet began to play in inter-
national tournaments in his mids
Chiaradia was Maly’s greatest player.
When Forquet became the great star of
the Blue Team he avoided playing with
the older man. Now Forquet plays by
choice with Garozzo, a 36-year-old Naples
businessman.

OF the tension behind locked doors
ihe audi the Bridge-O- Rum;
ш. They maint
tense silence when Italy missed the slam,
but roared with delight on the next
hand. the turning point of the n
The announcer had told them
result in the first room: Jordan and
Robinson had gone down one wick at
six hearts. The audience cheered when
Forquet and Chiaradia stopped at a
comfortable conn
word buzzed round the
would pick up ten international match
points by staying out of trouble on this
hand.

But the bidding wasn’t ov
triti doubled the “unbeatable
of four heats. “Redouble.”
barked. The cheering was loud enough

€ in

room knew noth ned a

r. Leven-
contract
Forquet

to start am aval
the Matterhorn.

Gerber strode out of
beckoned to Sam Kehel:
dian expert who w g as team
coach. “G * Gerber snap-
ped. “He's going in with Schenken for
the

The decision brought to mind the
switch Gerber had made in the 1962
world championship when he had put
Nail in with Mathe in а desperate at-
tempt to stop an Talian victory. Then
also he had broken up two partner-
ships, but the situations not
exactly alike, Nail had no bidding prob
lems with Mathe, whose biddin,
ods are very natural: it was asking a
lot of him to use Schenkeu's new sys
tem with so little practice with it. In
1962 the Americans were behind when
the switch was made: this time they
were leading, with only 32 hands left
to be played.

Gerber thought th.
made a bad double

iche on the slopes of

16 miles away.

hall

the

next. session.

were

meth-

Leventritt had
nd that. perhaps

he was cracking. under the strain, Ger

ber was right about the strain, but

wrong about who was cracking.
Chiaradia, five times а world cham-

was

pion, uembling with excite
and nervousness. He had dropped his
cards several times, he had bid our of
turn once, and was upset over missing
the slam on the previous hand. Leve
піц doubled not because he was sure
he could beat four hearts, but be
he was sure he could beat Chiaradia

nent

ise

Leventritt was right. Chiaradia, shak-
ing violently, adopted a strained line
of play, miscounted the hand at the
tenth trick, and found a way to go down.

It was а deplorable performance and
may well mark the end of Chiaradia's
great carcer as a member of the Blue
Team. The day after the tournament
ended, Perroux paid tribute to “dear
old Chiaradia, who has done so much
for us all,” at the banquet that was sup-
posed to bind up all wounds; but Ch
nificantly absent from the

radia was si
feast.

If Levenmitt had passed, the U.S.
would have lost ten points on this
crucial hand. His double, and Chiara
dia's lapse, turned the loss
four-point gain. This brilliance earned
Leventritt only a rest on the bench for
the second session of the day.

The switch was disastrous. The Blue
Team scored 44 to the Am
taking I8point lead. Time wa
running out, for only 16 hands remained
10 be played.

Tt was cl Gerber cared nothing
for the factor of partnership. The
Furopeans, successful in world cham-
piouships since 1955, make up their
best teams of pairs who have played
hundreds of sessions together. Gerbe:
а tough-minded man who has won sev-
eral national championships in the
United States and knows the game thor-
hly, may not mind the fact chat few
experts would agree with h

With the horses well away, Gerber

locked the stable door for the fin:
putting Leventritt back in with
Schenken. Haly won the session by one
point, ending the match with a final
score of 313 to 294 international match
points. The margin of 19 points in a
match of 144 hands was a clear victory
for Italy, since even one point would
have been cnougl
that it was barely more than a tic.
As play began in the last hand, and
became clear that Italy could not lose
the match no matter how the hand
turned out, Perroux assembled his
ragazzi outside the locked playing room
to greet Forquet and Garozzo when they
emerged. There were embraces, tears,
cxclamatious, and flashes of light from
a photographer. Forquet brushed the em-
braces aside impaticutly. I was the sixth
time for hi t was all the excite
ment about? The result of the match
had ounced, but Jacoby
ad Nail, watching silently from the
open doorway, did not need to be told
what the excitement was about.

Perroux and his squadra italiana
gathered at the head of the stairs and
walked slowly down the wide marble
staircase to the lobby. It was past one in

icans’ 5,

due

sion,

but experts agreed

2 wha

not been

the morning, but almost all of the spec-
tators had stayed. They stood silently
at the foot of the stairs until the Italian

team appeared; then they applauded
with hands held high in the air as their
champions made the slow descent. It

was a very moving, if slightly theatrical,
scene.

Ernst Heldring. secretary of the Euro-
pean Bridge League, commented on the
sportsmanship of the Americans. “They
were full of praise for the Italian play-
crs,” he said. "What graceful losers they
are

It remained for the Italians 10 show

how gracefully they can win. After the
cups had been presented to the winners
at the banquet on the final Monday
night, Perroux called Gerber to the dais
and presented his precious cup to "the
greatest captain of the greatest team
that Haly has ever met.” One by onc
cach Italian player called to an. Ameri-
can player and presented his cup with
а smile and a handshake.
Forquet found a few signifie
as he gave his cup to Schenken. “If 1
had played against four Schenkens.” he

said quietly, “I could mot have won

t words

137

PLAYBOY

138

PAPA AND THE PLAYWRIGHT

model of courtesy on his (or
with Miss Mary), but an intoler
ant boss when surrounded by an ет
tourage of sycophants— unlike the
fighting bull, which is dangerous only
when isolated [rom the herd, His voice

own

iso
was a whispering baritone, As I listened
to it in Havana, I recalled a phrase

from our first Madrid encounter, De-
scribing an Atlantic crossing on the same
ship as а notoriously qucer English actor,
Hemingway had said: “Whenever he
walked into the dining room, 1 raised
nd smashed it on the table, as

my glass
every gentleman does in the p
of homosexuals.” I had never made up
my mind whether he was joking: and if

sence

so, how seriousl

Having made a lunch date for the
following day, I drove back to central
Havana. That evening, I dropped in at
the Hotel Nacional for a drink. Leaning
inst the bar, plumply perched on а
stool, his hair darkly coiled with sweat
1 his bland, fatcat face smiling out
ito nowhere, was Tennessee Williams,

(continued from page 97)

I flinched; because a few days earlier T
had weet Bird of
Youth, an extremely damaging те
that induded references to dust. bowls
nd sterility. But Tennessee's scars heal
swiftly (in public, at least; God knows
what private sores continue to suppurate
within), and he sauntered over to join
me. “Ken baby,” he said, emitting the
thick, bemused snicker by which he
hopes to convince vou that he is a sim-
pleton: in fact he is as sharp as а tack.
He said he was awaiting the arrival of
millio fom Key
West"; meanwhile, could we meet for
lunch tomorrow? I explained that I had.
te with Hemingway. Tennessee said
he had never met Mi. Hemingway, and
tentatively wondered whether he might
make a third. I said I was sure that
Hemingway wouldn't mind. "But won't
he kick me?" said Tennessee, stricken
with unease. “They tell me that Mr.
Hemingway usually kicks people like me
n the crotch.” To silence his qualms, I
telephoned Hemingway, who said he

iven his latest play,

ч)

aires

would he delighted to meet Mr. Wit
liams. We were to forgather at noon the
neat day, the chosen arena being the
Floridita restaurant, Hemingway's fa-
sorite cating place.

This was not the first time Т had in
flicted a brief encounter on Tennessee.
Only a year before. at a Mayfair club, T
had mischievously introduced him to
the renowned ex-madam, Polly Adler
Their conversation had been conducted
on parallel lines that never met; Ten
nesee wanted to talk about brothels.
and Miss Adler about literature. She was
taking a course in classical poetry at a
California college, and urgently solicited
Tennessee’s views оп the passages in

1 where “Dido shacks up with Ae-
ade.
t the

blew out my ci

gway breasted his w

minutes wening а
a white Tshirt and tropical trouse
the day was fiercely hot. He ordered а

double frozen daiquiri, locally known a
a “Papadoble,” hugged a few waiters

ud signed a few autographs. A dramatic

bronze bust of him stood in a niche
beside the bar: “We cover it,” he said,
“during Lent" A trio of Negro mt

S called
"— about
not, however hard she
tes to suit Pee
lament fox

cians saluted him with a sc

Soy Como Soy — "1

à Lesbian who са

tries, cl

nge her appel
раз. They next sang a
death of Antonio Maceo, е mul
eneral who was killed in Cubs’
gle арай

the

st Spain. The lyrics were wri

ten in Spanish by Hemingway, who
embraced. the singers and proudly in-
formed me: “I'm an honorary Negro."

Twelve-fifteen, and still no Tennessee
1 listened to Н jway's comments on
some of his contemporavies. On Scott
Fiugerald: “He was soft. He dissolved at
the least touch of alcohol.” On a popular
Southern novelist: “Нез a whiskey
writer, He can't write without a quart
of rye at his elbow. He's а slave to sauce
don then for the men's

made

and minutes passed. At. twelve
thirty 1 pursued. him
out: he had. bcc

coaxed hin

sparring in the john
with а Cendant.
le ее һай
looking chipper though slightly glazed.
He was wearing а yachting jacket with
silver buttons, as if to persuade Hem-
i y that although he might be a
lent, he was at least an outdoor de-
cadent. He rather spoiled the effect by
flourishing a lengthy cigarette holder,
Eleven years separated the contenders:
Hemingway aged. 59, and Williams
at 48. I made the introduction, h:

while,

Okay, Lady, you win.

Look, we never did say that women couldn't drink
Country Club. All we said is that it appeals mostly
to men. Which it does. That's because it's not a beer
oranale, but malt —а masculine cousin of the
other brews. There's nothing bland or blah about it.
Country Club's special fermenting agent gives it a
lively quality you can enjoy any time the spirit moves
you. One drink, and you'll get the message.
Actually, we can see how it would appeal to

women, too. Country Club is light on carbonation, as
you сап tell by its short head, so it sits light. Drinks
light, too. Only eight ounces to the can. Makes a
smooth and welcome change of pace from its cous-
ins on the one side and the hard stuff on the
other. Just one thing, though, Lady. Did you crush
the can yourself?

No kidding? One COUM

hand or two? G'wan! MALT LIQUOR

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139

PLAYBOY

“The one holding yours —that's my baby!”

were duly shaken, and 1 ordered more
drinks. Silence fell. Hem gazed
at the bar. Tennesse
ceiling. Suddenly: “What Гуе always
mired about your work, Mr. Heming-
said Tennessee bravely
you care about honor among теп. Aud
there is no quest more desperate than
that."

Hemingway swiveled his leonine head.
“What kind of men, Mr. Williams,” he
said, “did you have in mind?” Tennessee
started to shrug, but Hemingway con-
tinued: “People who have honor never
about it. They know it, and they
confer immortality on each other.” That
seemed to take сате of that.

By now the bar was filling up, and so
were we. I was beginning to [cel slightly
drunk, and Tennessee's fixed smile and
half-dosed eyes did not bode too well.
He murmured to me that fear of Hem-
= boot had moved him to start

drink that drives out fear had clearly
s work, for within a few moments
he was once again making the running.
n last усаг for the bull-
he said. “I go every year. I get

fight
so disturbed I have to leave after the

third bull.” Hemingway sipped and
grunted, "Last summer 1 met one of the

140 matadors on the beach,” Tennessee went

on, “a lovely boy, very friendly, very
accessible. Named Ordóñez — Antonio
Ordóñez.” I realized that Tennessee was
walking blindfolded into a mine field.
Ordóñez was not only the greatest bull-
fighter in Spain, but one of Hemingway's
dosest friends; indeed, in the summer
that lay ahead, Hemingway seldom left
his side, missing none of his corridas
and later extolling his art in Life maga-
zine. Pedro Romero in The Sun Also
Rises was modeled on Ordónez father.
Ignorant of these things, or perhaps
forgetful, Tennessee continued: “He was
utterly charming to me, a most enchant
ing boy. He even showed me his cogidas.”
“He showed you his what, Mr. Wik
ms?” said Hemingway, furrowing his
brow and feigning incomprehensioi
Tennessee rattled on,
wounds. The scars on his
was wearing a

"His cogida:
“his

hor
Of
bathing su
Do you think he would talk to u:
and show us his cogidas?" said Heming-
1 deadpan innocence.
in he would," Ten-
nessee assured him, "As 1 say, he's a
most accessible boy
At this point a tiresome Common-
wealth journalist intervened; and never
was bore more welcome. He breczily
asked whether I would like to attend an

course he

execution that night at Morro С.
across the bay. where one of Batista
bullies was due to be shot. 1 declined the
invitation, explaining that 1 hated capi
tal punishment and that the idea of
death as a spectacle for outsiders dis
gusted me. Tennessee disagreed: In my
place, he said, he would have accepted,
since it was a writer's duty to expose
himself to any experience,
however loathsome. The bore promptly
offered to take him along, and they ar-
ranged to meet after dinner. (The plan
miscarried: The execution, an open-air
event, was postponed because of bad
weather) 1 asked Hemingway whether
he thought I w ht to reject the invi-
tation. He nodded. “There arc
refusals,” d enigmatically, “that

human

some

D he
are still permitted us.” He added, how-
ever, that he thoroughly approved of
Castro. “This is a good revolution,” he
said, "an honest revolution.”

One-fiftcen, and still no food; merely
a chilling cascade of melting daiquiris
Tennessee, playing it as unsafe as ever,
mentioned William Faulkner. “When 1
met him," he said, "his eyes haunted
me. Those terrible, distraught eyes.
They moved me to tears.”

Hemingway was mot noticeably af-
fected. “The trouble with Mr. Faulkner,
he said, "is that he can't rematay"—a
Spanish taurine verb meaning to round
off a sequence of passes with the cape —
Ie can give you cighty-nine naturales,
but he doesn't know how the
series.” As often, Hemingway not only
closed the subject but sat on the lid.

More drinks (we were all still stand-
ing, though ing), and Tennessee
plunged in again. "I used to know your
second wife, Mr. Hemingway,” he said.
“I believe her name was Pauline, 1 knew
her in Key West when I was young, She
was very kind to me when I was poor —
a lovely lady. а most hospitable lady. I
often wondered what happened to her.
They tell me she died. Did she die in
great. pain?

Hemingway. who was profoundly at-
tached to his second wife, replied with
a stoical sentence that deliberately
verged on self-parody; he often used this
technique аз a mask to avoid direct
emotional commitment. "She died like
everybody else," he said, leaning por-
tentously across the h nd after t
she was dead.”

Solid food was obviously out of the
question. I went to the lavatory and
found. when I returned, that the mee!
ing of minds for which I had hoped had

ken place in my absence. The two
writers were brow to brow, urgently
debating the relative importance of the
Kidneys and the liver. "You can survive
on one kidney,” Hemingway was argu-
ing, "but if your liver gives out, you
through.” They were even exchanging
the names and addresses of their doctors.

to end

I disrupted their commi
nouncing that 1 had a d two FAT.
with Castro, and would have to leave
at once. To my slight alarm, Tennessee
insisted on accompanying me. He and
Hemingway shook hands warmly, linked
at last by medicine and mortality.

Just on time, Tennessee and | passed
through the gates of the Presidential
alace. Instead of frisking us, the sentry
drew our attention to a collection of
butterflies owned by опе of his col-
leagues. We admired it, and were es
corted to a leather couch outside Castro's
anteroom. Here we spent two-and-a-half
hours, while soldiers, pregnant. women,
and men in ice-cream-colored suits
strolled in and out of the leader's
presence. Tennessee, growing resti
focused his gaze on a teenage boy in
olivegreen battle dress who was stand-
ing guard at the door. “Have you no-
ticed,” he mused, "how eve
touches that boy before they go i
you suppose it's for luck? I wonder
would he like some American ciga
теце...”

Before I could answer his questions,
someone identified Tennessee as thc
famous Yankee playwright, and we were
whisked through the anteroom into Gas
tro's sanctum, where а vital cabinet meet
ing was in session. Castro was on the eve
ol paying his first visit to the United
s since coming to power. Because of
Tennessee, the meeting was suspended:
the affairs of the nation ground to a halt
while the president paid tribute to the
artist in transit, The members of the
cabinet, most of them under 30, rose
from their seats around an oval, г
hogany table, and Castro strode over to
greet us. In clumsy but clearhearted
English, he told Tennessee how much he
had admired his plays, above all the one
bout the cat that was upon the burning
roof. He hoped that Mr. Williams would
come to live in Cuba, and write about
the revolution. He said he was also
grateful to Mr. Hemingway: "We took
For Whom the Bell Tolls to the hills
with us, and it taught us about guerrilla
warfare.” Tennessee smiled noncommit-
tally, and asked me out of the corner of
his mouth whether I thought the boy
with a mustache on his left would be
willing to run across the square and
bring him a hot tamale. I replied that
I doubted it, because the boy in ques-
tion was the minister of education.

We took our leave shortly afterward.
Tennessee has never met Castro since;
and he never saw Hemingway again. 1
offer this account of two accidental meet-
ings simply because they happened. Ar
tistically, nothing came of them; but
they may contribute, to future historians
of American literature, a few bizarre and
frivolous footnotes.

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CHARLES BOYD

(continued from page 70)

before it, they said nothing anymore
they did not move him. there was no
emotion. even the colors were drab and
Hat. But, of course, nothing was what
it seemed in his life anymore,
told himself, furiously stretching
canvas, his hands shaking, that his recent
work was very probably the best he had
ever done, the best, the very best, by
God! But he believed he remembered
having Harry Kinsolving in the studio
and showing him six or seven. canvases
ind it seemed to him that Harry had
. "Nothing you do is uninteresting.
Charles, and these are not uninteresting.
You are mot at a ре ps. just
now, this happens to € d

"Greta," he said,
member: When was Harry
here, what day?
ast week, Cha she said.
“Wednesday? Yes, it was Wednesday, 1
remember по

solving

He thought airplane windows were
always square, but this one was round.
Also these engines had no propellers. A
three-quarter moon was catching the
sun's rays from the other side of the
world, spilling them on a white cloud
cover, and he could see clearly. There
were two engines on the one wi
that was reasonable, but there were no
propellers. He was frightened but he
fought back. There was an explanation
lor this phenomenon, he was sure, he
knew perfectly well there was, and he
knew that he knew it, if only he could
think of it. He closed his eyes and tied.
As soon as he had shut out the wing and
the engines, the moon and the clouds.
a waterwall of imperative curiosities
be to batter at him. so he looked
nd it came to him: jets. He could
even remember where the jet bad origi
nated: an Englishman had invented it
Frank Whittle of the Royal Air Force
e was pleased. He turned to the m.
in the seat next 10 h
to tell him what he had just remembered.
This was a very big man: he was loo!
at Charles Boyd and smili
"You feel ОК, Mr. Boyd
“Fine, thank you," Boyd
Good,” the giant said. "I'm glad to
ar it. Another thirty minutes we'll be
at Kennedy International. We change
planes there.”

“We do? Boyd said.

"Sure," the man said. “Another ciga
зене, Mr. Boyd?" He did not offer the
package. he took one out of it, and as
Charles Bovd tried to reach he found
he couldn't move his arms. He looked
down. His wrists seemed to be fastened

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to his belt. The man held the cigarette
in front of his lips. Boyd was shaki

“Here, take the cigarette, Mr, Boyd,”
the man said. "Don't let anything get
you down, now. Take the cigarette.
Take the cigarette. IJL make you feel
good. You'll be calm, you'll relax, you'll
feel good, Mr. Boyd." A lighter materi-
alized in his hand, famed. Another face
came over the back of his seat. It spoke
in a roaring whisper: “You OK, Mr.
Boyd? You want me to wake up your
wile? I'd rather not. She's only been
asleep a little while.

Charles Boyd shook his head. He
smoked. The man beside him was care-
ful not to let the ash grow too long.

‘They came into Kennedy Internati
ош of the ness. They moved stiffly
down one ramp, up another, into a
tenninal building, into an elevator. The
silent, sectioned doors opened into a
hushed room, green and warm, puddled
here and there with yellow light. There
would be a little while to wait, Greta
aid. It was a room for important people.
There was whiskey and ice and a silver
pitcher of water,

They gave him a drink, not much of
a drink. He dropped it down his throat,

“Let's go outside,” he said to Greta.
“Irs terrible in here. Stufty.”

Опе of the big men opened a door.

It showed a closet, He opened another
and went through it, and another and
they were on a long balcony. The air
was cold and wet. A pink-red glow in
the clouds, a long way off, marked New
York. Green, purple, blue, white, yellow
lights flickered on the flat black field
around them. Far below, a gaggle of
people waddled toward a Viscount.
Charles Boyd wore а topcoat capelike
over his shoulders. Greta had buttoned
one button of it, and his hands were
hidden. She walked ahead of him, the
two men beside him. He had to look
up a little to see into their faces. They
looked vaguely alike, as some brothers
look alike, but there was nothing to
remember in either face. They did not
touch him, or even walk tight beside
him. The four of them walked gravely
on the balcony, a sad and pointless litle
procession, on a long oval course, east
along the rail, west along the wall, then
east, then west . . . Just as they came to
the turning away from the rail. just
before Greta, leading. turned. Charles
Boyd stopped, drove hard backward
against both feet. Now he was behind
the two men, he turned, threw the upper
half of his body forward like a sprinter
toward the low rail. If his arms had
been free, so that he could have swung
them, he might have gained the 18 or

20 inches of ground he needed to get
but his arms were not free,
and the men caught him; one by cach
elbow, they lifted him like a child and.
turned him and set him down. And even
then, they didn't hold him.

“That was a good try, Mr. Boyd," one
of them said. “That dropping behind
like that, that’s not a move just anybody
could think of. That was a good move.
But you shouldn't have tried it. Suppose
you made it, Mr. Boyd? In front of your
wife? And what about us? Something like
that happens, we lose our jobs, you
know. You're not the kind of man, Mr.
Boyd. who docs a thing like that to
people who are only trying to help you.
Are you, now, Mr. Boyd?"

I will not quit, I am not quitting,
he told himself later, the balcony, the
green room, the elevator all behind him,
I am not quitting. He stared out of the
window, down on the dark farm fields
and vineyards of the Finger Lakes coun-
try. I am not quitting, but I have got
to е some time to think, I nced to
rest.

“Tell mc," he said to the man who
was, hideously, beginning to appear his
only friend, "tell me, how long tl
time?"

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PLAYBOY

“Hour and a half, Mr. Boyd,” the
man said. "Maybe hour, forty-five mi
utes, but that’s at the most.”

“I wish I could go to sleep,
Boyd said.
ou сап, Mr. Boyd, you certainly
can," the man said. He turned to the
seat behind. “Get a glass of water, Joc
he said. He unfolded a slip of ti
paper, held it like a little dish. Ch:
Boyd could see a white tablet in it
“This is a nothing pill, Mr. Boyd,” he

Charles

very tired, and the doctor said this would
just do it. OK. So if you'll open your
mouth,” Careful not to touch it, he
spilled the tablet into Boyd's mouth,
and held the plastic cup of water to his
lips.

"Thank you,” Boyd said.

“Thats OK, Mr. Boyd," the man said.

After he had forgotten the airplane,
the man, and even Greta, Charles Boyd
could remember that pl glass and
the water in it because he so often
wanted water. If he had more water, he
would say to himself, he would have
тоге spit and if he had more spit he
could, perhaps, paint better. The walls
were covered with a heavy fabric and it
was possible, by spitting on it, and work
ing with one’s tongue, to paint. But it
1 to be done in a great hurry because
even in a small painting the spit would
dry at onc end before he could finish
the other.

Time moved around and past him like
an endless loop of yarn. He supposed he
was happy when he began to notice the
difference between night and day, but on
the other hand the endless string was a
nice thing, too. It was most pleasant
really, but it receded as other images
came forward. He found he had crayons
and then pastels and then oils. He
worked busily. Greta appeared now and
again, and went away, and came back.
One day she told him that she had been
able, with difficulty. to arrange for them
to be alone for a little while, that they
could be lovers again. He told her, in
kindly way, that he would rather
paint. He came to know various people,
doctors, nurses, attendants, waiters, and
so on. He kept a calendar in his room
and on odd nights he would make a
game of seeing how far back he could
remember. He once remembered straight
back 27 days. He thought it remarkable.
He had never been able to remember
27 days straight back at any other time
in his life. When they took him home
he felt no grear joy. He wasn't fright
ened of going, which was joy enough.
A doctor whose name he knew perfectly
well but did not choose to recall

ade

144 him formally goodbye.

“I wish you would with us
another three months, Mr. Boyd," he
said. "I think you should. but I am
alone in this, and so 1 bid you goodbye,
and good luck.

"Thank you," Charles Doyd said.

He could remember his studio and
everything in it and he went straight to
work, It was all new, all different. He
used canvases perhaps two feet by three:
he painted in blues, blacks, grays. Now
and again, rarely, a microscopic spot of
red would appear, but he touched no
other color. He saw few people. He had
been away, he found, for more than two
years, and he felt he had all this time to
make up. He worked fast and when he
had 20 pieces the Deindorfers gave him
a small show. It was а thorough success,
n, but a solid, satisfying

He went to the opening, he and Сге
stayed in town overnight and he stayed
a the gallery the next day, listening to
people talk. He had always found that a
great pleasure, although now that his
face was so well known he heard fewer
nteresting things.

He took only those two days from his
work. He began another series of paint-
ings. They went very well, and he was
surprised to find himself sitting on the
floor, his hands slippery and greasy with
paint, torn strips of canvas all around
him, broken bits of frame mixed with
them. He could remember how
many paintings he had had, but he could
estimate, from the debris in which he
squatted, that he had destroyed seven
or eight pieces. At any rate, there was
nothing left in the studio. It was quite
dark. He turned on a droplight and as.
the brightness hit his hand, still touch-
ing the button, he saw that the knuckl
were badly skinned. He held
the light and looked carefully. Tt was
not, he knew perfectly well, the k
of abrasion one could get by brea
up picture frames, He knew. He
hit enough people in his timc to know.
He looked out the window toward the
house. It was lighted. He supposed it

not

was his house and that Greta still lived
there with him.

He looked for the whiskey. There
wasn't any. He supposed they had taken

it. He didn't care much. He stopped in
the middle of the floor, his head back,
staring at the ceiling, and he felt a new
idea, the barest thread of a thought, tick-
Jing the back of his brain, just off to one
side. It had to do with up, he kept on
staring upward, then, slowly, he moved to
the wall and climbed slowly up the nar-
row stairs to the balcony. It was only a
shelf of wood six or eight fect deep, heav-
ily bi the weight
of the odd cupboards and shelves he had
piled on it through the years, He went

from one to the next, pulling out
drawers and opening creaking doors.
Sure enough, he found it, flat on the
floor in a corner of an old bureau, hid-
den under a stack of tracing paper. He
felt a little red glow of joy, like a fallen
child lifted up and set upon its feet
again. But the instant he touched the
thing, hope fled from him: it was light.
it was empty, a black, molded, buckled
Luger holster that couldn't possibly have
a pistol in it, He opened it anyway. The
takedown tool was there. and. in its
separate slot on the side, the extra maga-
zinc, empty. His eye ran off the holster
and the scratch, and it came
to him suddenly that a gun would be a
bad idea anyway. For, supposing he had.
an hour past, hit Greta, and he surely
had, wouldn't it be casy, and logical, for
some cop to try to hang it on her? A
note? Hc could write a note. An ob-
scenity, and anyway notes got lost. His
head lifted again, and then he saw the
wap in the high ceiling. He found the
cotton rope that ler down the ladder.
"The hatch rose ea: and he went out
on the roof. It sloped. but not sharply.
to the rear of the studio, but at the
front, over the inner balcony, a flat strip
lay. He went to it. I ought to think, he
told himself, I ought to be calm. But he
had no time to think. At any instant
he might find himself spitting on the wall
again, he might be running for the bal-
ail, doomed never to reach it in
life: an idea began to spin itself
around that notion, like cotton candy
around a cardboard cone, and he had to
work hard to put it down, he almost iost
everything there. No. No thinking. He
didn’t need to think. It was, after all,
only a matter of diving, of divi
fully and accurately so as not to miss the
walk. It would be important not to miss
the walk, but it would be easy to hit it,
it was three feet wide. In the narrowing
light, under the dusk that was drifting
across the world, the concrete strip of the
walk gleamed wetly. It looked like water,
looked as a canal might look seen from
5000 feet, and as he stared it did break
and т on its surface, the mica in
the mix glittering as water will in moon-
light. He curled his toes over the edge
of the roof and looked down at himself.
Something was wrong. He stepped back.
Even strong as he „ he thought, he
would be bothered, swimming, dressed
so heavily. He stripped. He stacked h
dothing neatly. Again he looked down.
He knew peace. He heard bird song, a
June sun lay lightly on him, the woods
were in green bud for miles and miles
and on the other side of the pool а tall
girl waved and shouted something. He
gave a great spring off the roof and up,
hung, turned and flew, headfirst, into
the welcoming water.

ng are-

“My goodness, how he’s grown!”

145

PLAYBOY

146

PLAYBOY INTERVIEW (continued jrom page «1)

ever consider doing another play?
LEMMON: Certainly, if the right one came
along. Theres a satisfying sense of
continuity in performing a play before
a live audience, You build your story,
the tension mounts, you're communicat
ing with people beyond the light
really feel the part, you're living it. And
then there's the applause that feeds your
ego and makes you feel you've played
your part well because the audience be-
lieves in you. In Hollywood. it’s com-
pletely different. I love making films, but
often the story is stretched out for five or
six months and it’s hard to produce a
sustained ellort and have the fecling
of continuity. You shoot scenes out
of context. You're surrounded by all
kinds of technicians, lights, camera
sound booms and hangers-on. They blow
fog in your face and shout in:

You

ructions

— where to stand, how to speak, You're
in the middle of it all and youre told
to make like а lover. to be passionate,
to wring the pathos, to kill ‘em in the
big comic scene. If you can't ignore all
those people around you, you can't give
a convincing performance. In between
scencs you pose for publicity pictures:
there's an interview with a columnist
or a fan-magazine writer; the make-up
man comes in for a checkup, the costumes
come in — these things interfere with
your developing a fecling for your role,
the emotion you want to project. All
of which is related to a big gripe I have
gainst Hollywood. The trouble with
pictures for the last 20 years is that
most film executives рау only 10 percent
auention to acting: 90 percent of the
energy goes everywhere except to а
It goes to à

1 the gimmicks, to package

“All I can feel is rain.”

deals, publicity, advertising and exploi-
tation. But it’s what happens up on that

little screen. that makes or breaks an
actor or a film.
PLAYBOY: Another little screen — televi-

sion —is an ar

you've been g
with even more, isn't it?
LEMMON: I'm not as
was about a year ago. I feel much more
hopeful about it now — because it's im.
possible for it to get any worse. Tele-
vision can only get better. It's like saying
to a young writer: “Resign yourself to
total failure and work up from there.”
Television is the nadir as far as I'm con:
cerned, 1 must admit I have an ax to
grind. I feel a peculiar and personal
affection toward TV because I grew up
in it. I learned a hell of a lot in live
television. Live TV with dramatic
shows was simply wonderful. 1 alw:
felt that TV was great in the old days
when everybody was saying it was lousy.
the big wheels think it's great,
t it revels in mediocrity
PLAYBOY: Why do you think this is true?
LEMMON: Because the medium is based
on one basic premise: They're not sell-
ing the show, they're selling the prod-
uct; whereas a picture or a stage play
must sell itself. It doesn't take a geniu
to realize that the lowest common de-
tor is going to sell the most soap
ch the most people. You try to
asc as many people as possible. Noth-
ing creative in the history of the world
that has really been artistically worth-
while has ever pleased
Now that’s a pretty broad and didactic
statement and undoubtedly not com-
pletely true, but I'm exaggerating a little
to make this point. Certainly if you are
deliberately trying to please the most
people possible, you will not do the best.
The show will not be as good as you
know it might be. You will deliberately
make sure you won't possibly offend with
this, be careful of that, be sure you have
organ music at the end of it, the house
wile might like it and buy more. In other
words, they're bastardizing the entire
dram ic process. A writer provides
-notice script, they shoot a half
hour's worth of film minus five minutes’
worth of commercials in two and a half
to three days. Or five days for an hour.
What are you going to get? Top level?
Hardly, on any craft basis. All the way
through, with the editing, the shooting
the camerawork, the direction, the

ped

lent about it as I

lot of people.

ve
got no time for anything.
PLAYBOY: Do you think that pay TY

might be the cure for television's ills?

a naive way I envision hopefully th:
you could make damn good movies,
without stin па it would be a boon

Advt. сс devotions of F rel Corp. of San Jose, Calif., to the advancement of Social & Cultural Relationships & making of Great Be

PLAYBOY

148

to the industry because you could turn
ош a high-budgct movie, do it well, and
recoup your money in a maucr of
months. People could see a firserun, top-
grade film at home. You could be turn-
ing them out like in the old days. It

n enormous market,

could be a new

which we certainly need, because the
present market is dwindling.

PLAYBOY: You have been approached with
proposals for dozens of TV specials and
weekly series. Have any of them rean
ened your interest in the medium?
LEMMON: I'm just not interested at all. I
havent done a television show since
Playhouse 90 went off. And I don't want
to. 1 wouldn't ever dream of being on
television weekly or monthly or whatever
as long as my motion-picture career is
going well. Maybe two years from now

someone's going to say, “I remember Jack
Lemmon. Whatever happened to him?
And Ll go around knocking оп doors
begging for a series. But at the moment
it would be suicide. You just cannot do
both. If you're fortunate enough to be
ng well in films, you'll kill yourself
if you're being seen every week. If they
sce you every week, they're not going to
go out to the theaters. Nobody has been
able to do it, Lucy Ball may have been
the hottest thing on the tube, but when
she made а couple of pictures not long
ago, they just laid there. She was in
direct competition with herself, By the
same token, the fact that I may be giving
a hell of a performance down the street
is not going to budge people loose from
the tube — especially if they can see me
there, too, Anyway, good acting just

Say, listen fella. Let's knock

off the birdcalls.”

isn’t that important to the guy sitting
at home at the end of a day when he's
tired. That's unfortunately опе of the
reasons for television's wallowing in me-

diocrity. People will turn. the stinking
knob c
just flip the channel

PLAYBOY: You won't do any television,
and you appear, at the most, in two pic-

a anyway. And if it’s lousy they'll

tures а year. Don't you get restless
between films?
LEMMON: Despite the fact that I feel

frustrated at times by inactivity, I have
to be careful. The worst thing 1 could do
would be to act purely for the sake of
acting by doing something 1 fnew |
could play. What 1 learn out of doing

only one or two moyies a year, when
І am lucky enough to work with a
good script or a good director, is worth

all the waiti

g around. Serious American
actors, and I consider myself one, envy
British actors for one thing only: Under
their system it is perfectly acceptable for
anybody of stature to play whatever he
bloody well wants to play, whether it's
a week off iu old John’s-Clyde-on-the-
Thames or a minor part in a film he
happens to like. The American star sys-
tem vigorously frowns on that. The rules
were broken by Monty Clift and Judy
Garland in Judgment at Nuremberg, but
you must admit when it happened there
was quite a hullabaloo about it. The
fact that they were doing small parts

quite unheard of

was You're not al-
lowed to do it by contract: you're sup-
posedly demoting your stature, Thats
a lot of baloney.

PLAYBOY: Don't you fecl that the success
of Clift and Garland may presage a
dedine in the power of the star system?
LEMMON: Perhaps. Га certainly welcome
it. We've already seen a decline in the
mystique of the star system — but this
1 don't welcome at all. I think the old
dichards may have something when they
mourn the passing of the golden era in
films, when the star was the Olympian
antithesis of the guy next door,
a mythological figure, unattainable
unapproachable. It’s all gone, especially
for actors like me. I've played most
characters who are identifiable to the
average guy. Pm considered on the same
level with Sam in the office rather than
as the kind of celebrity whose presence
makes people keep their distance and
whisper. "Gee, that's Georgie Е
nik" So the © guy, someone
Tve never met before, feels he can talk
to me. Walking along Santa Monica
Boulevard, it doesn’t surprise me a bit
for people to come up to me and say,
"Hey, Ensign Pulver, I'll. never forget
how you biew up the laundry room in
Mister Roberts with soap all over the
place." Or: "How's your tennis racket

fool

aver

there, baby?” If you recall, 1 strained
spaghetti with a tennis racket in The
Apariment. And for a long time, even
in Europe, 1 got the apartment-key bit:
“Hey, Jack, you got the key?" — to the
point where it began to get on my nerves.
But there is one impossibly good thing
that’s happened to the star system in
recent years: Having stars is no longer
any guarantee that a picture will be a fi-
nancial success. The film itself must
make it on its own merits, no matter who
is in it, with possibly one or two €
ceptions, There is no question that
rain stars draw people. But usually if
they're drawing people to a film that
isn't particularly good, it's because the
last picture they made was successful.
This happened to me several years аро.
After Some Like It Hot and The Apart-
ment, 1 had a longstanding commitment
to do a property called The Wackiest
Ship in the Army. The picture was no-
where near the caliber of the other two,
but the doggoned thing grossed well over
00,000. It cost maybe $1,300,000, and
this is a tidy liule profit. The reason it
made money was because I had been in
Some Like Il Hot and The Apartment,
and people were going to sec me, But T
don't think I could do a couple of those
in a row and expect to get six- or seven-
million-dollar grosses.
PLAYBOY: Speaking of picture profits,

your own income for 1963, as filmdom's
top box-office star, was estimated at close
million dollars. What do you do

ill, the mortgage
so staggering that the
Bank of America is shaking. And when
I get through with expenses, taxes and
15 percent between lawyers and agents,
plus public relations, and my son, my
wife and my mother, I don’t save much
out of what I get. Now I've made а lot
of money, God know 1 Тус formed a
company in the hope that if 1 continue
to be successful in some of my ventures,
maybe ten years from now there will be
a little an y accumulated, But from
the time I really started making money
until not too long ago, 1 was single,
which makes a vast differei The tax
bracket, even at a modest income, can
get way up in the 80s, and at a little over
$100,000 а year you're close to 90 per-
cent. It’s always scemed to me there
should be some kind of spread payment
for people involved in risk professions.
such as ballplayers and actors. Their
professional tenure can be awfully short,
even though they're highly paid. Five
years from now, despite the fact that 1
will probably still be physically able to
work, and may be just as good an actor,
I may not be in public favor. Or I may
have flipped or something, and my

on the house

income will suddenly drop radically.
And ГЇ have nothing to show for
the years when I was making it. But
in the meantime, I'm not going to kill
myself trying to salt it away. It amazes
me to think of the number of people
end their life — exhaust their one
st to leave money behind them.
nge pride of those who brea
their own and other people's necks to get
it and pile it up, and that strange esteem
in which we hold them for doing
idiotic and insane to me. I cannot under-
stand that kind of goal. I'm not d
ing the importance of money, but it
becomes omnipotent to some people. If
there's no self-satisfacti your work,
1 don't care how much money you've got,
you're not successful. When 1 graduated
from Harvard, many of my classmates
know what they wanted to do with
сз. All they knew was how much
money they wanted to make every year,
what kind of house and locale they
wanted to live in, what kind of car they
wanted to own, Their main drives were
status and security, but they had no spe-
cific goal. To me common sense and a
developed objective — in my case, to be
a good actor, and to continue to grow —
these are more important than financial
success. That's what Td like to give my
id. A guy can have five million dollars
nd then commit suicide, and the press

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149

PLAYBOY

150

and the public will consider him a suc-
cessful man who just died. 1 don't con-
sider that guy successful. With all his
money and prestige, he killed himself
because he never really made it with
himself. That's no success story to me.
PLAYBOY: If the rewards of professional
self-fulfillment are really more impor-
tant to you than financial success, don't.
you regret having signed a long-term
contract that commits you to do such
films as The Wackies! Ship in the Army,
which was hardly а hit with the critics?
LEMMON: Absolutely,
lack of freedom. 1 must say, however,
that with few exceptions, 1 haven't done
a picture 1 didn't want to do.
PLAYBOY: What were the exceptions?
LEMMON: One was Bell, Book and Candle,
which I hated. Hated myself in it. It
was a strawberry ic bunch
of baloney. There was another called
Three for the Show, the second picture
I ever did. Didn't like it cithe

PLAYBOY: Don't you feel there may be a
danger of stagnancy, if not of losing
money, if you continue to accept such
stock roles?

LEMMON: Certainly. But there can even
be some value in doing bad scripts.
I learned a great deal in a scenestudy
class in New York once. We worked on

m cone, a

counterpoint, use of obstacles, pla
against scenes — all to combat bad ma
terial, to make it dramatically exciting.
It was very interesting, because it kept
you from falling into bad habits, It made
you investigate. kept you trying for a
higher degree of dramatic conflict in a
scene. An obstacle can be anything. It
is whatever legitimately can be imposed
to frustrate the character. It can come in
the writing, and the direction, too. not
only in the acting. Wilder did it beauti-
fully in The Apartment. He had a scene
where I come to the office

J
they can't come up to my а nent that.
night because | want to use it. Абе
Wilder shot the scene as written, he told
me, “You got a cold." All of a sudden,
with all of the fast chatter Fm doing on
the phone, the character is further
frustrated. The cold makes it all the
more difficult for him to complete the
task he has то do. It becomes funnier:
and the minute you frustrate a character,
you gain empathy from an audience.
Always. There's a simple reason why. Гус
never known anybody who hasn't known
frustration himself, who doesn't under-
id a ашу with frusuat
PLAYBOY: Yourself included?

LEMMON: You're damn right. In the late
Forties І worked at the Old Ki
Hall, a converted movie house o

1 Side of Manhattan. It wa
hardly ever filled. 1 d
they got customers їп at
cause after one drink if they got. up
go to the billy, they came walking back
down that steeply slanted movie aisle
and thought they were having a hell of
a time. We did old-time melodramas,
silent films with commentary, presented
songs and dances. And there was one
thing 1 did that worked. very well: the
pitchman, the “Hey, say, step right up.
we got the raciest pictures you ever saw”
routine. 1 was younger then, probably
had more nerve. I'd wing the whole
spiel and end up with the spicy-photo

reason
ll was be-

bit: “You light the match and put
behind the picunes, fifty girls, beaudi-
Is, scc them undulating.” Then

п the whole place. 1 did the
whole 15-minute pitch for them and
I went off and they didn't applaud.
Zero. That was it. I've laid many an egg
п my time, but to reconcile myself to
this опе took a lot of soul-searching. 1
guess I've gotten. over it, though.
PLAYBOY: [s that the worst frustration
you can remember?
LEMMON: By no means. A few years
licr, 1 had just enrolled at Harvard i
the Navy's V-12 program. This was in the
middle of the winter of 1944, and cach
morning we had to get up , put on
shorts and sneakers and run outdoors,
Cross a bridge and along the Charles
River at a hell of a clip. We r
course twice around. My second di
Harvard, I got the brilliant idea that I
could eliminate half of this ridiculous
exercise by lagging behind the pack,
nipping into а dump of bushes and
slipping back i ith the oth
runners the second time around. So the
next morning, 1 loped over the bridge
behind the others, ducked into the
bushes and waited, chortling to myself,
for the clods to reappear on their second
lap. They never came. On this particular
morning, of course, for the first and only
time, they were called in alter опе lap
оп account of the sub-zero weather, and
I was locked outside y shorts.
Tesh;
weekend of my college
clink with a heavy cold. Few Ha
men can make that statement.
PLAYBOY: I rn any lesson fr
this exper
LEMMON: | certainly did: Stay out of the
Navy. Or failing that: Never goldbrick
outdoors, at least not in Ше winter, and
never without a blanket Mask
stashed in the bushes.

t and sneakers. So I spent the first
the

eer in

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nce?

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151

YOU ONLY LIVE TWICE

(continued from page 112)

from Fukuoka. In public 1 am prepared
to hiss and bow with the best of them.
But, by God. when we're alone, the
password is F :
or ГЇЇ be putting my head under а pile
driver before you get me onto the first
tec, Is tha
Lacquer boxes of rice, raw quails’ eggs
in sauce and bowls of sliced seaweed
were placed in front of them both. Then
they were cach given a fine oval dish
he: lobster whose head. and
tail had been left as a dainty ornament
to the sliced pink flesh in the center.
Bond set to with his chopsticks. He was
rprised to find that the flesh was raw.
He was even more surprised when the
head of his lobster be oll his
and. with questing anac and
bbling feet, tottered. off across the
od God, Tiger" Bond said,
“The damn t s alive!

hissed impatiently, “Re:
Bondosan. | am much disappoint

PLAYBO!Y

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hope you will show improvement during

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maneuvers James Bond bowed

It's thei
itle bi
and he handed his glass to the Ки

tress [or more sake to give him
strength 10 try the seaweed.

They arrived at Beppu on the sonth-
d of Kyushu as the sun was set-

Tiger said that ıl just the
time to see the famous gi nd fu-
maroles of the little spa. In any case,

there would be no time in the morning,
as they would have to start early for F

ka, their final destinatio
ered slightly at the na ic mo-
ment was rapidly approaching when the

- n “ sake and sightseeing would have to stop.
the playmate in her Above the town of Beppu. they visited
give her т ? in turn the ten spectacular “hells” as

they are offi
of sulphur was disgusting,
bling. burping nest of
roles was more horrific than the last. The
steaming mud and belching geysers were
of different colors — red, blue and orange
—and everywhere there were warnir
notice d skulls and crossbow to
keep visitors at a safe distance. The tenth
“hell” announced in English and Japa-

упай nese that there would be an eruption
152 Ў EI g key number with order. punctually every 20 minutes. They

ly designated, The stink

PLAYMATE PERFUI

joined a small group of spectators under
the are lights that pinpointed а small
quiescent crater in a rocky area bespat-
tered with mud. Sure enough, in five
minutes, there came a rumbling from
underground and a jet of steaming gray
mud shot 20 feet up imo the air and
splashed down inside the enclosure. As
Bond was turning away, he noticed a
large red painted wheel, heavily pad-
locked and surrounded by wire netting
in a small separate enclosure. There were
warning notices above it and а particu-
larly menacing skull and crossbones.
Bond asked Tiger what it was.

“It says thar this wheel controls the
pulse of the geyser. It says that if this
wheel were screwed down it could result
in the destruction of the entire establish-
ment. It gives the explosive force of the
volcano. if the exhaust valve of the geyser
were to be closed, as the equivalent of a
thousand pounds of TNT. It is, of
course, all a bit of nonsense to attract
the tourists. But now, back to the town,
Bondosan! Since it is our last day to-
he added hastily, "on this par-
т voyage. I have arranged a special
treat. D ordered it by radio [rom the
ship. A fugu feast!"

"What new monstrosity is this?"
Bond asked.

“Fugu is the Japanese blowfish. In
the water, it looks like a brown owl, but
when captured it blows itself up into a
ball covered with wounding spines. We
sometimes dry the skins and put candles
inside and use them as lanterns. But
the flesh is particularly delicious. It is
the staple food of the sumo wrestlers
because it is supposed to be very strength-
giving, The fish is also very popular with
Suicides and murderers because its liver
d sex glands contain а poison which
s death instantaneous

“That's just what E would have chosen
for dinner. How thoughtful of you,
Tige

Tave no fear. Bondo-san. Because of
the dangerous properties of the fsh,
every fugu restaurant has to be manned
by experts and be registered with the
state.”

They left their bags at a Japanese inn
where Tiger had reserved rooms. enjoyed
the o-furo, honorable bath, together in
the bluc-tiled miniature swimming pool
whose water was very hot and smelled
of sulphur, and then, totally relaxed,
went off down the strect leading to the

nd had become enamored of the
civilized, vaguely Roman, bathing habits
of the Japanese. Was it because of these,
becuse they washed outside the bath

instead of wallowing in their own efflu-
via, that they all smelled so clean? Tiger

said bluntly that, at the very best, West-
erners smelled of sweet pork.)

The restaurant had а giant. blowfish
ging as a sign above the door, and

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153

PLAYBOY

154

“Two, four, six, eight...”

inside, to Bonds relief, there. were
Westernstyle chairs and tables at which
a smattering of people were eating with
the intense concentration of the Japa-
nese. They were expected and their
table had been prepared. Bond said,
“Now then, Tiger, I'm not going to
commit honorable suicide without at
least five bottles of sake inside me." The
flasks were brought, all five of them. to
the accompaniment of much tittering by
the waitresses. Bond downed the lot,
tumbler by tumbler, and expressed him-
self satisfied. "Now you can bring on
this blasted blowfish," he said bclli
ently. “and if it kills me it will be doing
a good mrn to our friend the doctor in
his castle.”

A very beautiful white porcelain dish
as big as a bicycle wheel was brought
forward with much ceremony. On it
were arranged, in the pattern of a huge
flower, peral upon petal of a very thin'y
sliced and rather transparent white fish.
Bond followed Tiger's example and set
to with his chopsticks. He was proud of
the fact that he had reached Black Bele
standard with these instruments — the
ability to eat an underdone fried egg

palate and Bond was effusive in his com-
pliments because Tiger, smacking his lips
over each morsel. obviously expected
of him. There followed various side
dishes containing other parts of the fish,
and more sake, but this time containing
raw fugu fins.

Bond sat back and lit a cigarette. He
said. “Well, Tiger. This is nearly the
end of my education. Tomorrow vou say
Lam to leave the nest. How many marks
out of a hundred?”

Tiger looked at him quizzically. “You
have done well, Bondo-san. Apart from
your inclination to make Western jokes
about Eastern customs. Fortunately Tam

man of infinite patience. and 1 must
admit that your company has given me
much pleasure and a certain amount of
amusement, I will award vou seventy-five
marks out of а possible hundred.”

As they rose to go. a man brushed past
Bond to get to the exit. He was a stocky
man with a white masko over his mouth
and he wore an ugly leather hat. The
man on the train!

Well. well! thought Bond. If he shows
up on the last lap to Fukuoka. T'I get
him. If nor, PI reluctantly put it down
to “Funny Coincidence Department.”
But it looks like naught out of a hun-
dred to Tiger for powers of observat

At six in the morning, a car from the
prefect of police in Fukuoka came for
then. There were two police corporals
in the front seat, They went off north-
ward on the coast road at a good pace.
Alter a while, Bond said, “Tiger, we're

being followed. 1 don't care what you
say. The man who stole my wallet was
in the fugu restaurant last night, and
he's now a mile behind on a motorcycle
—or ГЇ cat my hat. Be a good chap
and tell the driver to dodge up a side
road and then go after him and get him.
Ive got a sharp nose for these things
and T ask vou 10 do what T say."

Tiger grunted. He looked back and
then issued rapid instructions to the
driver. The driver said, "Hai!" briskly.
and the corporal at his side unbuttoned
the holster of his M-14 automatic. Tiger
flexed his powerful fingers.

"They came to a track on the left which
went into the scrub. The driver did a
good racing change and pulled in out of
sight of the road. He cut his engine.
They listencd. The roar of a motorcycle
approached and receded. The driver
reversed sharply onto the road and tore
off in pursuit. Tiger issued more sharp
instructions. He stid to Bond, "I have
told him to try warning the man with his
siren and if he doesn't stop to ride him
into the ditch.”

"Well. I'm glad you're giving him a
chance," said Bond, beginning to have
qualms. “I may be wrong and he may
only be a Fuller-brush man in а hui

They were doing 80 along the wind-
up with the
man's dust and then there was the ma-
chine itself. The man was hunched over
the handlebars, going like hell.

The driver said something. Tiger
translated, "He savs it’s a 500-cc. Honda.
On that, he could casily get away from
us. But even Japanese crooks are men of
discipline. He will prefer to obey the
sir i

road. They soon cam

"The siren wailed and then screamed.
The white mask gleamed as the man
glanced over his shoulder. He braked
slowly to a stop. His right hand went
inside his jacket. Bond had his hand on
the door taich. He said, “Watch out,
Tiger. he's got a gun!" and, as they
pulled up alongside. he hurled himself
out of the door and crashed into the
man. knocking him and his machine to
the ground. The corporal beside the
driver took a flying leap and the two
bodies rolled into the ditch. Almost
immediately the corporal got to his feet
He had a ned knife in
hand. He threw it aside and tore at
the man's coat and shirt, He looked up
and shook his head. Tiger shouted
something and the corporal began slap
ping the man's face as hard as he could
from side to side. The masko was
recognized. the
He said, sick
Tiger! The

bloods: his

knocked off and Bond
snarlir

rictus of death.

"Stop him, man’s

er walked down into the ditch. He
picked up the man's knife and bent
down and slit the right sleeve of the
corpse up to the shoulder. Hc looked

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155

PLAYBOY

“And what seems to be bothering you?”

“Well, doctor, you see, I have this man under my feet...”
156

and then called Bond down. He pointed
to a black ideogram tattooed in the
crook of the man's arm. He said, “You
were right, Bondosan. He is a Black
^ He stood up and, his face con-
torted, spat out: “Shimatta!”

The two policemen were standing by
looking politely ballled. Tiger gave them
orders. They searched the man’s clothing
nd extracied various commonplace ob-
jects including Bond's wallet, with the

5000 yer still intact, and a cheap diary.
They handed everything to Tiger and
then hauled the corpse out of the ditch
and stulled ir roughly into the boot of
the car. Then they hid the motoreycle
in some bushes and everyone dusted
themselves and got back into the car.
After a few moments Tiger siid
thoughtfully, "It is incredible! These
people must have a permanent tail on
me in Tokyo." He rifled through the
diary. “Yes, all my movements for the
past week and all the stopping places on
our journey. You are simply described as
a gaijin. But he could have telephoned
a description. This is indeed an unfor-
tunate business, Bondosan. 1 apol
ogize most deeply. You may alrcady be
rated. ly absolve
у your It is entirely my
fault for be s. I have not been
taking these people seriously enough. 1
must talk with Tokyo as soon as we get
to Fukuoka. But at least you have seen
n example of the measures Doctor

Shatterhand takes for his protection
There is certainly more to this man than
meets the eye. At some time in his life he

must have been an experienced. intelli
gence agent. To have discovered my
identity, for instance, which is a state
secret. To have recognized me as his
chiel enemy. To have taken the appro-

countermeasures to ensure his
ther a great. тайт.
e Bondo-

il. You agr

s mighty like it. I'm really get
ting quite keen to have a sight of the
fellow. And don't worry about the
mission. This was probably just the jolt
1 needed to get the wind under my tai
"The headquarters of the local depart-
ment of the Sosaka, the CID, for the
southern island of Kyushu, was just off
the main street of Fukuoka. И wis a
stern-looking building in yellow lavatory
brick in a style derived from the G
man. Tiger confirmed that it had be
the headquarters of the Ke
se Gestapo. before
is received with pomp. The
office of the chief of the CID was small
and cluttered. Superintendent Ando
himself looked to Bond like any oiher
Japanese salary man, but he had a mili-
tary bearing and the eyes behind the rim-
less spectacles were quick and hard. Bond
sat patiently smoking while much conver-
sation went on. A blown-up.

of the Gastle of Death and the surround
ing country was produced from a filing
cabinet and laid out on the desk. Su
perintendent Ando weighed down the
corners with ashtrays and other hardware
and Tiger called him over with a respect,
Bond noticed, that was not lost on the
Superintendent. 1t crossed Bond's mind
that he had heaped much on on Tiger
or alternatively that Tiger had lost much
face vis-a-vis Bond by the business of
the Black Dragon agent
"Please to examine this photograph.
Bondosan. The Superintendent says that
а clandestine approach from the land-
ward side is now very difficult. The sui-
cides pay local peasants to lead them
through these marshlands.” he pointed,
"and there are recognized breaches
the walls surrounding the property which
constantly changed and kept open
for the suicides. Every time the Supe:
intendent posts a guard at onc of them,
another is made known (о the peasants
by the castle guards. He says he is at his
wi end. Twenty bodies have been
fetched to the mortuary in the past week.
The Superintendent wishes to hand
his resignation.

“Naturally.” said Bond. "And then
perhaps honorable fugu poisoning. Let's
have a lool

At first glance, Bond's he
He might just as well tr

Tiger said,

t quailed.
and storm

Windsor Castle singlehanded! The es
nse of a small
promontory that jutted our into the sea
from a rocky coast. and the 200-foot cliff
round the promontory had been revetted
with giant stone blocks down to the
breaking waves to form ап unbroken
wall that sloped slighuy up to gun ports
and the irregularly sited, tiled watch-
towers. From the top of this wall there
appeared to be a ten foot drop into the
park. heavily treed and shrubbed be-
tween winding streams and a broad lake
with a small island in its center. Steam
appeared to be rising from the lake and
there were occasional wisps of it among
the shrubbery. At the back of the prop-
erty stood the castle. protected from the
low-lying countryside by a comparati
modest wall. It would be over thi
that the suicides gained access. The cas-
Пе itself was a giant fourstoried affair
n the Japanese tradition, with swooping,
winged roofs of glazed tile. Dolphin-
shaped finials decorated the topmost
story, and there was a profusion of other
decorative devices, small balconies, iso-
lated turrets and gazebos so that the
whole black-painted edifice, edged here
and there with what Tiger said was
paint, gave the impression of a brilli
attempt: to make a stage setting for D
ula, Bond picked up a large magnify-
ng glass and ran over the whole property

tate covered the whole exp:

inch by inch, bur there was nod
more to be gleaned except the presence
of an occasional diminutive figure at
work in the park or raking the gravel
round the castle.

Bond laid down the glass. He said
gloomily, “That’s not a castle! That's a
fortress! How am I supposed to get into
the bloody place?
"he Superintendent. asks if you are
« a complete
ab.

a good swimmer. I have 1

outfit sent down from my ninjutsu єз
lishment. The seaward wall would pre-
sent no problems."
“I can swim well enough. but how do
1 get to the base of the wall? Where do
1 start from?
"The Superintendent s
Ama island called Kuro only half a mile
out to эса.”
"What's an /
“They exist at different places round
Japan. I believe there аге some fifty
such settlements. The Ama are a tribe
whose girls dive for the awabi shells —
that is our local abalone. A clam. It is
a great delicacy. They sometimes dive
for pearl oysters. They dive naked. Some
of them are very beautiful. But they keep
themselves very much to themselves and
visitors to their islands are completely
discouraged. They have their own prim
tive culture and customs, 1 suppose you
could compare them to sea gypsies, They

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158

rarely marry outside the tribe, and it
that which has made them а race apart.

"Sounds intriguing. but how am I
going 10 make a base on this Kuro Is-
I may have to wait days for the
ther to be right.”

Tiger spoke rapidlv to the Sup
vendent aud. there was а lengthy reply-
ger with interest
ned to Bond. "It
tendent

“Ah. sa desu ka!" said T

asm. He cui
seems that the Supe
tantly related to a family on Kuro. It is
most interesting family. There is

d a mother and one daughter.
led Kissy Suzuki. I have heard
of her. When she was seventeen, she
became famous in Japan by being chosen
10 go to Hollywood to make a film. They
med a Japanese diving girl of gr
beauty and someone had heard of her.
She made the film, but hated Hollywood
and longed only to retur

ad enthu

is dis-

to her Ama
life. She could have made a fortune, but
she retired to this obscure island. There
was to-do in the press at the
time, and it was judged that she had
behaved most honorably. They chri
tened her “The Japanese Garbo! But
Kissy will now be twenty-three and every-
one has forgotten about her. The Super-
intendent says that he could arrange for
you tos y. They seem
to have some obligation toward him. He
says it is a simple house, but comfortable
because of the money this girl earned i

Hollywood. The other houses on the
iland are nothing but fishermen’s
acks,

“Bur won't the rest of the commun
resent me being there?
"No. The people of the island belong
to the Shinto religion. The Superintend-
ent will speak to the Shinto priest and
everything will be OK.”
All right, so 1 stay on this is
then one night | sw
wall. How do I get up
"You will have the ninja outht. It i
. You will use it. It is vei
"Then what do I do?
"You hide up in the grounds and wait
for an opportunity to kill him. How you
do that is up to you. As 1 told you, he
goes about in armor. А man in armor is
very vulnerable. You only have to knock
him off his feet. Then you will throule
him with the ninja chain you will be
t. If his wife is
too. She

and and
m across to thc

her

y simple.”

wearing round your wi

and
you esc

yway she is too ugh
pe over the wall and swim back
to Kuro. There you will be picked up
by the police launch which will v
place at once. The news of the death will
quickly get round.”

Bond said doubtfully, "Well. it
sounds very simple. But what about these
guards? The place is crawling with
them.

“You must just keep out of thei

As vou сап sec, the park is full of hiding

places.”

“Thanks very much. In one of those
poison bushes or up one of those i
Т don’t want to bli

d mysell or go ma

“And I'm telling you there's no one
in here — now go eat your porridge!”

“The ninja clothing will give you
complete protection. You will have a
black suit for night and а camoullage
one for the day. You will wear the swim-
gles 19 protect your eyes. All
ї vou will tow over in a

ming

this equipme
plastic bag which will be provided.

“My dear Tiger. you've thought of
everything. But I'A much rather have
just one liule gun.

“That would be crazy, Bondosan, You
know perfectly well that silence will be
essential. And with a silencer, which
would be very heavy to swim with. the
speed of the bullet would be so much
reduced that you might not pierce the
armor. No. my friend. Use ninjutsu. It
is the only w

“Oh. all right." said Bond resignedly.
Yow lets have a look at a photograph
of this chap. Has the Superintendent
got one?”

1t had been taken from a long way
away with a telephoto lens, It showed
а giant figure in full medieval cha
mor with the jagged. winged helmet of
ancient rs. Bond studied
the photograph carefully, noting the vu
nerable spots at neck and joints. А metal
shield protected the man’s groin. A wide.

led samurai sword hung from his
waist, but there was no sign of any other

Bond said thoughtfully. "He
look as daft as he ought to.
Probably because of the Dracula setting.
Have vou got one of his face? Perhaps
he looks a bit madder in the raw.”

The Superintendent went to the bor
10m of his file and extracted what looked
like a blown-up copy of Doctor Guntram
Shatterhand’s passport. photograph and
ded it over.

Bond took it nonchalandy. Then his
whole body stiffened. He said to himself,
God Almighty! God Almighty! Ye
There was no doubt, no doubt at all! He
had grown a drooping black mustache.
He had had the syphilitic nose repaired.
There was a gold-capped tooth amon
the upper frontals. but there could be
no doubt. Bond looked up. He said,
“Have you got one of the woman?

Startled by the look of controlled
venom on Bond's face. and by the pallor
that showed through the walnut dye, the
Superintendent bowed energetically and
scrabbled through his file.

Yes, there she was. the bitch — the
flat, ugly wardress face, the dull eyes, the
scraped back bun of hair.

Bond held the pictures, not looking at
them, thinking. Emst Stavro Blofeld.
Irma. Bunt. So this was where they had
come to hide! And the long, strong gut
of fate bad lassoed him to them! They
of all people! He of all people! A t
ride down t

жеаро
doesn't

t in this remote corner
of Japan, Could they smell him coming?
Had the dead spy got hold of his name
and told them? Unlikely, The power and
prestige of Tiger would have protected

4
(R
UN

м ®

) — {Цацщ Club News :

VOL. II, NO. 46

01003, PLAYBOY CLUBS IN
DISTINGUISHED CLUBS IN MAJOR CITIES

NATIONAL

SPECIAL EDITION

YOUR ONE

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ADMITS YOU TO ALL PLAYBOY CLUBS

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LATE FLASHES

LONDON — Victor Lownes
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PLAYBOY

160

him. Privacy, discretion, are the heart-
beat of Japanese inns. But would the
know that an enemy was on his w

Phat fate had arranged this appoint-
ment in Samara? Bond looked up from
the pictures. He was in cold control of
himself. This was now a private matter.
It had nothing to do with Tiger or
Japan, Jt had nothing to do with
MAGIC н. It was an ancient feud. He said
casually, “Tiger, could the Superintend-
ent inquire what hi
made of that Black Dragon agent
of his belongings? 1 am particul
terested to know whether he may
telephoned or telegraphed my descrip-
tion or my purpose in coming down
here.”

There was a long and clectric silence
in the room. Tiger examined Dond's face
with piercing interest before he passed
the inquiry on to the Superintendent.
The Superintendent. picked up the re-
ceiver of an old-fashioned telephone on
a double hook. He spoke into it, then,
1 Japanese habit, blew sharply into the
mouthpiece to clear the line, and spoke
again at length. He said, “Ah, so desu
ny times. Then he put down the
receiver. When he had finished talking,

iger turned. to Bond, Again with the
piercing appraisal of Bond's face,
he said, “The man came from these parts.
He has a police record, Fortunately, he
was poorly educated and is known as
more than a stupid thug. On the
first page of the diary he wrote down his
ment, йыла was only 10 follow
ation and then report to

is unlikely ths
ds for expensive com-

detectives have
And

he was

ions. But what is it, Bondo-san?
Is it that you know these people?"
James Bond laughed. Wt was a laugh

that grated. Even to Bond, it sounded
harsh and false in the small room. He
had immediately made up his mind to
keep his knowledge to himself. To те
veal the nue identity of Doctor Shattei
hand would be to put the whole cise
hack into official channels. The Japanese
Secret Service and the СТА would swarm
down to Fukuoka. Blofeld and Ima
Bunt would be arrested, James Bond's
posonal prey would be snatched from
him. There would be no revenge! Bond
"Good Lord, no! But | am some-
thing of a physiognomist, When I saw
this man’s face, it was as if someone
had walked over my grave. 1 have а
feeling that, whether I succeed or not,
the outcome of this mission is going to
he decisive for one or the other of us.
It will not be a drawn game. But
I have a number of further questions
with which I must worry you and the
Superintendent. They are small matters
of detail. but Т want to get everything
he before Y start.”

Tiger looked relieved.
lism in Bonds face

now

The raw ani-
had been so

ferent from the мока, ironical Face
of the Bondosan for whom he had come

to have so much affection. He gave his
great golden smile and said. "But of
course, ad. And I am pleased

h your worries and with the trouble
you are taking to make sure of every-
thi icc. You will forgive me

i 1 quote you one last Japanese proverb.
It says, “A reasonable number of fleas
is good for a dog. Otherwise the dog
fo he is a dog’
sood old Basho!” said Bond.
James Bond went through the rest of
the morning like an automaton. While
he tied on his ninja equipment and
watched each iem being carefully
packed into a floatable plastic container,
his mind was tota d with the
mage of his cn » Blofeld,
the great gangster founded.

ter-Intelligence, Terrorism, Revenge and
Extortion, the man who was wanted by
the police of all the NATO countries,
the who had murdered "Trac
Bond's wife for less than а day.
nine months ago. And. in those nine
months, this evil genius had invented a
new method of collecting death, as Ti
had put it This cover as the Swiss
Doctor Shatterhand, as a rich botanist.

a bare

must have been one of the many he had

wisely built up over the years, It would
have been easy. A few gilts of rare plants
to famous botanical gardens, the financ-
ing of a handful of expeditions. and all
the while in the back of his mind the
plan one ¢
jardin.” And what
that would be like a d
human beings. a

1 son
arden
Шу flytrap fo
illing bottle for those
who wanted to die, And of course Japan,
with the highest suicide statistics in the
world, à country with an unquenchable
thirst for the bizarre, the cruel and the
terrible, would. provide the perfect last
refuge for him. Blofeld must have gone
olf his head, but with a monstrous. cal-
culating madness — the madness of the
genius he undoubtedly was. And the
whole demoniac concept was on Blofeld's
usual grand scale — the scale of a Calig-
ula, of a Nero, of a Hider, of any other
reat enemy of mankind. The speed of
execution was breath-taking, the
penditure fabulous. the planning, down
to the use of the Black Dragon Society,
meticulous, and the cover as impeccable
as the Piz Gloria Clinic which. less than
а year before, Bond had helped to de
suoy uucily. And now the two enemies
ned up but this time David
was spurred on to kill hi: th not
by duty but by blood feud! And with
what weapons? Nothing but his bare
hands, а two-inch pocketknife and
thin chain of steel. Well, similar
weapons had served him before. Surprise
would be the determining factor. Bond

ex-

Gol

added a pair of black flippers to his
equipment, а small supply of pei
like meat, Benzedrine tablets, а plastic
flask of water. Then he was ready.
They motored down the main street
to where the police launch was waiting
at the jetty and set oll at a good 20
knots across the beautiful bay and round
the headland into the Sea of Genkai
Tiger produced sandwiches and a f
of sake for
their luncheon as the jagged green сод
with its sandy beaches passed slowly by
10 port. Tiger pointed out a distant dot
on the horizon. “Kuro Island,” he said.
"Cheer up. Bondo-san! You seem pre-
occupied. Think of all those beautiful
naked women you will soon be
ming with! And this J
Garbo with whom you w
the nigh
“And the sharks who will alre;
gathering at the news of my swim to
the castle

k
cach of them, and they ate

ipanese
I be

“IE they do not eat the Am why
should they eat a bit of tough English-

man? Look at the two fish eagles circling!
That is an excellent augury. One alone
would have been less propitious, Fou

would have been disastrous, for with
us. four is the same аз your thirteen —
the worst mber of all. But, Bondo-

san, docs it not amuse you to think of
that foolish dragon dozing all unsuspect-
ing in his castle while Saint George comes
silently riding toward his Jair across the
waves. It would make the subject for a
most entertaining Japanese print.”
“You've got a funny sense of humor,

ger.”

It is merely different from you
Most of our funny stories involve death
or disaster. 1 am not a ‘picture daddy’
—a professional storyteller — but 1 will
tell vou my favorite. It concerns the
young girl who comes to the toll bridge.
She tosses one sen, à very small piece of
money, to the v
The watchman calls у
You know that the toll for crossing the
bridge is two s
"But 1 do not intend to aos: Ше bridge.
I intend only to go halfway and then

throw myself into the river."
laughed uproariously.
Bond smiled politely. "T must

that one up for London. They'll split
their sides over

The small speck on the horizon grew
larger and soon revealed itself
homed island about five miles
cumference with steep clilfs and
harbor facing north. On the m
Doctor Shatterhand’s small peninsula
reached out into the sca, and the for
tresslike black wall soared up out of the
breaking waves. Above it were the tops
of trees, and behind them, in the di:
tance, the winged roof of the topmost
story of the castle broke the skyline, ‘The
formidable silhouette reminded Bond

a
in cir
small
dand.

“You would be the one to wonder how many
people are doing that right now!”

PLAYBOY

162

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vaguely of photographs of Alcatraz taken
from sea level. He shivered slightly at
the thought of the night's swim across
the half-mile channel and of the black
spider that would then scale those soar-
ing fortifications. Ah well! He turned
his attention back to Kuro Island.

Jt appeared to be made of black vol-
canic rock, but there was much green
vegetation right up to the summit of
small peak on which there was some
kind of a stone beacon. When they
rounded the headland that formed опе
arm of the bay, a crowded little village
and a jetty appeared. Out to sea, 30 or
more rowing boats were scattered and
there was the occasional glint of pink
flesh in the sunlight. Naked children
were playing among the big smooth
black boulders that tumbled like bathing
hippos along the shoreline, and there
were green nets hung up to dry. It was
a pretty scene, with the delicate remote-
ness, the fairyland quality, of small fish-
ing communities all the world over.
Bond took an immediate liking [or the
place, as if he was arriving at a destina-
tion that had been waiting for him and.
that would be friendly and welcoming.

А group of village elders, grave,
gnarled old men with the serious exv-
pressions of simple people on important
occasions, led by the Shinto priest, was
on the jetty to welcome them. The prie:
was in ceremonial robes, a dark-red,
thice-quarter-length kimono with vast
hanging sleeves, a turquoise skirt in
broad pleats and the waditional shining
black hat in the shape of a blunt cone.
He was a man of simple dignity and
considerable presence, middle-aged, with
a round face and round spec
a pursed, judging mouth. His shrewd
eyes took them in one by one as they
came ashore, but they rested lon
Bond. Superintendent Ando м
with f

greeted
ndship as well as respect. This
was part of his parish, and he was the
ultimate source of all fishing permits,
rellecied Bond ungraciously, but he had
to admit that the deference of the bows
was not exaggerated and that he was
lucky in his ambassador. They proceeded
up the cobbled path of the main street
to the priest’s house, a modest, weather-
beaten affair of stone and carpentered
driftwood. They entered and sat on the
spotless polished wood floor in an arc
in front of the priest, and the Super-
intendent made a long speech punc-
tuated by serious “Hais!” and “Ah, so
desu kast” from the priest, who occa-
ionally let his wise eyes rest thought-
fully on Bond. He made a short speech
in return, to which the Superintendent
and Tiger listened with deference. Tiger
replied, and the business of the mecting
was over save for the inevitable tea.
Bond asked Tiger how his presence
and mission had been explained. Tiger
said that it would have been of no use

lying to the pricst who was a shrewd
man, so he had been told most of the
truth. The priest had expressed regret
that such extreme measures were con-
templated, but he agreed that the castle
across the sea was a most evil place and
its owner a man in league with the Devil.
In the circumstances. he would give the
project his blessing and James Bond
would be allowed to stay on the island
for the minimum time necessary to ac

complish his mission.
The priest would invite the Suzuki
family to accord him an honorable wel-
come. Bond would be explained away
to the elders as a famous gaijin anthro-
pologist who had come to study the Ama
way of life. Bond should therefore study
it, but the priest requested that Bond
should
"Which means," explained "Tiger with
a malicious grin. "that vou are not to
go to bed with the gils.
In the evening they walked back to
the jetty. The sea was а dark slate color
and minor-caim. The little boats, be-
decked with colored flags which meant
that it had been an exceptional day's
y back.
The emire population of Kuro, perhaps
200 souls, was lined up along the shore
to greet the heroines of the day, the
older people holding carefully folded
shawls and blankets to warm up the
girls on their way to their homes where,
ccording to Tiger, they would be given
hot basin baths to get back their circu-
lation and remove all
It was now five o'clock.

behave in a

сете manner.

fishing, were winging their wi

traces of salt,

‘They would

be asleep by eight, said Tiger. and out
again

with the dawn. 7 T was sym-
You will have to adjust your
n. And your way of lile,
The Ama live very frugally, very cheaply,
for their carnings are small—no more
than the price of sp tears, as we
say. And for heaven's sake, be very polite
to the parents, particularly the father.
As for Kissy . . .” He left the sentence
hanging in the air.

Eager hands reached for cach boat
and, with happy shouts, pulled it up on
the black pebbles. Big wooden tubs were
lifted out and rushed up the beach to
a kind of rickety market where. accord-
ing to Tiger, the awabi were graded and
priced. Meanwhile, the chattering, smil-
ing girls waded in through the shallows
and cast modestly appraising glances at
the three mainland strangers on the jetty.

To Bond, they all seemed beautiful
and gay in the soft evening light — the
proud. rather ca ppled breasts,
the gleaming, muscled buttocks, cleft by
the black cord that held in
frontal triangle of black cotton, the pow-
erful thong round the waist with its
string of oval lead weights, through
which was stuck an angular steel pick,
the white rag round the tumbled hi
and, below, the laughing dark eyes and

row

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164

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NAME.
ADDRESS.

lips that were happy with the luck of the
day. At that moment, it all seemed to
Bond as the world, as life, should
and he felt ashamed at his city-slicker
appear let alone the black designs
it concealed.

One girl, rather taller than the rest.
scemed to pay no attention to the men
on the jetty or to the police launch rid-
ing beside it. She was the center of a
сома of 14 s as she waded
with a rather long.
stride over the shiny
up the beach. She fl
at her companions and they gi
ting their hands up to th
Then a wizened old wom:
se brown blanket to her
pped it round herself and the group
dispersed.

The couple, the old woman and the
young one, walked up the beach to the
market. The young one talked excitedly.
The old one paid attention and nodded
The priest was waiting for them. They
bowed very low. He talked to tl and
they listened with humility, casting oc-
casional glances toward the group on the
jetty. The tall gil drew her blanket
more closely round her. James Bond had
ady. Now he knew.
Suzuki.

tired priest. the
woman and the tall na
in her drab blanket came along the jetty,
the girl hanging back. In a curious way
they were a homogencous trio, and the
priest might have been the
women stopped and the priest c:
ward. He bowed to Bond and

nd mother of Kissy Suzu!
be honored to receive you th
humble abode for whose poverty they
apologize. They regret that they are not
accustomed to Western ways, but th
daughter is prof in English as a
result of her work in. Ameri ad will
endeavor to convey your wishes to them.
The priest asks if you can row a boat.
The father, who previously rowed for
his daughter, is stricken with rheuma:
tism. It would be of great assistance to
the family if you would deign to take
his place,

Bond bowed. He said, “Please coi
ta his reverence that I am most grateful
for his intercession on my behalf. I
would be most honored to have a place.

ery modest and I

Чу enjoy the Japanese way of life.

Г would be most pleased to row the

boat or help the household in

any other He added, sotto voce,

"Tiger, I may need these people's help

when the time comes, Particularly the
girl's. How much can I tell herz"

Tiger said softly, "Use your discre-

tion. The priest knows, therefore the girl

can know. She will not spread it abroad.
And now come forward and let th
priest introduce you. Don't forget that
your name here is Taro, which means
"first son,” Todoroki, which means 'thun-
der.’ The priest is not interested in your
name. I have said that this is an
approximation of your English name. It
doesn't matter. Nobody will care. But
you must try to assume some semblance
of a Japanese personality for when you
get to the other side. This name is on
your identity card and on your miner's
unior

card from the coal mines of Fu
kuoka. You need not bother with these
things here, for you mong friends.
On the other side, if you are caught, you
will show the card that says you
deaf and dumb. All right?

Tiger talked to the priest and Bond
was led forward to the two women, He
Lowed low to the mother, but hc remem-
bered not to bow too low
only ıd the:
sinl.

She laughed gaily. She didn't titter or
giggle, she actually laughed. She said,
"You don't have to bow to me and I
shall never bow to you." She held out
her hand. “How do you do. My name is
Kissy Suzuki."

The hand was ice-cold
name is Taro Todoro
to have kept you h
cold and vou ought to go and have your
hor bath. It is very kind of your family
to accept me as your guest, but 1 do
not want to be an imposition. Are you
sure it’s all right
Whatever the kannushi-san, the priest,
says is all right. And | have been cold
п you have finished with
ished friends, my mother
appy to lead you to ош
house. I hope you are good at peeling
potatoes.”

Bond was delighted. Thank God for
a straightforward gitl at last! No more
bowing and hissing! He said, “I took a
degree in it And Î am strong and will
ing and I don't snore, What time do we
take out the boat?

"About fivesthir
comes up. Perhaps vou will bring me
good luck, The awabi shells are not easy
to find. We had а lucky day today and
1 earned about. thirty dolla
not always so."

she was

wom he turned to the

Bond said,
id Dam s
so long. You

When the sun

rs, but it is

"| don't reckon
еп pounds.
"An

m dollars. Lers

't Englishmen the same as Amer-
Isn't the money the пег
“Very alike, but totally different.”

V ‘Al, so desn ka?’

The girl laughed. “You have been well

ined by the important man from

Tokyo. Perhaps you will now say good-

bye to him and we can go home. It is

at the other end of the village:
‘The priest, the Superintendent and

ARS LWGA
WIA BREVIS

Tiger had been talking together. osten-
sibly paying uo attention to Bond and
the girl. The mother had been standing
humbly, but with shrewd eyes, watching
every expression on the two faces. Bond
now bowed again to her and went back
to the group of men.

Г. Dusk was creep-
ing up over the sea and the orange ball
of the sun had already lost its brilliance
in the evening haze. The engine of the
police boat had been started up and its
exhaust bubbled softly. Bond thanked
the Superintendent and was wished good
fortune in honorable endeavors.
Tiger looked serious. He took Bond:
hand in both of his, an unusual gesture
for a Japanese. He said. "Bondo-san, 1
am certain you will succeed, so I will not
wish you luck. Nor will I
farewell. I will simply sa
zai" to you and give you this little pre-
sento in case the gods frown upon your
venture a ult of yo

gs go wrong, very wrong." He took
ош a little box and gave it to Bond.

The box rattled. Bond opened it. In-

side was one long brownish pill. Bond

Farewells were br

his

1, through no

laughed. He gave it back to Tiger and
said, "No thanks, Tiger. As Basho said.
or almost said, "You only live twice.” If
my second life comes up. I would
look it in the lace and not turn my ba

on it. But thank nks for every-
Those live lobsters werc really
delicious. I shall now look forward to

ед

ting plenty of seaweed while I'm here.
So long! See you in about a weel

Tiger got down into the boat and the
engine revved up. As the boat took the

swell at the entrance to the harbor.
Tiger raised a hand and brought it
swiltly down with a chopping motion
id then the boat was round the sea
wall and out of sight.
Bond tumed away. The priest had
Suzuki said impatiently.

shisan says Tam to treat you as а com
rade, as an equal. But give me one ol
those two little bags to carry. For the
sake of the villagers who will be watch-
ing inquisitively. we will wear the Ori
ental face in public.

And the tall man with the dark face,
cropped hair and slanting eyebrows, the

165

PLAYBOY

166

tall girl. and the old woman walked off
along the shore with their angular Japa-
nese shadows preceding them across the
smooth black boulders,

Dawn was a beautiful haze of gold
1 blue. Bond went outside and ate
his bean curd and rice and drank his tea
sitting on the spotless doorstep of the
litle curstone and timbered house,
while indoors the family chattered like
happy sparrows as the women went
about their housework.

Bond had been allowed the room of
honor, the small siting room with
tatami mats, scraps of furniture, house
shrine and a cricket in a small cage “to
keep you company.” as Kissy һай ex-
plained. Here his futon had been spread
on the ground and he һай for the first

time and with fair success tried sleeping
with his head on the waditional wooden
pillow. The evening before. the father,
n wed graybeard with. knotted

1 bright, squirrel eyes,
hed with and at him а
ned Bond's
ventures with Ti

count. of st

iger, and there was from

sence of u
or selfconsciousness. The p
that Bond should be treated as
ber of the family and, although his

pearance and some of his manners were
strange. Kissy had apparently announced
her unqualified approval of him and the
parents followed her lead. At nine
o'clock, under the three-quarter moon,
the father had beckoned to Bond and
had hobbled out with him to the back
of the house. He showed him the lite
shack with the hole in the ground and
the neatly qu pages of the Asahi
Shimbun on a wb the dust of

the ам а complete

sland was removed. His flickering candle
showed the place to be as spotless as
the house, and at least. adequately salu-
brious. After the soft movements in the
other two rooms had ceased. Bond had
slept happily and like the dead.

Kissy

ame out of the house, She was
a kind of white couon night-
white cotton kerchief bound
up the thick black waves of her hair. She
wore her equipment, the weights and the
heavy flat angular pick, over the white
d only her arms and feet were
Boud may have shown his disap-
She lau ng him
dress for diving in
the pi nt strangers. The
kannushi-san instructed me to wear it
in your company. As а mark of respect,
of course,”
“Kissy, 1 believe that is a fib. The
truth of the matter is that you consider
that your nakedness might arouse dis-
honorable thoughts in my impious We
em mind, That is a most unworthy
suspicion. However. Т accept the delicacy
of your respect for my susceptibili
And now lers cut the cackle and get
going. We'll beat the awabi record 10-
day. What should we ai
Пу would be good, A hundred
would be wonderful. But above all, you
must row well and not let me diown.
And you must be kind to David.”
“Who's David?" asked Bond. suddenly
jealous at the thought that he would
not be having this girl 10 himself,
“Wait and sce.” She went back
doors and brought out the b
tub and a grea
rope. She h
hoisted the tub on her hip. leading the
way along a small path away from the
village. The path descended slowly to

dress

hed, tc,

esence of

сз.

Isa-wood
rte

coil of fine qu

ded the rope to B

“Well, what kind of a day has it been?”

a small cove in which one rowing boat
covered with dried reeds to protect it
from the sun. was drawn high up on the
flat black pebbles. Bond stripped oll the
reeds and lid them aside and hauled

the simple, locally made craft down to

the sea. It was constructed of some heavy
wood and lay low but stable in the
deeply shelving. totally transparent
water. He loaded in the rope and the
wooden tub. Kissy had gone to the
other side of the litle bay and had
undone a string from one of the rock;
She began winding it in slowly and at
the same time low. cooing
whistle. To Bond's astonishment, ther
a flurry in the water of the bay and
black cormorant shot like a bullet
through the shallows and waddled up
the beach to Kissv's feet, craning its neck
up and down and hissing, apparently in
anger. But Kissy bent down and stroked
the creaue on its plumed head a
down the outstretched neck, at the same
time talking to it She came to-
ward the boat, winding up the long
пе, and the cormorant followed dum-
sily. It paid no attention to Bond, but
mped untidily over the side of the
t and saambled onto the small

ily.

be
thwart in the bows where it squatted

ally and proceeded to preen i

ing its long bill down and
through its breast feathers and occasio
ally opening iis wings to the full extent
of their five-foot span and flapping them
with gentle grace. Then, with a final
shimmy through all its length, it settled
down and gazed out to sea with its neck
coiled backward as if to strike and its
turquoise eyes questing the horizon in

periously.

Kissy climbed. ıd settled
herself with her knees hunched decor-
ously between. Bond's outstretched leg;
and Bond slid the heavy, narrow-bladed
ours into their wooden rowlocks and be
gan rowing ar a powerful, even p
more or less, under Kissy's direction,
north.

He had noticed that Kissy’s li
the cormorant ended with a thi
ring, perhaps two inches in diameter,
round the base of the bird's neck. This
would be one of the famous fishing cor

is of Japan. Bond asked her
tit.

Kissy said. “I found him as a baby
three years ago. He had oil on his wings
and I cleaned him and cared for him
and had him ringed. The ring has had
to be made larger as he grew up, Now,
you see, he сап swallow small fish, but
big ones he brings to the surface
beak. He hands them over quite
БЕЙ А
of a big опе as а reward. Не swims а
Jot by my side and keeps me company
lt can be very lonely down there, |
ly when the sea is dark. You м
have to hold the end of the line

ta the boat

ally he gets a piece

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PLAYBOY

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look after him when he comes to the
surface. Today he will be hungry. He
has not been out for three days because
my father could not row the boat. I
have been going out with friends. So it
is lucky for him that you came to the
island.”

“So th

"Yes. I named him after the only man

is David?"

famous actor and producer. You
have heard of him?

“ОГ course. І shall enjoy tossing him
a scrap or two of fish in exchange lor the
pleasure he has given me in his other
incarnation.”

The sweat began to pour down Bond’s
face and chest into his bathing pants
Kissy undid the kerchief round her hair
and leaned forward and mopped at him
gently. Bond smiled into her almond
eyes and had his first close-up of her
snub nose and. petaled mouth, She wore
no make-up and did not need to, for
she had that rosy-tinted skin on a golden
background — the colors of а golden
peach — that is quite common in Japan.
Her hair, released from the kerchief,
was black with dark-brown highlights
It was heavily waved, but with a soft
fringe that ended au inch or so above
the straight. fine eyebrows that showed
no signs of having been plucked. Her
teeth were even and showed no more
prominently between the lips than with

а European girl, so that she avoided the
toothiness that is a weak point in the
Japanese face. Her arms and legs were
longer and less masculine than is usual
with Japanese girls and, the day before,
Bond had seen that her breasts and but
tocks were firm and proud and that her
stomach was almost Па = а beautilul
figure, equal to that of any of the star
chorus girls he had seen in the cabarets
of Tokyo. But her hands and feet were
rough and scarred with work, and her
fingernails and toenails, although they
were cut very short, were broken. Bond
found this rather endearing. Ama means

“sea girl” or "sea man,” and Kissy wore
the marks of competing with the crea-
tures of the ocean with obvious indiller
ence, and her skin, which might hi
suffered from constant contact with
wite

c
lt
‚їп fact glowed with a golden sheen
of health and vitality. But it was the
charm and directness of her eyes and
smile as well as her complete naturalness
— for instance, when she mopped at
Bond's face and chest — that. endeared
her so utterly to Bond. At that moment,
he thought there would be nothing more
wonderful than to spend the rest of his
lile rowing her out toward the horizon
during the day and coming back with
her to the small, clean house in the
dusk.

He shrugged the whimsy aside. Only
another two days to the full moon and

he would have to get back to reality, to
the dark, dirty life he had chosen for
himself. He put the prospect out of his
mind. Today and the next day would
be stolen days, days with only Kissy
and the boat and the bird and the sea
He must just see to it that they were
happy days and lucky ones for her and
her harvest of sea shells.

Kissy said, "Not much longer. And you
have rowed well.” She gestured to the
right, to where the rest of the Ama ficer
was spread out over the ocean. "With
is first come, first served with the
sites we choose. Today we can get out
as far as a shoal most of us know of,
and we shall have it to ourselves. There
the seaweed is thick on the rocks and
that is what the awabi feed on. It is
deep. about forty feet, but I can stay
down for almost a minute, long enough
to pick up two, three awabi if I can find
them. That is just a matter of luck in
feeling about with the hands among the
seaweed, for you rarely see the shells.
You only feel uh
with this,”

m and dislodge them
ped her angular pi
shall have to rest.

she ta
“Alter a while I
perhaps you would like to go down. Yes?
They tell me you are a good swimmer
and I have brought a pair of my father's
goggles. These bulbs at the sides,” she
showed him, "have to be squeezed to
equalize the pressure between the glasses
ad the eyes. You will perhaps not be
able to stay down long to begin with.
But you will learn quickly. How long
will you be staying on Kuro?”
"Only two or three days, I'm afraid.”
“Oh, but that is sad. What will David
and I do for а boatman then?”
“Perhaps your father will get better.”
“That is so. 1 must take him то a
cure place at one of the volcanoes on
the n

inland. Otherwise it will mean
marrying one of the men on Kuro. That
is not easy. The choice is not wide and,
because I have a little money from my
filmwork, and a lite is а lot on Kuro,
the man might want to many me for
the wrong reasons. That would be sad,
and how is one to know?

“Perhaps you will go back into films?”

Her expression became fierce. “Never
1 hated it. They were all disgusting to
me in Hollywood. They thought that
because Т am а Japanese 1 am some sort
of an animal and that my body is for
everyone. Nobody t
except this Niven.” She shook her head
to get rid of the memorics. “No. I will
stay on Kuro forever. The gods will
solve my problems,” she smiled, “like
they have today.” She scanned the sea
ahead. “Another hundred yards" She
got up and, balancing perfectly despite
the swell, tied the end of the long торс

ied me honorably

round her waist and adjusted the goggles
above her forehead. "Now remember.
keep the rope taut and when you feel
onc tug, pull me up quickly. It will be

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169

PLAYEOY

170

hard work for you, but I will massage
your back when we get home this eve
ning. I am very good at it. I have had
enough practice with my father. Now!

Bond shipped the oars gratefully. Be-
hind him, David began shifting on his
feet, craning his long neck and hissing
impatiently. Kissy tied a short line to
the wooden tub and put it over the side.
She followed, slipping decorously into
the water and clasping her white dress
between her knees so that it did not
flower out around her. At once David
dived and disappeared without a ripple.
The line, tied to Bond’s thwart, began
paying out fast. He picked up the coil
of Kissy's rope and stood up, his joints
cracking. Kissy pulled down her goggles
and put her head underwater. In a mo-
ment she came up. She smiled. "Yes, it
looks fine down there.” She rested in
the water and began making а soft coo-
g whistle through pursed lips — to fill
her lungs to the uttermost, Bond as-
sumed. Then, with a brief wave of the
hand, she put down her head and arched
her hips so that Bond had a brief sight
of the 1 ing cleaving her behind
under the thin material. Suddenly, like
fleeting white wraith, she was gone.
ight down, her feet twinkling be-
hind her in a fast crawl to help the pull
of the weights.

Bond payed out fast, keeping an anx-
ious eye on his watch. David appeared
below him, bearing a half-pound silvery
fish crosswise in his beak. Damm the
bird! This was no time to get mixed up
with retrieving fish from the extremely
sharp-looking beak. But, with соп
temptuous glance. the cormorant tossed
the fish into the floating tub and disap-
peared like a black bullet,

Fifty seconds! Bond started nervously
when the tug came. He pulled in fast.
The white wraith appeared far below
the crystal water and, as she came up.
Bond saw that her hands were tight
against her sides to streamline her body.
She broke surface beside the boat and
held out two fat awabi to show him and
then dropped them into the tub. She
held on to the side of the boat to re
her breath and Bond gazed down at the
wonderful ut beneath their
thin covering. She smiled briefly up at
him, began her cooing whistle,
came the exciting arch of the
she was gone ag:

An hour went by. Bond got used to
the routine and had time to watch the
nearest of the fleet of other boats. They
covered perhaps a mile of sea, and, from
across the silent water, there came the
recurrent eerie whistle — а soft, sea-bird
sound — of the diving girls. The nearest

breasts,

nd then
ack and

“Oh, my God! We've been invited to
another fertility rite!"

boat rocked in the slow swell perhaps
a hundred yards away. and Bond watched
the young man at the rope and caught an
occasional glimpse of a beautiful golden
body, shiny as a seal, and heard the ex-
ched chattering of their He
hoped he would not disgrace himself
when it came to his turn to dive. Sake
and cigareues! Not а good mixture to

voices.

The pile of awabi was slowly growing
in the tub and. among them, perhaps
a dozen leaping fish. Occasionally Bond
bent down and retrieved one from David.

ı even haughtier look
of scorn from the turquoise eyes.

Then Kissy came up, her stint done,
and climbed. not so decorously this time,
into the boat, and tore off her kerchief
and goggles and sat panting quietly in
the stern. Finally she looked up and
laughed happily. “That is twenty-one.

Very good. Now take my weights and pick

and see for yourself what ir is like down
there. But I will pull you up anyway in
thirty seconds, Give me your watch. And
please do not lose my tegane, my pick,
or our day's fishing will be over.”

Bond's first dive was a dumsy айай.
He went down too slowly
time to survey the grassy pla
with black rocks and dumps of Posi-
donia, the common seaweed of all the
oceans, when he felt himself being
hauled up. He had to admit to himself
that his lungs were in terrible shape, but
he had spied one promising rock thick
with weed and on his next dive he got
straight to it and cling, searching among
the roots with his right nd. He felt
the smooth oval of а shell, but before
he could get the pick to it he was being
pulled up again. But he got the shell
on his third try, and Kissy Jaughed with
pleasure as he dropped it into the tub.
He managed to keep the diving up for
bout half an hour, but then his lungs
began to ache and his body to feel the
cold of the September sea
up for the last time simultaneously w
David, who shot past him like a beau
ful gi ack fish with green high-
lights 1k of approval, pecked
gently as Bond deposited his
fifth shell in the tub.

Kissy was pleased with him. She had
a rough brown kimono in the boat and
she rubbed him down with it as he sat
with bowed head and heaving chest.
Then, while he rested, she hauled the
wooden tub inboard and emptied its
contents into the bottom of the boat.
She produced a knife and cut one of
the fish down the middle and fed the
two halves t0 David who was riding
expectantly beside the boat, He swal
lowed the pieces in two great gulps and
set to preening his feathers contentedly

Later they stopped for a lunch of rice

nd he came

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with a few small bits of fish in
dried seaweed which tasted of salty spin-
ach. And then, after a short rest in the
bottom of the boat, the work went on
until four o'clock. when a small chill
breeze came from nowhere and got be-
tween them and the warmth of the sun
nd it was time to make the long row
home. Kissy climbed for the last time
into the boat and gave several soft tugs
at Davids line. He surfaced some dis-
tance from the boat and, as if this wa
well-worn routine, rose into the air

circled round them again and agin
before making а low dive and skiing in
to the side of the boat on his webbed
He flapped his way over the side
t to his perch, where he stood
gnificently outstretched
éd in this lordly stance
home

feet
and wei
with wings m
to dry and w
for his boatman to take him b;
10 his cove.

Kissy changed with extreme propriety
into her brown kimono and dried herse!t
inside it. She announced that their haul
was 65 awabis which was quite
wonderful. Of these Bond was respon-
sible for 10, which was а very honorable
first catch. Ridiculously pleased with
himself, Bond took a vague bearing on
the island which, because of the driftin
of the boat, was now only a speck on the
horizon. and gradually worked himse'f
into the slow, unlabored swecp of a
Scottish. gillic.

His hands were sore, his back ached as
if he had been thrashed with a wooden
truncheon, and his shoulders were be-
ginning to sting with sunburn, but he
comforted himself with the reflection
that he was only doing what he would
ave had to do anyway — get imo train-
ing for the swim and the climb and what
would come afterward, and he тем
himself from time to time with а
into Kissys eyes. They never left him
and the low sun shone into them and
turned the soft brown to gold. And the
speck became a lump. and the lump an
island and at last they were home.

The next day was as golden as the first.
and the haul of awabi went up to 68,

largely thanks to Bond's improved
diving.
During onc of their rests, Bond casually

ked Kissy what she knew of the castle,
ad he was surprised by the way her face
darkened. “Todoroki: we do
usually talk about th e. It is
forbidden subject on Kuro. It is as if
hell had suddenly opened its mouth half

an.

a mile away across the sea from our
home. And my people, the Am
wha

а, are like

I have read about your gypsies. We
very superstitious. And we believe the
Devil himself has come to live over
there.” She didn the fortress,
but gestured wi head. “Even the
kannushisan does not deny our fears,
and our elders say that the gaijin have

lways been bad for Japan and that this
one is the incarnation of all the evil in
the West. And there is already a legend
that has grown up on the island. lt is
that our six Jizo guardians will send
man from ато the sea to slay this
‘King of Death,’ as we call him:

“Who are these guard

Jizo is the god who protects children
He is. I think, a Buddhist god. On the
other side of the island, on the foreshore
there are five statues. The sixth has been
mostly washed away. They are rather
frightening to see. They squat there in à
line. They have rough bodies of stone
and heads and the
wear white shirts that are changed by the
people every month. They were put
there centuries ago by our ancestors.
They sit on the line of low tide, and as
the tide comes up it covers them com-
pletely and they keep watch under the
surface of the sea and protect us, the
because we are known as “The
а" At the beginning of
every June, when the sea is warm after
the winter and the diving beg
person on the island forms into a proces-
sion and we go to the six guardians and
sing to them to make them happy and
favorable toward us.”

"And this story of the man from Kuro.
Where did it come from?”
Who knows? It could h:
the sca or the air and thus

ns?

round stones for

ns, every

'€ come from
nto the mi

“Аһ, so desu ka!" said Bond, and they
both laughed and got on with the work.
On the third day, when Bond was as

Г
step. Kissy came to the doorway and
softly, "Come inside, ‘Todoroki-sar
Mystified. he went in and she shut the
door behind him.

She said in a low voice, ^I have just
heard from a messenger from the kannu-
shisan that there were people here

yesterday in а boat from the mainland.
They brought presentos — cigarettes and
sweets. They were asking about the vi

of the police bo: са
with three visitors and left with only two.
They wanted to know what had happen-
ed to the third visitor. They said they
were guards from the castle and it was
their duty to prevent trespassers. The
elders accepted the presentos, but they
showed shiran-kao, which is ‘the face of
him who knows nothin; nd referred.
the man to the kannushi-san who said
that the third visitor was in charge of
fishing licenses. He had felt sick on the
way to the island and had perhaps lain
down in the boat on the way back. Then
he dismissed the men and sent a boy to
the top of the high place to see where
the boat went, and the boy reported that
it went to the bay beside the castle and
was put back i thouse that is
there.

to the bo
he kannushisan thought that

you should know these things" She
looked at him piteously. '"Todoroki-san,
I have a feeling of much friendship for
you. I feel that there are secret things
between you and the kannushi-san, and.
that they concern the castle. [ think
you should tell me enough to put me out
of my unhappiness.

Bond smiled. Пс went up to herf

and took her face in both his hands and
kissed her on the lips. He said, “You are
very beautiful and kind, Kissy. Today
we will not take the boat out because 1
must have some rest. Lead me up to the
high place from which I can take a good
look at this castle and I will tell you
what I can. 1 was going to anyway, for
I shall need your help. Afterward,
would like to visit the six guardian:

They interest me — as an anthropologist.
Kissy collected th
small basket, put on her brown kimono
and rope-soled shoes and they set off
along a small footpath that zigzagged up
the peak behind the crouching gray
cluster of the village. The time of the
camellia was almost past, but here there
were оёсавіот
in red and wı
sion of these round a small grove of
dwarf maples, some of which already
wore their flaming autumn colors. The
grove was directly above Kissy's house
She led him in and showed him the little
Shinto shrine behind a rough stone torii.
She said, "Behind the shrine there
fine cave, but the people of Kuro are
afraid of it as it is full of ghosts. But I
explored it once and if there are ghosts
there they are friendly оше.” She
clapped her hands before the shrine, bent
her head for a moment, and dapped
them again. Then they went on up the
path to the top of the thousand-foot

r usual lunch in a

1 bushes of wild camel

ite, and there was a profu-

peak. A brace of gorgeous copper pheas
ants with golden tails fled squawking
over the brow and down to a patch of
bushes on the southern cliff as they ap-
proached. Bond told Kissy to stay out of
sight while he went and stood behind
the tall cairn of stones on the summit
and gazed circumspectly round it and
across the straits

He could see over the high fortress
wall and across the park to the towering
blackand-gold donjon of the castle. It
was ten o'clock. There were figures in
blue peasant dress with high boots and
long staves moving b

у about the
grounds. They occa

ionally seemed to
prod into the bushes with their staves.
They wore black maskos over their
mouths. It crossed Bond's mind that they
might be doing the morning rounds look-
ing for overnight prey. What did they do
when they found some half-blinded crea-
ture, or a pile of clothes beside one of the
fumaroles whose little clouds of steam
rose here and there in the park? Take
them to the Doctor? And, in the case of
the living, what happened then? And

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173

PLAYBOY

“The pacifist group seems to have run into the
advocates of nonviolence.”

when he, Bond, got up that wall tonight,
where was he going to hide from the

guards? Well, sufficient unto the day! At.
least the straits were calm and it was
cloudless weather. It looked as if he
would get there all right. Bond turned
hd went back to Kissy and s;
with her on the sparse turf. He gazed
across the harbor to where the Ama fleet.
lay sprawled across the middle distance.
He said, “Kissy, tonight 1 have to swim
to the castle and climb the wall and get
insid
he nodded. “I know this. And then
you are going to kill this man and per-
haps his wife. You are the man who we
believe was to come to Kuro from across
ind do these things." She cor
тиса to gaze out to sea. She said dully,
“But why have you been chosen? Wh
should it not be another, a. Japanese
"These people аге дайт. | am a
gaijin. It will cause less trouble for the
state if the whole matter is presented as
being trouble between. foreigners."

Yes, I see. the kannushi-san
given his appro

(een

“And if, .. and after. Will you come

d be my boatman again
‘or a time. But then I must go back
ngland.
“No. I believe that you will stay for a
long time on Kuro.”
"Why do you believe th
“Because E prayed for i

the shrin

174 And I have never asked for such a big

1 be
d. "And I shall be
h you tonight." She held
‘You will need company in
nd I know the currents. You
would not get there without me.
Bond took the small dry р

at the childish, broken

thing before. T am sure it wi
granted.” She pau
swimming

hand.

She looked at him. The brown oyes

were calm and serious. She said, and she
used his first name, "Tarosan, your
other name may mean thunder, but I

am not frightened of thunder. 1 have
made up my mind. And I shall come
k every night, at midnight exactly,
nd wait among the rocks at the bottom
of the wall. I shall wait for one hour
case you need my help in coming home.
These people may harm you. Women
are much stronger in the water than
men. That is why it is the Ama girls
who dive and not the Ama men. I know
the waters round Kuro as a peasant
ws the fields round his farm, and I
tle fear of them. Do not be
stiff-necked in this matter. In any case,
I shall hardly sleep until you come back.
To feel that I am close to you for a time
and that you may need me will give me
some peace.
"Oh, all right. Kissy,
gruffly, "I was only going to ask you to
row me to a starting point down there
somewhere,” he gestured to the left
across the straits. “But if you insist on

et for the sh
harks never trouble us. The si
guardians look after that. We never
come to any harm. Years ago, one of the
Amas caught her rope in a rock under-
water, and the people have talked of the
accident ever since. The sharks just
think we are big fish like themselves.”
She laughed happily. “Now it is all set-
ted and we e something to eat
and then I will take you down to see
the guardians. The tide will be low by
then and they will want to inspect you.”

They followed another little path
from the summit. It went over the
shoulder of the peak and down to a
small protected bay to the east of the
village. The tide was far out and they
could wade over the flat black pebbles
and rocks and round the corner of the
promontory. Неге, on a stretch of flat
stony beach, five people squatted on a
square foundation of large rocks and
gazed out toward the horizon. Except
that they weren't people. They were, as
Kissy had described, stone рейсы;
bodies with large round boulders ce-
mented to their tops. But rough white
shirts were roped round them, and they
looked terrifyingly human as they s
in immobile judgment and guardianship
over the waters and what went on bc-
neath them. OF the sixth, only the body
remained. His head must have been
destroyed by a storm.

They walked round in front of the
five and looked up at the smooth blank
faces and Bond, for the first time in his
life. had a sensation of deep awe. So
much belief, so much authority seemed
to have been vested by the builders in
these primitive, faceless idols, guardians
of the blithe, naked Ama girls, Шш
Bond had a ridiculous urge to kneel and
ask for their blessing as the Crusaders
had once done before their God. He
brushed the impulse aside, but he did
bow his head and bricily ask for good
fortune to accompany his enterprise.
And then he stood back and watched
with a pull at his heartstrings while
Kissy. her beautiful face strained and
pl ng. clapped to attract. their
tion and then made a long
passioned speech in which his
recurred. At the end, when she
clapped her hands, did the roi
derheads briefly nod? ОГ course not! But,
when Bond took Kissy's hand and they
walked away, she said happily, "It is all
right, Todorokisan. You saw them nod
their heads?”
said Bond firmly, "T did not.

"They crept round the castern shore of
Kuro and pulled the boat up into a
deep cleft in the black rocks. It was
just after 11 o'clock and the giant moon
rode high and fast through wisps of
mackerel clouds. They talked softly, al-
though they were out of sight of the
fortress and half a mile away from it

en-
nd im-
me

Kissy took off her brown kimono and
folded it neatly and put it in the b.
Her body glowed in the moonlight. The
black triangle between her legs beck-
oned, and the black string round her
waist that held the piece of material
was an invitation to untie it. She giggled
ly. "Stop looking at my Black

“Why is it called thar”

“Guess!

Bond carefully pulled on his ninje suit
of black cotton, It was comfortable
enough and would give warmth in the
water. He left the head shroud hanging
down his back and pushed the goggles
that belonged to s father up his
forehead. The small floating pack he
was to tow behind him rode jauntily in
the waters of the creck, and he tied its
string firmly to his right wrist so that he
would үз know it was there.

He smiled at Kissy and nodded.

She came up to him and threw her
ams round his neck and kissed him
full on the lips.

Before he could respond, she had
pulled down her goggles and had dived
into the quiet, mercury s

Kissy's crawl was steady and relaxed
and Bond had no difficulty in keeping up
with the twinkling feet and the twin
white mounds of her behind, divided

excitingly by the black cord. But he was
ad he had donned flippers, because the
tug of his floating container against the
wrist was an irritating brake and, for
the fist half of the swim, they were
heading diagonally against the casterly
current. through the straits, But then
у slightly changed her direction and
now they could paddle lazily in toward
the soaring wall that soon became their
whole horizon.

There were a few tumbled rocks at
its base, but Kissy stayed in the water,
ging to a dump of seaweed, in case
the moon might betray her gleaming
body to a sentry or a chance patrol,
though Bond guessed that the guards
kept clear of the grounds during the
ght so that the suicides would have
free entry. Bond pulled himself up on
the rocks and unzipped the container
and extracted the packet of iron pitons.
Then he climbed up a few feet so that
he could stow his flippers away in а
crack between the granite blocks above
the high-water mark, and he was ready to
go. He blew a kiss to the girl. She re-
plied with the sideways wave of the hand
that is the Japanese sign of farewell and
then was off across the sea again, a lu-
minous white torpedo that merged
quickly into the path of the moon.

Bond put her out of his thoughts. He
was getting chilled in his soaking black

camouflage and it was time to get mov-
ing. He examined the fitting of the
giant stone blocks and found that the
cracks between them were spaciou
in the case of Tiger's training
would probably provide adequate toc
holds. Then he pulled down his black
cowl and, towing the black container
behind him, began his climb.

It took him 20 minutes to cover the
200 feet of the slightly inclined wall,
but he only had to usc his pitons twice
when he came to cracks that were too
narrow to give a hold to his aching
toes. And then he was at one of the
gun ports, and he slithered quietly
across its six feet of flat masonry and
cautiously looked over the edge into the
park. As he had expected, there were
stone steps down from the gun port,
and he crept down these into the dark
shadows at its base and stood up against.
the inside of the wall panting quietly.
He waited for his breath to calm down
and then slipped back his cowl and
listened. Not a wisp of wind stirred in
the trees, but from somewhere came the
sound of softly running water and, in
the background, a regular, glutinous
burping and bubbling. The fumaroles!
Bond, a black shadow among the rest,
edged along the wall to his right. His
first task was to find a hide-out, a base
camp where he could bivouac in emer-

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gency and where he could leave his con-
tainer. He reconnoitered various groves
and clumps of bushes, but they were all
dammably well kept and the under-
growth had been meticulously cleared
from their roots. And many of them
exuded a sickly-sweet, poisonous night
smell. Then, up against the wall, he
came upon a leanto shed, its rickety
door ajar. He listened and then inched
the door open. As he had expected. there
was a shadowy jumble of gardeners’ tools,
wheelbarrows and the like, and the musty
smell of such places. Moving carefully,
and helped by shafts of moonlight
through the wide cracks in the planked
walls, he got to the back of the hut
where there was an untidy mound of
used sacking. He reflected for a momer
and decided that though this place
would be often visited, it had great
promise. He untied the cord of the con-
tainer from his wrist and proceeded
methodically to move some of the sacks
forward so as to provide a nest for him-
self behind them. When it was finished,
and final touches of artistic disarray
added, he parked his container behind
the barrier and crept out again into the
park to continue what he planned
should be a first quick survey of the
whole property-

Bond kept close to the boundary wall,
flitting like a bat across the open spaces
between clumps of bushes and trees, Al-
though his hands were covered with the
black material of the ninja suit. he
avoided contact with the vegetation,
which emitted a continually changing
variety of strong odors and scents among
which he recognized. as a result of an-
cient adventures in the Caribbean, only
the sugary perfume of dogwood. He
came to the lake, a wide silent shimmer
of silver from which rose the thin cloud
of steam he remembered from the acrial
photograph. As he stood and watched it,
a large leaf from one of the surrounding
trees came wafting down and settled on
the surface near him. At once a quick,
purposeful ripple swept down on the leaf
from the surrounding water and im-
mediately subsided. There were some
kind of fish in the lake and they would
be carnivores. Only carnivores would be
excited like that at the hint of a prey.
Beyond the lake. Bond came on the first
of the fumaroles, a sulphurous, bubbling
pool of mud that constantly shuddered
and spouted up little fountains. From
yards away, Bond could feel its heat. Jets
of stinking steam puffed out and disap-
peared, wraithlike, toward the sky. And
now the jagged silhouette of the castle,
with its winged turrets, showed above
the treeline, and Bond crept forward
with added caution, alert for the moment
when he would come upon the treacher-
ous gravel that surrounded it. Suddenly,
through a belt of trees, he was facing it.

175 He stopped in the shelter of the trees,

his heart hammering under his rib cage.

Close to, the soaring black-and-gold
pile reared monstrously over him, and
the dimi g curved roofs of the
stories were like vast bat wings against
the stars. It was even bigger than Bond
had imagined, and the supporting wall
of black granite blocks more formidable.
He reflected on the seemingly impossible
problem of entry. Behind would bc the
main entrance, the lowish wall and the
open countryside. But didn’t castles al-
ways have an alternative entrance low
down for а rearward escape? Bond stole
cautiously forward, laying his feet flat
down so that the gravel barely stirred.
The many eyes of the castle, glittering
white in the moonlight, watched his ap-
proach with the indifference of total
power. At any moment, he expected the
white shaft of a searchlight or the yellow-
and-blue flutter of gunfire. Bur he
reached the base of the wall without in-
cident and followed it along to the left,
remembering from ancient schooling
that most castles had an exit at moat
level beneath the drawbridge.

And so it was with the castle of Doctor
Shatterhand — a small nail-studded door,
arched and weatherbeaten. Its hinges
and lock were cracked and rusty, but a
new padlock and chain had been stapled
into the woodwork and the stone frame.
No moonlight filtered down to this cor-
ner of what must once have been a moat,
but was now grassed over. Bond felt
carefully with his fingers. Yes! The
chain and lock would yield to the file
and jimmy in his conjurors pockets.
Would there be bolts on the inner side?
Probably not, or the padlock would not
have been thought necessary. Bond
softly retraced his steps across the gravel,
stepping meticulously in his previous
footmarks. That door would be his tar-
get for tomorrow!

Now, keeping righthanded, but still
following the boundary wall, he crept
off again on his survey. Once, something
slithered away from his approaching
fect and disappeared with a heavy rustle
to the fallen leaves under a tree. Wh
snakes were there that really wi
man? The king cobra, black mamba,
wsciled viper, the rattlesnake and
the fer-de-lance, What others? The re-
mainder were inclined to make off if
disturbed. Were snakes day or night
hunters? Bond didn't know. Among so
many hazards, there weren't even the
odds of Russian roulette. When all the
chambers of the pistol were loaded,
there was not сусп a one-in-six chance
to bank on.

Bond was now on the castle side of
noise and edged

the lake. He heard a
behind а tree. The d
the shrubbery sounded like a wounded
animal, but then, down the path, came
staggering a man, or what had once
been a m: he brilliant moonlight

showed a head swollen to the size of
a football, and only small slits remained
where the eyes and mouth had been.
The man moaned softly as he zigzagged
along, and Bond could see that his hands
were up to his puffed face and that he
was trying to prize apart the swollen
skin round his eyes so that he could sec
out. Every now and then he stopped and
let out one word in an agonizing howl
to the moon, It was not a howl of fear
or of pain, but of dreadful supplication.
Suddenly he stopped. He seemed to sce
the lake for the first time. With a terrible
cry, and holding out his arms as if to
meet a loved one, he made a quick run
to the edge and threw himself in. At
once there came the swirl of movement
Bond had noticed before, but this time
it involved a great area of water and
there was a wild boiling of the surface
round the vaguely threshing body. A
mass of small fish were struggling to get
at the man, particularly at the naked
hands and face, and their six-inch bodies
gliuered and flashed in the moonlight.
Once the man raised his head and let out
a single, terrible scream and Bond saw
that his face was encrusted with pendent
fish as if with silvery locks of hair. Then
his head fell back into the lake and he
rolled over and over as if trying to rid
himself of his attackers. But slowly the
black stain spread and spread round
him and finally, perhaps because his
jugular had been pierced, he lay still,
face downward in the water, and his
head jigged slightly with the ceaseless
momentum of the attack.

James Bond wiped the cold sweat olf
his face. Piranha! The South American
fresh-water killer whose massive jaws and
flat, razor-sharp tecth can strip a horse
down to the bones in under an hour!
And this man had been one of the sui-
ks who had heard of this terrible
death! He had come searching for the
lake and had got his face poisoned by
some pretty shrub. The Herr Doktor
had certainly provided a feast for his
victims, Unending dishes for their delec-
tation! A true banquet of death!

James Bond shuddered and went on
his way. All right, Blofeld, he thought,
that’s one more notch on the sword that
already on its way down to your neck.
Brave words! Bond hugged the wall and
Kept going. Gun metal was showing in
the east.

But the Garden of Death hadn't quite
finished the display of its ware

All over the park, a slight smell of
sulphur hung in the air, and many times
Bond had had to detour round steaming
cracks in the ground and the quaking
mud of fumaroles, identified by a warn-
ing circle of white-painted stones. The
Doctor was most careful lest anyone
should fall into one of these liquid fur-
naces by mistake! But now Bond came
to one the size of a circular tennis court,

“Every time I see something nice, you have to go and
spoil it by telling me she's my wife!”

177

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and here there was a rough shrine in the
grotto at the back of it a
a vase with flowers у
mums, because it was now officially win-
ter and therefore the chrysanthemum
season. They wet nged with some
sprigs of dwarf maple, in a pattern
which no doubt spelled out some fra-
grant message to the initiates of Japa-
nese Hower arrangement. And opposite

arr

the grotto, behind which Bond in his
ghostly black uniform couched in con-

cealment, a Japanese gendeman stood
in rapt contemplation of the bursting
mud boils that were erupting genteelly
the simmering soup of the pool. James
Bond thought “gentleman” because the
man was dressed in the top hat, frock
«oat, striped trousers, still collar and
spats of a high government official — or
of the father of the bride. And the
gendeman held a carefully rolled um
brella between his clasped hands, and
his head was bowed over its crook as
if in penance. He was speaking. in a
soft compulsive babble, like someone in
a highly ritualistic church, but he made
wes and just stood, humbly,
quietly, cither confessing or asking one
ol the gods for something,

Bond stood against a tree, black in the
blackness. He felt he should intervene
in what he knew to be the man's pur-
pose. But how to do so knowing no
Japanese, having nothing but his "deaf-
und.dumb" card to show? And it was
vital that he should remain a "ghost" in
the garden, not get involved in some
daft argument with a man he didu't
know, about some ancient sin he could
never understand. So Bond stood, while
the trees threw long black arms across
the scene, and waited, with a cold,
closed, stone face, for death to walk on
stage.

The man stopped talking. He raised
his head and gazed up at the moon. He
politely lifted his shining top hat. Then
he replaced it, tucked his umbrella un-
der one arm and sharply clapped his
hands. Then walking, as if to a business
appointment, calmly, purposefully, he
took the few steps to the edge of the
bubbling fumarole, stepped carefully
the warning stones and went on
He sank slowly in the glutinous
s ne and not a sound escaped h
lips until, as the tremendous heat
reached his groin, he uttered one rasp-
ing “Arghh!” and the gold in his teeth
showed as his head arched back in the
rictus of death. Then he was gone and
only the top hat remained, tossing on а
small fountain of mud that spat inter-

ittently into the air. Then the hat
slowly crumpled with the heat and dis-
appeared, and a great belch was uttered
from the belly of the fumarole and a
horrible stench of cooking meat over-
came the pervading stink of sulphur and

reached Bond's nostril

Bond controlled his rising gorge. Hon-
orable salary man had gone to honorable
ancestors — his unknown sin expiated as
his calcined bones sunk slowly down into
the stomach of the world. And one more
statistic would be run up on Blofeld’s
abacus of death. Why didn’t the Japa-
nese air force come and bomb this place
to eternity, set the castle and the poison
garden ablaze with napalm? How could
this man continue to have protection
from a bunch of botanists and scientists?
And now here was he, Bond, alone
this hell to try апа do the job with al-
most no weapon but his bare hands. It
was hopeless! He was scarcely being
given a chance in a million. Tiger and
his Prime Minister were ceri
ing their pound of flesh in
for their precious MAGIC 4 — 182 pounds
of it to be exact!

Cursing his fate, cursing Tiger, curs-
ing the whole of Japan, Bond went on
e a small voice whispered
in his ear, "But don't vou want to kill
Blofeld? Don't you want to avenge
Tracy? Isn't this a God-given chance?
You have done well tonight. You have
penetrated his defenses and spied out
the land. You have even found a way
into his castle and probably up to his
bedroom. Kill him in his sleep tomor-
row! And Kill her, too, while you're
about it! And then back into Kissy's
arms and, in a week or two, back over
the Pole to London and to the applause
of your Chief. Come on! Somewhere in
Japan, a Japanese is committing suicide
every thirty minutes all through the
year, Don't be squeamish because you've
just seen a couple of numbers ticked off
on а sheet in the Ministry of Health, а
couple of points added to a graph.
out of it! Get on with the job!

And Bond listened to the whisper and
went on round the last mile of wall and
back to the gardeners’ hut.

He took a last look round before go-
ing їп. He could see а neck of the lake
about 20 yards away. It was now gun
metal in the approaching dawn. Some
big insccts were fliting and darting
through the softly rising steam. They
nk di nk ones. Danc-
ing and skimming. But of course! The
haiku of Tigers dying agent! Tha
the last nightmarish touch to th
scenity of a place. Bond went into the
hut picked his way carefully between
the machines and Wheelbarrows, pulled
some sacks over himself and fell into a
shallow sleep full of ghosts and demons
and screams.

ob-

This is the second of three installments
of lan Flemings latest James Bond
novel, “You Only Live Twice.” The
conclusion will appear next month.

179

PLAYBOY

180

GIN FLING

(continued from page 84)

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¥ teaspoon Pernod

Onion-stuffed olive

Pour gin, vermouth and Pernod into
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cocktail glass. Strain martini into gla

GIN DAISY

ozs. gin
oz. raspberry syrup
oz. lemon juice
% oz. lime juice
Thawed frozen raspberries in syrup
Fill a silver or glass mug with fincly
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1% ozs. gin

% ог. lemon j

Lemon slice

Pour wine, gin and lemon juice into
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Elijah the prophet once derived
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effects, too — indoors or out.

traveling man
(continued from page 96)

don't know how to make music or listen
to it anymore anyway. Jazz music is
dying fast. Jazz That's a long sad story
I'm going to put to music myself onc
of these days.

Then when T least expected, wasn't
even thinking about it, Roger-D closed.
his piano lid down and scratched his
stomach, satisfied. He must've played a
mighty cool little tune, and I would've
give a lot to hear it played out in the
open. Then he closed his eyes, his head
down like a busted puppet. 1
got afraid he would fall on his face if
he fell asleep and I got up again and
went over to him, picked his head up
and held him under his chin with my
big guitar hands wrapped around his
skinny skull.

Listen a m

No answer.

"Listen, damnit."

No ans Dead asleep. I could've
cried. All my good plans gone bust, just
ten bucks, for Christ sakes. I wanted
that money in the worst way. I tried to
decide if I would steal it off him, but I
was too chickenhearted to steal, and I
knew it, I'm a lousy thicf. 1 got too
much imagination to steal. Besides, I
wouldn't even know the first place to
look. How you going to find anything in
а room that empty or pickpocket a man
that’s only just wearing a jockstrap? Any-
way, I wouldn't've done it. Not for any
money. Trouble was I liked the bastard,
As near as a black man can like
man, anyway

1 figured Га pick him up and сапу
him over and put him to bed. Maybe
tomorrow I could get hold of that
NAACP lady. Maybe my sculptor buddy
could ger me a job hauling fruit with
him. Maybe I could play up a іце
travel money with my guitar in two or
three nights. You never know. But right
then 1 was surprised to hear Roger-D
saying, "Lulu's down on charity of lau

Lulu was his prostitute, Old Rog was
wide awake again. He took my paws
down from his skull and slid down olf
that window sill just as easy as you
pl

inute, Roger.

a white

1 only just want the loan of it,
said, automa

He walked kind of shaky, but solid,
100, you know — man with a hangover
walking around a place he knew ever
inch of. He went over to the table and
pulled out the knife-and-fork drawer.
That was where he kept his happy stuff.
Spoon, needle, candle, matches. Lite
envelopes full of God knows what. I
sat back down on the bed to watch him,

He held his self up with his hand on
the tabletop and fumbled around in the
drawer for something, then pulled the
pencil stub off his car and scribbled
something. In a minute he staggered
over to me and dropped a little flat
package in my lap. 1 just sat there like

а big black Buddha, waiting.
"Take this over to Lulu for me, will
you?”
"You want me to take it?" I said,
stupid,

"She works out of Hotel du Monde,
Rue Saint-Denis.

“What's in it?

"Take it over to her, will you, dad?
Ask me no questions, I'll tell you no
lies. Do me that lie favor. Take it
over to her and tell her I sent you.
She'll be standing out front of the hotel.
Lowest neckline in Paris. Blue sweater
with a big V cut down the front of it.
She cut it that way herself. Raincoat.
Umbrella with flowers on it. Mademoi-
selle Lulu, can't miss her. Or ask the
desk clerk where she went.

Then he put a 100-franc note on
my knee — 20 bucks and flopped over
on the bed beside me, all the way out
of it again.

I went down the hotel steps with my
little package of whatever. I've done
worse things, what the hell I was just
delivery boy. Looked to me like Lulu
had а special customer, had somebody
liked dreamtime better than games.
Lulu's worry. And Roger's, not mine.
I had Spain waiting for me and I was
getting 20 bucks for asking no questions.
But somehow I didn't feel just right
about it, all the same. 1 was carrying a
pocketful of knockour down those hotel
steps, and I knew it.

Street outside was all warm and black
and still raining. I made my plans. Hike
over to Chatelet even if it was wet. Buses
too far apart and the métro closed down
this time of night. Hike over to Châtelet
and head up Saint-Denis, give Lulu the
Stuff and beat it. 1 could of threw it
down a sewer and be done with it,
but I'm too goddamn honest.

There was some people
from where the night clubs were letting
ош, but not too many. I heard a Vespa
backfiring over on Saint-Michel. some-
where that sounded like a machine gun,
but I started. off. Then before I even
Bot to the corner of Hucheue 1 saw
three cops bearing down on me with
their big capes flapping like the Three
Musketeers. The breath went out of me
and my heart stopped ticking.

1 rocked around, ready to run the
other way, but the other way was a whole
mob of cops moving up from behind, 1
saw which way they were looking, and

the street

they meant me. Looked like a threshing
machine— all those arms and clubs
churning along — about to mow me

under. 1 didn't do nothing but stand
ight still, capes and cop whistles closing
in on me

I wasn't the only one caught. They
up an Arab along the way.
some sick-looking tobacco-colored rug
peddler. That's color for you. Had to be
dark-colored to travel that neighborhood,
but you had to be white-colored to get
out. Cops took his fez off of him, un-
rolled his rug he was carrying, looking
for plastic bombs, I stood stone still,
sweating BBs, feeling that jail package
in my pocket. I was without even my
guitar with me for identification.

They pur the Arab in the wagon апу
way, just for being an Arab. Onc of the
cops gives me a quick feel alongside my
sides and up and down my legs, looking
for knives, looking lor trouble, and find-
ing it, naturally. Found the Stuff in my

threshed.

Spain, you just got smashed up for
me, like that busted mirror back home at
my hotel. They got music in jail? АП
the trouble 1 ever been in, I never been
locked up before. My insides all squeezed
up tight. My blood was running rain
water out there in the rain.

The one cop unwrapped and the other
ones crowded around to sce what it was.

Why me? Why Jesus why?

"Qu'est-ce que cest?” the cop said.

Opened up. it was a chunk of choco
late tied up in а note. The note just
said:

Je t'aime,

Je t'aime.
Je t'aime.

R.
з all Thats just exactly what
it said. They wrapped the chocolate ир

me go.
Crossed

ross Pont Saint-Michel prac
tically walking tiptoe, barely touching
ground. Bridge lights showing in the

ine. Lights along Cité all yellow runny
in the rainslick streets. The big old
hlue-and-gold clock stuck up on the
Conciergerie said ten minutes past mid-
night, so it was tomorrow already. Spain
today. Spain just down there somewhere.
waiting for me. Rain was soft and steady,
like champagne fizz. Twenty bucks in my
pocket, easy earned. Words to a sweet
ише song in my pocket. Tune to that
song inside the head of a laughing sad
jazman. Him and his prostitute. "I love
you” wrote out three times on a piece
of paper just now saved me seven years’

bad luck.
Ba

Bottoms Up!
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Gordon had introduced his remarkable

PRODUCT DF U. S. A. DISTILLED LONDON DRY GIN, 100% NEUTRAL SPIRITS DISTILLED FROM GRAIN. 90 PRODE. GORDON'S DRY GIN CD. LTO.. LIN

gin. The Gordon’s Gin you drink today
still harks back to the original 1769
English formula. Why tamper with such
dryness and delicate flavour? They have
made Gordon’s the biggest-selling gin in
all of England, America, the world.

W JERSEY

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